#16, then a river runs through it

It’s not exactly what we call a river, but it is, nevertheless. The flow was low. We preferred to call it a sewage. I was ten or eleven, then hopelessly obsessed with Hong Kong kung fu movies. The genre is referred to as martial arts vigilante movies. One afternoon, my cousin and I tore up paper into shreds and threw them at the blowing wind to create an overwhelming scenery of timeless tragedy, though only temporary. My aunt saw us and demanded the mess be cleaned up immediately. But by the time we got to the street, the littering had all been swept away into the river ran through it.

Dearest friends,

There’s a cold spring in the mountains of Taroko National Park in eastern Taiwan. It’s called Shin Chan, meaning The Spring of the Heart. The water is clean and icy cold. And you’ll be amazed to take the first sip from it: it’s sweet and heartening. A little Japanese style shrine was built at the spot (Taiwan used to be a Japanese colony). This shouldn’t be regarded as too much of a big deal. The Taiwanese builds temples, and dog house size shrines wherever we feel inspiring. There’s a bell hung over the shrine at Shin Chan. You’re suppose to knock on the bell once you finish your prayer. It’s sort of like a “you’ve got mail” reminder of the heavenly.

            I’ve been living here in Banciao for nearly two years away from the forest. I have not yet known the name of the river I now pass twice a day to and back from work. A highway express was built above it, so the river was forever deprived of the sunlight. Wild dogs now dwell on the property. The construction was still underway. The metal fence refuses curious eyes even though there are few to begin with. But no working laborers are ever in sight.

            The water grew thicker and muddier each day. The color now turns to a rustic brown. And it starts to smell. The other night, I saw black spots floating on top of the water, like roaches from the garbage bin, crawling their way to the north, leaving me shivering over the brink of the bridge above it where destruction was vividly visible even at the dark, dark night.

            Don’t you feel that we are thieves? Look how much we’ve stolen and how little we will be able to pay back. Human race is the black hole. We are the greatest tsunami when natural disasters are nothing but the last struggles of a motherland who is sucked dry of her milk. The river runs through nothing, no more, it’s now driven over, and no one call it a river anymore.

The Goddess of Victory

 

D

onald stood on the mountaintop. He felt that he was standing on the top of the world. In fact, he was, as possible as human can reach, that is. Although he lost his legs many years ago, he still got here, a place even those with strong legs couldn't, not even great athletes. He’s the first of their team, the first of the season, but the last to himself.

            This moment, as how he had imagined it, should be far more exhilarating than he actually felt, like how one hollers and screams over a can of beer when one is still young and free, free from the years ahead. He thought he would dance and jump around in his artificial legs. But that’s probably because he had never thought how exhausting the whole thing would be, he assumed. He’s tired, drained, just tired. A voice was mumbling deep down. “So I am here, I’ve got here, the top of the world, the top of my life. Let me sleep then, for the rest of my life.” He felt so old. He felt that he’d seen too much, too much.

            “Don? Can you hear me? Over.” Kurt, the summit operation head, buzzed through the radio transceiver.

            Donald pressed the button. He tried to higher the volume and tone of his own speech so that he’d sound more cheerful than he really was. He just couldn’t let the others know, he, felt nothing. “Oh, Kurt, I’m here, I summitted. Oh, it’s a, er,” Donald couldn’t breathe. “It’s great up here, just great.”

            There was a moment of silence at the other end. “Great, Don, I’m happy for you. I’m proud of you. How are you feeling? Over.”

            “Oh, great, I feel great.”

            “Good. Now, Don, you still got plenty of time. Enjoy it. The others are still behind you. So take your time. Okay?” Kurt asked. “Over.”

            Donald looked before him. He didn’t know what to respond. Time?

            “Don?”

            “Yeah, I’m here.” Donald shook his head.

            “Ten minutes. Okay? Over.”

            “What?”

            “Ten minutes. I want you to start back in ten minutes.” Kurt stressed. “ You still got enough oxygen. But I want to limit your physical pain as possible. You understand? Over.”

            “Yes, yes, I understand.”

            “Good, see you down here. Over.”

            Donald put down the transceiver in his hand. But then it occurred to him, and he picked it up again. “Over.”

