Author: goldfish

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Thought process

For years, I was hoping to share my understanding of Western music to young Asian musicians. I was hoping that, with open mind, they would make real efforts to learn the cultural background of the music they wished to perform. My attempts produced extreme limited results. Was my approach wrong or was it that my message was simply inconsequential? My disappointment grew as the years passed. And, then decades. . .

In late June, a YouTube video of Yi-Kwei Sze inspired me to write about Chinese art songs.[1] As I brought up the subject to my Western friends, much to my surprise, their interests were instantaneous; and their responses, positive. It seemed that, accidentally, I had found my calling. So, I took the next step in introducing the genre to a wider audience.

Almost as soon as I start organizing the information, I found it necessary to discuss Chinese literary tradition. Then, I realized, in order to do that, I must trace it back to the roots of Chinese civilization. Thus, an adult version of “Once upon a time” took shape.

The process has been a soul cleansing one for me. I found myself in my childhood classroom, receiving the information from my teachers for the first time. Curious about everything, sometimes, I swallowed the information so quickly that I never had the chance to digest and savor it. Sometimes, I was lost, just by counting the years between me and the ancient stories. Many of my teachers joked about how every Chinese child was born with a five-thousand-year burden. If so, I have been carrying it for all my life. Now is the time to unload it.

When communicating with friends, colleagues, and students, I often assume that everyone follows my thought process. That, in some situation, also means that I assume everyone share the same understanding of the issue at hand. Consequently, I often leave people puzzling, trying to connect the dots. Most of time they are too polite to stop me from rambling on.

There is so much to tell about my culture; there is so little time. To make sure that my stories make sense to all readers, I asked a few friends to look at my drafts. Their responses helped me to organize the materials better—still not perfectly. Indirectly, they also made me aware of the strength and weakness of my writing style. A BIG THANK YOU, everyone.

All aboard. The train is departing—making local stops.

[1]Yi-Kwei Sze & Nancy Lee Sze, Chinese songs_YouTube

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First chill

After a short but scorching heatwave, rain brought us moisture and cool temperatures. The first cool days in August always remind me of my first month in the States—almost four decades ago.

Taipei’s winter was damp and chilly; summer humid and hot. One would not notice much about the spring if not because of the non-stop rain. Autumn was a season that we read about in books. Even though we celebrate it eating moon cakes.

I arrived in Cleveland, Ohio on August 9, 1983. Right away, I noticed that, even in mid-August, the average temperature was much tolerable in Northern America. Some nights, I needed a light blanket.

Before I fully settled in, three days in a row, the temperature stayed in the 70s. Although I did bring some heavier clothing, I was not supposed to need them so soon. For the first time in my life, I understood the expression “changing of seasons.”

Nothing prepared me for the brilliant foliage in the autumn; for the icy snow in the winter; and the rebirth of the earth in the spring. By the end of the following summer, my education on the four seasons was complete. With it, I had a new appreciation of the infinity of the universe and my own small place in it.