It's pleasant knowing that, thanks to what I can do, some people's lives are better because I exist. I dont mean medicine.

 

   

 

 
ChengDu. It's worth visiting. CY did a good job to check things in advance and arranged places to go. The first evening (Day 1) we arrived at one of those CD home inn, it looked alright. Clean. Of course it could have been better. Still it's okay.

 

I hurt my foot joints (L). Tendinitis. It served me right, from jogging five laps on Guia hill on the breezy Tuesday morning before we went to CD. Didn't realize the joints were hurt at all until after I finished the laps. Too greedy. Now I’ve learnt my lesson and won’t do it so much before traveling or hiking.

 

Dinner time. I wouldn’t have much appetite anyway, considering the place I was in. So no matter it be spicy hotpot, or super spicy hotpot, I’m in. I saw the building and the big bright words “成都胃病医院” in town. I was thinking they should as well establish a CD Hemorrhoid Hospital. With my suddenly delicate ankle, I became the one always dragging behind to catch up with the two of them. CY would stop by any closest attractive place. 韩包子. There we sat, and ordered 韩包子、毛血旺、青椒土豆丝、冬瓜片、稀饭。It’s a blessing I was spared from hotpot for the very first evening.

 

We wandered along 春熙路, it’s almost like BJ 王府井, or HK Causeway Bay. Commercial districts. The series of big square metallic carvings done on the pavement was nice. It wanted to tell me stories that I never knew. Some history was buried even on a commercial street.

 

We stopped by a travel agency. The three of us signed up to join a one-day trip (DJY plus QingCheng Mountain) for the next day ¥200 per member, and got the Golden Panda cards. There’s a bookstore at the end of the street, 西南书城, we visited.

 

 

 

Day 2. We set off for DJY at 7am. The irrigation system. Weather was nice. Breezy. You were right, the whole background was always foggy. I wouldn't want to live there. But I spent five years in Guangzhou, where the pollution thing was no better. So I’d assume it wouldn’t differ so much if I had to live in CD for a while. I crossed the first bridge at the bottom silently, I was hoping the husband and wife bridge (安澜索桥 Anlan bridge) could have been as "scary" as you told me, so that it would match what you said. The first bridge, however, was short and quite stable, with few people shaking it. I was relieved when I was told that the one I just crossed was not yet the Anlan bridge, it was way further, and much longer. We came to see 宝瓶口, 飞沙堰, 鱼嘴. It's a wonder how people in the ancient ages resolved the alternating floods and drought, how they studied the nature, applied whatever hydrodynamics that they understood, and "adjusted" the nature to better suit their survival. When I was younger I had imagined if I were one of those victims, all I could do would be just kneel or squat, shut my ears with my palms and close my eyes tight. I wouldn't be sure whether I could be more creative and courageous to survive. 

 

The irrigation system was impressive. It reminded me of 坎儿井in XinJiang. It’s also a very clever irrigation system, designed to overcome drought and distance. How brilliant those inventors were to have contributed so much to their nation and people. Effectively fixing problems. Salute to them.

 

Contentedly, the husband and wife bridge came into my view. It was breezy, almost windy. Even without people swinging the bridge, the wind would do some job. I always probed my right foot to feel and to balance, that was my trustworthy good foot. It wouldn't be nice to further slip my left ankle on a bridge. I had to say, it's not as scary, perhaps you immunized me, your warning simply did the job. I was way prepared.

 

Beyond the bridge, there were some little stalls, offering tea and stuffs, we tried some tea under the shades. There’s a store displaying some old pictures. I didn't understand most of them, but I understood the maps. I was in CD.

There were some temples, two at least, on the hill (or mountain) but we couldn’t visit, it’s broken, under repair, after the earthquake. Damn earthquake. Of course it’s alright for us not being permitted to visit. Most temples look more or less to me. It depends on the mood of course, one can always notice and appreciate the smallest perceivable difference or details, if she is really fond of it. I’ve been to enough temples I guess.

 

Yippee, lunchtime. I was not hungry, but lunch would be where you could sit down, and rest your ankle a bit. It’s the best physiotherapy.

 

Eight dishes. And soup. Typical feast for Chinese. Eight means good, rich. All veggies. No shrimps. It's an inclusive meal. I love veggies, healthy, and nothing's too hot or spicy on the table. My best CD meal.

 

Back to the bus, soon we were loaded off at QingCheng Mountain. 青城天下幽 It’s like fairies. Dao. I thought of the daoists, trying to live and die in peace with their god. Climbing up the rocky stairs, two parallel tall green walls of bamboos and trees closing in on both sides. It felt good. Even my foot was sparing me some peace.

 

We got onto the raw cable car, with no glass or shields if you know what I mean. I liked it. I was suddenly back to XinJiang, where I was sliding slowly down from 天池, also on a cable car. That was also beautiful.

 

CY wondered what those cable car passengers would feel, during the earthquake. I wouldn’t want to imagine. Instantly killed would be better off than swinging nauseously and indefinitely on a tall, fragile and trembling harness-free cable, so helpless, the whole world madly shaking and threatening. Hearing screams, torturing.

