Tuesday, November 14, 2017

逆水行舟-读王岐山卸任
Sailing
Cynthia Zhang
November 14, 2017

逆水行舟-读王岐山卸任

逆水行舟
不进则退
溯源强国梦
不敢忘、不能忘。

科学、民主、平等,
承载着
国人的厚望
几代人的牺牲。

发展与公平
勤考量
民生和私交
细权衡
修身为公
琢器亦为公。

畅想夕阳西下
归港的巨轮
驶向万家灯火
追逐杀人鲸的兴奋
圆了一个童年的梦。


一个与妈妈爸爸讲故事的梦。



Saturday, October 14, 2017

Memories
Cynthia Zhang
Written October 2009

Memories
          Memories without photos are pearls. They shimmer in the darkness when the sand around them is filtered again and again by time.

          Memories with photos age. They cannot help. When the frames of the photos turn yellow (in the computer age, photos age as technology evolves), memories dim with the dated background and the old-fashioned clothes, hairstyle and smile. The only pleasant reason for flipping through old photos is to find a wrinkleless, fresh face. That face answers your questions about the growing youth around you.

Thursday, September 14, 2017

Wrap Up Life in the U.S.
Cynthia Zhang
Written on June 23, 2014



Life can be wrapped up,

Like a box of jigsaw puzzles.

Life can be turned on and off,

Like water in a faucet.

You are being sent away

By prejudice and indifference.

But you also have gained

The most precious friends.

Monday, August 14, 2017

Solitude - Mountain Tops
Cynthia Zhang
August 14, 2017

Solitude - Mountain Tops

I believe in humanity.
So I walked away alone.

The mountain top of ambition,
I climbed in solitude.
The mountain top of compassion,
I reached in solitude.
The mountain top of justice
I arrived in solitude.

The gray rain
And the red sunset behind it
Saw me walk in the mountains
So that my beloved ones
Would never be outsiders.

I go.
But you will see
Three green mountain tops
In a short summer
Surrender.

When my baby brother asks,
Tell him:
His equally beautiful eyes
Need not be misty

For I lived humanity.

Friday, July 14, 2017

Learning from Classics
July 14, 2017

I have always been fascinated by literary classics and have tried to learn from them in my own writing that I hope can be 1% as good as these classics. One of the literary giants is an English writer Tagore (1861-1941) from India. I will copy and paste a conversation between a child and his/her mother that appeals to me, probably also to many from different backgrounds: race/ethnicity, nationality, gender, class, and other aspects because we have the ability to feel and empathize. And I will continue to learn from them how to write literary pieces.

The Beginning
          "Where have I come from, where did you pick me up?" the baby asked its mother.
          She answered half crying, half laughing, and clasping the baby to her breast -- "You were hidden in my heart as its desire, my darling.
          You were in the dolls of my childhood's game; and when with clay I made the image of my god every morning, I made and remade you then.
          You were enshrined with our household deity, in his worship I worshipped you.
          In all my hopes and my loves, in my life, in the life of my mother you have lived.
          In the lap of the deathless spirit who rules our home you have been nursed for ages.
          When in girlhood my heart was opening its petals, you hovered as a fragrance about it.
          Your tender softness bloomed in my youthful limbs, like a glow in the sky before the sunrise.
          Heaven's first darling, twin-born with the morning light, you have floated down the stream of the world's life, and at last you have stranded on my heart.
          As I gaze on your face, mystery overwhelms me; you who belong to all have become mine.
          For fear of losing you I hold you tight to my breast. What magic has snared the world's treasure in these slender arms of mine?"

Wednesday, June 14, 2017

Incredible West
Cynthia Zhang
July 26, 2014

Since I came to the U.S. in 2007, I visited many parts of the country as a result of trips and moves, particularly in the past 4 years. What I saw is incredible. In Chinese, the literal meaning of the country name of the U.S. is "a beautiful country." The following is just a one-day drive from northern Arizona to Colorado. For English readers, I posted a link to the full text of my article on Chinese ethnic identity and social networks for your reference.

http://journals.sagepub.com/doi/full/10.1177/2158244017710289

July 26 – 28, 2014
          搬家的第二日26日,得以稍游ColoradoDurango。驱车朝Silton方向开。不出5英里,地貌环境突变。
          25日晚到达Durango时,脑中仍是一小时前横亘Flagstaff以东的沙漠半沙漠。绵延的红色山头和土丘。土丘上植被稀疏,紧贴地面。
          视野尽处是天地交界处。云朵浮游,吸纳地面上升的蒸汽。常常是头顶铁灰的云朵投掷下厚重的雨幕,而远处白云朵朵,逗弄橘红的落日。西部的广袤和容量轻轻松松的在宏大的地势和天气景观中给你道来。
          26日早9点当我驱车朝Silton方向开去时,并没有太多幻想。Durango市区似乎比昨日途中绿色多点,但无葱茏叶茂可言。
          出市区,道路变陡。四五英里的盘山路后,我简直不敢相信自己的眼睛。崇山峻岭间一片一片的白桦树,直立俏俊。当云层中的阳光横射到山的半中腰,那里的白桦树枝叶切近到眼前,山脚和山顶的白桦树则与伟岸的山体融为一体。看到标识,意识到现在是San Juan National Forest
          掉头回转,阳光充足了,是一个美丽的周六。极目远视,路左前方亮亮的。更近些,终于识别是湖泊。森林,白桦树,和晶莹的湖泊辉映在绵延的崇山和低地之间,仿佛另一个世界。
          Durango向北200英里间,都是绿草和森林。常常在不经意间发现一个小农庄。陡高的红色铁皮屋顶,平铺的绿色草场,还有安详咀嚼的黑色牛群。与肯塔基白围栏不同的是,大多数的农场是黑色围栏间隔起来的。
         距离Pueblo一百多英里处,有一段像极了中国的南方。葱茏的树木,宽阔浅显的小溪,还有充足的降雨。木屋错落有致。

