In my life of twists and turns, 我沒想到我現在可以用中文. I turned to experimenting with writing in Chinese six years ago. I started to incorporate pieces of it into my work – something more representative of the amalgamation that is me. Spoken word became more of a medium I explored. 從 “三歲離開台灣” 到 “回家”, 每一篇都是我獨特的中西合併, 語言摻雜的作品. Again, it functions as a mental puzzle. Every rhyme, every cadence was a hurdle to overcome. 如何讓中英押韻, not just random add-ins, 一種和平的共鳴, like the peace I started finding.
I must make decisions for regret For my decision isn’t mine The multitude of spacetime Allowed only in the silences of timespace Set forth By the past Formed By the present Limited By the future I made a decision to regret 拿著吸塵器 我打掃著似曾相識的客廳 一張黑沙發 石牆上一排欄杆 右前方廁所的燈亮著走廊 Brrrrrm om om om 就在這時 他們回來了 茶几上放下一桶切過的蘋果 表哥坐在左邊的書桌 繼續打著沒結束的電動 我收好坐在沙發的一邊 外婆微笑著 在旁看著電視 一起吃著那蘋果 How I longed to see her As I woke up I knew I will soon be back Next Thursday Then I remembered 原來一場夢 Time flows Right through your soul As the wind blows Softly through your cloths What is this feeling
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It’s always darker in here. There are days without light. Even those loud colors are subdued on the upholstery. Then there are the bangs, shocks and impacts, direct hits of the road rattling up backs and spines. Rain dampens the floor with sun baked crumbs, gums and who knows what left behind, left forgotten. — The morning swell through the doors of untold routines and responsibilities. These weary eyes and ears time for signs to disembark. Yes, all is trapped, on routes dictated by stops. Outside the window, single passengers throttle by. It struggles to navigate the sea of more nimble cars. It struggles to maintain a timely pace. — Waiting could mean five minutes or twenty, with a near miss. Sometimes, a short sprint is required. It doesn’t wait. A suit and tie is rare among sweaters and hoodies, just as an unwashed shirt always lingers in the corners. It’s a decisive non-decision, collectively by those whose only way to get somewhere, is trapped together with some bodies. – Fu Lien Hsu Oct 27, 2016
Goes by hand Hand that used to be sand. It goes to a dozen numbers Around. Watching it Slowly. Turning away Quickly. Yet It brings everything. The one thing that matters. To be suddenly caught Standstill. Like the wind it knocks Over. Or, pull the metaphorical rug Under.
A face without name As I walk on a path in the hills Counting the rocks Under the beating sun I cannot remember I remember only to forget That face What’s the name? There are memories Faint visions but the face The face is always sharp In focus Each step I take I chew on words Ruminate on these images Fading A figure waves In the distance As I look up from the rocks And stop counting my steps I was so close But I already forget What was it that I tried So hard to remember? We walk towards the sunset Down the hill Into the forest And wait for the stars. – Fu Lien Hsu June 28, 2016
They come, resistance. Pressure shifts, moving from high to low. Sometimes, a breeze. Other times, a tempest. How did the pressure build? Have you experienced the winds in a storm? It blows you back. If you try to fly a kite, the string may snap. Even trees bow or crack. So do you hide? You can turn around and make them tailwinds. If you are ok with moving in a different direction? For now. Or just wait. For how long? Either way, you will arrive. They say, “All roads lead to Rome.”
Are you nervous? Yes. Are you scared? Yes. So why? I don’t know. Why what? Why do you keep going? There is hope. There is change. Do things really change? Always. In this second, you already are not who you were. So that’s hope? No. Hope is believing in and building for that change. If you believe, then why are you nervous and scared? There is the unknown. We all fear the unknown. What is unknown? You never know what the future holds. Then what do you do? You hope.
I’ve been reading a lot “People change” I’ve been thinking a lot “only time will tell” I’ve been writing a lot “who am I?” I’ve been… Laughing all about the same But really silent on the name I am drawing blanks to describe The only things that come to mind As I soak in the Californian sun On the beaches where we used to run I still got that sand in my car From days I no longer remember The past is the past So do I really want to talk? I’ve been reading a lot “People change” I’ve been thinking a lot “only time will tell” I’ve been writing a lot “what I have done” I’ve been… Working night and day Trying to be a better man The writing is not on the wall When I still got time to have it all My patience grows from a seed Slowly becoming a grand tree I go forward with a plan Working pieces like new bricks As I build a town to call my own …
Over and over I say to myself, I remind myself, I write myself. Into curves and straights, corners and turns without coming to an end because the past is never in sight and the present lingers for only a second. The future demands to be known with each stroke of the pen, it becomes present and is written into the past. The eternal struggle. Memories selected for harvest until a later date confirmed only when they are opened once again. That is not all, that is not all. There are those that remain in your mind but blanked out, slowly again by time. I feel the need to explore the depths of the lost chambers that echo within dreams. I feel the need of a flashlight into the wells of dark water long bathed in the moonlight. A moonlight that shone since the morning I opened my eyes. 7:45 AM the clock once read and will read again. This is a cycle, unending till you realize you have gone away from something at the same …