            Donald stared before him in lost. He could imagine that he was the only one in the world, the one in the end of all, or perhaps, the beginning of all, had he not felt so tired. There was no sign of human cultivation as far as eyes could reach. There was no sign of existence. All the history he learned seemed like such a surreal dream. And it didn’t make any sense at all to reason with himself about the world he knew, he thought he knew. The world he now saw, waves of canvassed white endlessly piled up to the furthest corner of the universe, must had been like this ever since the time God uttered “Let there be light.” Everything was excluded. And he, must be God’s only and true piece of creation. But the weight of his being kept him from wandering. He somehow knew that the logic that’s about to faint was still solid.

Donald took out an old and expired watch from his pocket. He had to fight to fish it out. His hands were shaking, not because he was excited, but because every single movement here is a struggle.  Muscles and tissues ate themselves as time went by once one passed the territory marked as the dead zone. Every second that passed meant every inch of one’s own life died away and could never be bargained back.

The watch belonged to his dear friend, Kenny. Kenny died, years ago, when he, lost his legs.

It’s early in the morning. It didn’t show by the watch, nor by skylight reflected on the surface of the watch. There’s always light up here. Except that right now,  this lightness, pierced.

Donald put the watch on the ground. He took a step back and watched the timepiece lay motionlessly on the virgin yet barren snow. He changed his mind. He would like to kick it off the ground. But he couldn’t lift his leg. So he shuffled it over the edge. Somewhere from the top of the world and hell, the watch stuck.

Donald turned around, started to climb his way down. He found out then that he didn’t even care if he ever got here. They said one got hysterical or hallucination, or lost one’s reason when one’s brain couldn’t get enough oxygen. That’s probably why, Donald thought, that he couldn’t stop thinking about Kenny.

Donald didn’t want to talk. He just wanted to be alone, alone down the frayed rope with the limp steps. 

A

thena watched Donald walk away. There was a time, a time of heroes and legends when Athena rode to battlefields and interfered with the world. There was a time when she got involved with men’s quarrels, when she recognized the strong thighs of men, when she adored the delicate face of youth, when she envied the swift hands of women. But now, Athena just stood and watched. Gods weren’t really immortal. They couldn’t run away from destiny. They couldn’t run away from night and day. They couldn’t run away from death, only a different sort of death.

           

D

onald: My name is Donald Sherton. I am 63 years old. I’ve been mountain-climbing all my life, so it’s really a long way, for me, to be here. I’ve climbed my way through. I’ve been er, waiting for this my whole life.

Man: You surely left none for the carrying-on.

Donald: No, no, not at all, I mean, I won’t stop this, I won’t stop mountain-climbing. But, but I suppose, it’d be, maybe a little different…

Man: You lost your legs in a climbing accident. What keeps you going?

Donald: Well, What’s gonna stop me? I never really stop using my legs. You need to get used to prosthetics. There’s a process they call rehabilitation and physical therapy. No, it’s not the same.

Man: But it never stops you?

Donald: What it does, it pushes me forward. I resumed my regular exercise just a few months after the accident. If anything, it keeps me focus on my own body movement and rhythm. Some people are afraid that the pain would divert their focus, and they might not be as good in sports.

Man: But that’s not true.

Donald: You need to figure out how to use your muscles differently, and the balance, too.

Man: Is it painful to walk in prosthetic legs at first?

Donald: A little at the beginning. But that discomfort was easily overcomed by the fact that I got to walk again.

Man: What about in sports?

Donald: Sometimes, yes.

Man: What brings you back to the mountains?

Donald: Well.

Man: I mean, no offence,

Donald: no, no,

Man: But most people might feel traumatized in a way once they face such critical situation. And most people won’t go back. Let alone challenge themselves with the highest mountain in the world, the toughest climb.

Donald: You sound like my wife, Evelyn. And I never know what to tell her.

Man: But what do you think pushes you to go back to the mountains when you know you will face certain severity?

Donald: Right. It could be dangerous. I give you that. My friend, Kenny, died in a mountain-climbing accident. You need to be careful. And you really need to train yourself. But this is something I love. And, no matter what happened, you just, keep going.

Man: Now you mention training. What did you do in preparation for this expedition? 

Donald: Like I said, I never stop exercising. I never stop climbing. After my retirement, I had more time. I jog every morning. We travel around, Evelyn and I…

Man: What if you just couldn’t do it? What if you realized at the last moment that you just wouldn’t make it?

Donald: Well, I never er, you see, I suppose I’d have to stop then. Ha ha! But we have a really well-equipped operation, and Warchol is the best, so I’m not really worried.

