January 28, 2007
For quite a while I hadn’t tried to do anything that is new and fresh. But, today, perhaps on the spur of the moment, I suddenly decided to employ the greatest invention of mankind – computer – to record my life. As there are things that are trivial and of no consequence and you won’t spend time keeping track of them, the task is to me a job of making my ever changing state of mind a forever memory. For that, I have to resort to my superb ability to master the abstract and the mind. It’s a great fun to see the produce of your mental exertion presented in a neat form instead of just some nasty scribbling as I earlier did. For that reason alone, I think my efforts will pay off if I can make it a perennial undertaking. After all, I couldn’t find a better way to keep my mental activities intact in addition to this.
People indulge in fantasies all the time, yet only few can make their dreams come true. Among those who were successful in becoming what they wanted to be, none were doing it without making a measure of sacrifice. They held their guns and defied the odds. Under no circumstance did they ever show any hesitation or fear in fighting for the cause they held sacred—A case in point: Chan, yung-jan and Chuang, chia-jung, who just became Taiwan’s first ever major finalists at the Australian Open. That’s what made them honorable and enviable. I hope I can have the same fighting spirit to take that acid test, for, being a down-the-line dreamer, I hate to see me doing nothing but daydreaming. I should have turned myself into a true seeker of glory and act out all my longing. But, always, I failed to do so. I didn’t know if that was because of my laziness or because of my frustrated fate. Whatever the reason, I shall no longer put the blame for my lack of showing on anything else and begin to do things that are important to my existence. I yearn so much to trade creature comforts for spiritual gains, for without the latter I was like a man without a purpose. I have to work hard to enrich my inner man so that I can rid myself of the plight I face. Without doing one thing or another to sow what I want to sow, I won’t be given a chance to harvest the most delightful thing I expect. The wonderful pair mentioned above help drive me. So, I felt it a sin not to strive for my goal. I am happy to find that, after being inspired by the sensational performance of the Chinese Taipei doubles team, I was able to engage in the business of soul searching again. I believe the psychological world I am going to depict is unique. But, still, I have to prove that to others. Until then, I don’t think any attempt to tout myself as a crafted novelist will be more convincing than the one made by quacks or charlatans.
If anybody asked me what people are the happiest in the world, I would say: farmers. Why? Because they enjoy the pleasure of seeing the things they farm growing up day by day and are delighted in finding the produce of their hard work tasty and good to health. That’s not a luxury ordinary people can afford. There are lots of well-heeled folks taking farming as the highest standard of living in Europe. So, in a sense, I am a rich man. Everyday, I work on my roof-top mini farm growing organic vegetables, harvesting the yield and fertilizing the soil for one or two hours. It was so cheering that every time I was doing it I felt I was in my element. I like it not because the crop is of great value but because it provides me with healthy and delicious food and makes me feel contented. Therefore, I don’t have to consider if it is cost-effective. As long as it keeps me busy and helps me do the right thing, it is worthwhile. After all, I want to sow and enjoy the outcome of it.