Sunday, May 14, 2017

Two Excerpts from "A Kiss from Heaven"
Cynthia Zhang
2009

Excerpts: A Kiss from Heaven
The following two excerpts: “The Loss: A Decade of Confusion” and “The Hell” are the two major types of characters who serve as the “insider eye” and “outsider eye” to see the status quo in China mid-1990s to early 2000s. The “insider eye” are men in Mimi’s life from within China and the “outside eye” are male colleagues of Mimi from outside China or Chinese with overseas experiences.
          “The Hell” begins with a “Dante-like” description of the hell that reflects the overall state of the hero Satan’s life. For many Chinese intellectuals, religion in various forms (principles, God, totems, and so on) are respectful because it cultivates humility: people should not act as god to fellow humans. “The Loss” is a story of Yida who persists in his belief in unconditional love and family and who runs into repeated disappointments.  
          When I wrote about Satan for the chapter of hell, I thought I was too harsh: a man born in wealth who is also an alcoholic and womanizer eventually loses his wife and family. As my horizon broadened, more extreme cases came my way. That is one benefit of the fact that the writing process dragged on. Similarly, when I wrote about Yida for the chapter of loss, I thought this was the boundary of kindness humanity could reach. Similarly, more extreme cases of the good side of humanity came my way and thus changed my mind. In the end, I have more details to fill in the gaps to tell the story. My inventory of characters expanded dramatically in variety and richness.
          This is a story of a time of peace. But what often comes to my mind is my late maternal grandfather’s remarks. After losing his father-in-law to a mob of fellow countrymen’s public beating and humiliation due to their hatred towards his previous wealth donated to the fight against the Japanese during the second world war, after experiencing shattering fear of almost losing his wife who cleverly escaped from a rape of some Japanese followers in China, after losing family members fighting the Japanese, my grandfather said, “If it had been Chinese young men, they would have done the same thing (as the Japanese did in the war to Chinese).” I was surprised by his statement. Now I understand those words were not uttered from a position of weakness.
          Last year today, I was attending a commencement for students at Christopher Newport University, just learning the news of the passing of Professor Shel Stryker. For me, the commencement was almost a ceremony for me to celebrate Shel’s life in my black regalia. Sometimes, I entertain the idea that his willingness to sacrifice for others’ benefits has to do with his second world war experience as a battlefield med. War time exposes what a person is made of more quickly than other times.
          Yet time of peace is not less revealing of the depth of human nature. Actually, as many people in the literary world, social psychologists ask if those who committed acts of atrocity are really different from each and every one of us. The many mechanisms human psyche works in combination of the many ways humans are organized often produce counter intuitive social phenomena.
          Unlike social psychology, experiments are not encouraged in the literary world. One warning given by the ancient Arabian literature from my childhood reading (and therefore I might be wrong in its accuracy due to memory) is: do not test others because you may push those tested into the person you suspected them to be. I think what this says is that do not act as gods to others.
          Last but not least, speaking of God and religion, if you are interested, you can refer to my article on religious identity of Chinese graduate students in the U.S.: “The Ecological Impact on Bonding and Religious Identity: A Case of Chinese Graduate Students in the U.S.” as published by Review of Religion and Chinese Society in the following link: http://booksandjournals.brillonline.com/content/journals/10.1163/22143955-00401003
Enjoy!


Chapter 10 The Loss – A Decade of Confusion
          If you follow the meandering path of this book of madness to this point, you must ask: so, god, what is on your mind? I have to say not very much. If you choose to insist, my answer is two words: confusion and loss. I have lost the most precious thing in the most prosperous era on the hottest spot on this planet. I lost it in confusion: a decade of confusion. Ten years are not long. But something has been lost and it might take decades for the fact to sink in and the search to resurface. I don’t know what is lost but the loss is true. The only other thing I know is that it was lost in the fog of endless confusion.

Scene 1: Love at first sight
          Yida stood without any sound by the coach. He took in the sight of the apartment door opening and closing. He then turned his head back to stare at the cursory calligraphy on the wall, hearing Diplomacy greeting his guests. He caught a voice without any accent and felt somehow curious. Everyone in Beijing had an accent, including the locals. So he glanced over again.
          There they were: two women guests. One was slim and feminine and the other a little plump and relaxed. Yida had learned the guests were both researchers. He caught the source of that voice: the plump guest. He had good ears after four years of recording and editing in college studios and one year in his university TV station.
          Yida felt he had met that guest before. He took another look: not his ex. The guest was shorter with shorter hair. But the way the guest carried herself resembled his ex: that carefree free spirit who he loved as if she had been his daughter. So he let his beard grow after she bid farewell from across the Pacific to have a ready warm chest to lean on.
          Sensing a glance in return, Yida quickly looked away.
          Yida followed Diplomacy’s entourage to the university dining hall and sat down at the table with a lazy Daisy layer on top of it. He hadn’t opened his mouth yet.
          Diplomacy began his ritual as the center of the galaxy introducing, teasing, complementing and motivating everyone present to be part of his hospitality. Yida finally learned the guest’s name: Mimi. He also learned her company’s name: Poet. He didn’t have to hear Diplomacy brag about his daughters with the most humble language. He was busy figuring out a way to ambush a rabbit.
          He didn’t cast another look at Mimi since he avoided hers although he was facing her now across the table. He seemed to be extremely interested in Poet – Diplomacy’s quasi relative with a finance.
          With a genuine smile, Yida extended his palm towards Poet while talking to Diplomacy sitting in the host chair next to her, “Diplomacy Laoshi, we finally have a real beauty honoring our campus with a visit.” Poet was obviously flattered and beamed with a closed mouth grin, “Oh, you haven’t seen real beauties if you think I am one.” 

