At last, I got to the Chiang Kai-Shek Memorial Hall, walking toward the Performing Arts Library. Woefully, it was not open this morning so that I had no choice but having my breakfast first. Because I had to wait until the library opened at twelve o’clock, I decided to eat at the MOS Hamburger for brunch. This MOS beside the Chiang Kai-Shek Memorial Hall was an outside restaurant; thus, there were always a crowd of birds flying back and forth. Sitting outsides, I enjoyed my delicate hamburger, full of plenty of jade-green lettuces, a piece of think and juicy beef with a spoon of dense sauce. Gradually, the gloom and doom in my heart dispersed. I could feel my heart beating. I raised my head and saw the sun come out of the overcast clouds. The dazzling sunshine enlivened the greens. The oily-smooth leaves on the tops of branches turned into gorgeous decorative lights. The grizzled butterflies strewing around the air were like white flakes.
When I was enjoying the fresh moment, there were several sparrows coming down and gathered beside my table. I was delighted, peeling a slice of hamburger, and threw to them. One of these sparrows vied to be first, skipping to hold the slice of bread in mouth, and fluttered to the sky. Others tried to pursue him. Less than one minute later, a large flock flied swiftly downward. I was stunned. I was personally on the amazing scene in The Birds, directed by Alfred Hitchcock. Every pair of sharp eyes covetously stared at the hamburger in my hand. I attempted to bait them, pretending I was peeling another slice and throwing toward them. At once, the whole flock moved fast as a dark tornado, malicious and brutal. They all swooped down and found that there was nothing on the ground. They started to be disturbed. Some were still seeking. Some were gazing at me with offensive eyes. I felt victorious when seeing such a hilarious scene.
At the same time, I believed this was the way God tricked with human beings, just like how the gods on the top of Mount Olympus treated the mortal men in the Greek mythology. Suddenly, I recalled the dog I met in front of my house early that morning—did we look on God as the dog begged me? The sun, gradually, was not delighted to me any longer. The daylight near noon began to burn my eyes and skins. Having a whirling sensation and a tendency to fall, I felt weary so that I waved my both hands, trying to drive the annoying feeling away. These sparrows, as pulsating dried leaves spreading all over, were alarmed and sweeping with a dust storm. The sands and dirt spun and I barely even breathed. Seeing a blur, I moved fast to leave my table and food. I walked toward the Performing Arts Library in the parking lot in the basement, shading the light like a dagger.
Before the library opening, I was waiting in the basement. In a little while, I felt I was in the cave from Plato’s allegory. I was not as grand as Socrates, released from the chains, coming out from a cavernous chamber underground and faced directly to reality under the sun, the Goodness. I was like the other prisoners, too dazzled to make out the objects whose shadows they had been used to see in the underground, turning back to the things which they could see distinctly. I was forced to look at the fire-light itself, the cruel world, making my eyes ache, so that I might try to escape. Now, like in the damp and sultry vault, there was an administrator at long last arriving to open the entry to the library. Getting inside, I was lost in thought.
2010/4/14
Journal 1
“Ring…” It’s the alarm clock I set last night. I stretched out my arm, trying to stop it ringing again. It’s Sunday and I plan to go to the Performing Arts Library of the Chiang Kai-Shek Memorial Hall to borrow some musical DVDs. I got up in a hurry, and brushed my teeth, washed my face and dressed quietly. Before going out of the house, I spied on my parents out of their bedroom to make sure if I had woken them up rudely. Then, I walked on tiptoe with a grinding sound from the wooden floor, wearing shoes and closed the door carefully. I stepped out of my house, picking up the headphones and selecting the film soundtracks in my MP3.
The music I was listening to was the soundtracks of Notes on a Scandal with minimal with the extreme simplification of rhythms by Philip Glass, who composed the soundtracks of The Hours. The gloomy melody started to shape my suppressed feeling. Listening to this music was like wearing a pair of blue lenses to see the world today. The street in front of my house was almost empty. There were still some puddles on the ground. It seemed to have rained last midnight, no wonder why it was so dim and faint. There was a dog with his dispirited tail trying to lick the little rainwater. After drinking a bit, he raised his head, staring at me with his flattering tail. From his tragic eyes, I could tell he was begging for food. “Don’t look at me like that. I haven’t had my breakfast either.” muttered I. I kept walking, trying to escape his poor figure.