Playing the role of a farmer, literally and figuratively, is what I am doing right now. In addition to producing vegetables, I also farm the land of minds, planting the seeds of human concerns among kids under my tutelage. I teach them how to learn English and play tennis, sometimes voluntarily, sometimes with minor charges. You can say it is a labor of love. But, to me, it is a way of self-realization. I want to fulfill my wish as a genuine educator who set examples without making any lectures. And I long to become someone’s mentor by teaching them all the good lessons I learned from my past. If I could write, and let people know my real purposes in this world, it would be good for me. But, failing to show this, I made myself a cook, a tennis coach, and a dictionary author beforehand. It seems I could never be a man of letters who devoted himself to fending off all the harmful values that hurt people. That’s something that had haunted me all my life. If I want to create an image that corresponds to my actual identity, I must have the courage of my conviction. The job of serving people with food isn’t disgraceful, but it humbles me, making me feel inferior. Still, I am pious in my faith. At no rate will I waiver my ambition to demonstrate the great feat of juggling all the roles I pick up. So, if I succeed in performing this trick, you’ll see a man of many parts, who uses such various tools as pans, shovels, rackets and pens to show his talents. Of course, I would rather keep my greatest skill (which, certainly, is writing) under wraps at present than make an untimely showing of it. Or else, I’ll end up becoming a clown. People will say: Who the hell is this stupid guy? Why is he so ridiculous? It would have been a folly of me to make an exhibition of myself. After all, I didn’t dream at the expense of losing my sense of reality. Nor was I ever so naive as to think it’s OK to expose oneself to people who believe in snob appeal. So, as long as I do nothing to show I am a writer worth my salt, I am nobody. I have to accept that fact and try not to take any ostentatious manner to make me loom large. In this respect, I know I have kept my place and won’t be so condescending as to make people shy away from me. I love to share the lessons I learned from my unhappy days, but to whom can I impart this experience? And who will believe I am a man with both practical wisdom and specialized expertise? Only few! I was disappointed at being unable to find people who would listen to me, and was sad when I knew even my daughters were indifferent to my advice. Being a liberal, of course, I can’t shove my beliefs down the throat of anyone else. And I am not allowed to preach on anything—doing so just contradicts my way of doing things. So, I can only keep my own counsel and bide my time until there is a chance to speak my mind.
I am lucky to have a wife who relieves me of the burden to support my family. Although we don’t see eye to eye on lots of things, we are intimate and friendly and, sometimes, thick as thieves. But our marriage was not all clear sailing. Even up to now, we still live under separate roofs. We meet each other at meal time, and play tennis together once or twice a week. Still, there is a connecting link between us, as we’ve learnt how to live and let live. Each day, she busies herself making energy booster, surfing the Internet and trekking (which, on her way uphill or downhill, includes feeding a black stray cat called “Mao”), while I spend almost all my time doing my jobs. So, most of time, we are on our own. We rarely accompany each other to dine out, shop things, see movies, visit resorts, make trips, or do anything else a married couple are supposed to do. But, deep down in my mind, in many moments, I kind of miss her. She is a woman I love, and a woman who makes me happy. And, yet, I did nothing to compensate for all the sacrifices she made for me. That’s a terrible sin! I feel guilty having not done enough to perform my duties as her husband and as the father of our children. I should have been more concerned about this instead of just minding my own business. But I suffered that sickness of failing to find a soothed ego and was hurt from time to time by my pride and my refusal to be just a regular Joe. My social-image is so far away from my self-image that in no time could I save me the trouble of finding a way to bridge that gap. But I am all right as long as I am on the move. I believe I have a mind that is unique, and I want to make it known to others through my intellectual efforts. Thus, my wife falls victim to my egotism and my desire to make me an honorable personality. If she could have understood the things I wrote, she would have had more solace from me. But as most of the pieces I worked out are accounts of mental activities rather than statements of concrete facts, they are abstract to people who show little interest in humanities. I believe that’s the main reason why I am left alone time after time. I hope I can see people grasp my language and do justice to the sentences penned by me. But, always, I have to shrug off my disappointment by goading me again and again to find an outlet for my pent-up feelings. My wife doesn’t know how acute this mental anguish is. But she will if I turn my sorrows into a work of arts. That’s why I am anxious to see this job done at early date, as only then can I show my true love to my wife.
I humble myself only because I want to peak myself at an advanced age, as my goal is too far off for me to realize it in my young years. So, all the while, you can see me doing something, but don’t know exactly what I was doing. It was as if I were a man with a mask, who, through well-designed disguise, always succeeded in hiding himself from others. There are many people in this world who are too haughty or too jealous to appreciate the excellence of their fellowmen. If I expose myself unwittingly, quite possibly I’ll become a sitting duck. So you see how careful I was. I didn’t advertise myself in a way that is too showy. And, unless you yourself are in the know, you won’t be able to recognize me. I only want to meet people who are friendly. The vulnerability of being involved with wrong people is that, at any time, you are at the risk of being misjudged, or unfairly treated. How can I tolerate this? As I am not immune from evil forces, I still have to be wary of any dangers that I might face. Unless I am strong and powerful, I don’t think I can sit on a situation in which I am completely safe. I wish I could produce something magnificent to justify my cause and become a worthy writer, for without this being done, I’ll always be weak, and there won’t be any pride in me.