Chapter 11 The Hell
          A spirit is wondering around. He hovers around every roof to see if everyone that betrayed him is living well. He did not trust them. And he was right. Everyone of those who betrayed his love and care is living happily with his rival. They were the devils, they danced sun dance with him, they worshipped him, and they were half foot into his door of treasure. And what did they do before the last flash blinding his eyes? They killed him, cut him into pieces, put every piece on fire, and dumped him in the cold sea. Now, sitting around the fireplace that is human, these beasts in his image and under his power are free of him. And they are happy with that.
          He was right, from the beginning. He should have never trusted those human formed beast. “But why, am I not a beast from the beginning? I did not mean to become a beast. I was forced to. And beast did I become. And I mate with beasts because I cannot mate with a human formed beast. I tried so hard to tell these unfortunate lost souls it is warm to live happily ever after with just me and the beasts. We belong to this earth, dwelling on each and every possible corner of darkness and we will survive. See the barren land of wars, conspiracies, and betrayal. I offered the best I could ever think of. Stay with me. You shall survive. Now see where I am!”
          The spirit plunged into the hell. He will find his followers there…
          Now he chases his enemy, tears in the eyes, no sway of determination. His tears are still pure. They have not turned into blood. They will when he kills enough of his disguised enemy. No matter where. No matter how. He is chasing one enemy, one enemy in his way to that point of Nirvana. He will rise there in that Nirvana, like a bubble, into the air to meet his fate of joining the heaven. Bubbles of his followers will also rise, higher and higher, lighter and lighter, to where the light is. That lifeline of light is so slim, so close to the darkness to be taken away by the sunset. Seize it! Or you’ll lose it!
          He will then lose his heavy human body made of drudgery. He will jump around, as light as a clown. He will howl on top of the mountain, like a king! He will grab each and every head of his loyal followers and knock out the white brain! He will eat them raw! Now, now is the time for that moment. In between him and that moment of thousand face Buddha only stands one last piece of work to be done. That spirit in numerous human bodies.
          Chase! He must catch him and hammer that spirit out of any body! And he became Satan at last.
          Satan entertains a game with the human. When that light in Satan extinguishes, he leaves that shabby clothes of decentering body behind. His long ears desire that thundering whisper from underneath his boots: all lights out! He resents body holding soul holding that light to heaven. He looks for an edge deep and sharp into that mirage divine trinity. His eyes rest on one man – Judas, that Jew. And he has the money to buy his soul and his mentor’s body. Indeed he succeeds. Jesus Christ on crux! Well deserved!
          Satan grabs that Jew to hell with him on his wings. He found Judas very comfortable to be with.
         