 

We landed on the ground, but I clearly preferred being back on the cable, so that I wouldn’t need to walk. Just preference. I could walk, but slowly, tilting the sole at an interior angle.

We retreated from the Mountain slowly. I tried to remember the picture and the atmosphere, imagining if I lived here, I would be one of them, living and dying in peace with inaction, spontaneity.

 

Dinner time. We dropped off at QinTai Road (琴台路). Miss tour guide recommended a certain hotpot restaurant‘龙森园’, CY hunted the direction with a very hopeful spirit, I almost leaped on my good leg whenever they were not watching. However, the restaurant was too full, the waiting list too long, Miss receptionist kept assuring everybody to wait for just another half hour. We understood what half an hour could mean. We set off to somewhere close to 锦里, waved to the first taxi. Local accent was interesting. I would smile to myself contentedly whenever I could catch up with more than half of what the driver explained. We arrived... hotpot of course….

 

After the missionary dinner, we walked around to 锦里, it’s almost another BJ 南锣鼓巷, or another BJ Lotus market (荷花市场), the whole street was lively, with busy stalls and characteristic shops on both sides, I liked it. No first-time-tourist would deny it. The rows of tall lanterns, the delicate arts of blowing glassy sugar, all attracted me. Aha, and I’ve passed by a stall selling rubik cubes! That’s my street. Some tourist was holding a professional camera (I simply regarded any cameras with three long legs as professional), and took a picture of himself, making a face, next to a row of those face-changing masks. Creative. He took one picture of mine too, making a face next to those colorful masks, imitating what he just did. Hi five.

 

Then we came to an embroidery shop, 蜀绣. An exhibition really. Expensive. The arts were wonderful. Each piece involved so much dedication, devotion. I knocked myself out, mouth opened, standing in front of these pieces of art. I wanted to see some of these. There’s a song “蜀绣”, the lyrics are well written by a very young man.

 

 

 

Day 3. CY wanted to go to 欢乐谷. Please~ no~ not that I wouldn’t go if he insisted. But we came to CD not for roller coasters. There should be some worthy alternatives, in just four days. Or we could have visited HK Ocean Park, etc.

 

We went to DuFu Thatched Cottage. Glad. I had warmed up myself revising plenty of DuFu’s poems which I’ve learnt in primary school years. However, it was quite different from what I expected. I knew almost none of the poems there on the walls, or everywhere. Disappointed. I couldn’t feel any high. But it’s green and gray everywhere. Peaceful, perhaps. CY commented it shouldn’t worth ¥60 per ticket, anyway we’ve got the Panda card.

 

We got into a taxi and swifted to Jinsha Ruins Museum, the archeological site. Again, I felt like I was back to the XinJiang Museum, the interior design of these two museums were quite identical. I was wondering if there was a common format. Of course the contents of exhibition differ. Elephant tusks, pieces of gold, gold masks, stoned carved kneeling person with hands cuffed at the back (like a prisoner, or someone under a curse), superstitious stuffs. I didn’t like it. A few wizards who knew the tricks, cheated others who didn’t understand and innocently believe. Some say doctors had been wizards, they danced, prayed, burnt some offerings, to cure. Some of these wizards had evolved, working on some better purposes nowadays.

 

Lunchtime, I liked this restaurant inside the museum, cool and splendid, pictures on the walls, the lights, half-chandeliers, shiny silverware, double table-mats, and even not expensive. We ordered some light meal, and getting ready for the 4D movie ¥20 per ticket. It narrated the whole story from beginning, where local people flourished their village, but very soon came a drastic flood, the leader summoning a team, they prayed and worshiped gods, created dams, burnt and cracked a hill, changed the landscape, formed the irrigation system. Peaceful habitation was resumed. However, enemies came. They fought hard for their land and won the battle. The leader, so much devoted to his nation and his people, turned into an immortal Sunbird.

 

When we were leaving, I wished I could understand more about life in a different age. If Karma does exist, what would I be, what had I been? Some human? Some wife? Some leader or slave?

 

We went to WuHouChi in the late afternoon. My mind was a mess with SanGuo (三国). I forgot and mixed most of the characters. People kept telling me that so much wisdom, tact, sacrifices, heroic characters were blended and hidden among the SanGuo ages. I walked around, CY was more interested in what he saw. He played enough SanGuo games, to know and understand most of them.

 

We cut back into 锦里 to walk some more, tried some of the local snacks. Not tasty, but still interesting. Not as yanky as those in Tibet. Just personal.

 

Dinner. Where the hell were all the non-hotpot restaurants~~~!?

 

Late evening, we walked from our CD home inn, all the way to TianFu Plaza (天府广场), and all the way back. I barely showered, brushed my teeth, and lay dead on the bed. Too much epinephrine accumulated from the pain of my unforgiving foot.

 

 

 

Day 4. Saturday. CY would give up going to 欢乐谷 on a weekend, too much queuing usually. Lol, I’m safe.

 

We went to 荷花池, done some shopping.

 

Lunchtime. Somebody promised it would be the last hotpot lunch in CD. Didn’t matter, what I needed, were the chairs.

