about reading and stuff

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When it comes to reading, there are two habits of mine that, without even the slightest attempt on my part, tend to leave a rather pretentious impression on other people. First, I don't read e-books. While having absolutely no problem spending hours following up my favorite blogs, or jumping between newspaper sections via email subscription, I find it impossible for me to appreciate any genuine and serious writing (fictions or otherwise) across the screen. My poor attention span is usually not long enough to make it to the end of a chapter. I know I could drop it whenever the fluorescent characters make me feel dizzy, since there are bookmarks (not the dog-eared ones, though) to help me pick up at any time later. But reading, to me, requires more than just sight and thought; I need to feel the paper flipped between fingers, hear the rustle when a page is turned, and smell, however vaguely, the scent of ink. And when such a rich (some find it excessive) sensational pleasure is replaced by the simple mechanical action of scrolling up and down, reading is no that engaging any more.

The second habit, I suppose, would probably piss off even more people, i.e, (starting from my first year in college) as long as a book is originally written English, I would rather wait for months, years even, till the authentic copy becomes available, than grab its Chinese translation that I could conveniently lay my hands on. Alright, if this doesn't sound like a cocky quirk to you, let me bring the truth: I actually do this with all books written in non-Chinese languages, except that if it's written in German, Japanese or any other languages I don't get, I'd go for the English translation instead. And the virtual waiting list (if there ever was one) must go like this: Lolita - 6 years (and is worth the wait); Norwegian Wood - 3 years (the English translator manages to preserve the nostalgic sentiment subtly delivered in the Japanese literary work); The Kite Runner - 16 months (haunting); and some socio-economical bestsellers like The World Is Flat and Freakonomics, just to name a few.

It's not that I don't trust the Chinese translators; I don't get them, not at all occasionally. Somehow they arrange the ever-so-familiar Chinese characters in a way simply alien to my understanding. I guess that's why I've always felt reluctant to take up a job in translation, literary works in particular, for fear that I couldn't live up to the readers' expectations. Translation requires both competence and commitment, neither of which I could guarantee.

An update

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Since photography took the place of English writing as my favorite pastime, this blog has been abandoned, literally. And here is a message to those who are kind enough to tolerate my idlenss and pay random visits still: I am NOT back :-p

Yet there is a brief update - I got my MA degree and am going to teach English in a medical school starting from this fall. For fear that I'll show up as a professional incompetent, physically disastrous lecturer on my platform debut, I decided to resume writing in English and going to gym, however occasionally.

Voice Up

It is important to speak out when malignant forces are using every instrument at their command to wash the brains of their subjects and fill them with information that we know to be untrue (dig deeper).

Shame on those who take pride in prejudice.
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Looking back, and forward - 2/2

Now achievements aside, I have to, however reluctantly, face the things left undone.

For a long time, I believed that 2007 would be my last academic year, since I had applied for (and got approved of) a prior-schedule graduation. I took courses, compulsory and elective alike, to meet the school requirement; I finished my field research; and my thesis proposal was accepted as well. Everything went on well, until I was informed of some subtle changes in school policies, which made it next to impossible to shorten my graduate study as planned. The consequences were not that undesirable, though; for the prolonged school life lent me more time to figure out what I wanted to do with real life. Come to think of it, I might not have accomplished the first two resolutions, had it not been for the extra year of preparation. So there's no regret whatsoever.

The other failure ... well, was partially (or probably entirely) my fault. In case you are still conscious and curious after making through all these lengthy paragraphs, my last resolution was to find myself a nice and sensible man, if you know what I mean. Yet this, I apparently failed. It may sound a bit pathetic, but the truth is I haven't been in a relationship for a long time; somehow I don't know how to get involved anymore, and worse still, the longer I stay single, the more scared I feel to commit to the one and only person, whoever he is. I sometimes wonder if it's genetic to be clumsy in relationship, because my whole family seems to have this issue; while other times, I wonder if it's contagious, since there are quite a few fellow-sufferers among my close friends, who are almost young and still restless. I hope this issue is curable, either by arrival of a right guy, or by adjusting myself, opening up and lowering down unnecessary bars.

