August 31, 2008

railway into Tibet

Posted in Uncategorized at 4:49 pm by changisme

The world’s highest railroad, waded with alpine meadows and hugged by mountains far or near. Distance has become vague on the immense plain. Shadows of the clouds give the mountains a fictional pattern, like the shades of sandhills in a dessert.  The immensity of it all takes me away from any intruding detail, so everything looks closer than they actually are. 
Near the railway, there were Tibetan buffalos and highland goats scattered all the way into where the land meets the sky.  I wondered if those who walk these land half a century ago thought much beyond the mountains. It’s strange, because the land is so large that I can’t imagine a human mind could capture the concept that there is anything outside if not for the roads and television.
Even though the sun penetrated every inch of my skin, not "far" away, a custer of cloud squeezed mists of rain onto the almost barren landscape, or not, as I couldn’t make out raindrops from afar.  And yet, I saw a rainbow! The bow was completely in sight, an arc sitting on the prairy, with a bright inner bow and a faded outter bow. Never had I seen a full bow before, not mentioned having captured by a camera.
A few hours away from Lasa, there is a Tsuo Na lake. It is a sausage shaped along the railway. It is blue lighter than sapphire, the same shade as the sky. Maybe it’s because the two are so close, and they see themselves in each other’s eyes. I wondered what fish swam this water, if they have much to eat in the hot summers and cold winters, if their eyes and their algea are also dyed blue by the rich colour of the lake.
It is these colours that aligned the trips for all these days, bus or train, east or west. Whenever I was happy or unhappy, I turn and look ouside the window, I forget myself and was filled with wonder.

August 17, 2008

foggy love

Posted in Uncategorized at 3:34 pm by changisme

I’m reading this novel written by and about people about my age, maybe a couple years older, their first love. In those days, there was a sinful word called 早恋(may be translated premature love I guess). It refers to affairs during high school. Teachers would put it in the same catagory as smoking and fighting. It was treated with the same negativity as childhood pragnency as these days. However, that’s not why first love was scary. What teachers or parents say were like little sunspots burried in the glory of the wheel of fire.
Love is a big word, as children we were afraid to use it. We used "like", "like" was already big enough to fill our hearts. I think I never really grew out of this mode, maybe because I never became brave enough to feel that "like" was not big enough. I wonder, is it our hearts have grown bigger, or is it love has become smaller? I’ve been afraid, can I say I love this person? I can only use love in other ways, a friendly love, a sisterly love, but I’m afraid to say I love a man. I have loved, but never have I been courageously, with certainty, loved. Is love really something we can define by ourselve? People say that love would mean something different as you change with age. Is it really different?
Love does not change, we can only discover more about it to pull it closer, or give up more of it to make it flatter, or like me, to be more afraid of it to make it foggier….

August 15, 2008


Posted in Uncategorized at 5:45 pm by changisme

It was amazing that we gathered 16 people from senior high. Many people hadn’t seen each other since the end of high school. The interesting thing was that many people from that class and I hardly talked when I was there, because I was more of a in the shadow character. Now when we met, we talked a lot, and my throat was hurting afterwards. I don’t know if it’s because we hadn’t seen each other for a long time, or it was because we are more mature now.
It’s interesting how I never really felt sad that people have moved on, this time or in the past. Even though some complain about the life beyond school is tiring and complicated, they all seem to have a life to look forward to. Most people have some changes they know they want to make. Hope outlines their faces, frowning or smiling alike. I guess that’s what life is about, to live on with hope, waving a little flag or one colour or another.

August 11, 2008

finally some comment on Beijing bathed in Olympics

Posted in Uncategorized at 12:28 am by changisme

So I wonder if it’s time to talk about the Olympics now. I’ve been resisting it because the whole city of Beijing has totally become an Olympic city, TV, radio and even people would have nothing else to talk about. It’s really a big event, but I’m getting a little rebellious.
The opening ceremony was quite grand. It reminds me of past big ceremonies in Beijing. It’s always been tens of thousands of people creating big images, never in such complex artestry but the style is very Chinese. I have to admit that it’s very grand and some very beautiful, but I don’t know if I like the individual always is seen as part of the whole kind of philosophy. Maybe I’m overly sensitive, it’s just a dance, an art, but the mentality is entranched in all aspect of the Chinese lives.
I watched beach volleyball on TV, even though the park is actually really close to my place. The two Chinese guys are really cute, as dark as lighter africans too! The day they played was when the rain finally came in Beijing. Before then the whole atmosphere was like a steam plate in a dim sum restaurant. Now, I feel more alive that the rain washed away the steam clouding around people’s foreheads.
On TV now is diving. I like watching it maybe because I feel it makes me feel cool. The city has many of its indoor swimming pool closed. I hate the outdoor ones, because it’s way too dirty with way too many people. One thing I feel weird is that, this time around, the sport commentators on TV and radio are always sooo positive compared to before. They are always saying how good everyone is, chinese or otherwise. It annoys me a little bit, even though I like it better than the american idol style, but I think just like before is quite good. There is more time to say actual meaningful things.
I wonder if it’s a good time for someone to visit Beijing for the first time now. There are totally not as many people as it usually does. I feel half of the people are off of the streets, and at least a third are out of the city. It’s because originally, Beijing’s population has a quater from outside of the city. Now that some are let go, and some just went away voluntarily, the city feels emptier (still not in the same scale as north american cities of course).
This year, Beijin has very good peaches! Mmmm

August 2, 2008

zhong yong

Posted in Uncategorized at 3:43 pm by changisme

Grandma busied herself in the kitchen, with sweat seeping through the thin nilon sleeveless shirt which is coloured with years. Grandma still has her black hair, though not as thick as ten years ago. She used to perm it like a big round hat with extra volume. She still doesn’t give up on the kitchen though, despite the food restrictions grandpa has imposed on her once diverse southern palette. Grandma is easy going though. She never argued, sometimes might get her ways with her sweet words admiring my grandpa’s cooking: I just like your grandpa’s noodles she would say.
Grandpa and dad would always talk about some history or politics or even poetry. My dad would talk with great enthusiasm while grandpa gives facts in a rather slow pace. Sometimes it’s funny, because they remember the poetry wrong, put one line from one poem and another line from another poem. People who are very good at this sort of stuff probably would snore, but I don’t quite care. We are the sort of commoner who can seek our laughter on our own field, no one digs too deep, but no one really give up thinking we have a part of these culture and stories. When we went for a walk in the warm summer night, I felt the air was sweet. My family made who I am, the kind of person who can enjoy many things even though I’m no expert in any. Rarely do I feel, i’m not a ___ person, so I don’t even bother thinking or liking it. I belong to the world, and the world belongs to me.