The drugs still abused, despite how everything else is, halted, by MERS-CoV! Off of the Front Page Sections, translated…
As the outbreaks of MERS-CoV reached its height, the addicts didn’t care about the possibility of contraction, and still gone to the hotel rooms, to abuse the illegal substances together. A woman, Chang, and a man, Song from Taoyuan met up at a motel to drink the drug filled drip coffee pouches, Chang fell into a coma, died, the police confiscated ten packs of drug coffee and arrested Song; the man, Hsieh and his girlfriend, Hsu in Hsinchu went to the motel to abuse ketamine, found by the police, they’d claimed, that they’d not used the drugs during the outbreaks, that they were having a relapse from the abuse, and desperately needed it, so they’d, gone to the motels to “fix” the problems on their own.
The police found, the twenty-three-year-old woman, Chang and the twenty-nine-year-old man, Song broke up, but still gone out on a drug date, late in the night on the second, they’d checked into a motel in Taoyuan; the following morning at around eight, Song found Chang in a coma, asked the motel staff to call emergency, Chang was in the hospitals, being resuscitated for five whole hours, and still, died.
That morning, as the police were notified by the hospital, they’d rushed to the motel, saw Song, and found two balloons with laughing gas for abuse, they’d had sexual intercourse, as the police told Chang’s body tested positive for amphetamine and ecstasy, that was when he’d admitted to abusing the drug coffee pouches, and turned the ten packs he had in his car to the police, claimed that Chang brought it wither from home. The police rushed to Chang’s residence, and, confiscated one pack of drug coffee from her bedroom, and, charged Song on possession and drug abuse charges.
And, during the midnight hours of the seventh, the patrol officers were doing the rounds, passing a motel in Zhudong Township, found the thirty-two-year-old mal, Chang and the thirty-year-old woman, Hsu leaving, the police pulled them over, but found they’d looked, off, and demanded that they get out of the car to get scanned, and, the police found 1.5 grams of ketamine, and the plate used to cut the drugs.
The two claimed, that the karaoke, the bars, and other places they could go all got closed down, but the hotels, the motels were still open, they’d paid six hundred dollars N.T. to stay, and spent three hours abusing ketamine, they were both booked for drug possession charges.
And so, when you need it, you need it, and, because of the outbreaks, this will make it even harder, for someone who’s, in need of a quick fix, and that is what happened here, because these individuals needed a fix, and, all the other places are shut due to MERS-CoV, so they’d gone to the motels to abuse the drugs, and they still got caught!
He’d started, noticing death, wandering around and about, outside of, his doors, at first, he wasn’t, alerted one bit, he’s still, quite young, death couldn’t, come for him, not yet anyways!
As death, approached, he’d, shockingly realized, that it’s, coming, for me!!! And he’d, flown, into, that frenzy, started off in panic mode: how can this be? I’d been, very careful of my own health, no, that’s not it, it can’t be here, for me, I must be, mistaken…
hear his footsteps, getting closer, and closer, and closer yet…
As death, approached, he’d grown, weaker, as death became, stronger by the day, lurking over his head, and now, he lay, in that, white-washed walled, hospital room, with every cell in his body, tuned in to, the fears that death made him feel.
As death, approached, he knew that there’s, NO escaping it, for, NOBODY lives, forever, and, he’d, started, slowly, accepting, that this could be, his own, end. As death, approached, it’d, grazed him, left but, a scorch mark on his soul, but he’s still, breathing, so that’s, a sort of a blessing, isn’t it???
As death, approached, all of us, held our breaths in, hoping, praying, with our fingers crossed, that it wasn’t, here, for us, not just yet, but, death comes, to EVERY life, there’s, NO way of, escaping it!
The love that didn’t get spoken in time, the love that passed on, with the death of that someone you liked in your, schooling years, and what his death had, taught you, translated…
One Day, I’d, Opened up My Closet, and No Matter How Hard I’d, Looked, I Just, Couldn’t, Find Those, Two Shirts, and because They’re of My Personal Collections, I’d, Not Dared Made it Open, Nor Asked Anyone, I can Only, Pull Out All the Clothes, and Prodded with My Hands, Inside that, Emptied, Drawer………………
I Just Want to Grab onto Something, a Strand of What was Left Was, Fine
My first love came to a halt, in an accident, that boy I liked in my second year of middle school, before we had the chance to exchange a single word with one another, vanished, without, a single, trace.
I was only fourteen, had absolutely NO clue of how the universe worked, I looked all around me, and saw, nothing, but the fogs, and so, I’d felt, that strong sense of helplessness, over this world which I’d originally, had a firm grasp over, I’d, wanted to, extend my hand outward, and fish around, for something, anything!