The reason I feel compelled to write down these 1,500 words about something that can't be redone is NOT that I'm a psycho-sadist to myself; it's just the older I get, the more I realize how important it is to be True, like one of the few rules that Chinese people were encouraged to follow since time immemorial: to have a holistic view of man and nature (being true), a respect for other people (being good), and a feel for the simple but majestic (being beautiful). A friend considered this looking-back thing a "lively yet ruthless" account of all her disillusionments; I didn't fancy it either, but we can't stay in our comfort zone forever, so it's better to face it all and grow up. Alright, I have to make time for the future before I doze off babbling. Since 1/6 of the 2008 has passed before I begin to live it, it will sound weird if the following items are still called "the new year resolutions". So here they are, just a few things I hope I can accomplish at the age of 25:

1. Be true (translation: less PS, less make-up, no deliberate lies, no pretentious talks, and a wild commemorating project which I'm still brooding and it's therefore better kept to myself at the current stage);

2. Keep learning Jazz dance starting from April (I forgot to mention I picked it up last year and it felt so right);

3. Climb as many parts of the Great Wall as I can (at least visit all in Beijing);

4. Spend at least 40 days traveling (a few choices on the map: Nepal, Sichuan-Tibet, Fujian, Inner Mongolia or somewhere else in Asia);

5. Start writing about my Eurotrip 2007, and be true about it (also starting from April);

6. Clear last year's mess (finish the things left undone).

Now before I embark on this year's journey, I'd like to quote a piece of new year greetings I get from a teacher, who is always rigid yet nice to me:

“让鼠年带来点儿通融和灵活，坚定和执着，进步和快乐！”

Looking back, and forward - 1/2

Some three hundred days ago, when I did my annual review of the passing year, a painful realization struck me that my 2006 was actually a year of mediocrity. So with the hope of living a wiser and less-ordinary life, I wrote down a few resolutions which, even then, I knew would challenge my willpower. Now that another twelve months passed, it came to the point to examine how they'd been carried out; only this time, I was taken by surprises. For out of the six tempting yet somewhat difficult missions, I've achieved four: some are accomplished with grace, while others, by taking detours.

I resolved to backpack through Europe, and this I did (some say) fabulously. I've spent 39 days in 6 countries with a total cost of 3,500 euros; and if you take into account the fact that it's my first time abroad and none of the countries speaks English, my Eurotrip would instantly become a strategically ambitious, visually sumptuous surrealist enterprise, which is, by turns, exciting, exhausting, inspiring and disappointing. I bought a copy of the final Harry Potter book in Heidelberg; while reading it on trains and planes during my last week in Europe, a line caught me most unexpectedly when Harry comforted Ron, saying "sometimes, it's only cool when you watch other people do it". For the first time, I felt empathetic with the hero, though we were in totally different situations. But don't get me wrong, I didn't (how could I) regret the experience of covering thousands of miles and exploring landscapes and cities, it's just I realized part of me changed, and I know some of the changes will go on, deep and permanent, in my ideas of living.

Talking about changes, a major one would be my choice of career path. I started an English blog in 2006 and was quite productive that year. I wrote about news, movies, and my personal life, and was lucky enough to have a small group of frequent visitors, most of whom are great English writers themselves. Encouraged by their comments while driven by my own enthusiasm for writing, I decided to pursue a career in journalism, and therefore started looking for internship opportunities in English news agencies. I then got picked from a major (meaning, official) newspaper, but was soon dampened by the harsh reality that reporting is not about telling the truth. I couldn't bear the idea of being a sentient puppet for a living, so I left the office and set out for Europe (it was actually not as easy as it might sound, by then, I'd been planning for months). The trip reminded me of how much I loved traveling and how much I was gonna miss having long vacations once I left school. So a clear choice presented itself. I've been teaching English on various levels for years, and I've made a substantial income (for students) by doing that. But it was not until I entered the job market did I realized how crammed it had turned, literally. November was a grueling month; hopes were raised and then punctured; yet all the doubts, the anxieties, and the empty expectations paid off once a worthy offer extended its hand. Fortune favored me this time, because I was committed (some find it bold) enough to cut off my own ways of retreat. I learned a lesson on concentration; apart from that, I didn't have much story to tell in job-hunting, especially when compared with some of my friends, who were more competent, only lacking in a bit of luck.