Satan grew up in a wealthy upper middle class family in a small town in central United States. As the younger son in the family, Satan never lacked any of the contemporary luxuries his family could afford. When Satan turned 17, he was the tallest and toughest young man in town. He was sent to a prestigious private school by his family in the capital city of his home state Arkansas – Little Rock. He was the most voracious and fastest reader in the school. He excelled in every possible way: academic, sports, music, and of course, girls. He might not be the most handsome guy, but his confidence was as luxurious as the greenest leaf on a rainy day in mid-June. That self- confidence attracted girls like honey attracting swarms of flies. But he only cared for one person he set his heart on since he was a boy.
          That girl was Maria, the next-door girl he went to kindergarten with, played house with, stole the first innocent kiss from, and fell in love with. Maria was a tiny and sweet brunette. Her hazel eyes were twinkling like stars at night when she dressed up in that beige Greek style gown with a tiny branch of purple forget me not flowers by her left ear. Her soft features and lips were filled with the rosy wine of youth, shining in the dusk after the county fair they went to together. There were other friends, of course. But all Satan could see and hear was Maria. Her voice was that of a nightingale without that harsh high-pitched ending note.
          Satan was always surrounded by guys and girls. He couldn’t help it. How could he? With that talent in one man, there was no way he could escape from his leadership role. That was that in school. But he was always ready to drive back to the small town where he considered home on any possible occasion: the place where Maria was.
          Maria never had a chance to leave the town. Her family was not as well off as that of Satan. She also had to help her parents with house chores and the four younger siblings. Her root was always that small town. Therefore, that was also the root for Satan. He flew back to his hometown like a bird that has to migrate in fall with its fellows in the same regiment pattern year after year for time immemorial.
          Every time he saw Maria, his heart and breath stopped. He forgot all the skills he had with much more sophisticated and prettier girls at school. He became an idiot whenever Maria’s image or sound were close. Sometimes he looked at himself in the mirror and cried out, “You’re an idiot! The stupidest idiot in the whole world!” He didn’t understand how he couldn’t put the first real kiss on her lips when he was able to casually kiss dozens of girls at school. He always had his cool posture when he did that. He was pretty sure the orderly offer of their bodies was a hard-bargained deal among the girls who could sacrifice everything for him.
          But all of his usual craft was thrown to the other side of the world when Maria was present. He had thought for many a night why. He couldn’t understand it. The only fact he could grasp was that he was moon struck when it came to Maria. A second fact he began to see more clearly was that he had to act soon and quickly as Maria’s home gradually became the visitation destination of a couple of guys of their age. He had to have a plan to overcome his nervousness and then ask for her hand.
          He began to visit his home town even more frequently. At least twice a week.
          It was a clear summer afternoon. There were some patches of clouds in the sky, as drab as stale cotton. The lawns were lightly brown. Leaves on trees were coiled like eye lids too heavy to stay open. The inhaled air soon became lead balls swinging around in nostrils. 
          Satan called Maria’s house. It was Maria’s father Matt Johnson.
          “Hello.” Matt’s greeting was sluggish like the air.
          “Hello.” Satan’s voice was a note higher than usual. “Can I talk to Maria, please? This is Satan.”
          “Ah, she’s not home. In the farm with Scarlet and Helen. You can find them there if you like.” Matt wasn’t on guard. Satan was so hot in town. He couldn’t possibly be after any of his daughters.
          After thanking Matt, Satan leapt over the door into his convertible. Within 10 minutes, he was on the 20-acre farm belonging to Maria’s family.
          The wheat farm was on a hill surrounded by walnut trees. Because of the cascading diamond shape of the farm, the Johnsons could only use small machinery. A bright red tractor was at the border of the farm. Maria and her sisters were sitting under a giant walnut tree.
          Scarlet, the youngest sibling saw Satan and yelled, “Halala…! Satan!”
          Satan was so grateful Scarlet helped him open his lung and yelled back, “Hey, ladies! Getting some shade there?”
          His white shirt was stained with sweat. Satan could feel more sweat welling out of his chest and neck. He opened his door and methodologically closed it after he got off. He walked step by step to the sisters.
          Scarlet was a smaller version of Maria, but much more talkative.  
          When Satan finally presented himself close enough to the three sisters, Scarlet greeted him again, “Hi, Satan! What’s up?”
          “Pretty good, pretty good. Yourself?” Satan looked down at Scarlet.
          “Did you come here to see me?” The 13-year-old continued to ask with a grin.
          “Of course, I came to see you. Well, Helen and Maria, too.” Fortunately Matt had two daughters other than Maria. Otherwise, Satan might become mute.
          “Hello, Satan.” Helen nodded to him. “I’m glad you come to visit us on such a hot day. Oh, it’s sweltering. I like your shirt, by the way.”
          “Thank you. I appreciate that.” Satan had always liked Helen. Helen was the prettiest of the three. Helen’s face is long and narrow with high cheekbones. Her large eyes are light brown with a tint of green. That forever smile on her thin lips makes her an easy person to talk to.
          Maria turned her head towards Satan, waved and looked down on earth again with a faint smile.
          “What’s going on in school? This is your junior year, right?” Helen asked, fanning her face with a walnut leaf.
          “Nothing big. We’ll have some practice sessions for the football season.” Satan started in a low-profile tone.
          “Hey! I love football! You know that, Satan?” Scarlet bounced up from the ground.
          “Yeah. It’s fun to watch but not fun to play, you know, especially on days like this.” Satan answered, eyeballing Maria. Maria was still inspecting the aunts patterning.
          “Wow. How exciting. Can I watch you play? Please?” Scarlet crossed her fingers, looking up into Satan’s eyes.
          “Any time.” Satan grinned. “You’re all welcome.”
          “I don’t know about that.” Maria finally straightened her back and turned to face everyone. “The wheat has to be in soon.”
          “Hey, that doesn’t matter so much if we just do it once, right?” Helen interjected.  “Scarlet needs something outside of this field and us.”
          “Don’t worry. Don’t worry. I don’t want to ruin your plan before the rain hits.” Satan knew Maria was serious about the farm. “How about this? I come to help you with the harvest and then we all have fun driving up to Little Rock for one day?”
          “Are you sure, Satan?” Helen was relieved. Satan was quick and good with the machines.
           “Hey, we’re neighbors, aren’t we?” Satan stared at Maria, waiting for an affirmative.
          “Satan, I appreciate your offer. It’s just that it’s too much for you and us. You have your own life to take care of.” Maria was not very comfortable with the plan. After all, Satan was no longer that kid fellow she knew. Satan’s life in Little Rock was rumored to be a little “high culture”. 
          “Look, Maria. I know you’re a good farmer and a good sister. But let Scarlet and Helen have some breathing time. Besides, I enjoy farming, can’t you see? I might come back to farming myself after college.” Satan’s mouth was drier. He wished he had begun this process of reacquainting Maria earlier. He might have to cut off all those girls in school soon.
          “Satan. Look, if you really want to help, fine. Scarlet is still a kid, she might not need a ride to Little Rock yet.” Maria declared.
          “Fair enough. Fair enough.” Satan nodded as a pestle in the mortar. “I can understand. What time should I come? I can start right now.”
          “In that?” Maria was amused, her chin pointing to Satan’s shirt.
          “I’ll be back in just a minute.” Satan shot away to his car.
          Satan came back in a gray long sleeved T-shirt, light blue jeans, white thick cotton socks, and brown hiking shoes. To finish, he had a pair of light yellow leather working gloves on.
          He bowed deeply to Scarlet, right hand on his heart, “At your service. Do you think I’m ready now?” He looked askance at Maria. Maria rolled her eyes, didn’t say anything.
          Before Scarlet had a chance to answer, Helen replied with a giggle, “I like your gear. Where did you get your gloves?” 
          “Mom got quite some in the tool room for gardening. I can give each of you a pair for better protection of your hands if you like.” Satan shrugged.
          Maria kept her silence.
          Helen was moved by Satan’s carefulness. “Thank you, Satan. That’s very nice of you.”
          Scarlet finally had her turn, “I’d like a purple pair. You know, sometimes I’m not sure about my future.”
          Maria frowned, “You don’t have to. In the next two hours, you’ll help me with the reaping. If the tractor gets stuck in a field corner, I want you to get off and direct me. Helen, you can help Satan with the straw.”
          Maria drove off with Scarlet. The terraced fields were neatly combed by the tractor. When the long-awaited breeze blew open Maria’s long hair and red and orange patterned cotton shirt, Satan stood up and wiped sweat off his face with his handkerchief. His heart ached. Maria’s hair was like streaming silk. And Maria was so far away, working. When would she consider her own needs? Who would she fall in love with?
          Turning around a final sharp corner, Maria exhaled. It was hard. This farm was not of the best quality, the soil or the shape. But indeed it was her ambition and her disposition. She could make $## a year out of it by growing wheat and other seasonal plants, enough for her siblings’ tuition and living expenses. And she loved farming: the smell of the earth in drought, rain, and snow; the changing vegetarian landscapes growing out of it; and the exhausting feeling after a day’s work. She often took off her gloves and admired her own hands: the slim fingers covered with callus.
          Maria stopped the tractor. On the other side of the farm, Satan was carrying a straw wheel prepared by Helen on his right shoulder to the border of the farm. The broad shoulders and the dexterous steps were reassuring to Maria. Looking over Satan’s shoulders, Maria was shocked to find black clouds were crushing the mountain tops and closing in. Then the wind became violent whistling.
          Maria got off the tractor and gestured to Scarlet, “I think we should ask Helen and Satan to stop. The storm is around the corner.” She then strode to Helen and Satan. Scarlet followed her closely.
          Before Maria and Scarlet met up with Satan and Helen at the border of the farm, the rain poured down. Anything 5 inches away was like a thick white curtain away. Maria petted Satan on the shoulder and shouted, “Let’s go to your car. It’s closer.”
          “OK!” Satan shouted back. The four of them treaded the little ponds all over the farm to Satan’s car.
          Once in the car, Scarlet shook the rain from her head and body like a piece of electrified fur. She stomped her feet and sighed loudly, “No prize for working!”
          Also in the back seats, Helen squeezed dry her hair and leaned forward to talk to Maria and Satan, “Wow, this is cool although we didn’t expect THAT.”
          Maria took off her shirt, squeezed it and dried her hair with it. “It IS a surprise.” She turned around to face Helen and Scarlet.
          Satan smiled and turned around, too. Before he could see Scarlet and Helen, he saw the shape of Maria’s nipples under the wet white tank top and cotton bras. His head exploded and the blood from all over his body flooded to his heart. 


