Love and Shame
My dad always had high expectations of me, so he started me on English lessons when I was just four years old. (Thank you, Dad, really.) By the time I reached middle school, I had already been learning English for nearly a decade. He would play TED Talks and ask if I understood the speakers. When I said no, he would sigh and tell me how he had mastered 7,000 vocabulary words in just six years and I'd feel bad about my limited vocabulary, wishing I hadn't disappointed him.
Now, at 25 and studying at an art school, possessing a whole different language has opened doors to the whole world.
Isn't it funny that the skill I now treasure most was born out of both love and a little shame.
Song of Life
Dad received a reserved upbringing, men of his generation rarely showed much of their emotions. In my whole life, I saw him cried only twice. First time on grandma’s funeral and second when he found out he was dying.
By the time I was 16, he had been battling cancer for 3 years. As a doctor, he’d always been very aware of how much “time” he had left. (Is that the so called curse of knowledge?). He, however, never spoke of it, while I just pretended the war could last forever.
One night, he called me to his bedroom, told me he’s running out of time and ask if there’s anything I wanted to say to him.
Later that night, I heard a song playing from his room — "Song of Life" by Taiwanese singer Huang Yi-Lin. I think that was the first time I truly listened to the lyrics. That's when I found out that songs are just reflections of life.
The Hiking Pole
Father got into hiking just a few years before his cancer diagnosis. To cheer him up, my brother and I bought him a hiking pole with the scholarship money we earned in high school. I remember how happy and proud he was to receive it. But it was a little too late. He never regained enough strength for a real hike.
A few years later, I became an occasional hiker myself. The compass on the handle no longer works, but I still carry the pole on every hike.
I wanted him to see the views I’ve seen.
Syko the Prophet
Syko is a darkroom teacher I trusted a lot. While in his class, I often asked for his feedback, or sometimes just stayed to chat. One day, as he flipped through my photo book, I mentioned that my flash was starting to break. The model had been discontinued, and I wasn’t sure if I could find a replacement. Noticing how much I relied on it, he said casually, “Maybe it’s a sign for you to learn to shoot without it.”
At the time, I laughed it off. But his words came back to me a few months later, after I broke up with my ex.
He wasn’t just talking about the flash.
Still Stares
My very first photo book was made by constantly pointing a lens at my ex-partner. After we split, she met the right person and decided to get married. (Congrats, my friend.) I was invited to the marriage registration. Like every other guest, I brought my camera to document this significant moment of hers.
After weeks of readying myself to see the images, I had the film developed and found that among all the cameras pointed at her that day, she was staring into mine in nearly every frame.
I have not yet found the word to describe the comfort it brought me.
An addiction for an Addiction
Years ago, my life was in chaos. To fill the void, I became a heavy smoker and drinker, which, of course, made everything worse. One day I read about a thing called ‘runner’s high’ and decided to slowly replace them with running. I remember starting with only 3km, already feeling tired and satisfied on the first day.
Years later, I’ve not yet learned how to fill up the void, so I became a marathon finisher.
On Ritalin
Once upon a time, there was a man who couldn’t walk well. One day, he found a magic crutch. Overjoyed, he told his friends that he could finally walk with more ease. After hearing what the crutch could do, his friends were amazed and said, “Maybe I should get one too.”
He never understood why their response wasn’t a simple, “Congratulations.”
You Reminded Me of Nan Goldin
This happened years ago on a first day. She saw me taking pictures and asked to see some of my work. As she looked through them, she said they reminded her of Nan Goldin.
I never asked, but I often wonder, was it me, or the friends in the photos, who looked miserable?
The Democratic Eyes
Growing up, my mom didn’t have the privilege of much formal education. I remember when I was little, she would tell me stories about her trip to Paris with grandma. In the photo album she showed me, she had photographed ordinary things on the street, simply because she thought they were beautiful and didn’t know what was considered “significant.”
Now, at 25 and pursuing my MFA, I find myself doing exactly the same thing. I’ve read so much about photography, only to realize I’ve been doing what she was already doing all along.
Pick One
Funny story from my exchange semester. During orientation week, a technician tried to set up an email account for me. While typing in my ID, he told me Chenwei was too long for the system and asked if I could "pick one” between "Chen 宸" and "Wei 瑋."
I was grateful for his help. Yet I never understood why names like Isabella or Andreas would work fine, while Chenwei was considered too long.
A Guest in My Hometown
Tillie is a friend from France who spent her exchange semester in my hometown. I remember meeting up with her there to hang out. Not really knowing where to go, we wandered aimlessly through the streets. At midnight, she took me somewhere new, a place clearly well-known to everyone except me.
In growing up, in leaving home and reinventing myself elsewhere, I had somehow become a guest in the place I once belonged to.
The Magnificent Sunset
A friend was leaving Taiwan soon, so we decided to seize the time we had left. On a beautiful day, we went to the beach to swim and watch the sunset. While staring at the sky quietly, I remembered the two lines of verse all the kids had to recite in school: 「夕陽無限好，只是近黃昏」, closely translated as ‘The sunset is magnificent, but dusk is so near.’
I remember hating how adults made us recite lines like that when I was a child. Yet now they resonate more than I ever thought they would.