The reason why I choose not to brag is that already there are too many people who praise themselves to the skies. My father always boasts of his cleverness, and my mother thinks she is omnipotent. So, what’s the purpose of talking big? Anyone who thinks no small beer of themselves can blow off better than me. And they continue to blow their own trumpets without knowing that they are as cocky as those who got big-headed. I hate to be such a braggart like my dad and don’t want to be such a lunatic like my mom, as they are people who suffer, who are unable to extricate themselves from that conceitedness of theirs and face the poor fate they encountered. How pitiful they are! But, even I was trained to help people with personality disorders, I could do nothing about them. My parents are lost in their vainness and self-importance. In no way can I provide them with a cure for their self-conceit or insanity, as they got no way to come to the realization that they were victims to vanity and were unwilling to kill their puffed-up egos accordingly. So, it’s really fortunate of me to shed that vainglorious part of my self and become a man of modesty. Now, I indulge in self-admiring but don’t flatter myself. Every time I produce a work that shows good stuff, I simply pat me on the back. I wish I could be as resolute and persevere as those who I idolize, for without their resolve, staunchness and will power, I can’t accomplish anything.
My lowliness helps me in some way –but don’t think I am meek! I just don’t want to clash with people. If you believe I am a man that will yield or give way, you are deadly wrong. Throughout my whole life I never take a backseat to anyone. And, whether I am a free-lance translator or a self-employed cook or a part-time tennis coach, I am always doing my jobs with free will. This uncom- promising and irreconcilable nature of me makes me become a rebel who hates to take advice from those who are demanding or overbearing. So, I would rather be on my own than associate myself with people who want to run the show, not to mention arguing with them. You may say I am proud. Yes, I am. If I am not, there won’t be any necessity for me to take all the troubles to convince myself that it’s worthwhile to fulfill my wish as a literary aspirant. The reason why I won’t reveal my real purpose is that I want to keep it a secret and get a big surprise from those who sell me short on account of my obscurity. To them, I am as common as the man in the street. It’s impossible for them to carefully examine my efforts and appreciate what could be my best. So, I have to make my artistic venture a private business that should only be shared by people who speak my language. That’s why I avoid snobbish folks like the plague and don’t quite like men who are authoritative. Luckily, through a special surviving skill of me, I was able to stop interference from outside world and hide me in a place that suits my mind and serves my purpose. I enjoy this seclusion greatly, as it is a privilege of mine. From time to time, I see the fruits of my hard work, and am happy to find that, sometimes, they are so encouraging that I have to flatter myself for it. To me, producing something that is superb and splendid is more important than being awarded with any prizes. Men can be great on account of fame, but they can’t become immortal without showing something that is solid and imperishable. I hope I can be elevated to that highness and be given the very honors I aspire after. Otherwise, people will say I am living with my head in the clouds.
I am often torn between the desire to get my dictionaries done first or to give priority to writing my novels. Both are daunting tasks that need great endeavors. But I can’t do one thing without scarifying the other. As people say, you can’t have the best of both worlds. I put off carrying out the second mission only because I think it is a more perilous adventure than the first one. Without a mean to leave behind the chore of earning my daily bread, I can’t devote myself to anything that guarantees nothing. By publishing my dictionaries at least I can sell them to earn money. But who will read my stories if I can’t prove I am a worthy writer? There are people who propose setting up a blog to make my creative writing accessible. That sounds a good idea. But I am not the likes of those who are not afraid of making a show of themselves. Actually, I am too shy to lose face. The last thing I would do is to reveal my insufficient self. Besides, I hate to be criticized by those who don’t have a fair mind or are not knowledgeable. It hurt me to learn that even friends could tear your works to pieces. But I prefer not to take others’ compliments as my personal achievements. I would rather judge me critically than find me blinded by my ignorance. Quite many a people bloom late. I believe I am yet to come of age. Already I have enough motivations to drive me forward. What I need more is simply courage and grit. As long as I keep a sharp mind and continue to exercise my intellect, nobody can say I’m over the hill. So, why should I be troubled by the fact that I am no spring chicken any longer? I wish I can get rid of all my greenness to show my maturation, as it is the ultimate goal of my pursuit.