          
            


Friday, April 14, 2017

Wings of a Butterfly

Wings of a Butterfly
Cynthia Zhang
Written on March 23, 2017


Wings of a Butterfly

Commemorating Professor Shel Stryker Before Qingming Festival



Wings of a butterfly,

Fluttering, trembling, and stumbling.

Wings of a Butterfly,

Dazzling, puzzling, and flying.



The butterfly landed on Shel’s shoulder.

Its rainbow wings glistened

In the drizzle of a spring night

And brightened his wife’s wavy hair.



Holding each other’s hands,

The couple strolled together through

Spring, summer, autumn, and winter,

Whispering into each other’s ears,

Till they disappeared from sight.



The wings of the butterfly

Led thoughts by a cemetery

Into an encounter wished for

Thousands of times.



The seasonal butterfly has flown

Into a future that never ends.

The grass leaf from last year’s grave

Has grown into a web of memory

From its greenness of gratitude.

Tuesday, March 14, 2017

A Kiss From Heaven (Excerpts)
I posted the opening of A Kiss from Heaven (fiction). Here posted are some excerpts of the narrator's (Mimi) voice and a scene of the narrator in one of the otherwise discrete stories without the narrator. When I first thought about writing this fiction, I pronounced my purpose as "to see the larger society from the smallest perspective (i.e. one person's perspective)." This person is the narrator, a mind lost and distraught. I did and still do intend this fiction only to present a time period of 10 years (late 1990s and early 2000s) in one part of China (north) as close to the social reality as possible. The 10 years immediately before this period to a certain extent explains the depicted 10 years. I am writing while improving my writing skills as I hope in the end this fiction can be precise and logical.
As a sociologist, I cannot help observing and agreeing that professionals are gradually yet actually moving away from that authoritative figure of knowledge to a service provider, not much different from the construction workers in one of the excerpts. 

