Sunday, July 22, 2007

Yogurt in the Face

Everyone I see, I tell them I am studying shufa (書法, Chinese calligraphy). I am eating in the vegetarian restaurant above 7-11 across the street from the university, and I get into a conversation with the lady sitting next to me. I eventually ask her if she likes shufa, and she says that she had to take it as a kid, just like everyone else.

My friend Chin asks me how I am doing, and I tell her that I am really into shufa. She tells me there is an exhibit of modern Chinese calligraphy at the Taipei Fine Arts Museum. So, last night, I meet her there.

I am like a kid in a candy shop. The beautify and variety of the shufa is overwhelming. We have two hours to view the exhibit and it doesn't feel like enough time, but I comfort myself, saying it just means I can come back and see it again next week with another friend. Each piece is like a new friend that I want to get to know better.

Besides the shufa exhibit, there is live jazz downstairs and a bookstore with lots of books on shufa. Oh my, shufa, books, and live jazz, all in one place. I am already in heaven, and possibly the only way they could make it better would be to fly in some friends from the US and some premium sake (清酒), and I think the beauty would just about overtake me.

Chin and I walk slowly through the exhibit. There are all the main styles, regular (楷書), clerical (隷書), running (行書), grass (草書), and seal script (篆書). Some are large, some very detailed, some which look like classical scrolls from two-hundred years ago, some looking like abstract expressionist paintings. I make a joke to my friend whenever we pass one I really like: "That one would sell for a lot of money in the States."

After we see the exhibit, we make our way to the exit, but we still have thirty minutes before the museum closes and Chin wants to check out the first floor exhibit of contemporary works. We take a stroll around the wide-open space filled with mostly abstract modern paintings and a few sculptures. There is a large cube near the entrance of the exhibit and people are going in, so we walk over to check it out. Inside, a few people are sitting a watching film shorts on a screen.

We watch a short film in which there's a little boy, maybe he's three or four, playing with his Mom. The boy is jumping on her, and she tries to kiss him, and he calls her a "lech" (色狼). It is very playful.

In the next short, the screen shows a close-up of the face of a young Taiwanese kid against a blank wall. She's probably in sixth grade. She is smiling slightly. Suddenly, something white, like paint, or most probably, yogurt, gets splashed in her face. She flinches a bit, but is still smiling, and doesn't move. One after another, Taiwanese kids are shown, waiting to get this white yogurt thrown in their faces.

We see about forty or fifty kids. I wonder, who is throwing yogurt in their faces? Don't kids get enough "thrown" in their faces already? But then, of course, I realize that it's a film. The director says, "I'm going to throw yogurt in your face. Here, wear this white shirt, and before we throw the yogurt at you, don't move too much, and after, don't move that much either. Just let us film you, okay?" At least that's what I imagine.

One after another I see the kids waiting for the yogurt, then getting it in the face, and then their reactions. You see a girl, completely serious, sad, staring at the camera. Suddenly, she get's it on the upper cheek and her eye. Her eye shuts for an instant, but, then she opens it and she is still staring at us, still sad and serious.

Another kid, a boy, is looking tough, his eyes defying, his lips a little pursed. His facial expression says, "Come on, I dare you." He gets it on his hair and forehead, and then after two seconds of recovery, he is back to being tough.

In contrast to tough boy, there is the scared girl. Before the yogurt even hits her cheeks, she is wincing, and after you can tell she is not very comfortable.

And then the kids who make me smile, the kids who are holding back laughter the whole time. I think there are many kids like this in the film. One boy can barely hold himself together. He hasn't lost it yet, but I turn to Chin and say, "He's going to crack up when he gets hit." Sure enough, he loses it and is laughing hard after the yogurt begins moisturizing his prepubescent skin.

I am very moved by all this yogurt throwing. By the kids who, at ten or twelve years old already have to fight the world, who wear a "tough" mask they learned from Dad. By the kids who are completely resigned, who make no movements before, during, or after the whole ordeal. And all those kids laughing, they move me, too.

I realize that by the time we're ten, or more accurately probably, five, we've developed a "stance" toward life. Do we embrace that "yogurt", laughing? Do we decide to be tough guy or victim, or stoic? I watch these kids faces and I can see their whole lives unfolding, I can see what they'll look like when they're fifty. Life is short.

A recorded announcement says the museum is closing and we need to leave, and I get up, still holding back my tears. Maybe for the kids in the film, maybe for all of us "kids".

Chinese Calligraphy



I've been wanting to study Chinese calligraphy for a while, as I have long admired Chinese script, especially when it is handwritten with a brush. Many people in Taiwan, when they find out I am studying Chinese language (and especially when they see my messy handwriting), ask me if I have studied shufa (calligraphy, 書法). I always say that I would like to, but I know it takes devotion and time, and I don't want to rush it, since I am already busy with many other things, not least of which is studying Chinese.