One thing I thought I'd failed but managed to come through last year was to be a better daughter. It's NOT that I was a horrible one; I did care for my parents, saved them a whole lot of worries, even made them proud from time to time. As I grew up, I was taught to build this independent womanhood in me, both financially and emotionally; but perhaps I ran a bit too far on the latter, which, somehow, made me feel distant from my parents. We often talk, but seldom communicate. So at the beginning of the year that I'd officially move back home (6 years after I moved out to live on campus), I decided to work on the problem and be open to them. It wasn't easy though, not at first. Since my mother had retired from work and I didn't have many compulsory courses to take, we pretty much had to stick together all day, everyday. It was torture - she was nagging at me all the time, complaining about my room that wasn't properly cleaned, my aloofness of being a singleton, my impractical choice of career and everything, just to name a few. But later, as I gradually learned and accepted the fact that this was what it took to live at home, I started to arrange some activities with her, to free her (momentarily though) from the housewife cage, open her mind and let her know that I was not at all like her when she was my age. We hung out in the parks and malls, I even took her out traveling several times; in return, she taught me about cooking. I guess this bonding thing did work, because at the end of the year, when my mother had an accident and had to stay in bed for at least a month, I didn't feel a bit of impatience looking after her. I gather we both feel grateful for the time we've spent together.

My purchase of the year was a DSLR, a Nikon D80 to be specific. I've got some experience with my DC, and I love capturing the moments that make my journey through life memorable. So with the hope of better expressing myself with photography, I chose to hire an advanced assistant, technic-wise. There was no buzz-worthy reward like the NGS publication the year before last, but I won a little prize in an online photo challenge sponsored by Nikon, which should be seen as a positive message. More than the material gain, I found my understanding of photography evolved: I paid more attention to details, not just the grand and the spectacular, but every little thing that, if taken in, could make the capture of an ordinary object extraordinary; also, there used to be a sense of loneliness in my shots, probably because I was intentionally avoiding the presence of people, which I thought would spoil the completeness of a composition; but now I believe in the opposite, I see people as an essential element that brings life and perfection to a picture. Progress made, however, I am fully aware of the long long way to go from a callow neophyte to a seasoned pro; yet my mind is set, and my feet, set out.

tbc ...

A conversation

I went for the student registration yesterday for the seventh and very last school year, but didn't see what I quite expected: the newly recruits hadn't yet moved in on campus, as for them, the new term would not begin until two weeks later. It's NOT that I was eager to meet those prime-of-life-fellows, whose vigor could easily shame mine into pettiness; I was only interested in their course schedule, to see if I could fit my-old-self in and take some last advantage of free education. It's funny and ironic and typical-me that I'll only strive to seize the chance when it gets slim. Alas, how many more years will it take me to actually act the Carpe Diem instead of conceptually embracing it?!

The north campus looked almost empty after lunchtime, and so was the building where we used to study. Well... almost, for apart from the overwhelming smell of formaldehyde which we've so invulnerably inhaled since forever, there was a familiar figure, unmistakably short and disheveled, greeting me in distance. And there was Mr.Sun.

"How's your Eurotrip, energizing enough?"

"Ah... quite the contrary, it's all-consuming; but I feel full and completed anyway."

"Really! A changed woman, I see? Then how come you appear diffident and still incomplete to me? Or perhaps it's just my perception, which, according to you, seldom does you justice."

A few minutes of awkward silence passed before he continued.

"By the way, did you take some time to read John McNeill's book? It could be a good starting point for thinking about the issues like..."