T

he whole thing was absurd, resumed Athena. The woods of the gods, the bed of their power, was now nothing but a tourist spot for the wealthy and the mad, the greedy and the fools. They called it the dead zone. But no one feared her power. No one sensed her. No one saw her. No one remembered that she, shook the woods, that she, put men on a course to extreme terror. This was the throne of the gods, the imperishable, the mighty, the glorious. But now, it’s only entertainment.

            She was not always cold and distanced, Athena thought. She loved before. She desired before. She could have been soft and gentle and weak. She could have lower her curls and let it catch the breeze, and let sprayed the scent of her guarded virginity, to every corner of the world, stronger, sweeter and much more rewarding than the musty perfume of Aphrodite. But she was the goddess of chastity, and for that, for the spotless images of herself worshipped through centuries, she must resist, she must close her eyes, she must stand up straight and tighten her grip.

            Nothing lasted, anyway, Athena reasoned. Only she deserved to be trusted and believed. Victory never dimmed. She would be brighter then the evening star, forever and ever.

            Athena watched Donald left. The sadness and hopelessness was respectable. She, the goddess of wisdom, would allow him to pass, save and peacefully.

Neil: I’m a doctor. I’m from U.K. Everyone told me I was crazy. I’m miles away from home. I spent a lot of money. I wear myself out. And I never climb before! Can you imagine it?

Man: And, can you introduce yourself a little bit? Go on, just, something about you.

Jake: I’m 35. I’m in Construction. I’m from the States.

Man: How do you think this expedition, so to speak, will change you?

Neil: I think it’s great to be out here. Seriously, doing what I do, it’s easy to forget what you want in life. I don’t want to lose the passion when I first decided to become a doctor. And it really helps to, remind myself who I was and who I am.

Jake: Well, I gave up my everything, all my savings. I just know it’s either now or never.

Neil: Say that again.

Man: That's certainly very inspiring.

A

thena smiled. Someone was approaching, three men. Now, she would remind them who she was. She walked up to the climbers. She whispered to one of them, “You are the most incredible. You will stand on the top of the world with the persistent and powerful strength you have. You, and you alone, are king! Awaits you on the top, is the glorious victory.”

            Jake stopped short. He suddenly realized something he had never thought before. He looked up at the sky. It’s a blurry pale. And he, was the man closest to heaven! And that’s because he fought all the way, along the way. Only he got here not by chance and luck. Only his summit was real. The rest were here because they were fortunate. Grace wouldn’t last. But he had strength, most powerful. He was not afraid. He needed not to be afraid. Because no matter what, he would conquer it.

            Athena walked up to another man, and whispered in his ears, “You are the most incredible. Only you aren’t fooled and cheated by the marvelous lies forged by cowards with their failure. You think. And you think correctly, most correctly. You observe every detail. You seize every possible change. You are attentive. You are wise. You, and you alone, are king! Awaits you on the top, is the glorious victory.”

            Neil stopped and looked ahead. “A-ga! Look! We are here. We’re at the summit. Something’s wrong with Kurt’s information. We are not that far. It’s only steps away.” Neil screamed.

            “No! No! Far! No close! No time! No rosegen!” A-ga replied with his broken English he could best managed. A-ga was a local guide. Every time this year, the whole world came here to claim the top of the world, all the rich men. It’s not right. But they got the permission and he got the blessing.

            Athena came close to A-ga, just when she’s about to speak, she heard A-ga’s prayer. “Gods above. Hear me. Glory be you. Bless your subject and servant. Guide us. Lead us to safety. Lead us home. We will remember your glory, your victory.”

              Athena remained silent. She frowned. But she turned away.

“A-ga! A-ga! Can you hear me? Over.” Kurt was heard over the transceiver.

“Ko! No time! No rosegen!” A-ga responded with worries.

“I know. You have to come back. You need to come back NOW! You’re running low on oxygen supply.”

“He doesn’t go, Ko!”

“Neil? Jake? A-ga, let me speak to Neil.”

Before Kurt could finish his request, Neil took the radio. “Kurt, We are here! The summit! It’s right in front of us. I can see it.”

“Neil?” Kurt asked.

“Yes, yes, it’s me. We are here!”

Kurt took a short pause. “Neil, listen. I know how you feel. And I know that you can see the summit.”

“It’s right in front of me, okay, Kurt?” As if not sure Kurt heard him right, he repeated again. “ The summit is right in front of me. And I see it! Over!”