At school, I saw a poster for a calligraphy class, just two sessions in the month of July, and I thought, "This might be my chance to finally study shufa." However, after my initial excitement, I realized that I'm already too busy. In Taipei, the direction everyone needs to move in is doing less. Everyone is trying to be a superachiever, raising kids, working hard, and getting their EMBA at NCCU on the side. And then when you ask them what their hobbies are, they say: "SLEEP!" The pace of life has rubbed off on me.

So, with the detachment of a Japanese Zen monk (or so I would like to think), I said, it's not the right time. It's like when you need to meet a friend later and the mind says, "We could still do laundry...." and, like a good parent, you say, "Sorry, kiddo, we can do that tomorrow. We still have two pairs of clean underwear to go, anyway...."

Then, one day after class a few weeks ago, I walked through the library, and there's the shufa teacher and her student, my friend Marcos, apparently the only one who signed up. I see the ink, the brushes, the kind, middle-aged teacher, and my eyes light up. She smiles at me and invites me to join. I am in a "rush"--I need to go work out, then I have to study and teach, but I know that this moment is the right moment to learn shufa. Again, yuan fen (緣分; synchronicity, resonance) strikes again, and I follow it.

There is probably a hexagram in the I Ching (易經) that says: "Drop What You are Doing" and it looks like it's the one I am getting in this moment. Time to learn shufa.

Like her elementary school students, we start the class with the task of filling a sheet of paper with black ink. Just getting the feel for the brush and the ink. I am left-handed and the teacher says, "You are now going to use your right hand." And so, I am learning shufa, really, from scratch, not even as advanced as those Taiwanese elementary students, who already know how to write.

From "painting" a sheet black, we move onto dots. And by the time I finish practicing my dots, class is over, and I'm looking forward to going home and practicing more dots.

A friend takes me to the office supply shop near school, and we buy a simple brush, or maobi (毛筆), ink, and some paper so I can practice at home. Conveniently, during this time, my laptop breaks down and while it is getting repaired, I use my evening time to practice my shufa. In case any of you haven't had your laptop break down, I highly recommend it. Especially if you usually find yourself emailing or using MSN most evenings, you'll find yourself not only going to sleep earlier (and sleeping more peacefully because you haven't been sitting motionlessly staring at a screen for two hours), but you might even find yourself doing beautiful things like practicing shufa, writing poems, or practicing your violin.

Last week, I take my second class, and we have moved onto straight lines. My teacher starts me on the famous character yong (永), which means "the amount of time it will take most foreigners to learn fluent Chinese".

Just kidding, you know me, I like to laugh, yong actually means "eternal" (so actually I am only half-joking this time), and the reason why it is special is because it is the one character that contains all eight essential strokes (畫筆; see cool diagram above).

When my Taiwanese friends ask me how its going, I tell them lately I've been taking a shufa class, and they all tell me that they took a shufa class as a kid (actually, most every kid in Taiwan does). They usually tell me that their shufa is terrible, but then there a few who tell me their shufa is awesome.

In Starbucks, I bring special "water paper" that allows me to practice shufa using water instead of ink. The water goes on "black" and disappears in about ten seconds. It's better than bringing ink and paper into Starbucks, and I don't have to clean the brush afterwards.

One of the employees walks up to me and stares at my supplies. She says that she took shufa when she was a kid. I can tell she wants to give it a go. "Can you show me?" I ask her. "Sure," she says, and her eyes light up. She sits down and writes her name. She is really good.

Unfortunately, her boss walks in and sees her writing, and fires her on the spot. Just kidding. It's time for her to get back to work, and she thanks me for giving her the opportunity to do shufa again.

And I need to go now, too. It's Sunday afternoon, and I still have some time to practice my brushstrokes.

Sunday, July 15, 2007

Wrong Planet

I walk out after eating dinner tonight, past the 7-11 on the corner. A guy, Taiwanese, around 30, walks out of the store. There's a small mutt, a mix of black and white patches, cute, lounging in front. The guy sees the dog, suddenly lunges toward the dog, and stamps his foot, hard, next to him. The dog is, of course, startled, and moves away from the guy, who is now getting on his little scooter which is parked about ten feet away.

I watch the whole thing happen, I see the look on the guy's face. I see the look on the dog's face. As the guy walks by me, without thinking, I look toward him and say to him, in English (it's a gut reaction), "Why?"

He's already passed me and I don't think he heard what I just said. I highly doubt he is or has been in "English mode" in the past few hours, or for that matter, the last 30 years.














Earthrise. For those of you who are wondering, I did not personally take this photo.


I think of confronting him, but I just decide to let it go. What am I going to do, argue with him in Taiwanese while he is opening his pack of Mild Sevens? I doubt it would do any good, although while writing this I think perhaps kicking his scooter over would have given him the message. But I never do that type of thing. That's how wars start, and I am a peace lover.

In the States, my Daoist attitude is definitely not the cultural norm. "Come on, why don't you yell at that guy for cutting in line?" People have shot at each other (with real guns) on the LA freeway.