A Kiss from Heaven (Excerpts)
Cynthia Zhang
2009


Chapter 2 The City: On the Unavertable Route to Modernity
          Imagine you see a unicorn in your garden. You don’t know if you’re crazy or the unicorn is crazy. You stare at each other. The eyes of the unicorn are as big as Shandong red dates: watery and alert, ready to escape. A giant head on a skinny body, the unicorn has a belly smaller than its eyes. It’s almost like God snapped a lion’s head and roughly put it on a street hound’s body.
          You know what? That’s what modernity looks like. A head full of crazy thoughts sets on a body of malnutrition. The intestines of the unicorn don’t digest anything other than the vomit of the alcoholics, the cynics, the wonderers, the ass lickers, and the zombies of the past bright dynasties. The hard wired brain, though, winds back again and again to that rustic peace of green pasture, black cattle herds, and a bull riding kid shepherd playing a slow piece on a jade flute. Its head wants to go west. Its body east.
          You know where in the end modernity goes? Nowhere. Its head just twists on its body, wanting to go east now. And of course, its body really really wants to go west now.


Chapter 3 The Mass: On the Usefulness of Monarchy

          Mimi looked up into David’s eyes: the pupils, black yet bright like laser light, squat on the glassy light blue shade around. Mimi waved her hands and turned around. She paused at the door, but there was no voice from behind to invite her back.

          It was a cold morning outside.

          Mimi decided to visit those temporary on-site dormitories of the workers. It had been nice living in the headquarter villa with other staff in the developmental zone, but as the secretary to the general manager, she felt the responsibility to know and care for her workers. She strolled in the dorms with some cigarettes in her pockets to befriend the workers.

          The dormitory buildings were two-storied bright blue steel sheet structures arranged in two rows on the inner part of the site. On each floor, there were about 5 to 10 rooms ranging from 15 to 30 square meters. Mimi stepped into a 30-square-meter room. There were dozens of black iron bunk beds, spreading randomly around. Most beds were mot made. In fact, there was no need to make beds as the one or two filthy quilts in each bed were usually dragged hastily to cover the workers’ cold bodies after work. There were a couple of electric heaters in the room which barely warmed a corner of the room, a gift from the general contractor company. There were a couple of luggage cases under each bed. No toilet. The cold running water was outside for brushing teeth, washing faces and dishes. There was a kitchen close to the general manager’s office providing food and hot drinking water.

          Mimi noticed some one-story mud houses with straw roofs. For a moment, Mimi felt she was back to her grandparents’ house. But these houses were much lower and of a temporary nature. Mimi hesitated. She had always been frightened by horror movies, especially those from Hong Kong. The ghosts never showed themselves to people other than a long shadow slamming the doors of a disserted house. She opened her eyes wide to stare at the doors made of black canvas supposed to be white, quite sure the chill worming along her cotton military coat collar was colluding with those unknown creatures.

          This is where my people live. They should have a revolution. But do I know my people? Are they ghosts or angels? To have a revolution, I need to talk to them, like Mao Zedong himself.

          Inside the house was like a huge cave. The dim light forced in from the ceiling windows made of plastics. Some crude lumbers were propping the ceiling every 5 meters. Mimi blinked, trying to see something. The smell of cigarettes was wafting across from somewhere.

          Out of the darkness came an elderly voice, “Miss Mimi, have some time to walk around?”

          Mimi turned her head to the direction where the voice came, “Yes, are you all right with that?” She had to be cautious without knowing what was inside there.

          “We’re honored to have you here. Would you like to take a seat? Lao Chen, get that stool for Miss Mimi.” The voice ordered.

          Mimi caught a shadow fetching a stool to her, “Here you are, Miss Mimi.” A younger voice invited.

          “Thank you.” Mimi sat down. There were two men sitting in one bed side by side. The bed was a wood board less than 20 centimeters above the dirt floor. One man was around 60 and the other 40.

          “We just got back from the site. We finished our shift.” The older man smiled to Mimi.

          “Oh, it must be a long day.” Mimi was very quick to switch to a tone she used to talk to her farmer aunts and uncles.

          “Yes, it was.” The younger man – Lao Chen nodded. “Miss Mimi, how did you decide to lower your status to visit us?”

          “Oh, I’m the manager secretary. It’s my responsibility to know your condition.” Mimi didn’t have to rehearse. “Lao Chen, you and …”

          “Just call me Lao Wei.” The older man answered, “We came from the same county. Miss Mimi, it’s dirty here. The only thing we have here is cigarettes.”

          “No need to be polite. I don’t need anything. Help yourself with your cigarettes.” Mimi smoothed out her woolen scarf.

          “Talking about cigarettes, I have to feed my addiction worm now.” Lao Wei turned to Lao Chen, “You want one?”

           “Sure,” Lao Chen nodded, massaging his crew cut with his palm.

            Lao Wei dragged a piece of newspaper from under his bed, folded it nicely into small rectangulars and reversed the seams to cut it into small pieces. He then groped in his pant pockets for a while. He took out a dark red sash, opened it. In the sash was almost powder like raw tobacco bits. He pinched some tobacco and spread it evenly on the newspaper laying open on his left hand, rolled the paper with his right hand and sealed the cigarette with saliva. He handed the cigarette to Lao Chen and then made himself one.

           When Lao Wei and Lao Chen each had a cigarette in their right hand, Lao Chen lit the cigarettes for them, Lao Wei first.

          They smoked deeply for a while, smelling each puff.

          Lao Wei then looked down on the floor and pondered slowly, “It’s close to spring festival. We’re going home soon.”