"About that", I cut him short, "Could you not find a better candidate to enter in for the contest? I mean, I've been there, twice! And each time I won a title worthy of my own performance. If you could just consider, and maybe reconsider my record and my age, you would have no problem understanding why I HATE to compete just to impress."

"But it IS an opportunity to show, even show off your competence and depth of thinking! I alone have more confidence in you than yourself ... that being said, I know perfectly to make a woman think is as impossible as turning a mountain upside down. So tell me one last time, are you going to take it or not?"

"Well, I have to say, it sounds tempting in a weird way, but I think I'll pass. It's time for the young and the ambitious to shine, while I'm heading for something concrete and real."

"Interesting. Have it your way, then, if you've thought it through. But once you've set out for whatever you're after, you may find it quite different from what you fancy about."

Talking with Mr.Sun has rarely been a delightful experience; and although I never really hate him myself, I won't be surprised to know that no more than ten students in the whole department could appreciate his demanding gesture in and out of class.

I got to know Mr.Sun in my sophomore year, when he was appointed to coach the school's English debating team. Through these years of acquaintance and correspondence, he's been constantly criticizing me for my poor writing and my lack of exertion, or for being shallow, carefree and brutishly narcissistic (all his wording, not mine). I guess my performance only lived up to his expectation once, while the rest of them were simply left to be desired. Yet now when I'm looking back at my school years, it comes to me that it's probably just during this process of finding and denying my potential that he helps to give it a full play (I know it sounds arrogant but somewhat I fare a bit better than most of my peers, academically speaking at least). I think I ought to thank him for his verbal torment, which I've been long bearing and meanwhile benefiting from. After all, it's unthinkable (as he once remarked) that the darling buds of May will not suffer rough winds before bursting into full blossom of summer.

Bounce back against all odds

This is the funny thing about life: no matter how hard you try to prepare, plan and push things in a certain direction, sometimes you simply will not get there. And our success-obsessed society has got a word for everyone that's been stuck halfway - the loser. Look at the Hoover family and you will get the picture: the motivational speaker who fails to motivate anyone to buy his nine-step-technique to success; the teenage Nietzsche fanatic who takes a nine-month silent vow to be a pilot yet (spoiler alert) turns out to be colorblind; the best Proust scholar who is beaten, professionally and romantically, by the second best in his field; and on top of this, our little miss with big dream, who, with her jaw-dropping performance in the beauty pageant, trumps the movie's comic zing while (quite unexpectedly) sets a serious perspective on success and failure, dreams and disappointment.
　　
I watched Little Miss Sunshine with the expectation of a slapstick featuring a dysfunctional family. Hilarious, it was, but it's not the laughs that kept me to my toes. I found myself heartened by how the family pulled together as obstacles emerged one after another, and by heart-swelling revelations of the characters though they're often intersected with situational jokes. For a small movie, it managed to ponder on some big questions, like a person's financial worth, moral perfection and popularity; while on success, the answer was also suggested: life is not a beauty pageant, just do what you like and fuck the rest.

I feel myself especially empathetic with Dwayne, probably because his loathing of competition echoes my own. I, too, hate to compete just to impress; for life is not about fulfilling the expectations of others and blowing away the high-ups, it's about setting sights on something you know is hard to achieve yet rising to the occasion regardless. Dare to dream, dare to pursue, dare to bounce back against all odds.

V for Vanishing

Q: If something we never know we have disappears, do we miss it?

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Update: Is it that I am so used to making a big deal out of some trivial matters (as reflected by my lengthy posts) that it somewhat spoils my readers' appetite to appreciate something random, irrational, and does not make sense at all?! 'Cuz judging from the responses I've got (here and in emails), you, my dear little readers, are thinking too much. I'd be lying if I said nothing happened, but whatever that "something" is was, I am dealing with it, and I can manage. Thanks very much for your concern, but just like a keyboard pal insightfully remarked: "Unlike fiction, reality doesn't have to make sense", and so are blog entries. (And so is the music I may, from now on, embed in blog entries.)



P.S. Seriously, no fan of Grey's Anatomy here?!

