taiping

Dawn Fishing / 晨渔。

这天起了个大早打算拍太平湖的日出,来到湖边之后夜色才慢慢褪去,蓝色渐盛,此时远远的有渔家摇船而来,湖面上还有渔船的灯火星星点点,让人想到“江枫渔火对愁眠”的美丽诗句。

In order to witness the sunrise of Lake Taiping, I got up so early that morning, the night had not faded till I arrived lake side, but I noticed a fisherman rowing his boat far away, and there were several lights on the lake. At that time the poem A Night-Mooring Near Maple Bridge echoed in my brain – While I watch the moon go down, a crow caws through the frost;Under the shadows of maple-trees a fisherman moves with his torch;And I hear, from beyond Su-chou, from the temple on Cold Mountain,Ringing for me, here in my boat, the midnight bell.

…apskritai aplinka mane veikia.
Priverčia nepasitikėti savimi.
Pasiduoti kitų įtakai.
Tarsi atrodo, kad ne taip darau viską.
Ir esu nepripratusi būti laiminga,
nes bijau, kad išduos vėl.
—  H’!
2014/05/09
  • Eurovision: *naming the countries*
  • Eurovision: LATVIA!!
  • Me: FUCk yeah!!! BRoTHERs MADE IT!!! WOOO!! You go guYYYSs!! WOOO!
  • Eurovision: only 11 countries left and 2 tickets to the finals!
  • Me: if there's no Lithuania, I swera to god...
  • Eurovison: the 9th country IIiiiisSS.....
  • Me: ....
  • Eurovision: ....
  • Me: ....
  • Eurovision: ...LITHUANIA!!
  • Me: ... FUCK YEAH! TaiP! TAIp iR MANIAU!! yaaAAASSsssSsS!! BALTIC BROS ARE IN THE FINAL!! YAaaaaaAAAAAAaASSssssSs!!! *throws a party*

During the monsoon season, which coincided with the year end school holidays when we visited Taiping, bright sunny mornings would give way to dark grey masses of cloud rising towards us from over the hills by early afternoon.  The first rain drops would be huge, hitting the baked roads, soil and zinc rooftops with force, driving the characteristic smell of rain into our nostrils and creating a din that was like someone throwing thousands of guli-guli (marbles) into metal basins.  

There would be a scramble to bring in the clothes that had been drying out on the line.  By now, our arms and backs would have felt the chill of the large rain drops, and the clothing we gathered would feel warm and smell so comforting, and as we threw the clothes in a pile in the back room next to the kitchen, we would be so tempted to dive into the clothes and luxuriate there. The back room was dark because the windows were made of solid pieces of wood with no glass panels, and little light came through the door because the thick dark clouds blocked out the sun.

Emerging from the back room to the familiar smell of the lit charcoal stoves in the kitchen, we would walk carefully along the slippery concrete passage to get back to the main house, passing the pails and basins set out to harvest the rainwater for washing clothes the next day.  On rare occasions, the nearby river would burst its banks and we would take refuge on the raised wood floor in Amah’s room.  The storm would usually be over by evening, when we would head out to the wet road, breathing in the incredibly fresh air and then cycling across all the puddles we could find.  Thinking back now, I realise the puddles must have been contaminated with water buffalo droppings, so splashing the water around was probably not the most hygienic of play activities. 

There was a spot midway on the south facing side of Amah’s house, where water drained down from the roof into a small depression in the soil, just two feet across. The bottom of this depression was lined with smooth pebbles and shells that were brought home from past trips to the beach, so the water that collected here was clear and cool, and delightful to stand in.

I have a very vivid memory of one particular stormy sunday afternoon when we watched a horror film screened on TV.  This film, “Attack of the Crab Monsters” somehow upset me greatly because the giant mutated crabs could speak with the voices of humans they had eaten.  The crafty crabs used their victim’s voices to lure more victims to them, and in the end, only two of the humans on the island survived.  I remember walking out into the cool evening after the movie ended to calm myself by looking around at how wet and peaceful everything was and how quiet and blue the hills seemed.

#madewithpaper / fiftythree.com

Neištversiu
  • Neištversiu
  • Kamanių šilelis
Play

neištversiu. meile mano neištversiu
pasigersiu meile mano pasigersiu
ir nukrisiu prie tavęs kaip krenta gėlės
pilną taurę juodo rudenio išgėręs
pasigersiu iš taurės tos ir paverksiu
ir paverksiu meile mano tau prie kojų
prisiversiu ir paverksiu kad kažko jau
neradau ir kad tikriausiai neištversiu
mirtinai per vieną mirksnį pasigersiu
šalia to ko taip ilgai ieškojau

Apie vasarį, šešioliktą ir visą gyvenimą

Šiaip aš nelaikau savęs patriotu, geriau besčiau peiliu sau į koją nei eičiau per eitynes su vėliavėle rankose, neskubu bučiuoti rankų tautai, kuri iš mano vardo sprendžia, ar aš geras/protingas žmogus, kuri dvylika metų bandė mane sulietuvinti, kol galiausiai tapau svetimšaliu, kad ir kur būčiau, kuri vis dar manęs klausinėja, kodėl čia gimiau ir gyvenu. Visgi, kasmet jaučiu būtinybę pasisakyti šią dieną.