          Mimi took over the topic, “Isn’t that exciting? You’ll bring back home your salary and everyone will be happy.”

          Lao Chen sneared, “Salary? We haven’t seen its shadow yet since last year.”

          Mimi was in disbelief, “How could that be? This is a big company, right?

          Lao Wei hushed Lao Chen who was about to spit out his anger, “Miss Mimi, we’re just down to earth farmers. We left our family behind to come here to build this stadium. But we’ll go back to our farms when we’re too old, maybe 70.”

          Lao Wei stopped and then continued after a long pause, “Now it’s time to get the seeds ready for the spring.” 

Chapter 8 The Corruption: A City of Desire
          When the night comes, a city begins its life. So they say. The nightlife of a city is rich. So it seems. You can shop, dine out with friends, watch Peking opera, go to a bar, a concert, and best of all, you can go to a theatre. There, you are often amazed by some soul searching dialogues, monologues stripped of all the derivatives: costumes, make up, and even set. All the performing skills are nude in your naked eyes. You feel your spirits leap, drop, rise and ebb. You go to a bar, some bands are playing. The ode of joy in life blares. The cello sighs over some loss that cannot be named. The black long hair of that young singer glistens in the dark room and covers his expression of homelessness.
          In the city, everything glows in the evening: people’s jewelry and skin, streets, buildings and that unique light heartedness. If you lose your job, you’ll find another without much delay unless there is an economic crisis. If your heart is broken, you’ll find it full the next day in a new lover’s arms. Sometimes you have more than one lover. So your heart never breaks. Yet, this lightheartedness is unbearable sometimes. You struggle to grab something to keep yourself afloat on the surface of a starless sea. You know your life is so light that you might lose it to yourself, to the invisibility and the smallness people inevitably assume in their daily life begging for some meaning.
          That meaning is hard to find and retain, though, with so much desire so easy to satisfy. The sound of desire was the softest at night under countless roofs by the side of the lonely lovers.

Tuesday, February 14, 2017

A Kiss from Heaven (Prose) and Mom's Worry (Poem)

A Kiss from Heaven (Prose) and Mom's Worry (Poem)

I began to write a fiction A Kiss from Heaven in 2009. I wrote a couple of paragraphs in Chinese and then decided to have the whole fiction in English. I will post here the opening in English and a couple of Chinese paragraphs of the opening. The opening might appear confusing without reading the rest of the book as it is more of a "code book" for the whole novel so that I can pick up from where it was left the previous time I wrote if the writing process drags on. Dr. Doris Wilkinson who accidentally read the opening believed it to be "poetic" and encouraged me to get into symbolic interactionism. As fate would have it, a couple of years later I set my heart on identity theory after reading a review article. Identity theory is also known as structural symbolic interactionism.
I will post a poem as well because after all, today is Valentine's Day.

A Kiss from Heaven
Cynthia Zhang
2009


A Kiss from Heaven

-Looking for Daniel



Opening

          The blue sea nestles against the ivory winding rock island. The closer it is to the steep cliffs of the spring island, the more cordial the sea becomes. It discloses a shy jade blue, then the rippling white skirt.  It stretches out to reach and merge with the beach.  On this northern island, spring brings back life, the warm sunshine and the white lilac huddling every corner of the dirt. The pungency of the lilac kills the senses and almost conceals the view of the more distant narrow slope connecting the island and the mainland. There, on the linkage of the two, clouds of cherry flowers cut loose the earth basis of the garden, elevating only the impressionistic fairies’ adobe.

          He sits in the cherry garden, petals in his hair and robe. His nostrils are filled with the mixed smell of lilac and cherry, his ears the subdued ringing of bees and his eyes the pink and the pale sprinkling of the cherry flowers. Alas, isn’t drowsing off in the bright spring sunshine the most contenting thing to do? Yet, He suddenly feels a strange fatigue. Thousands of years of peace and ease lose their hold on Him. This vivid beautiful spring afternoon loses its hold on him. He wants a companion. He wants a kindred of His heart.

        He lies down, arms under head. What does my heart look like? He closes His eyes. The illusions of His love begin to dance, bouncing around to the music of the rays piercing in.

          She is tall and slim with the acquired aloofness tailored for a big city. She is cultured and sophisticated, like an exquisite flower transplanted from its rich black rural soil to a water pot filled with modern nutrition. She loves travelling and business. She is in black. Even a glimpse of her is enough to capture a metal aura surrounding her emanating from life and intellect.     

          No… Maybe she… is like this: full-figured, all smiles all the time, and… humorous. Yes! Humorous. She fills the burdened heart with joy. Dimples on her round face tantalize even the most hardened prude. She is honest and candid, preaching down-to-earth life philosophy to the naïve small city lad. She cares nothing about what she wears as she can prove her beauty by her nicely featured face and a photo taken ten years ago. She wore tiny white miniskirt in the photo, half the size she is now.

          But the voice. The voice matters. An absolutely feminine voice is what is needed. Maybe there is a taint of superficiality in the voice, but definitely sensitive. A sweetheart with such a voice is of medium height, top heavy and coarse in whispering endearment. She is elusive. She probably has a secret life. She arouses the worst nightmare one can have at night when there is no one else by one’s side. But she knows what one desires and never hesitates to satisfy it.

