Thursday, December 28, 2006

A Homeless One

"I have 2.5 hours before the sun goes down," I said.

"2.5 hours? What?" D said, on the other end of the phone line.

"Yup, it's 1:30 pm now. The sun is going to set at 4."

"So ... What are you going to do today?" D asked.

"I don't know ... But I do know that I need to get out of this house," I answered, jumping out of my bed. Gosh, I'm still in my PJ.

For some reason, browsing through the ghetto Japanese video tape cases each covered with a thin sheid of dirty plastic wrap was the only highlight of the day. Reading the description, getting a taste of the story line, or seeing the front picture with a Tokyo tower in sight or a shinkansen train track in the foreground somehow provided a strange feel of solace, first time in 2 days.

「じゃ、一週間でよろしいでしょうか?」

「一週間はどのくらいかかるんですか?」

「一週間だったら、一本2ドルです。」

「はい、じゃそうします。」

Why does the cashier lady think that I was Japanese? Why did I proceed to pretend to be one?

And why does being someone not of her own more comforting? Why does listening to or speaking a language not of my own and not entirely in perfection the only channel of escape at this point?

I want to get away from this place, as far as I can, to a place where no more memories of pain could haunt me, every darn waking hour of the day.

They are right in my face, staring at me and refusing to let go.

To go or not to go, that is the question. But I need to figure it out fast.

Fast.

5:14 am. If only I were in Taipei or Tokyo, I'd put on my jacket and walk 5 mins down the road to the nearest convenient store, whether being 7-11, Lawson, Circle K or Family Mart. I would push open that glass door, be greeted with a spirited "歡迎光臨" or "いらっしゃいませ," and walk to the magazine section. I would pick out anything on the rack - be it one that gives you the full listing of special TV programs on New Year's Eve, one that introduces the latest wine lounges in town or hotspring restaurants, or one that prints beautiful mid-winter shades of fashion all over the page.

Or I would hop on the taxi and go to the 24-hour 敦化南路誠品, or even put on my tennis shoes and attempt to go for a run at 大安森林公園. Or, I can just collapse in front of TV and waste another hour or two on 電視冠軍 or a re-run of 全民大悶鍋。Or, I'll just go to 松屋 and get a bowl of 牛丼.

Then, I would feel much better, much much better.

Home is being missed dearly these days.

Since when has our ability to go home become dependent upon the seat capacity of mainstream airline companies? Why do they determine my life?

Or why did I allow you to determine my life, to make this holiday season a homeless one?

Oh, that's right. 'Cuz my heart was put out ...

I see.

梅ちゃん at 7:02:00 PM

1comments

1 Comments

at 1/6/07, 1:11 AM Anonymous Ferdinand said...

Aya...

You're still doing better than I was. :) I used to run headlong into the things that reminded me most of the pain I was feeling. Watching the movies that depicted my heart best; listening to music that conjured up memories most vividly.

At least you've the sense to run away...

I'll share with you something a dear friend said to me a number of years ago, "I used to think that I could help you heal... help you tend your wounds. That maybe we could grow together. I guess I realize now that all I can do is pray that God would heal you. If that's the only thing that I can do for you as a friend -- then that's what I'm going to do."

-----

On another note, though, I totally find acting in another culture fun... but it's kindov like acting, isn't it?

 

Post a Comment