I might have puzzled people a lot, as I related myself to things that are apparently in conflict. They wonder how a man who masters the skills of a sport can be so intelligent as to know the techniques of depicting souls. And it never occurred to them that a person who is accustomed to physical labor can also be good at mental exertion. Unfortunately, I am just this guy. Only I don’t tout myself as such. I have been propelled by my humanist beliefs to find my dignity in producing things that help find inner-peace for me instead of anything else. That requires me to make most of my endowments. So, I employ both mind and body to offer substance for my ultimate purpose. I would like to follow in the footsteps of those who are able to inspire people and become as trustworthy and competent as them. Nevertheless, no matter what I do and how hard I work, always I suffer the humiliation of being totally or greatly eclipsed. I prepare tasty and healthy food, but attract only a few people; I publish best possible dictionaries of English idioms, not many are interested; I turn clumsy boys into nice tennis player, yet quite few have the luck to take such training from me . Still, I am able to survive. I have customers who enjoy my meals; I have readers who appreciate my quality translations; I have kids who got their skills under my coaching. That’s enough for me. I don’t have to be famous to win self-esteem. After all, showing me as I am is more important than being called a great man.
I feel small not because I don’t have a big name (like entertainers), but because, compared with those great literary icons I adore (among them, James Joyce), I am just a dwarf, and, without producing any works as great as theirs, I can’t style myself as an essayist, or a novelist, or a poet. So, how shall I be introduced if I was not known as a writer? I hate to be like those who always say they have something to write home about while doing nothing to show that. Maybe the job I am going to take is one that suits every Tom, Dick and Harry. Yes, of course, but I don’t think I need to be one of them by mimicking mediocrity, as I tolerate no defectiveness and enjoy only things that are pure and flawless. That’s why from time to time I have to put myself under scrutiny to check out if anything that belongs to me contains faultiness. I repeatedly modify my tolerable pieces until they measure up to my expectations, for, if I want to be a big-time writer instead of just a second-rater, I can’t save the trouble of erasing all the imperfections in my sentences. Actually, in less than five years, I have updated my first dictionary three times, and, up to now, I am still improving a short story that I began to write as early as thirty years ago. That explains why, right now, I wouldn’t let any of my literary works published, as, like before, I always find my shortcomings. I don’t know if this means I am still growing or I can never ripen myself. Whatever the case, the feeling of being able to seek for refinement gratifies me. I would rather mend myself continually than regret finding that the very things I want to give out are in fact rubbish.
My faith in me rests entirely on the quality of my literary creation. As long as I am able to write something readable and show stuff that is not of no consequence, I am content with myself. Still, I hope to make my novels as good as my prosaic production, though I know digging into fiction is quite a different cup of tea – it’s much more difficult and requires a slew of intellectual inputs. That fails me frequently. It’s not that my imagination is not rich, but that I am yet to improve on my writing skills. I like the way “A portrait of the Artist as a Young Man” was written and love to take a leaf out of my hero’s book to let me look master-like. Yet, I am not that gifted. I couldn’t even produce anything that is “top-notch”. Sometimes, I was so discouraged that I had to say such a business was totally beyond my reach. I shouldn’t let me believe that, since I am talented in many other ways, I can also be good at literary creation, as inventing stories keeps on racking my brains and consuming my brain viability. So, unless I work out an answer to this problem, it will continue to be a tall order for me.
