when words fail

11/20/09 - Celebratory Plate.
A gift from the Bitbit Café.

… my God, how beautiful Shakespeare is, who else is as mysterious as he is; his language and method are like a brush trembling with excitement and ecstasy. But one must learn to read, just as one must learn to see and learn to live.
— Van Gogh

(I cannot wait to see his exhibition in Taipei.)

Over the last two months, raw ideas have been taken apart over and over to be polished and rearranged. Each week we returned with new concepts, from material to technique, hoping something might just spark off a change and bring the sentences to flames.

In each piece hid a different fuse, often in unexpected locations and with varying lengths. Every now and then, we were surprised to see a sudden onset of brightness, provoked by things exchanged over Thursday nights. I worried sometimes, there was not yet enough strength to withstand the deconstruction - yet we must take the old apart to build something new - or that time would run out before we can construct again.

All the worries evaporated last night as we huddled around the table, warmed by what we have accomplished.  Over melon beer, crème brûlée and chocolate cake, we shared life stories now preserved in faithful words.

***

From “Material” by Alice Munro:

The story is about Dotty. Of course, she has been changed in some unimportant ways and the main incident concerning her has been invented, or grafted on from some other reality. But the lamp is there, and the pink chenille dressing gown. And something about Dotty that I had forgotten: When you were talking she would listen with her mouth slightly open, nodding, then she would chime in on the last word of your sentence with you. A touching and irritating habit. She was in such a hurry to agree, she hoped to understand. Hugo has remembered this, and when did Hugo ever talk to Dotty?

That doesn’t matter. What matters is that this story of Hugo’s is a very good story, as far as I can tell, and I think I can tell. How honest this is and how lovely, I had to say as I read. I had to admit. I was moved by Hugo’s story; I was, I am, glad of it, and I am not moved by tricks. Lovely tricks, honest tricks. There is Dotty, lifted out of life and held in light, suspended in the marvelous clear jelly that Hugo has spent all his life learning how to make. It is an act of magic, there is no getting around it; it is an act, you might say, of a special, unsparing, unsentimental love. A fine and lucky benevolence. Dotty was a lucky person, people who understand and value this act might say (not everybody, of course, does understand and value this act); she was lucky to live in that basement for a few months and have this done to her, though she doesn’t know what has been done and wouldn’t care for it, probably, if she did know. She has passed into Art. It doesn’t happen to everybody.

***

To end the night, I shared a passage I’d discovered at a bookstore back in Philly. It reminded me of a time when I saved every good idea I had, and as a result, I wrote nothing. Among the most important things I have learned about creation is to give. Give, and more shall come. This is true beyond writing.

Give it all. Give it now. The way to write is to throw your body at the mark when your arrows are spent.  

I am no longer sure what the question is, but I do know that the answer is Yes.  

One of the few things I know about writing is this: spend it all, shoot it, play it, lose it, all, right away, every time. Do not hoard what seems good for a later place in the book, or for another book; give it, give it all, give it now.

The impulse to save something good for a better place later is the signal to spend it now. Something more will arise for later, something better. These things fill from behind, from beneath like well water.

Similarly, the impulse to keep to yourself what you have learned is not only shameful, it is destructive. Anything you do not give freely and abundantly becomes lost to you.

You open your safe and find ashes.

11/18/2009 - Sugar Lumps.

The prompt was confrontation. I wanted to see how she would handle her writing in a more trying situation. The challenge turned out to be difficult, only not in the way I had imagined; a week later when we met again, she told me she could not - for the life of her -  think of anyone she wanted to confront.

But since my husband was nearby, she said cheerfully, I decided to confront him. Naturally he was not too pleased when I declared that.

I hope you didn’t tell him I was behind this.
Immediately, I had a vision of being chased around by her angry husband.

***

Posted with permission and slight modification:

Dear,

It has been years that we have known each other, and it has come to a point where I must discuss several things about you that make me unhappy.

I understand, it might be hard for you to change, but these habits you have are causing discomfort and inconvenience to my life. My purpose is not to put an end to our ties; I am writing this letter only because I want our marriage and friendship to last. I hope you will read carefully and help me find solutions.

