Setting: End of War War II China, Inner China-Suzhou,
Between water and clouds situates the home of an artist named Han Yu. He sees himself living with nature, not people. This home he lives in is located on the outskirts of a beautiful city in Suzhou, China. A small simple home constructed with wood. Inside the home contains all his canvases of landscapes of places he has traveled to on his bike.
The other day Han Yu was sitting gazing at the distant mountains painting. It was a cloudy day. No sign of any sunlight. A thunderstorm suddenly roared. So reveled in his painting, Han Yu was not a least bit disturbed by the unpleasant sounds of nature. When the first raindrops dripped on his artwork, he was suddenly awakened from painting. He quickly grabbed his canvas and easel and threw all his art tools into his bag. He threw the bag around and across his shoulders and tied his canvas and easel to the back of his bike. Grabbing on to the front handles of his bike, he threw his right leg over the seat, had both feet firm on both pedals, and rode away to find the nearest tea shop to seek shelter from the rain.
As he rode quickly without caring what was ahead of him, he suddenly saw an oncoming bike, also riding hastily. Too late. Both bikes collided. As Han Yu got up to help the other cyclist, he realized he had bumped into a lady. As he held the lady carefully with his arms,........
(I need help with continuing this story that is going nowhere. Still need to describe the kind of clothing Chinese people wore around mid 1940s.)
Wednesday, May 25, 2011
The Poet's Thoughts...
The poet is about to begin this journey before the first sight of dawn.
The wind blows across his right shoulders. The moon is still apparent at the other side of the sky.
Whether it is night or day, the poet does not want to be trapped in between.
The poet is carefree.
The poet's heart is free of control. The poet decides his(her) destination.
The feelings of chaos, self-esteem, good, and bad all do not matter.
As long as there is compassion, the poet is not afraid of strangeness.
No matter how high the sky, the poet's happiness will surpass it.
To the poet, Happiness is the most important.
No matter how strong the wind is, it will not blow away the poet's compassion.
Every village or town the poet passes by, the poet will greet cold and warm people alike.
No matter how tough or frustrating life is, the poet will live strong and persevere.
The poet admits and understands to develop compassion for everyone takes time.
Tears and laughter are just part of the process.
The wind blows across his right shoulders. The moon is still apparent at the other side of the sky.
Whether it is night or day, the poet does not want to be trapped in between.
The poet is carefree.
The poet's heart is free of control. The poet decides his(her) destination.
The feelings of chaos, self-esteem, good, and bad all do not matter.
As long as there is compassion, the poet is not afraid of strangeness.
No matter how high the sky, the poet's happiness will surpass it.
To the poet, Happiness is the most important.
No matter how strong the wind is, it will not blow away the poet's compassion.
Every village or town the poet passes by, the poet will greet cold and warm people alike.
No matter how tough or frustrating life is, the poet will live strong and persevere.
The poet admits and understands to develop compassion for everyone takes time.
Tears and laughter are just part of the process.
Thursday, May 19, 2011
At the piano.....
An Enemy that Became My Best Friend
Only the piano is left here to talk to me...
It asked, "What is wrong?"
I responded by placing my fingers on the black and white keys.
It asked, "You want to talk?"
I took a deep breath and sighed.
It said, "I'll listen to you."
Then I began to play a piece expressing my anger and pain.
It asked, "You must be in agony."
I continued to play vehemently and pathetically until I hit the final chords.
It then said, "I will always be here as your friend and listen to you. Calm down and wipe your tears. The light will shine your way soon."
Many years ago, I had stage freights. I didn't like being under the spotlight and watched by a sea of eyes. This may be the integral reason why I had never won a single piano competition. Every time I performed on stage, my fingers were always bound to trip over a black or white key, and I would hit wrong notes. Panic and embarrassment would follow. The demons inside of me fought with my inner fear, until I let out my anger. "Mom, I want to quit!" I shouted, as I rushed out of the competition with tears gushing out of my eyes. She ignored me. "Just because you never had the chance to play piano, doesn't mean I have to play!" Again, I was ignored. My piano teacher only encouraged me to fix my mistakes and move forward. I am still unsure what force had me persevere and not give up this king of all instruments. At age five, I saw the piano as an irritating beast that must be quickly destroyed, but now I see it as my best friend--a valuable treasure that can never be demolished. It lives inside my heart, soul, and mind.