I was, close to the boy’s younger sister, she’d, worked her best, to sort through everything that her older brother had, left behind, in the countryside of Kaohsiung, everybody was living in poverty stricken means, they seem to be worse off than we were, and, what she could give me were, a couple of blurry photographs, two of her older brother’s shirts, and, the textbook that seemed to have never been, flipped through by him.
I’d carried these things as if they were, something, precious, with tentativeness and care, I’d, stashed the photo inside my diary, and, folded his clothes up to tiny, placed them to the depth of my own closet, and, I’d, read through all the pages of his textbooks thoroughly. Back then, I’d already, read a ton of, novels, and among these, were the romances, and I’d, stubbornly held on to the beliefs of: he liked me, although just like me, he’d, never said aloud, btu he must’ve, stashed that feeling inside his heart, and, written some lines about it.
I can’t know his heart anymore, but, who knows, if he’d, only, written something inside the texts, as he’d drifted into space in class?
The summers in Kaohsiung, those, never ending, summer days, came together in a bundle, in front of the window, in the sunlight, I’d, flipped through the volumes page by page, Chinese, history, math, geography……………the class of loose students, there was only the difference of the colors of the pages being pure white, and yellow. The schemata which were, activated in my mind, and for every horizontal stroke of pen, I’d, immediately believed that it was the first stroke of my own last name; and yet, the young boy didn’t even leave a dot of his ballpoint pen.
And so, I can only, return all his textbooks, to the past.
And so, what remained, of my first love, were the two shirts, three photos, a newspaper clipping of how two middle school boys drowned by the oceans, along with that locked diary, crawling with my handwriting ink.
No Blackhole, Nor Boy in Hiding
One day, I’d opened up my closet, and can’t find those two shirts no matter how hard I’d tried, and because they’re, my private stash, I’d not dared, asked anybody, and can only, pull all the clothes out, and, prodded into the drawers now emptied, with my own hands, that maybe, there was, a blackhole inside, that swallowed everything that didn’t belong; or maybe, there’s, that secret tunnel in the back of my wardrobe, that the boy didn’t die, he’s, just, hiding, and, came in the middle of the nights, to pull his own shirt away, wanting to tell the girl: hey, I’m still here, in some corner of this world.
Then, the diary I’d kept at the bottom of my desk drawer, seemed to have moved around, I’d taken it out to look, the locks were cut off, and the photo, the newspaper clippings, all gone, and the smeared pages I’d written down as I cried, were all, torn off, perfectly.
Okay, okay, there was, NO blackhole, no mystery, no boy hidden, the one who’d, wiped it all away was, my mother.
My homeroom instructor must’ve called my parents about this, and in the heat of anger, my mother swept up my room, got rid of everything that she deemed as obstacles in my life, everything I’d, hold too dearly to my mind.
illustration from UDN.com
For the first few years, the boy was buried in that tiny cemetery in the bamboo forest, in the middle of the fields, then after the bones were collected, the headstone removed, then, the fields, the bamboo forest got turned into a huge, construction site, then, the concrete jungle came atop, there’s no place for me, to remember him then.
Then, what I wrote, it will do, right. I’d written everything into a novel on BBS, and everybody liked it, it’d reminded the readers of everything in their own, younger, years, I’d even, published it, sold many copies too, but a few years, the book became, out-of-print, and, forgotten, by the, world then.
So, everything with a set form, disappear eventually, no matter how hard you’d tried to hold on, that handful of sand still, slips out. I’d prodded these past two years, even the parents of the boy had both, passed on, and, those who’d remembered the guy’s smile, got reduced by two more people, will we all, not leave, anything behind, one day, just spreading out palms out?
No, maybe, there’s, something that’s, evolved, and now, I’d not rummaged through my daughter’s closets, drawers, or read her diaries anymore, to not throw away anything she’d, stashed away in secret.
To protect someone’s complete forms of her/his youth, that was, what that boy who’d died too young had, given to me, a life-long, gift.
And so, this lesson from this boy you liked who’d died, taught you a lesson with his death, that love is precious, that you must, take a hold of the love you want to hold onto in the now, otherwise, it will, slip away too quickly, and, you’d also, learned to, NOT read your own teenage daughter’s diary, to let her have her private things, that only she is aware of, because your mother didn’t respect your things!
Hey Pop,It’s been awhile. It’s been 31 years to be exact. In fact it was 31 years ago today when you left us. I’m sorry it’s been a little while since my last letter. Not sure if you can see the news where you are but the world is in a little bit of a tailspin. […]
Call this, the, “confessions”, of a, porcelain if you wish!
