The cold 45 minutes bike ride in the rain after judo tonight was only good for one song.
When I look into your eyes
I can see a love restrained
But darlin’ when I hold you
Don’t you know I feel the same
‘Cause nothin’ lasts forever
And we both know hearts can change
And it’s hard to hold a candle
In the cold November rain
—Guns N Roses
Few days ago my brother and I were at a Ramen place. As we waited for our orders I noticed that one waitress, not old at all (I say early twenties), looked rather worn out. I also noticed that she dropped things twice in five minutes, and wasn’t walking particularly straight (banging into chairs). When she finally bought our meals over I was certain that her thumb was dipping in the soup; when she was putting the bowl onto the table she poured some soup onto herself, which she didn’t seem to notice.
After that, she disappeared for a while. Soon later she walked out from the back of the restaurant, changed into casual clothes, and exited the restaurant speedily. She went right towards her bicycle, which was parked right outside the large window our seat was next to. The bicycle she picked up had a baby seat at the front, and another on the back.
Through the glass, I got to see her closely (also because I was no longer paying attention to the soup). She was exhausted. There was barely a glint in her eyes…
Despite my lassitude after a long day of plentiful traveling, and my warm comfort in bed doing my bedtime reading, I was suddenly awashed with a strong urge to write. The trigger was the encountering of the word ‘magic bullet’…
I recall a few years ago, 2006 that was, while I was in LA, I went to a play/musical with a few friends called “The Black Rider – The Casting of the Magic Bullets“. My friend Yankov who, then as a master’s student at the UCLA theatre school, inspired us to all go out to the play. He had warned us about the slightly unusual style in advance, and as I was along with others also in the process of putting together a stage performance then, I paid a lot of attention to the highly stylistic stage design, lighting and directions. Occupied by all the spectacles, I failed comprehensively to appreciate the classic, well-known, (originally german) ingenious story.
Wilhelm, a file clerk, falls in love with a huntsman’s daughter. In order to marry, Wilhelm must prove his worth as a hunter and gain her father’s approval, but, as “a man of pen and ink”, his shot is lousy and his hopes of marriage worsen. That is until he is offered magic bullets by the devil, Pegleg – who assures him that his bullets will always have a sure shot. However, Pegleg stipulates that, while most of the bullets will hit anything Wilhelm pleases, one of the bullets is under Pegleg’s control. Foolish, naive, and overrun with desperate hope, Wilhelm accepts the Faustian pact. On the day of Wilhelm’s wedding, the final bullet strikes his beloved dead. He then goes mad, and joins the previous victims of Satan’s cunning in the Devil’s carnival.
—A Synopsis from our beloved Wikipedia
Ever since my childhood, I have always been curious about where one would actually find the devil to make deals with. Not that I was prepared to make one, but I was genuinely curious, or thinking ‘just in case’. Now that I am not as ingenuous as then, when I was reminded of this story tonight, I suddenly realized the (banal) fact that the deal has always been in place awaiting us to jettison our long upheld values, moral standards and integrity.
Now, who doesn’t want a few magic bullets? Thoughts anyone?
Stephen Greenwood left the place about 30 hours ago. This place is quiet without his itunes library.
He has been a close friend, a colleague, a peer. His influence on me has been noticeable. I wish he had a good and inspiring time here.
As for myself, the to-do list is never ending. It’s been months since I last finished every item I listed for any single day. Like Mary said, we’re only paying back the interest…. and I am not even at that stage yet.
Leaving for Japan in 12 days, staying there for 3 months. I shall speak the language, and likely meet some people.
Applying to Architecture school. Preparing for the GRE. Then, look for a Design office to work at, Shanghai maybe?
Want to sing out loud something in the public, but muffled by shyness. Still waiting for that someone to come out inside me.
Want to finish the film. Want to pour my hearts and brains and sweats into it, and show it to people. Want to make it my work that concludes, for now at least, my endeavor in films.
Should travel on foot, with a backpack and a pocket knife. How do one gather mass while rolling? Has technology made this possible yet?
My rare trip to Wong Chuk Hang was driven by great expectations, and rewarded with a lift in spirit.
Chester Lau, now a new friend of mine, is an establishing graphic designer / artist young in age but of weighty substances. I learned of him on a design blog about data graphics few days ago. Looking through his flickr photostream, I realized that he is based in Hong Kong, I decided to look him up on facebook. We exchanged a few messages, and decided to meet up.
When I arrived, Chester’s working partner Christie was also there. It took us no time to get into some engaging conversations. Throughout, I listened as carefully as I can to both of them, and expressed my opinions where I thought is either constructive or spices up the conversation, otherwise I just kept nodding and agreed to most things they say wholeheartedly. I felt as though I have found my tribe. They speak of art and design like they speak of life – like I think I do. The abundance of idealism mixed with youth and ambition excites me from the inside.