The Holi-delay

Two weeks have passed since my new year countdown in a train compartment, and I still don't feel the presence of 2007. It's like I owe an official farewell to 2006 and am therefore haunted by the year of pure mediocrity.

I'm probably not a great athlete of introspection, but I do like the idea of looking back at the end of the year, weighing my gains and pains and striving for a wiser way of life. And it's a pretty easy job this year, because the virtual evaluation chart showed almost nothing; not literal-nothing, but there was absolutely no significant rise and fall in life and study. I mean, I did travel, extensively I should say, but that's my thing and I could not bear to lose it; I took several courses and went to some lectures, yet most of them turned out to be less than enlightening (but Thanks for helping me out with the PhD-or-not dilemma); I co-edited a book which got published as planned, but it's more an obligation for a research assistant than some self-achievement that counted. Some may consider routines as blessings, but I've felt myself drowning in the same-thing-different-day situation: being ordinary for a long time and I'm incapable of doing extraordinary things ever again.

I think I have to put an end to these, both the state of mediocrity and the whining that will finally turn me into an ungrateful ass. I remembered the night on Thanks Giving when a friend called asking if I'd like to hang out and "lose barginity" together,

"But what do we feel thankful for?! We have no career, no relationship, no power or connection..."

"Well, still we could thank God for giving us a world of possibilities."

And I guess she's right.

As the last hours of 2006 flitted by, I sat on my bunk on the train home, writing down a few lines that demonstrated good will yet challenged will power:

• Pass the thesis defense;
• Be a better daughter;
• Find an internship at a major English newspaper/magazine;
• Backpack through Europe;
• Find a nice and sensible man, and try to be equally (if not more) nice and sensible;
• Learn photography.

And most importantly, DO NOT let laziness and apathy keep me from attaining the goals!

Now, if I could let go of the year of mediocrity (or it could let go of me), I'd be very happy to embrace 2007 - the year of possibility.

... ... ... ... ... ... ...

Update: I can't believe I forgot this when writing about last year's achievement - I had a photo published for the first time, quite accidentally, but it's still extraordinary becasue the publisher was the National Geographic Society. You see, small incident like this makes every crappy year rememberable!

Men in Trees, but not for men

This is the only new show I'm still sticking with this season, but it's a pity that this M.I.T seems to recruit girls exclusively.

To criticize the show for being a cheap combination of the "Sex and the City" and the "Northern Exposure" is simply a clue that the critic watches no more episode than the pilot: it might get some inspiration from the latter, but it is definitely not so single-and-desperate as the former; for instead of imitating the Carrie-finding-men-in-the-crowd storyline, it presents a Marin-finding-herself-in-the-wild scenario, with the help of some quirky yet unpretentious (and therefore lovable) characters.

The story begins at New York, but thank God the same old fancy scenes only last for some twenty minutes. As our protagonist heads for Elmo for her book promotion, we are taken to a small Alaskan town where the city-dwellers could finally stop and breathe, and where the landscape would soon take their breath away. The romantic drama features a relationship coach/self-help book author (how cocky is that) who, after her own relationship collapses, learns that she actually knows nothing about it and struggles to help herself start over. The remark that "The odds are good, but the goods are odd" portrays the menaissance lively - the affable inn-keeper/local radio host, the "sophisticated" bartender, the tough pilot, and the strong but silent biologist who oozes his charm in a low-key manner make Elmo a perfect place for the study of the male species. No stiletto heels and Marc Jacobs, no teasing eyebrows and Genévrier, no opera and Oprah, when the stereotype laws of attraction fail, love in Alaska becomes simple and sweet.

This is not a show one would fall into at the first sight, since the first few episodes do look mediocre and sometimes the script writer simply tries too hard to hook the audience with some inappropriate plot design (like Marin and Jack's "chapter two"). But the good thing is the relatively weak beginning leaves room for improvement, and the show IS improving, concerning both the depth of the characters and the richness of the plot. Plus, it is absolutely great to have some lighthearted alternative other than getting bored by those machine-made-crime-related intense dramas that flood the screen.