          Ah. Perhaps no. Probably she is somebody from hometown - the cherry garden itself.  There is nothing special about her look, but her appearance can always trigger the violent pounding of the heart. She is slow in speech. She is quick on pallet and canvas. She can gaze at her object for a long time with the intensity of an anxious farmer eager to diagnose the diseased crop.  Her eyebrows are so thick that they remind one of the serious companion of heaven in charge of the luck of the mankind.

          What about Yida? What happened to her?

          He feels a pain of mutilation from his rib. He cannot understand the pain or the fact that He misses someone even when He has not created her.  Is it because she looks like Him? She has the darkest hair like night. She has a thin and tall nose like Him. Her eyes are large and near sighted, hollow with endless puzzle. Her body is of the perfect proportion. Her mouth… small, tender, round and half opened. She is artistic and loves scribbling on paper her feelings in figures.  

          What happened to Yida?

          The anguish of wondering about Yida’s life becomes unbearable. He turns and tosses on the grass, gripping His long black hair with trembling hands. He sits up, robe drenched with sweat. Probably, perhaps, maybe… His masculine idea about women is not all that correct like the eternal being Himself. He just felt the deathlike agony for Yida coming from her heartbreak for Him. After all, creatures in His perpetual imagination do not lack the ability to love, to hate, to feel, to pretend, to foster and to kill. Like Himself. He is in His work, male or female.

          What did Yida end up with?

          He does not know what to do with Yida. There is always a shadow around Yida. Maybe Yida is the shadow of another creature. Oh, immortal fatigue. He feels a bit tired. Feelings are delightful, powerful and pure. They enliven the world, tinge lovers’ eyes with hues of affection, and touch the chord of the heart with melodies played by nymphs living in the North Pole on a crystal violin. But, they make the world crowded and confusing.

          He lies down again, arms under head. He tries to concentrate on His thought of having a companion. It is difficult for Him to continue to mentally picture now. His eyes hurt from sweat and tears. Maybe a perfect company with a steel like will to carry out his duty of loving Him is what is meant to be had. What is the difference between a he and a she? They are all fleeting attendants to the perpetual free will. Sometimes the free will is referred to as the absolute principle that overcomes all manmade reasoning. The free will hovers over every roof and never settles. He smiles, finally calms down.

          The impeccable mate is like this.  He is tall and erect as a jade tree standing straight against a gust. He is fair in complexion and broad in shoulder. He never trusts for his mind and heart are forever torn between a western experiential lab in profusion of scalpels and a homely eastern perceptive backyard garden.  But he is the most trusted because he lives a traditional life in his home country and demonstrates judicial professionalism in his overseas job. He contributes to the “brain gain” to his beloved nation. He bridges the gap between his homeland and modernity. He is a traveler determined to fulfill his destiny of whatever source. He is predestined to glorify the heaven.

          Oh no. The classic honey has the deepest blue eyes rinsed clearer by sorrow. He bears the resemblance of the adorable sculpture like prince from the greenest hill in stature and facial features. He empathizes with the ant like construction laborers with the 16th century facial expression on a developing land. He stinks from overtime and absence of qualifying fair sex. A young heart overwhelmed by the coexistence of vitality and oppression observed beats with the ancient empire.

          But! Ha! A quick love should be even younger. In his late teen years, the sugar has known when to follow the flow and when to follow the fate. He walks in dances as if the ground is a field of spring. He wears his Santa hat, sauntering in the streets of a small town where a real western Santa always lives on TV. His green eyes evade the surrounding black eyes’ stare, squinting to himself. The world’s a stage, now a homogeneous stage with the same everything, ain’t it?

          And then Daniel…

          Daniel seems to be medium in all aspects except that he looks Jewish with his dark hair and eyes. He cannot see what Daniel looks like clearly. What He knows is Daniel has all His traits: perseverance, unobtrusiveness, tolerance, and above all the ability to understand and forgive the sin of committing errors.

          Is Daniel His destiny or is He Daniel’s destiny?

开篇
碧蓝的大海卧在牙白蜿蜒的石岛怀抱。越接近峭立的春岛,海的深情越款款。袒露出羞怯的宝石蓝,铺叙着盈盈的白底裙摆,一直到与陆岸融为一体。在这北方的海岛上,春天带来了生命,温暖的日光,和漫山遍野的白色丁香花。浓郁的丁香花香迷人心神,恍惚间不见更远处海岛伸向大陆的斜坡上,云层般的樱花阵抹掉了土质的地基,只有浓彩重墨的仙子花园。
他坐在樱园里,发间、衣襟落满了樱花瓣。鼻息里是丁香,耳畔是蜜蜂细微的嗡嘤,目及之处是粉红和纯白的樱花。就此打个盹,享受一下和煦的日光,莫不是心满意足的事吗?可是,他却突然有了一丝的倦怠。亿万年的平静安详,在这个春天的午后,在他的眼里瞬间褪去了往昔的光环。他想有一个人与自己为伴。一个与自己心意相通的人。
他闭目想象,他的梦中爱人。

Mom's Worry
Cynthia Zhang
Written on August 28, 2011
Mom's Worry

Mom's worry comes unexpectedly
When you talk about the happiness
Of your dearest friend.

Mom's worry comes without disguise:
When will be your wedding?
I have heard the good news of your friend.

Sure, when I have a boyfriend.
Of course, I will do something about it.
Don't worry, no need to worry.

Mom's little worry is almost
An instinct.
Sharp like a twinge,
Yet warm as your own hand.