The reason why I have to write in a humble way is because, up to now, I still hadn’t any laurels to rest on. But, I love to take it as a blessing in disguise, as many people ceased to make efforts after they made their marks. If I let myself be distracted by other engagements that came after their glories, I might not be able to follow my heart as I like. So, it’s really good to be nameless and unnoticed, as you will enjoy your solitude and won’t be bothered. But, how can I continue to isolate myself this way if, now and then, I have to meet people on someone’s red letter day? They are my friends and relatives. In no way can I manage to avoid them. So, given the fact that I enjoy my forlornness, I still can’t turn me into a recluse (though some thirty-five years ago I had once tried to play this role). That’s when I suffer what I don’t want to suffer. In my place, I can be a master of my own. On other occasions, I don’t have that privilege, as people tend to talk down to you willfully or unwittingly. I feel bad on account of that, because many people treated me as their inferior on the ground that I am less successful. Of course, among those of kin to me, few are so insolent. They greet me heartily and say nice things to me. Still, I feel we are not on the same footing (because they are much better-off than me). Under no circumstance will I be so naive as to believe they are people who think highly of you. They won’t appreciate you until they know you have noteworthy achievements. And they don’t think you could be somebody unless you proved it. That’s why I was repeatedly advised to do things that are against my nature. I don’t know what made them so interested in me. Don’t they know I am a stanch nonbeliever who can never be converted? Why should they bother themselves trying to make me believe what I don’t want to believe? I don’t think they will do the same thing to me if I am a luminary. Yes, just because I fail to show anything that is daunting, I have to be preached to learn to say prayers and admit that I am a sinner. That’s ridiculous! I saw red every time I was given a raw deal. But, I think that’s the price I have to pay as a maverick. I should have said “thank you” to those who failed to see my true self and stopped loathing them, as they remind me of “what I am”.
My free-spiritedness is one that few can tame. Owing to this, you may say I am a rugged individual. That I won’t deny. But, in some way, I can be as benign as anyone else. If people don’t talk about things that would rub me the wrong way, my manners are agreeable. From time to time I listen to people who are unassuming and unpretentious. They are the pals I like. I would rather engage in small talk with them than discuss serious things with people of dictatorial thinking. After all, I don’t have to justify myself by inviting arguments, as I have the virtues to take independent action and use reason to establish my moral values. So, it doesn’t matter whether people deem highly of me or not. What I care is simply if I hold myself accountable for my doings. As long as I am able to judge me stringently, there won’t be anything that could lead me to think I am deranging myself. That’s the difference between me and my dad, my mom and my many other kinsmen who are either neurotics or psychotics. I was lucky to escape from the torture of wounded vanity – thanks to my switch of college major from hydraulic engineering to psychology. So, I always think people shouldn’t make plans for their children, as in many cases these concerns are self-interests disguised as love and devotion. But, until you yourself are overwhelmed by the same stress that comes from conventional authoritarian systems, you won’t make a change of it. What a pity this is! I wish I could be of help to those agonized souls. But, even if I have all the will, it’s useless, as I am not a savor. I have to keep this fact in mind so as not to overplay myself. So I reduce myself to a cook, a tennis coach, a self-employed translator, lest people around me should be hurt by the funkiness of my thoughts (which will definitely be put forth in my writing).
p.s.: You can never learn a truth from the Scriptures until you experience it.