Again, Kurt let a few seconds of silence passed before he spoke again. He tried to convince Neil with a softer speech. “Neil, I know you can see the summit. But it’s much farther away then you think. You wasted too much time getting there. And you’re about to run out of you oxygen. I mean, the three of you. Please, listen, you’re a doctor, you can think for yourself. You know people can’t think properly when their brains don’t get enough oxygen. You know I’m right. And the longer you stay in the dead zone, more harm it’s gonna do to your body. You also know that. Trust me, my job is not only to get you up there, but also make sure you come back save and sound.” Kurt took a moment of quiet reassurance. “Over.”

Neil was silent. He didn’t understand. He’d got here, the top of the world in front of him. Why should he give up? No! He would not give up!

Jake hiked ahead while Kurt and Neil had their conversation over the radio. He believed, no, he knew he would make it.

“Jae! Back! Back! No rosegen!” A-ga hollered behind Jake. The freezing cold air tore his throat like blaze.

Jake didn’t answer. He didn’t have time to play number games with these people. He needed to focus on his own battle, the battle with Nature, and the battle with himself.

“Neil? Do you read me? You need to get back here right now. Trust me.” Kurt pleaded.

Neil looked at the transceiver in his hand. He stared at it. He knew Kurt was afraid that things might get out of control. He’s a coward. Maybe he just didn’t want to admit his information was wrong. After all the boasts about the latest technology, it’d just too embarrassing to admit none of it worked better than his naked eyes. But Kurt’s going to ruin his victory. He wasn’t going to be happy climbing this stupid mountain. He’s not here to sightsee the stupid scenery, not after the money he spent. He’s not a mug. Neil handed the transceiver to A-ga who was trying to call Jake back. A-ga turned and looked at Neil, then turned and looked at Jake, a step and a step away.

“Come back. Come back.” A-ga spoke now with a hoarse voice.

Neil sat down on the snow. He wouldn’t compromise. He wouldn’t. He didn’t look at A-ga. He just sat down on the road.

“Neil? You need to come back. I can’t ask A-ga to risk his own life for you. Do you understand me, Neil?” A-ga pushed the transceiver to Neil. But Neil refused to look at him like a child in a bad mood. And he refused to listen to the voice of Kurt now buzzing in his ears trying to wake him from a spell larger than human understanding. “Neil? You need to come back. Or I’ll have to call A-ga back. I can’t ask him to risk his own life for you. Do you read me, Neil?”

Jake was still hiking upward step by step. He heard nothing but the hushed thumps of his feet sinking in the mushy snow, like the roots of a tree, burying deep underground stretch by stretch, like the cold, pierced his heart inch by inch, like his memory, faint to a vague tinge, leaving what’s before his eyes, the sacred silence and brightness.

Athena was mumbling in Jake’s ears. “Victory! Victory! Victory!” Athena laughed hysterically. And then she reminded herself of someone.

Athena looked at the man shielded from his reason by her power. She suddenly reminded herself of someone she once knew, maybe once adored. She reminded herself of, Dionysus.

The damned, cursed and drunk Dionysus. The weak, disgusting creature with those women dancing and chanting around him, those crazy women, refusing to believe in her own victory, her power. She was the goddess of women. But they, rather danced naked  around this thing. They failed her.

Jake fell. He wasn’t even trying to breathe with the last strength of his. And Athena looked.

D

onald continued with his lonesome steps, trying to walk back step after step. He didn’t care about the summit anymore. He didn’t care. He only wanted to step on the ground, again and again, until he walked down the mountain, until he walked home.

            Donald saw something on the desert snow, a shadow, no! A Man!

            Athena watched Donald getting closer and closer. She wanted to let the world remember her again, fear her again, see her again, recognize her again. She wanted the world to know that she, was the goddess of victory, she, and she alone is king, is god, is holy, is the glorious victory.

            “Kurt? Oh my god, Kurt? It’s Don.”

            “Yes, I can hear you. Is everything okay?”

            “It’s Jake. He fell, oh god.” Donald kneeled down with great difficulty and pain near Jake. He tried to feel his pulse. He tried to check if he’s still alive. But he felt nothing. Donald could barely move. Tears were already flowing down his cheeks. It’s an old fear, a personal fear from long ago. He needed to do something like he could have done something. He wanted to call out his name. But he couldn’t open his mouth and he couldn’t speak.

            There was a shock. But Kurt proceeded with a stern encouragement. “Donald, I know it’s gonna be hard, really, really hard. But I want you to come down. We can’t help him. You need to get back. Listen, we can’t help him.”

