CH1. Life Goes On 8: Driver's License and Thomas

Hello, Tim!

I have just spent five minutes recalling all the events of the previous week at the desk and Having taken so much time to do such made me realize that I haven't really been paying much attention to myself. Sure that I have done whatever I feel like doing, but I don't feel like I have been paying mind to what I FEEL at every single moment. In retrospect, it felt like a state of sleepwalking, or somnambulating; doing something, but not really registering anything. There are sure to be some highs in the week, and those are the things I want to grasp on this week.

Driving Test: Passed

"You have to do this in one go. One go only, there are no other choices or plan B for you to step back on. You are in the middle of a rapids, coursing and roaring with no large rocks behind you to return to the the side where you came from." 

That was what I kept saying to myself on the day of my examination for my driver's license. I know it sounded like I was depicting the end of the world, but I sort of have a point; this is the last driving test I will be able to take before I fly to Germany for university (even though I am still waiting for the results) and I certainly want to have my diver's license in hand after having spent all the money and time trying to parallel park and doubting if my eyes are seeing correctly, not to mention that this is also my only ticket to apply for an international license, should the need to drive arises in Germany in the future. With the revelation weighs down on me, I was as taut as a bowstring throughout the day, no matter when I was taking the written tests for driving regulations or when I was waiting for my turn for the real diving test. I was numbered the 43rd doing the diving test, meaning there was plenty time for me to implode and innerly freak out before it really was my turn. By the time it was my turn sitting in the driver's seat, I was more numbed by the constant self-inflicted fear than I am afraid of the test. I guess it was why I could still stay calm on the surface, muttering all the steps as my hands and feet moved and motioned correspondingly. 

As it turned out, I seemed to have overthought the whole deal of this examination. The judges were stern-faced and were barking orders that you are to follow, but unless you really do something out of bounds or turn the wheels to the completely wrong direction, you don't have to be asked out of the car, which indicates your failure of the test.

I passed, with a lot of luck, actually. I was really nervous when doing to the road trip section of the test, and I was minding too much of the judge's motion. As he abruptly shifted his left leg, I thought something I did went totally wrong, and I stepped on the brakes immediately, which almost brought the car to a complete halt. The judge practically bellowed at me, demanding me an explanation as to what in the world I was doing, in mid-turn at the corner of the road. I quickly loosened my grip on the brakes by retracting my right feet while muttering furtive apologies. But hey, I did it at the end of the day, didn't I?

In the driving courses I made several friends, one even from CCSH and happens to be Summer's student in another homeroom class. I know, that our chances of actually keeping in touch is bleak, but I thank the and my coach for being there with me, fighting alongside me when I was trying to rein in the metallic beast, teaching me what techniques there are to complete the test. Without them sitting next to me I the waiting line, also freaking out, I don't think I would make it to the finish line.

It was not an activity I willing those to engage in, taking up driving, but I know I enjoyed it like anyone who would love to drive even before the courses.

Notre professeur de français, il est rentré

That means "Our French Teacher Has Returned"
I mentioned that two years ago when I was in England, when I learned that my first French teacher was actually quitting his job in the institution where I used to learn French and returning to France.
On his Facebook status we can frequently see his updates on his vacation in France and his decision to go work in Shanghai. He kept mentioning about the possibility of visiting Taiwan every once in a while, but it was only two years later did he actually come back. He is the kind of teacher you would miss: playful, patient, and a little but childish. Of course, when we heard about his pending return, we the classmates were all excited. Melody was the first to take initiative, organizing meetups, looking for restaurants for dinner. Melody and Candy were anxious. They left the French courses much earlier than I did, and even though I quitted about a year ago, I have never lost contact with the language. Either through reading children' books written in French or listening and singing to French pop songs, there isn't really a day I haven't passed without seeing at least a phrase or two in French. I did forget a  great deal as to the many words learned in French classes, but I can still manage to strike up a conversation or two.
Wednesday, dinner night.
Thomas was sitting at the table across the warmly lit, spacious room as we pushed through the bulky door. His hair was shaven and looked significantly... heavier. But his smile showed that nothing was changed, and the French teacher we had come to be acquainted with.
Before I continue on, I want to give a bit more information on the dynamics of the class. Our class was, in fact, very openminded and free. When Candy, Melody, and I were still sixteen and seventeen, the other adult classmates were very open about everything, about love, about gossip, and about sexual orientation. It was the factor that made sure that our classes are filled with raucous laughter, and one that made it incredibly easy to come out as gay. The adults don't treat us the highschoolers as someone inferior and gave us a great time in general during classes.
Back to the dinner, our teacher shattered the initial silence by asking the folks at the table a question that threw us completely off kilter, "Do you guys have boyfriends yet?" The familiar lively feeling returned with the odd sense of humor of this odd teacher.