I go to a college tennis club to heal myself everyday. At that place, I am always alive and kicking, as you can see me playing singles vigorously with people of all ages (except those who are older than me). The reason why I do this rain or shine is because it provides me with an instant mental therapy. To get that cure, there is no necessity for me to argue, to labor my intellect, to parade my knowledge, or to do anything that will help prevent the so-called social elites from belittling me. I just outdo my challengers by compelling them to concede. At elsewhere, everybody can do whatever it takes to disparage me and make me feel inferior. But, right here, nobody can. After all, this is where I project my strengths and qualities. Anyone who is not my match won’t have a dog’s chance of prevailing over me, as I’ve got a very special know-how to beat people (That’s why I am a tennis coach). Still, I can’t rid me of that goddamn desire to make me a solid man. Everyday, I battle my feeling of void by filling food for thought into my thirsty mind. Bit by bit, I add things that are supposed to be the essence of my existence to my inventive stories. That’s better than seeking for the glory of being a conqueror. I indulge in self-admiration every time I see the purity of my creative work. That’s when I am the happiest (second, of course, to making love to my wife) and when I have all the motivation to give my greatest effort to pursue that pleasure for the rest of my life. So, you may ask: What’s the remedy for me? I told you: It’s the things I brought out, be they my harvests, my translations, my stories or my protégés. Since my sleepless years (also a reason why I am a psychology student) these outputs have been my best solace, as without such things coming to me always, my mind will be forever empty.
I admire the music of Shostakovich, not because it is melodic, but because it is retrospective. I wish I could do one thing or another to simulate that grandeur. But, while I am still embarking on duel career as a tennis coach and a cook to provide some financial security for me, I wonder if I can forge a language of colossal emotional power to depict my struggle against adversity. People just won’t believe a small beer like me could have that clout. But, I believe I have the talent to do anything I like in a big way. Ten years ago, I didn’t even know what English idioms are. Now, I am an author of three idioms dictionaries. This progress is completely the result of a thirst for knowledge, as it is rooted deeply in my nature. If I have the same craving for creative writing, I think I won’t have great difficulty showing people that I have the same internalized sorrows this famous Russian composer conveys in his No. 13 Symphony. Still, I shouldn’t tell anyone about this, because it looks like I am overambitious. Besides, you don’t know what would happen to you or what odds you might face in the coming days. So the important thing is that you know the realities and yet keep your ideals. That’s what makes you continue to grab that sense of adequacy without losing the soundness of your personality. I want to be a man loyal to my conscience, for that sake, I have to take stock of all possible risks of my ventures. That keeps me silent, because, always, there are things coming up to you so unexpectedly that you may just become a victim of them without any possible hope of finding a help (like my two cousins, who are both schizophrenics.) I wish I can let people see why kids who catch up from falling behind are physically and mentally more fit than kids who are overtaken by others. Yet the lure of taking a lead at the start is so compelling that everybody wants to let their dragon sons make an early dash regardless of the fact that, at the end, nobody knows who runs first at the very beginning. It never occurs to them that we stumble only because we run too fast, not because we run slowly. That’s why I never press my daughters for anything. I tell them to take it easy, lest they should repeat my fate, though no one knows that the inferiority complex I suffer derived from my high-school days’ pre-eminence. Luckily for me, I was saved by the great therapist Alfred Adler, who taught that life’s difficulties can be compensated by the individual’s efforts to overcome them. So you see I never give up my pursuits, I keep on doing things that many people think are silly, as I yearn to find a relief for my unfortunate existence through this mammoth undertaking. Still, you may say I’m sick, as I shield myself from all outside attempts, good-intended or not, to put me straight. I don’t think anyone who hasn’t got my temperament knew how to prescribe the right doses for me. Consequently, I resort to no one but me. If I defy any pundits or gurus because of this, I say sorry, but don’t ask me to take their advice. That will infuriate me. So, once again, I ask people to let me embrace the freedom I need and respect my tenacity in staying true to myself. Otherwise, I won’t be able to leash that untamed monster in me.
I try to let me be shaped by hardship and the ironies of life. The reason I manage the hat trick of livelihood, literary career and tutorship is because I need more means to test my fighting will and surviving skills. Having gone through all the humiliations that I might otherwise avoid, I find I am no longer vulnerable to unexpected insults. So, despite being snubbed frequently, I am still the guy who refuses to show my true identity. It’s a decision that I made for myself, as nothing could motivate me more than the bitterness of being held in contempt. Actually, my strength comes from the absence of anything others have: fame, glory and fortunes. Because of this, I feel lucky for my obscurity.
