Me next

We rode to the airport together. Brother checked in, and I stood on the side taking pictures. After a few shots, I didn't feel like taking pictures anymore.

They hugged, and I could see brother's eyes moisten and narrow. I hugged him took, and felt a strong, tight embrace back. "Take care," he said, "And finish the chemo treatments". It was then that I could see he cares, deep down, even though he does not say it, does not know how to show it.
Mum accompanied brother only part of the way, and brother walked to the customs area alone. Too difficult, she said later. Besides, one has to say goodbye at some time, at some point...

I stared out the window on the way back home. The bright lights of the city flashed by quickly. I grew pensive. It will soon be me next.

Dream

I rocked gently her in my arms, and shed tears as I did. Mum's face was looking innocent and frail, childlike and speaking in words and sentences I could not understand. Softly I kissed her head and told her that it was alright, but I knew deep down it wasn't.

I felt myself shake and quiver, shake and quiver from sorrow until I was awake.

太平洋的風 The wind of the Pacific

太平洋的風
作詞：胡德夫　作曲：胡德夫

最早的一件衣裳　最早的一片呼喚
最早的一個故鄉　最早的一件往事
是太平洋的風徐徐吹來　吹過所有的全部
裸裎赤子　呱呱落地的披風
絲絲若息　油油然的生機
吹過了多少人的臉頰　才吹上了我的
太平洋的風一直在吹

最早世界的感覺
最早感覺的世界

舞影婆娑　在遼闊無際的海洋
攀落滑動　在千古的峰臺和平野
吹上山吹落山　吹進了美麗的山谷
太平洋的風一直在吹

最早母親的感覺
最早的一份覺醒

吹動無數的孤兒船帆　領過寧靜的港灣
穿梭著美麗的海峽上　吹上延綿無窮的海岸
吹著你　吹著我　吹生命草原的歌啊
太平洋的風一直在吹

最早和平的感覺
最早感覺的和平

(Translation mine)

The wind of the Pacific
Song/Lyrics: Kimbo

The earliest piece of clothing,

The earliest calling.

The earliest homeland,

The earliest bygones.

It is the wind of the Pacific steadily, steadily blowing,

Blowing over all else.

Naked newborn baby, [a] cape falling to the ground amid [the baby’s] cry,

Thin silk-like breaths, spontaneous signs of life,

Has blown over how people’s cheeks, until it blew on mine.

The wind of the Pacific continuously blows.

The earliest feeling of the world,
The earliest world of feeling.

Shadows dancing and whirling around,

in the broad and endless ocean.

Clamber, fall, slide and move,

In the peaks and flat fields for all eternity.

Blow up the mountain, blow down the mountain,

Blow into the beautiful valley.

The wind of the Pacific continuously blows.

The earliest feeling of [a] mother.

The earliest sense of awakening.

Blow into action countless orphan sails, leading into the silent harbour bay,

Shuttling on the beautiful strait, blowing onto the extended and endless seashore.

Blowing on me, blowing on you, blowing the song of the field of life

The wind of the Pacific continuously blows.

Adrift together with the breath of Formosa, that is natural, respected, and also flourishing.

The wind of the Pacific continuously blows.

The earliest feeling of peace.

The earliest peace of feeling.

Nightsafari

We tread carefully through the night, the spotlight of our guide leading the way. The clouds shielded the stars and full moon from a terrace high up in the mountains of Taroko. But the darkness was alive with the croaking of toads, creaking of insects, and odd shrieks and shrills of creatures that will forever remain mysterious and hidden to me.

We were on a night safari in search of the Formosan flying squirrel. Three species are indigenous to and found only on the island of Taiwan. A member of the rodent family, this furry little creature looks like a squirrel, except from its ankles to its tiny wrists is a membrane that allows it to 'glide' (not really 'fly', as the name misleading suggests) from tree to tree. Its long, fluffy tail acts like a sort of airfoil which allows the little creature to control its direction, and allows it to 'brake' upon landing on branches. Only active at night, the squirrels glide down from higher altitudes in search of food, which consists of fungi, fruits and sometimes even bird eggs.

