A quiet path

I turned the calendar to a new page.  An image of a quiet path between two stone walls strewn with fallen leaves, long and narrow, presented a solitary autumn image.  Underneath, there was a message: “There is a road from the eye to the heart that does not go through the intellect.  G.K. Chesterton

I grew up influenced by people that taught me how to organize my thoughts intellectually.  I went through years of academic training learning to tear words and notes apart and, then, put them back in good order.  I hardly ever look at an object without thinking about the deeper meaning of its existence.

Friends asked me how I kept so many things in my memories.  The simple answer is “eyes.”  From time to time something special makes my heart cry out, “Look!”  As the shutter opens and closes, the image locks permanently within me.  As years go by, these images accumulated and became part of me, without me knowing.

Mom made me carry a notebook every time we went on a long trip.  She made me keep a travel log at the end each day.  Since she never asked my brother to do the same, I always felt that I was being treated unjustly.  The little notebook in my bag always seemed heavier than a stone.  It made the end of the evening unpleasant.  Mom asked me to recall what I saw during the day.  Sometimes, she asked me to compare what I experienced with the descriptions in tourist pamphlets.  Gradually, this regimen became a norm.  I didn’t keep any of the notebooks, but the special moments lived on.

The path from my eyes to my heart is a solitary one, long and quiet. . . I am letting unlatched the door on one end of the path. . .

Central Taiwan revisited (1)

Early September, after staying over in Guguan, we visited cousin Wu and his family in Zhongxing New Village 中興新村, once the provincial capital of Taiwan and now a developing IT center.  Cousin Wu’s mother was mom’s younger sister, who passed away early last year.  He lived with us while attending one of the top high schools in Taipei.  A diligent student and a kind person with a great sense of humor, he became a big brother to me and Little Cop.  After getting advanced degrees in the States, he settled in central Taiwan and raised his family there.

Our earlier tie to the village was through auntie Zhu, mom’s younger cousin, who worked for the provincial government.  During our first trip to this region years ago, we stopped by in Zhongxing New Village to visit her.  For a little girl, visiting the center of the governmental administration was a big deal.  Having a relative working there was even more special.  Yet, all I remembered from the visit was the quaint residential section of the village: one-story houses on tree-lined streets.  (Later I learned that the design of the village was based on the concept of “garden cities.”)

Since auntie Zhu lived far from us, I never met her before.  Shyness prevented me from getting to know her better in a short visit.  However, she remained in touch with mom.  Two summers ago, while I was in Taipei, she and her daughter came to visit us.  Mom didn’t remember auntie.  But when I showed her the photos later that evening, she pointed auntie out by name.  I called to thank auntie Zhu for the visit and told her that mom did recognize her in the photos.

During this trip, we did not visit the old capital site.  Decades of political pendulum has led to the decline of the capital village, as the adjacent area gradually turned into a recreational center.  The roads all seemed wider and smoother than before.  Green waves from the lotus fields, graced by elegant pink flowers, softened the surroundings under the late summer sun.  Trendy signs of café and restaurants added a hint of geek culture.

We met cousin Wu, his wife and two daughters at an Italian restaurant for pizza and pasta!  I never, in my wildest dream, would imagine traveling to Central Taiwan for Italian food.  Fun and funny.  Then, we visited their new house.   It was beautifully designed with natural stone floor, open concept living space.  Also taken consideration was easy accessibility for elders, meant to provide a suitable environment for auntie.  Yet, she did not get to enjoy it. . .

We last saw auntie over a decade ago in a nearby town Caotun草屯.  The township was very close to the epicenter of the 1999 Jiji earthquake.  There were still visible damages everywhere after several years.  Our conversations largely circled around their aftermath experiences in the first few days after the mainshock:  Their house was mostly intact.  But, there was no power and no supplies.  Having no access to the outside world, not being able to reach friends and relatives, made the situation even more stressful.

We stayed overnight.  Mom and auntie, not having seen each other for a while, chatted gently before going to bed.  The next day, our two families visited well-known tourist spots in the region:  Sun-moon lake日月潭 and Xitou 溪頭.  Although we had all been there before, we cherished the opportunity to share the joy together.

Time flies.  Cousin’s little daughters are now in college and high school.  We miss auntie’s presence in our party.  When will we all be together again?  How will our environment change?