Piece by piece, you’d, GLULED me back, only, to SHATTER me, all over again? Why, huh? Why do you need to, hurt me like that? It’s, hard enough, to feel all of my, broken pieces, not intact, like I’m, about to, fall apart at any given moment. Why why had you, put me back together again?
Piece by piece, you’d, GLUED me back, and, the next time someone did something AWFUL to you again, you’d, taken it out of me, and I’m supposed to what? Just, keep on, getting, beaten up by you, is that it, huh?
And so, what if, I’m only, a porcelain doll, an object, I hurt too you know? Well, I don’t, but I get shattered, and that, is how I know, that I’m, hurt!
Piece by piece, you’d, GLUED me back, and again, and again, you’d, shattered me, all over, and now, there’s, NO a single millimeter of my skin that’s, in one-piece, because of you!!!
And I blame you, for breaking me apart, you should’ve, just, trashed me when your mother told you to, but you didn’t…………
Until the darkness swallowed us, whole, we will, NEVER be aware enough of what the darkness entailed, and, by the time the darkness takes us over, it’d be, too late! Until the darkness swallowed us, whole, until we have, NO more light, we won’t, know just, how precious, light really is, as we’d, taken it, for granted, all this time…
when this, is all you’ll, EVER, see! Photo from online
Until the darkness swallowed us, whole, but, that would be, too late then, we would’ve, sunk, too deep, into, that darkened, abyss, to even, get our selves, back out to the surfaces again. Until the darkness swallowed us, whole, it’s always, until the darkness swallowed us is, took that light away, would we, finally realized, just, how precious, light is, in our lives, but by then, we have, NO way of, getting it back.
Until the darkness swallowed us, whole, until, we lived in the darkness, for a long, long, long, long time, we won’t, realize, just how important, that light we’d, once had was, and then, we can’t, EVER, get it back, it’s, already lost…
They don’t call it HINDSIGHT for nothing you know???
Death is, the only gift I can, give to you, love! I don’t want you to, suffer anymore…
When death is the only gift I can, give to you, I can’t! I just, can’t bear the thought of, losing you, it’s, too painful! When death is the only gift I can, give to you, because you’re, in so much pain, and you’d, become, reduced, to less than you were, from when you were still, healthy, happy, and free, and now, you got, trapped, inside this, sick little body of yours, growing weaker by the day!
When death is the only gift I can, give to you, will I be able to, just, let go, of my love for you, knowing that, you’d be, better off, DEAD? And, how can I, say goodbye to you, my love, after we’d, shared, so many years of our lives together, of all that we’d, weathered through with each other, huh?
like this???photo from online
You’re, asking too much of me, and I just, can’t! I can’t, let you go, you mean too much to me, I can’t, lose you, it hurt, just, thinking about it!
When death is the only gift I can, give to you, then, I will, force myself to give you just that, because, I will, NEVER allow you, to suffer, like someone I used to love, suffered, before he was, put down!
So yeah if death turns into, the only gift I can, give to you, then, I shall, give it, and nobody says SHIT about it!!!
I need you, I’m desperate here, won’t you, help me out, come, to my aid, rescue me???
I need you, uh, that’s, nice, but, I don’t, have any need, for anything (instead of anyone, ‘cuz of the “downgrade”???) like you, and beside, nobody was EVER there for me when I needed someone to help me out, so, why the !@#$ (maxed out???) do I need to, be there for you right now, huh?
not an order like this…image from online
I need you, but I sure as hell don’t, the only one I’ll ever need, is me, and I got me all right!!! I need you, why? ‘Cuz, you’re, supposed to, love me, for rich or for poor, in sickness & in health, ‘til death! And, you can’t, break that promise you’d made to me!!! Why not? ‘Cuz you say so??? That’s NOT REASON enough, not for me!!!
So, this ends in then? Let’s not have this god DAMN !@#$ING (maxed out???) discussion EVER again.
The memories of trauma, suppressed, because the individual, was way too young, and, something DID happen, maybe, just not the version of the story that this person had told, to her/his, adult counterparts, translated…
There was something that happened when I was younger, that impacted me, something that’s, a part of, my chaotic memories…
At nine, my mother wanted me to test into the GT classes of an all-star elementary school, that’s, farther away from where I used to live, I’d gotten in, and, she’d, transferred me there.
On the first day of school, as I arrived home, I’d told her, that I was, almost, abducted by a bad guy, there was, a woman in a covered up motorcycle helmet that told me she’d brought the lunches for my mother to me. I’d told my mother: back then, I was playing outside the gates of my school, and the woman asked me to go with her, I’d felt that something wasn’t quite right, because mom wouldn’t do that, and I’d, run scared, back to the school. But, I wasn’t, acquainted with my new school yet, it took me, a long time, to finally, get back into my class.