First of all, you put my health at risk. You are such a good cook that I cannot stop eating the dishes that you make. They are always very well handled, seasoned, and presented. I have gained weight since we first met, and continue to do so to this day. Additionally, I have enjoyed eating at home much more than eating out these days —this confines my exposure to the world-known restaurants in our city.

Secondly, you make me look old. You can always make me laugh at the most unexpected time and occasion. This morning, when you mentioned a cycling trip over the weekend, I reminded you that we did not own any bicycles. Then you sent me a picture of the cycling trip in your mind. (http://333.fotoc.com/hk_icycling/v/hkopen09/pairmen/BCW_5294—.JPG.html)
Your humor has succeeded at making me laugh every time, I therefore have more winkles than anyone around my age.

Finally, you are deteriorating my Chinese. Even though your Chinese is still quite limited, you always try your best to use it whenever possible. This forces me to use simple words and baby sentences to continue a conversation with you. The effect is devastating — for the longest time, I haven’t had a chance to speak sophisticated Chinese like a mature, successful, professional native speaker that I am. Your very cute and sexy accent makes it especially hard for me to stop you. You should take full responsibility for my atrophied mother tongue.

To conclude, you have directly inconvenienced my health, beauty, and intelligence. I shall use a lifetime to observe whether you seek improvement or not.

Xie Xie. (Thank you)

Your Tai Tai (Your wife)

***

Of course she would.

She was smiling at me as we finished reading together. Somehow I was not surprised she had given the heavy subject such a delightful twist. Every time I think about this letter, I feel a happiness float up.

I shall use a lifetime to observe whether you seek improvement or not.

Flaws she named, but they were all perfect flaws. I was reminded of the bowl of sugar lumps sitting on the dining table — coarse, uneven on all sides. Imperfect, and lovely at that.

11/11/09 - Remembering a Bento.
Photo credit: Eric Weng

Two or three weeks after I moved back to Taiwan, my parents took Pony and me on a food tour around Kyoto and Osaka, Japan. True to our ways, we roamed the streets from early morning to late night, seeking out restaurants favored by locals. We walked as much as we could, so that more meals and even more half-meals could fit into a single day.

On the last night in Kyoto however, we decided to take it easy and settle our dinner at a supermarket nearby. The bento I chose was a glorious combination of salmon roe, crab meat and sea urchin atop a layer of sushi rice. (I would move to Japan in a heartbeat just for the basic food they serve at supermarkets).

The cashier smiled and reached for the several boxes we had selected. She bowed slightly before setting out to wrap our purchase.

Did you hear what she just said? Pony tugged at my sleeve.

I shook my head.

‘I will be careful with your belongings.’ Isn’t that great?
My little sister was still observing the woman, face radiant.

Perhaps because soon after, I began my time with Workshop and had been devoted to the cause ever since, this is what I remember most about the trip. Sometimes while working with people, I flashback to the scene and imagine myself the cashier, hoping those before me would feel the way that we did.

I promise to be careful with what you entrust me.

***

I remember too, of course, how anxious I really was on that trip. Unnerved by the question marks and tension in my new life, I found it hard to fully enjoy myself. All the excitement and delight of the Japanese cities temporarily distracted me, but they could not put me at ease.

Nearly four months later, with a completely different spirit, I am now finalizing a trip to Bangkok with my parents and my grandparents for early December. Just yesterday, I put down the payment for my flight and hotel — not the first trip I have managed for myself, but it is the first one where I can truly say, I am not still supported by my parents in other areas of my life.

Good news upon good news: I will be officially behind the wheels this Friday. My driving coach had been right about those phoenix eyes.

10/31/09 - The 3PM Crab Feast.

What is your schedule like today?
Mom wanted to know. She had bought crabs from the market this morning - still alive, rattling the plastic bag where they were held.

Though it’s a Saturday, finding that common time with my parents proved to be no easy task; our workload concentrates most heavily over weekends. After some discussion, we finally secured an opening in the afternoon - the hour between three and four - to hold our crab feast.

When I arrived at my parents’ apartment, the table was already set and the two plates of crabs, its centerpiece. On each of our mats was a small dish carrying sauce made with vinegar, ginger and sugar; when seafood is fresh, a humble dip is all the complement it needs.