On the MRT, I found a seat which could make me see the view from the overhead railroad. There were some people on the street; however, only could I see their tops of heads. In the meantime, there was a bizarre thought through my brain: “Was it the way that the omniscient God could see? Did God watch people coming back and forth every single day with such bird-eye view? Could he see through people?” Even though I could never read their minds from here, I already thought human beings were all pathetic when seeing them in a rush and in a muddle. I, sometimes, observe such hilarious scene with a cold eye. Unfortunately, I was a part in it.
As a result, I could not endure the view any more. I turned round my head and saw a family with two kids getting on the train. Obviously, their destination was the Taipei City Zoo. The lovely kids whose faces were filled with exultation, and immediately, they attracted the passengers’ attentions. Some kind ladies stood up, motioning to give seats to them. The parents showed the gratefulness to thank the ladies’ goodwill. The grantors and grantees made the scene in the carriage warm and fragrant. After the train arriving at the next station, a senior hunchback came in. All of a sudden, there was a strong offensive stink assailing my nostrils. The countenances of others were distorted, and some of them dodging and leaved him. The spaces around the old man were soon expanded. The situation put him to shame directly. “What a nasty smell, Mom!” whined one of the angelical children. It was so loud that I could hear it even when I wore the headphones. The other beautiful child grimaced to humiliate him, pinching his nose absurdly. The elegant woman at once tried to stop her children’s noticeable behaviors with a hypocritical smile. Other passengers gave both of them some tender glances. The old hunchback, like a poor outcast, got off the strain, bowing the head. I did not think this was the station he wanted to arrive at, but he, without a doubt, fled from the cruel world. Subsequently, some passengers began to whisper. Some moved back, sitting on their previous seats. The tense atmosphere started to relieve. Until the door of the train opened again, the first thing everyone did was to breathe deeply, or to get off right away.
The music I was listening to was the soundtracks of Notes on a Scandal with minimal with the extreme simplification of rhythms by Philip Glass, who composed the soundtracks of The Hours. The gloomy melody started to shape my suppressed feeling. Listening to this music was like wearing a pair of blue lenses to see the world today. The street in front of my house was almost empty. There were still some puddles on the ground. It seemed to have rained last midnight, no wonder why it was so dim and faint. There was a dog with his dispirited tail trying to lick the little rainwater. After drinking a bit, he raised his head, staring at me with his flattering tail. From his tragic eyes, I could tell he was begging for food. “Don’t look at me like that. I haven’t had my breakfast either.” muttered I. I kept walking, trying to escape his poor figure.
On the MRT, I found a seat which could make me see the view from the overhead railroad. There were some people on the street; however, only could I see their tops of heads. In the meantime, there was a bizarre thought through my brain: “Was it the way that the omniscient God could see? Did God watch people coming back and forth every single day with such bird-eye view? Could he see through people?” Even though I could never read their minds from here, I already thought human beings were all pathetic when seeing them in a rush and in a muddle. I, sometimes, observe such hilarious scene with a cold eye. Unfortunately, I was a part in it.
As a result, I could not endure the view any more. I turned round my head and saw a family with two kids getting on the train. Obviously, their destination was the Taipei City Zoo. The lovely kids whose faces were filled with exultation, and immediately, they attracted the passengers’ attentions. Some kind ladies stood up, motioning to give seats to them. The parents showed the gratefulness to thank the ladies’ goodwill. The grantors and grantees made the scene in the carriage warm and fragrant. After the train arriving at the next station, a senior hunchback came in. All of a sudden, there was a strong offensive stink assailing my nostrils. The countenances of others were distorted, and some of them dodging and leaved him. The spaces around the old man were soon expanded. The situation put him to shame directly. “What a nasty smell, Mom!” whined one of the angelical children. It was so loud that I could hear it even when I wore the headphones. The other beautiful child grimaced to humiliate him, pinching his nose absurdly. The elegant woman at once tried to stop her children’s noticeable behaviors with a hypocritical smile. Other passengers gave both of them some tender glances. The old hunchback, like a poor outcast, got off the strain, bowing the head. I did not think this was the station he wanted to arrive at, but he, without a doubt, fled from the cruel world. Subsequently, some passengers began to whisper. Some moved back, sitting on their previous seats. The tense atmosphere started to relieve. Until the door of the train opened again, the first thing everyone did was to breathe deeply, or to get off right away.
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