            “But,”

            Athena stepped forward and covered Donald’s ears with both of her hands.

            “Don, under the circumstance, we need at least seven man to carry him down. Jake’s a big fella. There’s nothing you can do. There’s nothing we can do now. We’ll find help. But you need to get back savely.”

            Donald couldn’t hear Kurt. He looked at the transceiver in his hand. He knew Kurt was talking, but he couldn’t hear it. Then he looked at Jake, now lying helplessly before him. He could only hear the voice in his head, “you shouldn’t left him, Donald Sherton, You killed him! You killed him!” It was sunny back in California when they buried Kenny, when Debora screamed at him. 

            Athena still pressed her hands on Donald’s head. Her eyes were red. But her mouth was tight. She wanted to let the world, everyone that dared to tread on this road, remember that she, was the goddess of victory.

            “Don? Can you hear me? Over.”

Donald sat down hopelessly. He was exhausted. He wanted to do something. But he didn’t know what to do. He would do it if only he knew what. But he’s so tired.

“Kenny, ” Donald asked. His voice was trembling. He could feel the lines on his face and the cuts on his lips. “do you hate me?”

Plain whiteness was the temporary vision of a long-ceased friendship responded back to him. It did not speak. It did not offer advice nor generate any possible solution. It did not curse. It did not demand repayment. It did not ask of sympathy and it offered none. It did not warm. Nor did it increase the blow. It did not point with its finger. And it did not try to pad his back with its hand. The blinding whiteness eventually faint out. Shapes occurred before Donald again. And he realized that this man, lying before him, was not Kenny. Kenny was dead. And no matter what he could have done, it wouldn’t matter now. He also realized that Kurt was right. He couldn’t possibly drag him down, nor could he carry him with his worn out flesh.

“I understand, Kurt. I’m coming down.”

“Good, thank God, Don. There’s nothing we can do right now. No one can blame you. But you must go on. You must go on. Over”

“Roger. Over.”

Athena stood where she was. She watched Donald left again. Her hands were still raised mid-air where she deafened the reason of an old man. Donald was suffering. His body was tormented by this quest. His prosthetic legs had robbed his real skin raw and bloody. He could barely manage a full step. But he’s without a doubt, walking, limping once or twice, on the journey of his return. Athena stared. The glory of the gods was no more. Her victory had ended. She Kneeled down. She crawled towards the unconscious victim of her pride. She reached out her hands. She closed her hands at the throat of Jake’s, harder and harder she unleashed her anger, deeper and deeper her fingers dived into his flesh.

Athena cried, “I am the goddess of victory!”

             

#15, fiction - The Goddess of Victory

The world he now saw, waves of canvassed white endlessly piled up to the furthest corner of the universe, must had been like this ever since the time God uttered “Let there be light.”

Dear friends,

My new year resolution was to write more: a short excerpts of diary everyday, letters to bomb you guys once in a while, and a short story a month to a magazine. So far, I’m still in the game, hanging.

Writing has not been easy for me. It’s a different language. And I often come up with wrong spelling, grammar mistakes or erroneous usage with super-pretentious vocabularies and complicated sentence structure intended to sound sophisticated and intellectual but results in ridiculously laughable outcomes resembling the case of a man using thesaurus way too much, which is in fact, the case. All that could easily discourage a man, but I send it out anyway. As embarrassing as it is, my theory is that, yeah, I kinda suck at this, but if I keep trying, maybe I’ll get better, even if just a little bit; but if I don’t, I’ll just stay this way, forever, and that’s kinda of frightening.

I started writing this short story on Dec, 22 last year. When I finished, all I wanted to do was to delete everything and not to look at a computer screen ever again. It's so disheartening to realize that I am so not talented that the experience seemed even harmful to my health. But slowly, I’m getting a little better with the next month’s story, and I am starting to discover so much fun for writing fiction, even for no one in particular.

Last week, I finally got the long expected rejection letter from the magazine, it’s no surprise, I wouldn’t even consider publishing the story had I a paper of my own. But I like the feeling that there’s still so much to fight for.

I first heard about the expedition on the Discovery podcast. I wrote the Chinese short story in 2008. And decided to come up with an English version of it because I had no idea for my first story of my new year’s resolution for January. Later while I was doing a little research online, I found out that I quoted most of the story, even the exact name of the operation leader, Russell, from memory. I changed the story a little bit. To me, the dialogue is simply weird, trying too much to sound real, and the flow is awkward, and nothing is new really. The style, if at all, is confusing, something between a high school play and abandoned drafts for a thriller script. The intern that’s hired to filter unnecessary messages to the editor must be thinking ‘oh, good, a school boy wrote in’ when he/she looked into the mailbox and sighed at the mails crowding in. As sympathetic as I am, sorry mate, that’s not gonna stop me.