Was it a late lunch, or an early dinner?
We mused while cracking shells and scooping out cream from carapaces. In the end, we decided it was simply a meal invented.

***

At the Burger Joint in the Haight, San Francisco (July).

Andrew and I stopped by to have a snack before meeting Alison that afternoon. I ordered a plate of French Fries for the both of us. As I waited at the counter, zoned out reading a sign there, the cashier suddenly exclaimed, It’s such a gorgeous day, huh?

Yes it is! I smiled. 
And it was. Outside, the sun brilliant, breezes cool.

Sometimes, she sighed, I am shocked that we live in a place like this.

***

In my junior year at Penn, I saw a man crouching on the grass outside my dorm one day. It took me a moment to understand that he was kissing the ground. He did it several times, rising and bowing low. I could not completely comprehend the sight, but I held on to it.

***

Those fragments above, I have been saving for the day when I can say, I feel the same way about being where I am now.

Today is the day.

The crabs were certainly worth smiling about, yet more than that, there are my days, though busy, still malleable and filled with possibilities for innovation. I am ecstatic to find this true not just with time, but also the other relationships I count around me: with people, with the city, with my work, with myself.

Lately, I have been shocked to live in a place like this.

***

This path, marked through space by ponds, statues, trees, sculpture, and steps, leads to a question - to a tall portico open to gardens on both faces and with entrances to the library and the museum on either side. The climax of the axis is a choice, not an instruction.

— from Chambers for a Memory Palace (Lyndon & Moore)

10/25/09 - Lemon juice & honey.

I wrote to ask TJ what I should do about my overworked vocal chords. These days, I make a living with them, and there are times when I would talk for hours with little rest. Even when I sold advertisements back in college, I did not use my voice as much.

It’s clear: I haven’t learned to keep this part of my body relaxed when under demand. I grow hoarse after a while, unable to reverse the tightness.

When I was in district chorus, My sweet singer replied,
lots of the kids drank water with lemon juice and honey.

A lemon a day shared amongst glasses of water, I took up the formula as a first step to improvement. From there, I have also been inspired to work on my voice and polish my speech. I have always wanted to develop greater eloquence. Since I now have a career that depends on such progress, and also provides opportunities for practice, I am pushing forth.

It is a sign of a wonderful profession, isn’t it -
that we are able to seek growth in areas of our choice?

***

While studying Renee Grant-Williams’ Voice Power,
I highlighted these lines:

A technique always works best when it is invisible, that is, when it has become a deeply ingrained habit. And that only happens over time and with plenty of practice.

The remainder of this chapter on Voice Production reviewed a classic model for learning (therefore, change):

Unconscious Incompetence
Maybe you’ve never given much thought to how you sound or whether there was any prospect of doing anything about it. Having no idea what is wrong or what is possible can be a rather blissful stage.

Conscious Incompetence
Here, you are all too aware that improvements could be made. You’ve learned a few techniques, but they are new and might feel a bit strange. This stage is not much fun.

Conscious Competence
You have mastered a host of new skills, but at this stage, you still need to concentrate to keep all the balls in the air.

Unconscious Competence
This is the voice nirvana that we have been working toward. These techniques have become a part of you. You use them without thinking. Technique has set you free.

***

Damian once told me that the day I master my tango technique, I will turn a beginner once more. Only, a new kind this time - I will begin to truly feel the music, and dance.

***

Conscious now of an incompetence, the work commences.

To help me, Grandma shared some honey in a little vodka bottle (though I don’t believe she drinks Smirnoff Ice; it must be from my uncle’s house). Mom gave me a ceramic juicer as a gift. She had carried it all the way back from the Reading Terminal Market:

Philadelphia, we meet again.

10/15/09 - Salmon Rice with Crisped Salmon Skin.

Two days ago, I nearly crashed into another car at the driving school.

At the time, I was slowly negotiating my way out of a curve. There was a car directly ahead of me, so I thought to myself: I must brake now, or I might hit that. I had completely forgotten, my foot was still on the accelerator pedal, and in all of my eagerness to react, I stamped down.

