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.