With basic French skills at my disposal, it would only make sense that I made the most of it to try to converse in French.
Thomas also happens to fit in the romantic stereotype of a French person. When Melody asked him about the tattoos that were visible from his sleeves' opening, a stylized symbol that looks like a capitalized "M". He stopped and thought for a moment. "It's short for Melody." Which led to another collective uproar. He then said that it was from a Japanese anime that he has grown infatuated with.
The light dinner was finished, and we proceeded to have some of our photos taken. Being a photo-awkward person, the others kept shouting advices as to what pose to use, until one of my lovable classmates -Jayce, I reckon- shouted out "Look at each other in the eye!" I barked out a laugh of surprise, but Thomas next to me, apparently had better ideas than to brush it off. He turned to me, a smile already tugging at his lips, and stared straight into my eyes.
I didn't know it would be so hard to keep eye contact. I see different shades of brown forming two concentric circles, focusing in the centers of the two circles were a pair of undilated dark pupils. It was mesmerizing, but it also felt like getting pulled into a dark current in the river. I heard Melody cry out with laughter, saying that the tip of my ears were bright red, that I blushed furiously, but I willed myself to hold the gaze a little longer, either for proving that this is a challenge I could surmount or for getting stuck by the pair of eyes I cannot really say. Anyway, the picture was taken, and it was really a novel experience for me. At the same time, it proved that our French teacher has "flirting" as a skill up his sleeves.

I was flustered.

Oh and Candy got a new haircut.

End and I was Late

Today is Monday of the following week. I started the letter yesterday late at night, but when my phone told me that it was two in the morning already, Mom happened to wake up momentarily from her sleep and was ticked off that I was not already in bed. With no other choices, I had to go to bed. I could have just stopped at the diver's license, but I felt like I would love to read about my reaction when I once stared into the depths of my very charming French teacher two or three years from today.

Sincerely,
Hugo

CH1. Life Goes On 7: Willow and my Black Circles

Hello Tim!

This week, without any apparent reason, I have been staying up late. Either for cell phone games or TV shows, it was already one or two days in the morning, and today when I was shaving (a new skill I acquired around the month I reached 18.) I noticed a faint pair of dark circles under my eye sockets, and just like that, I felt compelled to go to bed early from now on.

Willow: A Novel on Self-Harming, Love, Loss, and Redemption

This week's read is Julia Hoban's Willow. I first knew about this book back when I was in junior high, when I was browsing through the books in the school library, and I became intrigued by the Chinese translated cover: The Girl with no Tears.

The book holds the tale of a girl who was involved in a car accident that killed her parents. She was convinced that she was responsible for the tragedy that changed the lives of her brother and herself, and, finding no way to letup her guilt and pain, she found comfort in the metallic razor blades. By giving herself the gaping, gashing wounds inflicted upon by herself, she found salvation in the dulling pain that drew her deeper and deeper into the dark.

Self harming is a topic that is not often discussed, even rarer than LGBTQ issues. The words in the book really made you shudder, the drops of blood seem to have seeped out from between sentences. It made you wonder how much pain it would need to drive someone into doing something so harmful to yourself, being forced to be afraid that the "vice" would be revealed. 