Our aboriginal guide-- a short, dark skinned man, who earlier had performed a moving solo singing act-- told us that the flying squirrel is not extinct, and that they are have been hunted by local Truku tribe members as food. "Fragrant", he commented in response to what the flying squirrel tastes like. The flying squirrel is easy prey, for if you shine a bright light at the creature, its eyes reflect back brightly like cat-eyes, and the animal freezes like stone. And so it was, after searching in the tree tops, the guide finally found no less than three pairs of glowing eyes which just stared back and stayed there like stars.

The nightsafari continued onto a trail through a bamboo forest. The guide led the way, and little by little unveiled what wonders this island, despite its small size, has to offer in terms of the range and variety of fauna and flora present. Due to the vast differences in elevation and the location of the island straddling the tropics and temperature climate zones, at last count, there are no less than 700 species of ferns, 400 species of butterflies, and some 4000 different species of insects on the island alone. In the crack of a boulder, a gigantic banyan tree has managed to take root and grow like a gigantic umbrella to shelter the earth all around it. Ferns, figs, and vines grow and coil together their branches and bodies in an unseprable tangled, wild mass. The bamboos that stand tall and thin and sway at the slightest wind provide wood for the aboriginals to build their huts and tools. When split open, the hollow insides of a bamboo can be filled with rice and cooked slowly over an open fire to produce delicious "bamboo rice", a staple in the local diet.

We looked down at where our guide shone the flashlight, and a grayish green creature lept and lept. A toad, he explained, and where there are toads, there are snakes. Suddenly, it seemed we all became very afraid and very aware of our surroundings. Unlike common misconception, snakes do not hibernate in winter in Taiwan. Maybe higher up in the mountains, but where we were, merely eight hundred or so metres above the sea, they are very much alive and slithering around. We walked on further, wary of where our feet were stepping on, for every few steps the sound and vibrations of our feet would trigger toads to leap out of our paths and into the dark, dense bushes all around us.

"There!" the guide exlaimed and shown light on a thick branch that was covered with dangling foilage, roots and vines. Looking more closely, my skin crawled. There on the branch, resting and not moving was a snake. Long, thin, slimy and scaly, brown with black markings along the length of its entire body. I could not see its tail end or figure out where its head was. Perhaps it was angrily slithering and staring at us for disturbing its prowl on some unknowing prey on the ground. The next day, early morning around eight, we would see even more snakes coiled and camouflaged in the dense foliage.

Out of the woods we went, and I breathed a sigh of relief when I cleared the bushes into an open field surrounding by wood cabins. The village which used to be situated on the terrace is called Bulowan, after the Truku word meaning "echo". It is said that if you shout into the mountains, you can hear your echo bounce back and reverberate in the valley below. It was here that the ancestors of the Truku people lived and hunted for decennia, if not millennia. For generations, like all the 14 (officially recognised) aboriginal peoples of Formosa, the Truku went about their traditional and ancient ways until the Han and the Japanese people appeared and gradually forced the aboriginals to move down into the plains. Many traditions have been lost, and through the decades aboriginal children have been assimilated into 'mainstream' society through education and migration into the cities looking for work. In one word, the traditions are dying. Thanks to efforts of people like our guide, and others who continue to perform their traditional songs and dance to curious foreigners like ourselves, the lifeline and cultural uniqueness continues to flow on like the creek that has flowed through the gorge since time immemorial.

We shouted as loud as we could, and eventually could indeed hear our echo. Hear our echo come back at us, and for a moment, recall the echoes and past voices of the Truku people who once roamed this land freely.

Hualien

I could feel her. Her low rumbling through my bare feet, her gentle tickle on my soles and toes. And I could hear her. Her boisterous laughter, her suppressed cries blowing, blowing through the messenger wind into my ears.

The sea melted into different shades of blue as it spread and greeted the sky. Closer to shore was a light, almost see-through tone which gradually darkened on the horizon. The waves hurried ashore in a flow of confused foam and white, but almost as quickly retreated, each time advancing further and further, trying to grab and lure me in. I stood tall on top of a boulder, its surface cut and smoothed by the constant bombardment of the sea, wind, and passage of time. Lonely crops of rock bravely peaked out of the ocean, fearlessly bearing the brutal brunt of the Pacific that constantly collided against their determined bodies. Behind me, were the solemn-looking scarred faces of mountains that soared into the skies until their heads played hide and seek with passing cotton clouds.