As I’d told, I’d, started crying scared. My mother was shocked, the very next day, she’d, called up the school, as well as the Department of Education to, we’d, almost gotten the case on the press; within a week’s time I was, transferred, back to my former school again.
But actually, this, was a story I’d, made up.
illustration from UDN.com
There were, two primary motives of me lying: to find a justifiable reason for me heading into school ate, and find a way to go back to my former school, that’s not based off of “I don’t want to go to my new school”.
Two years ago, with my deep-rooted guilt, I’d, told my parents this truth, admitted that I was, lying to them from back when in the family therapist’s office, and I’d, made up the stories, from an illustrated book my parents bought for me, “I Have a Way”, and, the details of what the woman whom I’d told had, tried to take me away, came from the illustration of a person in a helmet, trying, to take a child away in the pages.
Because my story was, fully-thought out, without any flaws, to the point, that my parents, as well as the staff members of the school all thought it was, true, for almost, twenty years.
Do children who read, really behave themselves? The knowledge I’d gained from reading, taught me how to commit a crime.
And yet, up to recently, I’d felt, chaotic of this memory.
There was a part of me that felt, that might there have been, something that’s, happened to me, even though it may not have been, the version of the stories I’d told? How else, would I come up with, the specific details, including what the woman sounded like, what she was dressed in, what her scooter looked like…………
The me at nine years old, I’d, watched the scenes, played on in my mind, as I’d, “retold” my mother what had, happened (and if I remembered correctly, the highest scoring section of my G.T. exams was in the “thinking skills in space and images”). And, I’d, started crying like there was, no tomorrow, to the point I was, trembling hard, if I were lying, then, how come I had, such physiological response? Could it be, that I’d, fooled myself into believing? Or, had there actually, been something that’s, too awful, too shocked, for the me at age nine to accept? So I’d, forgotten, and, altered this memory of mine, to make it, fictitious?
Several years ago, I’d gone to a hypnosis therapy session, to deal with the problem of ‘feeling a ton of pain, but I can’t cry”. This was, completely opposite to the me at nine, who’d, “made up a story, that’s, false, and cried like it actually, happened.”
And yet, at the physical classes, I’d shown, the “reflexive response outbursts” in crying, as the coach helped me to relax my diaphragm, I’d, started, wailing hard, it was, a sort of cry, from the depth of my body.
The coach told me, that the diaphragm is a place where, “unresolved emotions are, stored”, so, there may be, some sort of, very deep trauma from long ago, that’s still, not yet, entered, into my consciousness, stayed still inside of my body.
I’d instinctively felt, that in the lies I’d told when I was nine, there might have been something, that’s made me stuck, as a twenty-nine year-old, grown up right now.
So, something definitely happened to you, because of the physiological response of your body, and this sort of a response only comes, when the body had, experienced, something that’, extremely, traumatic, so, maybe something HAD, happened to you at age nine, just not as you’d, remembered it, being almost abducted by a stranger, maybe, it was, something else, that’s, more serious, because the body, it, NEVER lies, and it’s, up to this individual, to dig even deeper, if s/he can, to find out exactly, what had, happened to her/him in his childhood years, and resolve what happened to her/him, piece, by piece. And, until this person resolved everything, s/he will, always, have that thing that’s, blocking her/his path, from reaching her/his, full potential.
The Stars, the Clouds, the Sunsets Tempting Her on
The River Flowed, the Grasses Grew
I Don’t Know How to, Call Her Back
She was My Daughter of the Past
Born, into the Night, Forgotten, by Sunrise
She was, Never, Returned to My Side
Only Left a Letter, at that High Tower of the Ancient Times
Under the Mulberry Tree, with One Solitary Leaf Fallen Beneath it
Before, the Hooves of, a Fatigued, Steed
Maybe Time had, Never, Left
But, I’d Not Seen Her at Chang-An, Nor Taipei
The Galaxies on the Posters, in the, Nighttime Skies
My Dreams, Premeditated, an Everlasting Dance
My Daughter Who’d, Left, Did She, Venture from the Life Before, to the Next Life Already
What is She Doing Now
As the Rain Falls, the Pond Pretending to be Asleep
That White-Feathered Bird with Its Wings, Damp, Flew Across the Skies
Those Pieces of Driftwood Stood, on the Distant Mountains
Walking Down the, Unknown Paths, Did She, Hear My Calls Out to Her
And so, this, is on death, the narrator had lost his child, and, perhaps, she’d died, just a few days after birth, but, no matter how brief the time the man had with her, he’d, already, loved her very much, and, this poem, is his process of, letting her go.