The main storyline was intertwined with a mention of Greek mythology, about Persephone and Demeter, about how the mother and the daughter was separated by the Underworld, as if the author was trying to mirror the emotions between the characters under her words. It is an enhancing read, to me especially when the main character talked about how she would no longer be anyone' child anymore, without anyone being there to listen to you recount the events of the day. I love my parents, and when I try to put myself in Willow's (protagonist) shoes, it felt quite panicking, actually.

This is a book that showed me different emotions, and the story it composed through words shows people the unnoticed voids in the heart they never knew existed.

Ending

I know there are more juicy details of the week, but I really need to sleep. 

I just want my black circles to go away.

Sincerely,

Hugo

CH1. Life Goes On 6: Trojan War Revisit and Pokemon Go

Hello, Tim!

As a week's worth of time sauntered by, it wore away the brisk and harsh emotions I had regarding this website after last week's colossal mishap, and now I am here, cool-headed and determined to finish this week's post with little problems.

A Week Stuck in the Trojan War

This week I made a revisit schedule to the Trojan plains where war once raged. In Emily Hauser's book I gained clarity on the event once more when I finished reading it this week, after a year and a half leaving it, which sat with the company of other books.

In hope to have a glance on my thoughts about this book, I went back to the post I wrote in the past. Much to my dismay, the me in the past was more concerned about the condition in which this secondhand book was purchased through Amazon from a British library. I spent more time writing about my warring thoughts on whether to remove the library tags on the book or not, indecisive like a kid who still couldn't decide what he wants for Christmas.

So now I am on my own, apparently.

First, I want to praise the enchanting writing style of the author, Emily Hauser.

The fonts were of normal size, much smaller than the font in which you are reading at the moment, ensuring the length of the story that was tucked into this book of almost 400 pages. With the length of the story as well as the detailed writing of the settings of nobles and peasants alike, it was surprising not stuffing at all. With little effort, you can easily follow the flow of the plot at a fast but relaxing pace, and you still have the time to raise your head from the book and smile a knowing smile when a reference to the Greek Gods was passably apt. The "melody" of this style of writing pleases me quite much.

Now, to make up for the deficit of thoughts on the actual book in my first read, I am here to offer my opinion on the story itself.

Among all tales of Greek mythology, I am the most familiar with the Trojan War, whose wrenching tragedy was preserved up until now through Homer's Iliad.

Since Homer was said to be a Greek, it was inferred that the war he recounted would be though the eyes of a Greek. The Trojan Prince, Paris, abducted the beautiful Helen, wife of Menalaus from Sparta, hence the decade-long war broke across the horizon as a thousand ships of Greek warrior brought wreckage upon the Trojans. It would be much easier to use a Greek hero's perspective -Big Ajax, Machaon, for example- if any author wishes to do an adaption from this tale. Emily Hauser, took an adventurous detour into the palace and the village of Troy and showed the war and how if unfolded through the lenses of another side of the battle. More impressively, she utilized the two characters that was not much thought of in the original Iliad: the daughter of a priest and a villager who was later captured to be a slave girl serving Achilles. From what I can think of, this road taken by Hauser brought herself two advantages: By using a perspective not often thought of, the blank parts could be filled up with the author's imagination without making the War into another different one; by doing so, the brand new focus would shine its own lustre, attracting readers, familiar with the original story or not to get to know about this adapted tale.

The story also made it really clear, that in the Greek system of religion, we humans really are noting more than creature that walk upon earth with two legs. People send the Gods prayers that were easily neglected, and the Gods would never grant anyone's wish unless it is a passage to his/her own objectives (that, or the Gods are bored) The war was not lit up because Paris chose the Goddess of beauty as the winner of a beauty contest, but because the Gods and Goddesses are having a hard time seating themselves still on their marble-polished thrones. Achilles didn't rampage the villages out of his own pleasure, but was in fact forced to fight and kill when he had puppet strings attached to his joints the instant he was born as the son of a Goddess. Humans are not the mastermind of anything; we are all just a flesh-made soldier figurines set on chess board. We think that humans are in control of a lot of things, that Gods are attentive to our prayers and our wishes as if they, instead of the other way round, are our humble servant, eager to pull gold out of thin air. We are not. That is the biggest lesson Greek mythology taught me, I realized.