Please advice and comment on it. My next rejection is due in another two weeks. Meanwhile, the show goes on.

Preview- Blocks

Jimmy was now on his knees in a middle of a park with a penny in his left palm. A little girl with a dirty yet innocent face came and smiled at him.

“That penny ‘twas mine.” The girl said.

Dead leaves were rained down on the grass. Jimmy did not move. The girl took the penny and capered away on the green. Jimmy looked around and recognized civilization. He then crawled Mulberry Street up the silk road leaving thin threads behind him.

#14, rides down the track

About two years ago, I spent three months in New York City. I woke up around eight in the morning, fixed myself a bowl of oatmeal, fresh fruit and yogurt, then set out for the school. I lived in Bushwick, a spacious neighborhood. As I walked down the pale morning street, I could feel the ground shaking as the train whizzed its way through below me. Jefferson St., that’s my stop. Every time I turned the corner to the subway entrance, I saw the shoe hanging on the pole, not dangling. They said that’s where the drug dealers trade. I walked down to the dark and smelling stairs pass posters with their teeth blackened or some parts ripped. Occasionally, I met a drunk or two, but they were often too wasted to cause any threat except feelings of sympathy and sometimes disgust. I slid through the turnstile, always afraid to get rubbed at that timing, and walked in to the cage, to its rat ridden tracks, waiting to get on the Manhattan bound L train. This act of morning routine and predictability never bored me. On the contrary, it liberated me. I was a soldier for the Army of the empire state city, although only temporally. And it’s my duty to withstand the cold on the platform and the crowd while I switched to the green line to the Grand Central, acting annoyed but happily.

Dearest friends,

However, the subway here in Taipei is clean and bright. To other out-of-towners, it still causes a sense of wonderment. The fare varies based on the length of your ride. You can get tolls at the automatic machines outside every station. Or you can get an Easycard and decide how much money you want to deposit (no more than a grand).
    The French engineered subway system is called MRT here. It has a very modern monitoring system that keeps every arrival and departure on time announced also on the screens on the platform. You can see people line up along the guide lines drew on the platform ground, for the system keeps the trains to stop always at the designated spots, too. The rules are, allow the passengers to alight first, and yield the seats to the elderly, the mother-to-bes, kids, the physically challenged, and people traveling with suitcases. You are not encouraged to take the deep blue colored priority seats if you’re not one of the above. And you’re not allowed to eat or drink anything inside the station and on the train, not even gums but maybe vitamin pills. Keep yourself to the right side of the stairs and escalators. The left side is preserved for the runners, the pushers, the oh-my-god-I-am-so-fucking-late people. It’s highly recommended to get an Easycard if you’re staying longer than a week in the city, not only as a souvenir, but also because you get discounts on the fare if you use an Easycard on your station-to-station rides, as well as bus-subway transits. When using an Easycard, the fare and purchase is deducted from your account as you wipe it at the sensor installed on every subway turnstile and bus. You can use Easycards to pay your taxi fare as long as the cab has the instrument installed (look for the Easycard sticker on the car window). You can use Easycards to pay the parking garages. You can even use Easycards to pay for stuff at convenient stores. Besides, beeping your way through especially when you’re in a hurry, can be, at times, ecstatic.

Orange line, Nanshijiao Station
    The year 2001, before I turned 17, I first visited Taipei MRT. Taipei was the only city that had a subway system in Taiwan. And like most people, I, took it as a sight to visit, too. I traveled with several others of my military peers. We were on leave, young, naïve and stupid. We stayed with those from Taipei and cruised all those tourist sites as we could possibly crammed them into our tight schedule. We visited the National Palace Museum in the morning, the Danshui old streets in the afternoon, and Shilin night market in the evening, talking to foreigners as we dared. We ate oyster noodles at Ximen, and ate almond tofu at Gongguan.
    There weren’t Easycards yet. But there was a one day pass that allowed us to use the subway as many times as we wanted in a day.
    I would have been irritated had I been the one to witness the noise we made on the train. We joked and laughed all the time, all the way no matter where we were heading. When the train stopped, we got out of the train and got back in when the door was about to close just for the fun of it. At one point, we had to wait for someone who actually got cut off by the train door.
    We were staying with a boy from our class. We took the MRT to the last stop and walked through a long line of food stands to his second floor home. We crashed the floor, not even the couch, of his living room. His big sister had to sneak “across” us to get to the door the next morning. And when she did, her ass was showing in her tight skirt. But I was too tired to care.