I didn't see this transition from a mediocre pupil to a serious musician coming as I boarded the plane to Italy. My mom signed me up for an intensive summer music camp that my piano teacher organized in a small seaside town in southern Italy. As soon as I landed and checked in the hotel, I immediately noticed the breathtaking view of the azure Mediterranean in front of me. I thought to myself, "What a beautiful place to learn music."
"Okay! Let's get going! Drop your luggages and we must head to the school and start our lessons!" shouted the teacher. "There's no time to waste! We have a performance tomorrow!"
"Oh goodness, here we go again...," I muttered to myself.
"Everyone needs to hug their instruments and practice for at least five hours. You will receive an hour of lesson from one of us instructors. Remember to check the schedule for the time and place of your lesson. Don't be late!"
Where have all the flowers gone?
The laughter around me reminds me of those flowers.
In every corner of my life, they quietly blossom for me. I thought I would forever be by their sides.
However, today we all have departed in the vast sea of people.
Have they all aged?
Where have they all gone?
And like this, we have gone separate ways.
La…Miss them.
La…Are they still around?
La….Gone!
There are some stories that have been left untold and unfinished, then just let them be. It’s okay…
After so many years, those feelings have become difficult for me to determine if they are real or not.
Now, there are no longer any flowers growing profusely in this deserted grassland.
Fortunately, I once had the opportunity to spend the four seasons here with all of you.
Ah! ..Miss them!
Ah! ..Are they still around?
Ah! ……Gone!
Being blown away by the winds, they are scattered in faraway places.
Where have all the flowers gone?
Where have all the young girls gone?
Where have they all gone?
Where have all the young men gone?
Where have the soldiers gone?
Where have all the graveyards gone?
Where have all they gone?
Carrying my backpack of memories on my shoulders and returning home, I only see the sun casting its light across the vast yellow grassland.
In every corner of my life, they quietly blossom for me. I thought I would forever be by their sides.
However, today we all have departed in the vast sea of people.
Have they all aged?
Where have they all gone?
And like this, we have gone separate ways.
La…Miss them.
La…Are they still around?
La….Gone!
There are some stories that have been left untold and unfinished, then just let them be. It’s okay…
After so many years, those feelings have become difficult for me to determine if they are real or not.
Now, there are no longer any flowers growing profusely in this deserted grassland.
Fortunately, I once had the opportunity to spend the four seasons here with all of you.
Ah! ..Miss them!
Ah! ..Are they still around?
Ah! ……Gone!
Being blown away by the winds, they are scattered in faraway places.
Where have all the flowers gone?
Where have all the young girls gone?
Where have they all gone?
Where have all the young men gone?
Where have the soldiers gone?
Where have all the graveyards gone?
Where have all they gone?
Carrying my backpack of memories on my shoulders and returning home, I only see the sun casting its light across the vast yellow grassland.
Tuesday, May 17, 2011
Chapter 1: The Gift
I once hated the gift. The gift made me very ill a year ago. I felt a mountainous rage when nothing came about as I held the pencil. For many months, I sat down on the floor facing my sketchbook. I was running out of time. For months the sketchbook remained white. I tried to put lines and shades to it but it remained clean and white. I hated it clean and white. I sharpened my pencil again and again. I erased and erased. Still clean and white......
But never do I want to destroy this gift nor do I want it to fall to the side. I did it many times in the past. Will I do it again?
It is late now... I am staring at my new sketchbook. Still, nothing new is coming about. Clean and white.
But never do I want to destroy this gift nor do I want it to fall to the side. I did it many times in the past. Will I do it again?
It is late now... I am staring at my new sketchbook. Still, nothing new is coming about. Clean and white.
The Poet's Tears
A free verse. Title - The Poet's Tears
天空飄著雪
The sky fleeting with snow.
詩人的淚
The poet's tears.
誰懂?
Who understands?
提著筆
Pen held.
眼里含著淚
Tears in the eyes.
寫下腦海里所有感人畫面。
All the moving pictures...
Monday, May 2, 2011
Definition of a story
Dear Friends,
What is your definition of a story? My definition: In a story, there is curiosity, discovery, laughter, union, bond, beautiful images, misunderstandings, mistakes, lost, tears, generosity, forgiving, compassion, regain, reunion, reminiscence, nostalgia, and many more. A story goes through a series of stages. Some of the stages will never be reached. Only time will know.
What is your definition of a story? My definition: In a story, there is curiosity, discovery, laughter, union, bond, beautiful images, misunderstandings, mistakes, lost, tears, generosity, forgiving, compassion, regain, reunion, reminiscence, nostalgia, and many more. A story goes through a series of stages. Some of the stages will never be reached. Only time will know.
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