In a comfy cafe called Peppermint Night

Anyway, I now have already figured out my next book, and the theme was almost a heavy as war.

It's a book that made its own account of self-harming.

Pokemon GOing with Mother

I know that this is an old cellphone game of three years whose player's average age in a rising tendency, but the animated Pokemon TV series has always be in my childhood, and I was just tempted again and again by the notion that you can catch more of them by just walking on the streets. 

These days, though, I have someone to join me. My mother.

I always know that Mom is someone with a really open mind, even before her very resolute verbal support on my being gay, but it never occurred to me that she would be entertained by this cellphone game. She is next to me when I am on the streets these days, though. 

When she doesn't have a shift in her convenience store, she would ask me where we could go for Pokemon hunting, and I would find some place, far or just around our house, and she would mostly gladly follow. I have stopped letting myself wonder why she would play such game with me, but to start enjoy our little excursions just before I have to head for Germany (I'm still waiting for the schools to examine my files)

I know I am dreading the day I leave as much as I look forward to it.

This is the end for this week.

Sincerely,

Hugo

CH1: Life Goes On 5: Website Failure and Emotions Wiped Away

Hello, Tim!

I.....
I have been typing this blog post for three hours already. Three hours.
Then the worst thing to a blog keeper happened.
The website reloaded and cleared all my text.
I was writing about my cousin Eliza's scores and was almost getting a bit too emotional and then,
it was gone.
It is one thirty in the morning and after all the emotions I had put into words I just felt like running out on the empty streets, hit by the oppressive, sultry heat, AND SHOUT.
It is useless, I know, and I certainly don't have the time to try to remember and rewrite the whole chunk, and in order to get as much sleep as possible, I am going to write the whole thing before two.

First, I talked about the book I read for this week, Naomi Novik's Uprooted, a new take on the fairytale-like setting with a malicious wood that contaminate all living beings. The protagonist was taken to a magician's tower to learn that she was born with powers that are fit to fight against the woods. I then talked about how the story promoted female individualism and feminism by enabling the protagonist and the female secondary character to save themselves and make their own decisions that turned out to be a relatively better solution, and I think it is notable that it was unprecedented that  the plots were actually packed with actions and was enjoyable and something new to read from a fairytale-like story. I also talk about the name of the book and its relationship not only to the reference of the dark woods but also how Agnieszka, the main character, was deprived of a normal life when she was sent away as a tribute.

Moving on to the next and the emotional paragraph.
I first recounted Angela and my visit to several of my classmates who went to take their final test for college entrance, and babbled about how long they have been fighting temptation knowing that their friends have been outside all along and doing whatever they like when the could only sulk around with the pressure of the test coming. I think that they fought not only the subjects but also the temptation to chuck everything away and battled like valiant knights.
Then came the sad part.
Eliza's score of her college entrance came out yesterday, and it was not as good as expected. It might have lost her the ticket to her dream university but I wouldn't want to ask her about it no matter how well I am familiar with this sort of disappointment, knowing that all the response I am going to get from her would be "a smiling mask ghosting across her real disposition, a mask that I am too familiar with". I made it clear that I am not feeling sorry for myself at the moment, for my primary concern now is for her. I also thought that the smarter and more considerate her would know what to do or say, if our roles were reversed. I just really hope the best for her, judging  how hard she had worked no matter how smart she is.

It is 1:53 and I am about done SUMMARIZING my letter which I poured my heart and my gastric acid into.
I still feel like scream no matter how likely it is to attract the police and making me the funniest piece of news for breakfast time. I JUST DON'T WANT TO CARE.

I'll try to recover the whole text when I feel like to.

Sincerely,
Hugo

p.s. Is there a proper word to describe my anger now? I don't think the scale of the word "infuriated" would fit.