They belong to a group of freelance creative professionals known as Nomad. Chester and Christie went quite in depth explaining to me the ideas behind the group, why the name and its logo etc. I could not help but notice the unusually high similarities in vision, taste and values between us. I saw clearly some promising potential for creative synergy working with this group of people .
All conditions met, I believe my trips to Wong Chuk Hang will not be rare anymore.
Today, I thought I have lost all of my archived projects between 2004 and 2008 forever. The external hard disk that stores them stopped working few days ago. Spent hours trying to look for a backup of that hard disk, which I was quite sure I have, only to find that the backup file of that hard disk appears to be blank in my restoration program…
Between 2004-2008 I started and completed my studies at UCLA. All my essays, artworks, designs, programs etc. were there. Beyond their practical values, there was a high degree of sentimental values as well. The thought of them lost forever worried me.
In my short life, I have had quite a few things of sentimental values that I kept. Over the years, many of them have gone missing (or I have stopped looking them up). In a way I felt completely OK about it. They were tangible physical stuff. They could be lost, but they’re only sitting dustily in dark corners, behind piled up excessive objects, carrying my memory, awaiting to be rediscovered. With digital contents, however, they could be as lost as ‘yesterday’.
Somehow, it seems to be such a tragedy to have lost something of sentimental value. I believe, deep inside our heads, we are all dreaming of that one day when we’re old and not good for many things anymore, we would be sitting on the edge of our beds, pulling out that one old tin box, opening it, and going through the items inside, comforting ourselves with the evidence that we have actually lived. Then, after we leave this world, people who love us would be able to piece our lives together again by going through our belongings. A book may even be written, or a movie, or something. They need this old tin box for their inspirations. Maybe that’s why I’ve always thought that that box is pretty high up on my list of things to grab when the house is on fire.
With the amount of information and materials possessed by an individual today, it is unlikely that the evidence of our lives could be fit into too small of a box. My digital life could hardly fit into my four 500Gs (when I bought my first of them, I thought I’d never need a second); and my physical life, well, let’s say I have some elimination to do.
By the end, I hope that there’re only very limited things that are associated with me. I do not intend to leave behind a whole lot of things that are completely meaningless to my family. As for digital things, considering the way technology is going, it seems quite possible that at the end of my life, they’ll all JUST fit into a small box.
p.s. Luckily, I got the files back, just as the day concludes at mid-night.
The stars were glimmering among the mist rising from the hot tub that was sitting in the snowfield, while Vivien and her company were relaxing, after a fulfilling day of skiing the Tahoe slopes. Their glasses of wine were chilled by the air, and laughters overheard by the houses around. It was an experience.
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Back in Kathmandu*, where air is so thick that (stealing from my father) “we need to push them aside to make way”, we are slowly following through the falling action of our journey, after we did what we came for – reaching the Everest Base Camp (EBC, 5,360M) and also Kala Pathan (5,545M) – the peak which is often used as the spot for panoramas of the Himalayan giants (You’re likely to have seen one).
Unlike the Uhuru Peak of Kilimanjaro (5,896M) which York and I summited last March, the “Base Camp” as our goal was quite an anti-climax to a hiking trip, albeit a very reasonable one. Frankly, it was by no means easy for me, I had my share of headaches and short breathes, and that 2 kilometers stretch of rocky road between our campsite and the EBC took us more than two hours each way. After 9 days of trekking, starting from some 3,000M up to our highest point, we had not even ascended half way up to the Everest (8,848M) – the top of the world. It was humbling, and it was a fact. Kala Pathan was the peak we deserve, after some effort. It was the peak from which we, struggling to stand straight in the unforgiving wind, admired the greater peaks at a distance.
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I take my word back about not being able to be reached while in the mountains…
We are currently at a village named Namche, deep in the Himalayas, and apparently there are bakeries, mountain gear shops (like 30 of them) and, so far I have spotted, four internet cafes. I am now making this post from the Buddha Communication Center. Of course, this is also my highest update to date. Let’s see if we get internet connect higher still, in the days to come.
Have I mentioned that the internet speed here is about as fast as the broadband I have at home? Ridiculous.
I think I am having slight headaches already, very mild though. I am going to buy some Pringles – baked potatoes flavor – which I suspect might help ease the pain :-)
I have heard and seen many great things about Dubai – though I have never been there myself: The Tennis court on the roof where each play requires (most probably) a new ball; hotels that would not admit you if you care enough to ask about the price; all the world records set by its rapid development… I have not given it much thought how Dubai came to where it is right now. “Oil” – the answer to many questions – is obviously over-simplified; so simple that an outsider like me can hardly care less to find out more.
Here is one article that I could not help but share.
The Dark Side of Dubai by Johann Hari.
blog of Joe cz Liao