Red line, Xinbeitou Station
    January 2005, I was still in the military service. I just got transferred to a northern island where I could see the mainland when it’s clear. Determined to leave Kaohsiung for the capital city, I came to Taipei prior to my date of registration to look for an apartment. James, a good friend of mine, who’s already stationed in Taipei, was considering moving as well. So I was looking for a place we can share, hopefully to reduce the cost of living even if only a little bit.
    It was not going well. All the places we could afford were either in terrible conditions or looked like someone just died in there. There were some “rooftop added apartments”, the sort of building installation that’s no more legal after 1991 and were often problematic. But we decided to keep looking until we have no other options.
    I went to look for the apartment alone that day. I took the blue line from the hotel I was staying then made a transfer at Taipei Main Station to the northward red line. It was a weekday after ten, The train was not so packed. The warm late winter sun flushed in through the windows as the train broke out of the ground after Minquan W. Rd. Station. The cart was suddenly filled with a peacefulness that was almost visible in the air, in the form of sun-washed dust.
    The elevated train tracks sailed at the height of a second floor apartment. So as I sat basked in the warm winter noon, I looked out the window and saw different apartments and buildings pass me by. I always liked to look at apartments and daydream a little.
    I got off the train at Beitou Station and waited for the transfer to take me one more stop further to XinBeitou, which in Chinese means the New Beitou, a neighborhood famous for the hot spring. I needed to walk a little distance from the station to the apartment. Hot spring flowed in the sewer along my way, and steam floated up. I saw an old man took of his shoes and put his feet in the water. The air was joyous and I was content.
    The apartment, as it turned out, was a rooftop added. But it was clean and nice, and hooked to the hot spring inside the apartment. It had a large bathroom and a light filled kitchen with a window above the sink, letting the cool and fresh air in. I greeted the old landlady in common tongue. She responded in Taiwanese. I then switched to the local dialect which fewer and fewer people use in the north. She liked me. And I liked her. She seemed that kind of elderly that wouldn’t care when you tell her you’re having a baby not knowing who the father is and takes a cigarette when offered one. She’s cool.
    As I left the building, I noticed that it had no mailbox. And I, after all, moved to somewhere else.

Green line, Gongguan Station.
    National Taiwan University, a.k.a. NTU, the top university in Taiwan is stationed here in Taipei. A few steps off Exit 2 of Gongguan Station, and you’ll reach its campus. However, if you want to walk the famous Road of coconut palms, you need to head for Exit 3 to the front face of the university where they blended glass with cement as they paved the square. The square ground shines with tingling flash at night as cars rush by and the neon lights buzz on.
    Americans might find this neighborhood friendly. The road was called Roosevelt Road after the U.S. president. It’s the only remaining road named after a foreigner. Apparently, people liked him.
    This neighborhood doesn’t give you the impression that this is the place where Taiwan’s top scholar rule themselves superior than the rest. As if to challenge the college’s reputation, the other side of Roosevelt Road is the hot spot flooded with teenage pop cultural. Swatch, Apple Store, cosmetic clinics, plastic surgery practices and luxury apartments line up on the other side.
    The nearby Tingzhou Road offers a variety of eateries to students and visitors alike, you see people line up for a cup of pearl milk or a famous stew stand. There’s a famous second hand bookstore called Molly’s, as well as Taipei’s only gay bookstore, probably Taiwan’s only one, called Rainbow Shiny Shiny (what else?).
    If you are willing to walk a little, not so far off into Wenzhou Street has several cute cafés worth spending a quiet hour or two in the afternoon. There’s a place called ‘find a cat on the street’ (they don’t have an English name, and it’s impossible to translate such nonsense anyway). The blackboard with the menu squeezed in reminds me of my junior high days when Ms. Huang, my geography teacher, was pissed. One day, they drew a button on the blackboard, whoever presses the imaginary button can order a secret signature drink.
    There used to be a restaurant I like a lot with a map of New York City posted on the wall. I especially love the huge chunk of juicy brownie after the meal. But it’s now yet another cheap hair saloon facing an academic that takes more than ambition and a will to learn to get in.