The car flew forward. I remember the horror on that woman’s face, as I headed directly for the driver’s seat. Within a split second, I found the brake, but by the time I stopped, we were only inches apart.

I covered my face with both hands and leaned into the steering wheel, cold sweat breaking. It was fortunate, the woman did not make wild turns in a panic. If she had done so, the timely brake may not have saved us.

Instead, she waited,
as I should have too, before reacting.

***

While I am writing this, I keep remembering a dinner Pony and I made for our grandparents not too long ago. After a round of vichyssoise that night, we served salmon rice pyramids topped with the fish’s skin. Though crisped to perfection, the strips of skin were too salty. We had been overly excited about marinating, and turned too generous a hand over our fish. The skin ended up absorbing most of the hit.

You must wait a while every time after you flavor, mom reminded us. Don’t be in a hurry to gauge the results right away. They are not accurate. It takes a bit of time for the flavors to spread.

It also, takes a bit of time for clarity to come.
The faster reaction is not always the better one.

***

You will pass the test, my driving coach said to me despite the incident.
You know why you will pass?

I was too focused on the driving at the time and made no answer, so he continued on his own,You will pass because you have phoenix eyes.

(They call eyes that slant upward like mine, phoenix eyes)

What?! I couldn’t help it. 
I’ve never heard that one before.

That’s because you are young, and there are many things you still don’t understand, my coach said with much satisfaction.

I won’t argue with blessings, but I am resolved to master my calm for those phoenix eyes to work their charm.

9/?/09 - Pony’s Buffet.

How do you manage your time? Do you wake up each morning, already clear on how the day should unfold? Do you right away divide up your hours, and allot each piece its due?

After Kelly threw out the questions, Pony and I thought for a while, then I answered for myself. I told Kelly that I don’t plan out everything from the beginning, as there are too many variables along the way. But I have clear goals and I focus on them. I try to waste no time.

At this she smiled, No time wasted!

It was a Monday night. Although as usual the BitBit Cafe had its day off, Pony brought the restaurant back alive for her dinner party. The buffet she had prepared, a glorious sight spread across multiple tables.

***

A few days ago, dad drove me around Sansia to give me a more complete picture of the area. He wanted to show me how the streets I now recognized, connected with one another. Up until this point, my understanding of each place had been piecemeal. It was exciting, to finally put the bits together, in context.

As we passed by an unfamiliar street, Dad pointed out the window.
Do you recognize this? We come here in the mornings to buy ingredients.

That’s the market street?
I stared at it. Empty of people and stalls, the street seemed particularly short.

In the mornings of our visits, when the whole street crowded, I often had the impression that this stretch went on forever. Since most of our items could be purchased near the entrance, I had never actually reached the other end. Now, I was shocked to find it so near. Right before my eyes.

Dad laughed,
With so much life, the place does seem to expand.

***

Time, too;
with so much life, it seems to expand as much.

• I just submitted the first drafts for two books due to publish in December - works of collaboration with my family. One is a collection of essays, another a children’s book.
• Workshop is sailing into its second month. New projects are under way, ideas continue to branch.
• My weekly apprenticeship at the Bitbit Cafe has been humbling and in that, inspiring.
• What part of the day I have left, I have been keeping up with my physical training, my reading and my studies: Spanish, writing, food, anatomy.
• I have also been spending a great deal of time with my family - time that I’ve missed. Together in the next few months,  we are preparing to launch several new projects.

So much has happened; so much more to come.
I count two months since I’ve moved back, yet it feels like it’s been more.

***

On such a full sea are we now afloat,
And we must take the current when it serves,
Or lose our ventures.

— Brutus from Julius Caesar

***

Hesitation, away.

9/15/09 - Salmon & Homemade Gnocchi.
Plated by my mother.

For one of the projects I launched at Workshop, I did some research on naked mole rats. When asked why these ugly-cute animals don’t have much hair, the National Zoo responds:

The underground tunnels they live in have a fairly constant temperature and humidity. If naked mole rats need to get warm, they huddle together. They don’t have to waste energy growing hair.