In English, we say "kick the dog", meaning, Dad comes home in a bad mood, kicks his wife, wife kicks her daughter, the girl then kicks her brother, and then the boy kicks the dog. So, I think, this Taiwanese guy, who kicked him? And this goddamn kicking, when does it stop?

Later, I see the dog as I cross the street. I walk up to him, and pet him. He's happy, he jumps on me, he longs for the attention.

Lately, I've been wondering if I was born on the wrong planet. I think it's possible.

Wednesday, July 11, 2007

Brave ABC Girls in Taipei 101

I am eating lunch in the food court of Taipei 101 when I spot a gaggle of pretty young Taiwanese girls who walk up to a table where two young Taiwanese boys are eating their beef and noodles. They are about ten feet away from me. To my surprise, the lead girl opens her mouth and says, in girly, teenage English, "Excuse me, could you tell me...?"

I can't hear the rest, but since she is pointing to his lunch, I think she is looking for a food recommendation. She is about 19, looks like a college freshman, and smirking a little bit as she asks him her questions. The girls behind her look like they are anxiously waiting the boys' response, as if they are world-class professors. I hear the lead girl say that they are all from San Francisco.

I feel for her, because your chances of being answered in coherent English by a pair of pimply, basketball-playing, videogame-loving Taiwanese guys in Taipei 101 is about 0.06% (+/- 0.003, p=0.05). Those are pretty slim chances, girly.

Soon, her hot friends get involved. Their Chinese is better than their brave leader. I can see the interest in their eyes, and how they linger, asking what must certainly be further pointed questions.

And as they talk, well, I get it. (You see, I'm slow but perceptive.) They're not asking for food recommendations at all, or directions on how to get to Chiang Kai Shek Memorial Hall either. No, I imagine these young ABCs on summer break are bored, wandering Taipei 101 fru-fru shops, trying on new shades of makeup, buying hot pants for tonight's mission to Luxy. It's either here or at home with their auntie in Neihu who's always yelling at their cousins in Taiwanese because they haven't finished their buxiban homework.

Soon after arriving at the food court, I imagine one of them probably said, "Hey, check out those guys over there, the ones eating the beef noodles. You see the one on the left? Damn, is he hot! Let's go over and talk to them. Marsha, can you do your 'my Chinese is bad, so I will ask you a question in English' routine'?

I must be becoming Taiwanese, because after I figure out what is going on, I am cringing a little bit, as are both of their targets, and the group of five or so Taiwanese girls (real Taiwanese girls) sitting at the next table.

In the US, it's not uncommon to see girls, especially in groups, hitting on guys. And of course, it's quite common to see guys hitting on girls. But, we're in Taiwan. Nobody hits on anybody, at least the last time I checked.

Actually, I love that these girls are bringing a breath of fresh American culture into the B1 level of Taipei 101. Although they look Taiwanese, these are American girls, with an education and a set of cultural assumptions that are completely different from their Taiwanese counterparts.

Finally, their questions answered satisfactorily (or most probably, very unsatisfactorily!), the girls walk away, ready for their next adventure. The boys, for their part, request no phone numbers, and smirk like 18 year-old boys do, relieved.

Time Tested Beauty Tips

I first saw this poem hanging in my friend Paula's bathroom, and I thought I would share it with you, my friends. It is often attributed to Audrey Hepburn, who popularized it just before she passed away. However, the author is the American humorist Sam Levenson, who wrote it for his grandchild.


Time Tested Beauty Tips

For attractive lips, speak words of kindness.

For lovely eyes, seek out the good in people.

For a slim figure, share your food with the hungry.

For beautiful hair, let a child run his or her fingers through it once a day.

For poise, walk with the knowledge you'll never walk alone.

People, even more than things, have to be restored, renewed, revived, reclaimed, and redeemed; Never throw out anybody.

Remember, If you ever need a helping hand, you'll find one at the end of your arm.

As you grow older, you will discover that you have two hands, one for helping yourself, the other for helping others.

The beauty of a woman is not in the clothes she wears, the figure that she carries, or the way she combs her hair. The beauty of a woman must be seen from in her eyes, because that is the doorway to her heart, the place where love resides.

The beauty of a woman is not in a facial mole, but true beauty in a woman is reflected in her soul. It is the caring that she lovingly gives, the passion that she shows, and the beauty of a woman with passing years only grows!

i carry your heart with me

Today, I stumbled upon a beautiful poem by e.e. cummings, the famous American poet. Thought you might like it.

i carry your heart with me

by e.e. cummings

i carry your heart with me(i carry it in
my heart)i am never without it(anywhere
i go you go,my dear;and whatever is done
by only me is your doing,my darling)

i fear
no fate(for you are my fate,my sweet)i want
no world(for beautiful you are my world,my true)
and it's you are whatever a moon has always meant
and whatever a sun will always sing is you

here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;which grows
higher than soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart

i carry your heart(i carry it in my heart)