 

We went to WenShuYuan (文殊院), we didn’t go inside, just walked around the exterior. I almost bought an egg-shaped musical instrument, empty inside, you blow into it to produce notes. Then I remember I’m still a beginner with my harmonica. Focus.

 

Evening, we arrived at 顺兴老茶馆 (JinNiu district), this would be the Chuan opera, face-changing, etc. I enjoyed it, the tea as well, and the long beak kettles. Nice. I sat there, simply blanked my mind.

 

 

 

Day 5. Sayonara CD. Would be nice to visit again someday.

 

 

(end)

P.S. It's been a nice break. I like CD generally. I've been there too.

I had this dream the other night. Nightmare, I would have called it. Because there was a victim in the dream whom I could not have saved.

I had a much worse nightmare months ago. Jeez why would I remember these negative dreams better than the others? Okay probably I've become aware that these dreams would have reflected my mind status. Subconscious things. So if I'm feeling the least bit unwell, subconsciously or not, it won't be a bad thing to pay more attention, to contour the underlying reason there, and hopefully, to solve it.

Back to the point. In my dream, there was this young teenage girl. She was working on a book. She kept telling others that someone would kidnap her or something. No one was to believe her. However, in the end, she vanished, leaving the book and everything in place, in the same exact order. The only difference was that she was gone. Nothing else seemed to have been touched, or altered.

I was a detective in the dream. I was like, a Dr. Watson, working alongside Mr. Holmes. The rest of my colleagues seemed to be engaging themselves in those paper work, because they believed the girl was merely playing hide and seek with everybody. They didn't bother to find the girl, they honestly believed the girl would return on her own after being sick of such silly games.

My colleagues were very hard-working people too. They didn't mess with their job. They just didn't really think anybody else would have broken into the girl's room. The girl was actually on a train, staying in her cart, before she disappeared. But I got the book that she left..... (unfinished story)



Inanimate objects

It draws me back to a musical box, which I possessed when I was five or six. There was a mirror, a star-shaped mirror of palm-sized, which I wouldn't rejoice to look at, because I didn't think the face in the mirror was beautiful. It was disappointing, even. That was sincerely true, when I was much younger. And there was a drawer underneath the whole thing which, whenever I pulled it out, music started. It was "Für Elise" by Beethoven. I could play it now, after so many years. I would watch, mesmerized, by how the little thing produced music, ding-ding-ding-ding...... I had to rotate the back key to keep it going. I was always contented with listening, and watching, the music coming out. There were a set of tuned teeth on a steel comb, hanging over a revolving cylinder with metal pins, plucking each musical note. I adored that musical box. It was a fancy to me.

I remember when we were much younger, we didn't really have much of these fancy little collections or ornaments. That was the best piece I've got. I loved it, and did treasure it. I didn't do anything stupid such as bouncing it off the ground, or exposing the delicate metal piece to water. I didn't know about rusting at that point. It was instinct. I just prevented as much as I could prevent. It lived long.

As if inevitable, it died after a very very long time. It had long-lived anyway. I certified it to be dead, because it could no longer sing. The stone cylinder could still move, but the pins and comb went chillingly silent. It was mute. Dead mute.



Why am I writing, to whom am I writing

I'm writing mostly because I want to let it out. I'm a fairly talkative person. I talk non-stop to my husband. And before I was married, I talked non-stop to my father. I wonder if I will bear a son or a daughter, I will later in my life talk non-stop to them.

Well. But I can't talk everything. There are repentance, guilt, sense of inferiority, sense of humor as well, sarcasm, etc. that I have kept to myself. I want to let them out. In the form of different characters, to continue hiding my fears of bringing them too open to light. I could make a funny story. I could invent some fake characters to blend with them all, to hide things nicely. But I always believe there could be chemistry among the true and fake characters in my stories, fiction, whatever. And these chemistries could be some aid to understand my existence better. I take it as a life-long therapy.

貝貝也說我中毒了, 滿腦子小說……

 

“怎麼你現在幹的都是我以前小學五六年級所幹的事情, 你下一個階段不會要開始玩電子遊戲吧!?”

                 ******************

書不可能隨便一本都扣我心弦, 很久沒有那麼中毒了, hitherto 有些部份還是跟以前一樣, 像當年念初中,

Wuthering Heights 的某幾個 chapters 我一個晚上反覆看了七八遍, 感知覺都被無底地捲進去......

                *******************

And, what really surprised me, was that

I was feeling with life,
the same way am now.

I was much hopeful and naive,
but the core,
and the way I was feeling things,
is exactly the same!

It made me realize I haven't changed much at all.



It's like we just...
we have this innate set points.

Nothing much that happens to us changes our disposition.

There is this study 
where they followed people who won the lottery, and people who had become paraplegic.

you know, one extreme is gonna make you...
euphoric, and the other suicidal.

But the study shows that
after about 6 months,

As soon as people got used to their new situation, 
they were more or less the same.

Like if they were basically an optimistic, jovial person,
they're now an optimistic, jovial person, in a wheel chair.

If they're a petty miserable asshole,
ok, they're a petty miserable asshole with a new Cadillac, a house and a boat.