Nepaisant visų aukščiau išvardintų niuansų, aš vertinu laisvę. Bet kurios valstybės, regiono, miesto, rajono, asmenybės, nesvarbu. Tačiau, mokantis Akademijoje, supratau du dalykus: 

1) Su laisve ateina ir didelė atsakomybė. Būdamas laisvu tu išlieki atsakingas už savo veiksmus, kadangi gyveni ne vienas, o bendruomenėje, kasdien kaitaliodamas kelis socialinius vaidmenis. Tu turi galvoti, ką darai ir kodėl taip elgiesi, kas tau ir kitiems iš to. Tu negauni teisės kam nors kenkti, skriausti, neapykantos kurstymą argumentuoti kaip nuomonę. Laisvė yra didelis protinis darbas, kuris galiausiai parodo, ko tu esi vertas kaip asmenybė, ką tu turi papasakoti šitam pasauliui, kaip tu sugebi tai pateikti. Būdamas laisvas tu gali giliau įkvėpti ir rytais keltis su mintimi, kad turi pasirinkimą eiti į darbą, mokslus, kavinę ir nebūti nušautas gatvėje už savo pažiūras, prancūzų kalbos mokėjimą, apsiskaitymą ar ne tokį žvilgsnį. Tu gali naudotis visomis šio gyvenimo galimybėmis, pasistengiant neišeiti iš proto.

2) Valstybė, kuri nuolat kalba apie modernumą, tobulėjimą, šaudydama konfeti, kaip džiaugiasi nepriklausomybe, tuo pačiu metu kultūrai ir švietimui teikdama tokį absurdiškai mažą dėmesį, apgailėtiną finansavimą, nukreipdama žiniasklaidos (tuo pačiu ir didžiosios dalies visuomenės) dėmesį į nereikšmingus dalykus, yra kaip ta moteris plyšusiom pėdkelnėm iš Gėlių gatvės, kuri prisiekinėja, kad nevartoja heroino.

Su Laisve, neišprotėkit.

Kai kalbu su ja, atrodo, kad žodžiai, kuriuos noriu pasakyti stringa gerklėje ir užkemša plaučius. Aš negaliu kvėpuoti, negaliu kalbėti. Kai ji kalba su manimi, atrodo, kad atsiveria visi, taip ilgai kaupti, ašarų rezervuarai. Aš negaliu matyti. Jos žodžiai purto mane stipriau nei elektros srovė. Aš negaliu pajudėti. Tai ne meilė. Tai nuodai. Jie prasiskverbia į giliausius proto kampelius ir kankina iš vidaus.
— 

Ji mano kraujas.

97.

There were three places in the Lake Gardens we HAD to visit during a trip back to Taiping during school holidays, and Aunty Lia was always happy to oblige.  

One was a pair of large concrete slides - wide enough for a child to roll down sideways.  The sliding surface was a very smooth, light green colored cement layer.  There was a small hill behind the slides, and I don’t recall what was up that hill - perhaps the government rest house?  While hunting for photo references, I learnt that the playground of which the slides were a part was built for the children of Taiping by New Zealand soldiers stationed there during the Melaya Darurat (Malayan Emergency - British Colonialists vs Communist Party of Malaya).  Construction was completed in 1961, just in time for my arrival into the world on what was literally a dark and stormy night, in the hospital on the other side of town.

The other spot was just nearby - a set of shallow ponds crammed full of lotus plants.  The flowers and leaves stood tall on stalks, facing the sun while the rhizomes lay buried in the cool mud below.  The ponds had a constant supply of fresh water flowing in from the hills, and there was an outlet for water to drain into the larger lakes. This outlet was shallow and rough, making it a perfect place for us kids to safely stand, to feel the exhilarating rush of water sliding past our feet.  Lotus plants produce beautiful flowers that are delightful to contemplate (hence its significance in Eastern Spirituality), and they also provide ingredients for the kitchen.  The seed pods are harvested and sold in bunches in the wet market.  The green pulpy pod body is pulled apart to release the seeds which protrude from the flat part of what looks like a shower head.  A layer of green skin needs to be peeled off to expose the yellowish edible part of the seed which we would eat raw as a snack, or cook in chinese herbal soups.  The beans were also used as a paste, in fillings for Pau (steamed buns) and MoonCakes (eaten during the 8th lunar month). The rhizomes we purchased from market stalls cane covered in fine grey-brown mud.  The sausage shaped rhizomes were first skinned and then sliced up into discs with ready made holes in them.  The slices taste lovely when eaten raw (it’s somewhat like water chestnut), and are otherwise stir fried with vegetables, or boiled with pork bone for soup. Even the leaves are used in the kitchen, in the preparation of Lo Mai Gai, where glutinous rice, with dried prawn, dried mushroom and pork or chicken are wrapped in lotus leaves and steamed. The leaves provide a distinctive frangrance to the dish.  

The third spot is where a pair of snakes were made of painted rocks from the Maxwell Hill streams. In my current adult incarnation, I fail to see how we could have been so fascinated with walking up and down the backs of the snakes, balancing carefully lest our feet touch the ground and the snakes consume us whole.  But enthralled we were, and back and forth we walked, staying alive and happy with yet another outing to the Lake Gardens.

#madewithpaper / fiftythree.com