I breathed deep and absorbed her breath. Pure and salted, slightly moist with a scent of wood soaking. In my open palms I felt her warm handshake, and sprinkles of dews against my exposed arms. She stroked my hair, and brushed against my cheeks. I grew goosebumps and ever fond of her welcoming and embracing presence all around me. In the ocean, in the wind, in the sun, in the sand beneath my feet, and in the air that warmly wrapped around me in a comforting bubble that shielded away all the noise and troubles of the world.

For a moment, I was all alone with nature, and absorbed in her unblemished innocence and beauty.

Remember 228

The moon was fully round, bright and hanging low. All around us, the explosion and cracking of fireworks that momentarily dazzle the skies and fill the air with smoke. People with happy faces wander the streets, while children bounce around with lanterns dangling from their ha nds. The first full moon after the lunar new year marks the end of the season of festivities, and is celebrate with fireworks and eating glutinous rice balls (湯圓) filled with sesame or peanut paste.

This year, this big festival happens to fall on February 28 (228), a momentous day and turning point in Taiwan's modern political history. Next the celebrations and joyous ceremonies at crowded temples, for many, this day is a reminder of Taiwan's dark totalitarian past. For it was on this day in 1947 that the beginnings of the White Terror era began. To those who have lost family and friends, 228 brings back painful memories. To others, it is a day to be free from work, as it is also Peace Memorial Day. Perhaps not without reason.

Walking around the streets of Taiwan, you can feel the prosperity and abundant vibrant life and culture that people enjoy today. Today's Taiwan is a democracy, founded on the rule of law that defends the rights of its many peoples of different origins. Taiwanese, Hakka, Mainland Chinese, Aboriginals and New Immigrants, such as Filipinos, Vietnamese, Indonesians and other South East Asians, live on this tiny piece of land. Despite random acts of fist-fighting in parliament, and the seemingly ominous murders and rampant disasters that the media love to focus on, Taiwan today is a harmonious society.

But it was not always so. 228 in 1947 marked the beginning of a brutal crackdown against influential Taiwanese people by the invading Chiang Kai-Shek regime.

...troops from the mainland arrived ... and indulged in three days
of indiscriminate killing and looting.  For a time everyone seen on the
streets was shot at, homes were broken into and occupants killed.  In the
poorer sections the streets were said to have been littered with dead.
       There were instances of beheadings and mutilation of bodies, and
women were raped, the American said.
       Two foreign women, who were near at Pingtung near Takao, called the
actions of the Chinese soldiers there a "massacre."  They said unarmed
Formosans took over the administration of the town peacefully on March 4
and used the local radio station to caution against violence.
       Chinese were well received and invited to lunch with the Formosan
leaders.  Later a bigger group of soldiers came and launched a sweep through
the streets.
       The people were machine gunned.  Groups were rounded up and
executed.

What began as a peaceful demonstration against the corruption and ineptitude of the Nationalist Chinese government turned into a bloody massacre that in the following decades would cost the lives and tears of tens, if not hundreds of, thousands of Taiwanese. Many were imprisoned for opposing the government (see: Green Island Serenade), and the longest Martial Law in modern history, which lasted almost four decades, was imposed by the Nationalist Chinese regime in order to oppress Taiwanese people and consciousness.

But that is all in the past now, and the Taiwan of today is much different from the Taiwan of yesteryears. Cuts seal themselves, memories fade, but the truth of what happened and the responsibility of those who gave ruled the island and its people with an iron fist cannot be denied, cannot be whitewashed or downplayed (as the Nationalist Chinese Party is attempting to do now that it is back in power...) cannot be forgotten.

On this day, I can only wish for the peace and prosperity that Taiwan has eventually managed to find to forever embrace this country and its people. May old wounds scar and heal, may people's pain and suffering be lightened with time, and may all who live and enjoy the freedoms and rights that they take for granted everyday remember those who had none but gave everything to secure them.

"A flower on a rainy night
A flower on a rainy night
Fell on the ground in wind and rain
Out of everyone's sight
It sighs day and night
It has fallen not to return again.

A flower on the ground
A flower on the ground
Who pays attention to it?
Merciless rain, merciless rain
It has no concern for our future
It is not mindful for ou...r frailty
Covering our destiny with darkness
Causing us to fall from the branch
Out of everyone's sight

Raindrops, raindrops
Lead us into the pool of suffering
Not mindful of our frailty
Covering our destiny with darkness
Causing us to fall from the branch
Out of everyone's sight"