A
Sunset
(In my office at NTU Medical Center)
Looking out the window. There is a beautiful, really breathtaking sunset out there I
can see from this 15th floor.
Sunsets are so rare in Taipei since we never have a bright sun, or clear
sky without the haze, or at least both at the same time. But I’m looking at it through a
disgustingly dirty, cloudy, brown-streaky window. The most beautiful sunset I’ve ever seen in Taiwan all year
and there is this CRAP in the way, an analogy (that falls far short) is that
it’s akin to watching TV with a terrible reception, making out what of the
picture you can, through the fuzz and static. The most beautiful sunset and I am in an office. My eyes, neck, back ache from staring
at this electric white screen for hours.
And I wonder am I doomed to live my life this way? Watching the sunset-painted sky through
dirty glass from a cubicle? When
somewhere in the world from a mountaintop someone is seeing it unobstructed,
head/ back/ arms outstretched, her view accompanied by the soundtrack of the
wind and birds or the sea, a view too big to take in without her turning around
and around in all directions…
The
SARS news gets worse each day.
Gin, Tricia and I had planned a trip to Phuket, Thailand for a lounging
on the beach, getting massages and eating good Thai food-type of vacation. I’ve been looking forward to a trip to
Thailand all year. But when the
SARS news got to the point that they recently issued a warning against
unnecessary plane travel, we decided to cancel, and I sucked up a $90US
cancellation fee.
SARS,
mosquitoes, and my job search going nowhere—have sent resumes to all my
possible CA contacts, and contacts of contacts, but no word. The market so bleak. No one gives a crap about my Ivy
letters, masters degree, Fulbright scholarship—they’d rather have someone with
a BA who had 5 years of experience doing that exact job with all its daily
duties, no matter how fast I know I can learn it.
I was
walking to work as I do each day, my bag heavy with my Chinese book from my
annoying class that’s nothing like the fun HuaChiauBan we used to have last
winter, walking through the lobby past mask-covered faces, pissed off at
everything, most of all at the 1 1/2 months that stretch ahead like a
century. Then suddenly I heard
really beautiful music—violin strains, a piano, and the singing of a
flute. A few medical
students had set up their instruments in the middle of the dark hall that
connects the hospital to the med school, under the staircase. Two small rows of hard folding chairs
with people made their “audience” and some just stood around, watching and
listening, while others hurriedly passed back and forth as usual. It was the most random place for a
little concert. The students
playing were just wearing T-shirts and sneakers, and even laughed when one of
them made a mistake. It was so
casual, yet the sound filled the place and made you forget you were in a dingy
hallway in the middle of your day, made you forget whatever you were
thinking. I stopped and listened
for awhile, my mood completely lifted, and suddenly I knew everything was going
to be OK. That’s the power of
music. Or anything beautiful,
really. All it needs to do is
remind you, what you need to be reminded every once in a while.
After
another Sunday afternoon--visit to Ama’s followed by a 1 1/2 hour English
lesson to my cousin’s daughter--I headed back on the long trek to the MRT in
the now-blazing heat and humidity when I ran into a parade coming through their
intersection. A long line that had
no start or end, of cars and people in yellow T-shirts, some were in huge
costumes of gods that were twice as tall as they, with stern rectangular
painted faces and their fake arms swinging like they were strutting along. The name on the shirts was some
company—perhaps this was their anniversary? They moved to the whine of traditional Chinese music,
clanging of bells, and firecrackers going off every second. Every minute they’d shoot off a whole
bunch of firecrackers/noisemakers at once for an extra loud bang, but the ones
whistling and flying through the air went off one by one at regular beats; they
ricocheted off buildings’ windows and got caught in railings and wirings, the
smoking scraps fell down every which way.
Little children were helping to set them off, playing and running just a
couple feet from the heart of all the sparks. It struck me, as common as this scene was here, I was never
going to see this in the states, never going to see something like this again
for years to come probably. Time
is winding down and now I feel it, feel like I need to drink in these scenes,
that even my camera can never replicate these moments.