As I read this, I was immediately reminded of an account that had caught my eye in The Creative Habit:

Philip Roth…was a model of late-life rejuvenation, having produced in his sixties four remarkable novels in a row… Roth had pared his life down to the minimum number of moving parts. Near his desk he kept two small signs, one reading “Stay Put”, the other “No optional Striving” - reminders to avoid the temptation of anything other than the… essentials.

***

No unnecessary struggles.
Only essential striving.
- I ask this of myself from the beginning of each day.

To honor the naked mole rat spirit, I made gnocchi at the Bitbit Cafe during my apprentice hours. Those clever underground dwellers are known to dine
on tubers.

8/?/09 - Smoke Our Own.

That year, she was in fourth grade. She went to a friend’s place after school. There, the grandmother of the household took a look at her and exclaimed,

A maw-tsui!
Meaning: someone with an underbite. 
Back in Penghu, a kid like that, we strangle at birth.
No one wants a maw-tsui.

Shocked, the little girl went home and hurried to her older sister.
Er-jie, er-jie! 
(Second sister! Second sister!)

For the first time in her life, she felt the threat of her underbite. It must be something of a curse. Else, why would she deserve death on that archipelago off Taiwan’s coast?

***

My sister was only 15 that year, still very innocent,
grandma told me.
I ran home that day, all flushed with worry. She listened to me seriously, and we both wondered what to do next. Er-jie wanted to help me - that girl had such a heart - so she said, ‘why don’t you try pushing your upper teeth forward? Day after day, surely the problem will be fixed’.

So every day, I did. Whatever free time I had, I pushed my teeth out. Er-jie encouraged me all the while. We began to see the change in time.

***

Grandma couldn’t remember how long it had taken her, but finally one day her teeth aligned. Just barely. I could see now, as she opened her mouth to show me, yet I would never have noticed that something peculiar about her teeth, had she not shared the tale.

No one believes my story,
grandma continued.
Except one person - a dentist I met after my pregnancy. Back in the day, your grandpa and I didn’t know any better; we thought treating cavities would harm the fetus in my womb, so I let them worsen till the baby was born. By the time I went for treatment, I had to make a mold for my teeth.

My dentist made that mold twice, thinking he had blundered both times.
Finally, the man confessed his confusion. Why was it that her teeth, so straight as they seemed, would be completely misaligned in the back?

She told him the story. 

Do such things really happen in this world?
He hadn’t learnt about braces by then. It was the first time he entertained the notion, that the teeth people are born with can be rearranged. Novel though it was and almost ridiculous, he believed.

***

I like being with you two so much, grandma told Pony and me at lunch. 
You make me feel the future’s filled with hope.

Grandma, always a step ahead of me, I was going to tell you and grandpa that. When I am with our family, I believe we can do anything.

Anything, starting from our own smoked bacon and ox tongue.

8/?/09 - Bitbit Cafe’s Beef Stew.

On the way out of our restaurant, Pony couldn’t find her keys. We looked on the shelves, we looked in the drawers, we looked in unlikely places (like the space between cups). They were nowhere in sight.

What are you looking for? Shuixian asked, then carried on peeling her potatoes as before, while we continued our search in more improbable places.

Suddenly, she threw down the peeler and pointed at a shelf above our heads, There it is! Her face glowed with triumph.

How did you see it?

I love the feeling of finding things, she smiled, so whenever I see people search, I would always keep an eye out, hoping I’m the one to discover first.

***

What feeling are you addicted to? Pony asked me some time later when the episode had already left my mind.

Hmmm?

You know how Shuixian said she likes to find things? I like the feeling of being chased.

Metaphorically?

No, literally. Remember that day when I rang grandma’s doorbell?

Yes, I remember that day. Pony had a moment of confusion and thought we had gone to the wrong door. Instead of waiting to apologize, my little sister screamed and grabbed my hand. Without having enough time to process everything, I bolted down flights of stairs with her before she abruptly came to a stop and laughed, Oh wait, I made a mistake - that WAS grandma’s door.

Why did we run? I could barely catch my breath. I had never seen her run so fast on a treadmill.

I don’t know, she said sheepishly. I took off before I could think about it.

I love the rush of being chased, she said. What about you?

***

I keep thinking of Emilia’s turn of phrase: hooked on a feeling.

So what about me?
I’m hooked on metamorphosis.