Brown line
    When I moved to Taipei a year and a half ago, I had a hard time finding jobs. I stayed in the apartment, didn’t know what I want, afraid I was going to spend all my savings and end up on the streets. It took me three months to get a job.
    The brown line had only recently extended its service and added several stations into Neihu. One day, I hopped on the Brown line, took the train to the last stop and then took the train back. The train was nearly empty once it passed Shonshan Airport. I couldn’t help but feel that I was alone on this journey. The trip was shorter than I expected. It’s hard to describe the feeling of being unemployed. There’s a lot of waiting.

Blue line, Zongxiao Dunhua Station
    Two years after New York, I now live in Taipei. I wake up ten pass six in the morning, fix myself a bowl of oatmeal with soy milk, prepare a sandwich for lunch, then set out for work. I need to take a ten-minute walk to the nearest subway station. Far Eastern Hospital, that’s my stop. I put a mask on my face when I hike pass the heavy traffic. The route I travel doesn’t seem designed with pedestrians in mind. But I’ve learned to dive my way through.
    Students in uniforms, people, like me, who work in the city, are now my comrades of commuting. Some girls put on their make-ups on the train. Some doze when the doors open and shut. Having no time to read before bed, I read on the train. When the train passes Taipei Main Station, People get out and more people swarm in. When the train passes Zhongxiao Fuxing Station, another group of people changes hand and that’s my cue to get ready for the next stop.
    I walk to the door before the train fully stops. I head to the west escalator while I push The New Yorker back to my bag. I take my glasses off and put them in my coat pocket. Before I reach the turnstile, I lift up and look at the clock. If it hits eight, then I’ll need to dance, fight my way through the crowd, the bunch of senile idiots, that is.
    I look back at the going traffic as I walk out the subway. If the bus is already waiting for the traffic light, I’ll then need to break the dance into an action movie run. If I miss it, I’ll need to wait ten more.
    I stand once I get on the bus, so that I won’t need to excuse myself all the way to the front when it nears my stop. There’s a young man selling rice balls outside the Taipei Academic stop. But I never had the chance to buy one from him. Occasionally I catch people stealing looks at me. But I am often too exhausted to imagine any possibility.
    Radiohead is always a good choice. But sometimes, jazz, some other indie bands, a violin solo, or a little electra work out fine. The right pick of music is important. My iPod broke the other day on my way to work. When there’s no music, I didn’t feel like I was riding the bus anymore. I felt like I was simply trapped inside a buzzing metal cart along with dozens of other devastated souls. I never realized how quiet it is on a morning bus until I was forced to listen. Despite the silence, it’s utterly restless and disturbing. The next day, I got my iPod fixed. And put the headphone on as I walked down to the subway, if anything, with slightly more haste.


Taipei Metro Rapid Transit was first launched in March, 1986, two years after I was born. The first line covering only 10 kilometers opened in 1996. By the year 2000, it had served 40 billion passengers, and has now 9 lines with 94 stations. This chaotic period is marked as the dark age of Taipei traffic for while the subway was under construction, so did it block the ground traffic to car drivers, pedestrians and stand in the way between shop owners and shoppers. It’s no longer the only subway service in Taiwan. Kaohsiung has its scandalous 24-hour subway. And Taichung, as of this moment, is building one of its own. But even till now, Taipei MRT doesn’t run 24 hours a day. The service closes down after midnight, the last train gets their destination around 1 a.m., and doesn’t start after six the next morning. So make sure you keep your eyes on the clock when out partying, for not everyone can afford a magical carriage. Nevertheless, it’s the heart of Taipei metro life. You often see corporate workers with their passes and Easycards hanging on their necks, two things that mark their essential beings, a working professional and a MRT commuter. You can see pretty girls put their handbags before the sensor, two things at once, a Gucci bag and an subway pass with a pink hello kitty sticker on.
    But despite all that. It could be depressing riding the train down the track, jammed or nearly empty around midnight approaching its last stop. It always makes me aware of the old clothes I wear, the dirty sneakers and cracking cowboy boots on my feet, my fluffy and unstyled hair, all of which I am usually proud of. It’s also depressing to see people try to be the same, to see people rush to get the free newspaper with the same headline, one sided stories and its worshipping of celebrities. The subway under florescent light, usually looks a pale blue, is like a stretched fashion runway, with fierce capitalism, superficiality but little understanding for vivid and colorful diversity. And I can’t help but feel, doomed, slowly, on my way to somewhere if only I knew.