17 February 2010

I, The Lonely Walker

Like countless others, I have been so much accustomed to the hustle life of Hong Kong. Information and values constantly bombard me and try to infuse me with what is right and wrong. I have started to disconnect from my mortal coil. My words have long escaped me. For how long, I can no longer recall. This time, however, I feel a burning desire to write, to record my feeling, at least for this one time.

Says Nietzsche, "When you gaze into an abyss long enough, the abyss gaze back into you." Slowly, I have become one of those who are too rich to think and, in the mean time, too poor to care. I have become the monster I used to fight. I feel that there are thoughts but none can be spoken out, as if it is a kind of punishment for lies in Dante's hell. They have not ceased to exist nevertheless.

Since the last time I went to the conference in Taiwan, I have started to realise the joy of traveling alone. What inspirations followed were Seoul and Guangzhou (to see my grand parents). At first, I was wary about the risks and uncertainties about planning what to bring, what to tender. I could not refrain the looking at my watch to make sure everything was and would happen just as planned.

At the third time, when I returned from Guangzhou, I decided not to care. I hired a taxi and had it carried me to the train station. I checked in and there were plenty of time left. So, I walked around in the duty-free shops, and took a look at those overpriced tax-free merchandise. There were alcohols and tobacco, but too few to mention compared to the ones in the oh-so-proud Peking Airport. I strolled into the bookstore, and was quickly annoyed by the Lunar New Year tunes (I bet they were as old as time, seriously) and the simplified Chinese characters. So, I decided not to give a shot to her GDP growth, and plugged in my earphone and sat down. It was playing Mr. Children’s “Hanabi”.

I looked around and observed other visitors. There were very few people, probably because it was a night, which we were supposed to be staying with our parents. There were weary businessmen. There were some foreigners waiting silently for the boarding gate to open. There was no one who knew me; there was no one who could tell about my past, and there was no one who could judge who I was. As I had no past before them, I had no guilt. I was just anyone. This was freedom, bliss and an excitement that was hardly imaginable. Amongst these people, I was insignificant, and so they were to me. Things, which used to strike me hitherto and thither to, were as light as feather, and as invisible as air. Time mattered no one. I was just living at the moment while the arrow of time paused flying. The abyss no longer haunted me, as if I was in another dimension. Then I lit up a cigar and waited outside the train. I waited for the final call of the haul and I stepped back into the train. I picked up a few pieces of trash paper and began writing. After writing for a while, my eyelids abstained from looking outside.

When I woke up from the announcement, I was told I would arrive my home city in less than an hour. The city lights outside were passing with haste mercilessly. I was drained quickly back into time. I tried to sleep again but I could not, as I was overwhelmed by the reality: what I saw and felt were mere constellations that lied light-years away. Looking at the views outside, I asked myself whether this was the right train; Be it yes or no, life goes on. It was playing Journey's "Don't stop believing" in my iPhone.


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