Scene 10
April. April is a great month! This tone resembles that “Seventeen! Seventeen is a great age!” from that best-selling Auntie Qion Yao… But isn’t it a great month, 11 years ago in April I started under guidance my first escape from those torturing school systems, 5 years ago I took the numbing GRE in April, a most steady step towards today. And a year ago I experienced a tremendous burglary which I still feel funny about. In this tropical city, there’s no real spring, yet you can always fantasize. At least the day is becoming longer. What an uncreative way of telling spring. Anyway April feels good.
I can still remember the first international fool’s day I had in college. What a mess I made, given several unconventional figures, who still live vividly in my dreams, or phones. Everybody wants to mess with emotions I guess, when they are young. They die for reasons to hate, to get annoyed, to be temperable. Tears were precious yet we wanted to pump them out, love was invisible and we tried to grasp with dust. And what a thrill, to say those words of strong expressions, like they used to do on TV. And how gorgeous we were sitting in the sunset eating pineapples and talking about what kind of gentleman each one was. Now he’s married and never-heard-after. She’s married to someone else, changing jobs and life styles all the time. And the other girl, don’t ever bother to ask. And I’m sitting in my bedroom up at 2AM listening to Callas Puccini Turandot remembering all of them. Once upon a time in April. Could make it into a real sentimental film for college students. But won’t my melancholy be too pronounced to convince them?
And so he pointed out towards the other side of the globe and said, go, there’s a world waiting for you. 3 years isn’t a short time, and just to remember the storyline of my 3 years here takes some effort and courage and time. And he told me for the millionth time that living is not about the outcome, which is eternal or periodical death, but about the process. And how can I summarize this 3 years or more just as one point? What I did was so rich, and just imagine what I didn’t. Yes I told him I need to go. Just after I finish the minimum. The minimum, he laughed, as defined…? Do you become a different person? Will you? Have you? Is this minimum going to save you? Think about Warren Schmidt’s daughter. It made a plain joke when she turned out to be a receiving staff of the IT company. But even if she worked as the CEO, does it justify her negligence for her parents? I can’t say anything and he scratched his head in the mirror. “Tony,” said I, imitating the kid in “The Shining”, “I will go.”
Which brings the music to LISZT and my though to “Balseros”. I’ve always wondered without too much research why the Zeppelins got a song titled “Immigrant’s song”. What’s more perplexing is their joyful and party-ish tones in performing it. Immigrant’s song could take up to a lifetime to compose, and it certainly goes beyond crack-fellas’ imagination. It shouldn’t sound like Chopin’s nocturnes either, as is the case in the documentary feature. Chopin is too patriotic and his nocturnes too romantic. Immigration is neither. Not even close. When the woman with her six year old daughter looked out for the father from that crammed bus, my brain flooded. What is this all about. Can we comment on something that’s not right or wrong but simply human. And you bet, we can’t, since this world is reigned by people who are either too lazy, or too dumb, to figure out a voice other than right than wrong. They fuck the right and kill the wrong. And they censor the media with “R” so that people won’t figure out their scheme until it’s too late. But look at these people in “Balceros”. They are willing to give their best. They are so eager to survive than your bitching pot teens on TV. Who made your balls for you to say world-this and world-that when you don’t even see the world? I heard the sobs of the woman next to me. But I refrained. The film’s depressingly courageous. Not the other way, which could be, to a large scale, catastrophic.
Upon reflecting on my own life I realized I’m immigrating in so many ways. And that makes me shudder. It’s not all that good to be a stranger. “People are strange…” And it’s easy for Sting to sing out “Be yourself no matter what they say”, with his face and voice and talent and, most importantly, his origin. What’s tomorrow gonna be like? Though Narcissist, I can’t help thinking this over myself, again, there’s something other than right and wrong. And living is about the process, not death. So I’ll go, and I’ll be back. Like our governor.
I can still remember the first international fool’s day I had in college. What a mess I made, given several unconventional figures, who still live vividly in my dreams, or phones. Everybody wants to mess with emotions I guess, when they are young. They die for reasons to hate, to get annoyed, to be temperable. Tears were precious yet we wanted to pump them out, love was invisible and we tried to grasp with dust. And what a thrill, to say those words of strong expressions, like they used to do on TV. And how gorgeous we were sitting in the sunset eating pineapples and talking about what kind of gentleman each one was. Now he’s married and never-heard-after. She’s married to someone else, changing jobs and life styles all the time. And the other girl, don’t ever bother to ask. And I’m sitting in my bedroom up at 2AM listening to Callas Puccini Turandot remembering all of them. Once upon a time in April. Could make it into a real sentimental film for college students. But won’t my melancholy be too pronounced to convince them?
And so he pointed out towards the other side of the globe and said, go, there’s a world waiting for you. 3 years isn’t a short time, and just to remember the storyline of my 3 years here takes some effort and courage and time. And he told me for the millionth time that living is not about the outcome, which is eternal or periodical death, but about the process. And how can I summarize this 3 years or more just as one point? What I did was so rich, and just imagine what I didn’t. Yes I told him I need to go. Just after I finish the minimum. The minimum, he laughed, as defined…? Do you become a different person? Will you? Have you? Is this minimum going to save you? Think about Warren Schmidt’s daughter. It made a plain joke when she turned out to be a receiving staff of the IT company. But even if she worked as the CEO, does it justify her negligence for her parents? I can’t say anything and he scratched his head in the mirror. “Tony,” said I, imitating the kid in “The Shining”, “I will go.”
Which brings the music to LISZT and my though to “Balseros”. I’ve always wondered without too much research why the Zeppelins got a song titled “Immigrant’s song”. What’s more perplexing is their joyful and party-ish tones in performing it. Immigrant’s song could take up to a lifetime to compose, and it certainly goes beyond crack-fellas’ imagination. It shouldn’t sound like Chopin’s nocturnes either, as is the case in the documentary feature. Chopin is too patriotic and his nocturnes too romantic. Immigration is neither. Not even close. When the woman with her six year old daughter looked out for the father from that crammed bus, my brain flooded. What is this all about. Can we comment on something that’s not right or wrong but simply human. And you bet, we can’t, since this world is reigned by people who are either too lazy, or too dumb, to figure out a voice other than right than wrong. They fuck the right and kill the wrong. And they censor the media with “R” so that people won’t figure out their scheme until it’s too late. But look at these people in “Balceros”. They are willing to give their best. They are so eager to survive than your bitching pot teens on TV. Who made your balls for you to say world-this and world-that when you don’t even see the world? I heard the sobs of the woman next to me. But I refrained. The film’s depressingly courageous. Not the other way, which could be, to a large scale, catastrophic.
Upon reflecting on my own life I realized I’m immigrating in so many ways. And that makes me shudder. It’s not all that good to be a stranger. “People are strange…” And it’s easy for Sting to sing out “Be yourself no matter what they say”, with his face and voice and talent and, most importantly, his origin. What’s tomorrow gonna be like? Though Narcissist, I can’t help thinking this over myself, again, there’s something other than right and wrong. And living is about the process, not death. So I’ll go, and I’ll be back. Like our governor.
posted by David | 2:52 AM
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