Meet with a Prince in Italy

Ok, this all stem from an IM message with my Comedy writer friend Laura. We are talking about this perfume maker who would in fact be an excellent material for a comedy series. As the IM develops, I told her, as convinced as I am being a dramatist, I do crack my friend Andrea up with various stories, and one of them was this meeting with a Prince in Italy story I made up, and she totally bought it.

So the story goes, I went to Italy, Venice, and I was on a boat, talking to a guy next to me in English, he replied in English. You know, when you’re in Italy, it’s rare to meet someone who speaks perfect English. So I asked where he came from, he said, Italy, and that surprised me. Later, he asked me out for a drink, so I went with him. The next day, we went to scout the market for some art pieces, and he was so cute that his face blushed when I picked up something. I didn’t know why! It turned into a date. I taught him some Chinese, and he was such a quick study! That night he invited me to dinner with a bunch of his friends, all cool, and made me feel included. As he kissed me on my cheek during the dinner, this friends cheered, and told me he’s a prince, a real royalty. Go figure.

The fat King and the smart woman

In a far-away land, there lived a King, he likes to eat, and eat, and eat. So he becomes very fat. Let’s call him a fat King. The fat King lost his wife long time ago, so there’s no queen in the Kingdom. That’s a pretty big deal since the Kingdom is rich with gold, so all the eligible women in the nearby countries want to become the Queen of the Kingdom.

They come in waves, but the fat King can never forget his wife so he never sets his eyes on any of the women. These women are very disappointed, and walk away in vain. One of these women, the smarter of the bunch, does not walk away. Instead, she lives in an Inn nearby. She dresses as a village woman, and wants to go near the King. She goes everywhere the fat King goes, and knows what he eats. One day, she cooks a pot of soup, and delivers to the Kingdom. The guards do not let her go in, but she says, she meets the fat King, and the fat King asks her to cook the soup. The fat King doesn’t remember, but since it’s food, he calls her in anyways.

The fat King doesn’t see the woman, but only the soup. So he drinks and empties the whole pot. The fat King returns the pot to the woman, and sends her away. After two days, the fat King asks about the woman. So the guards search the whole village and find the woman in the Inn. They ask her to cook the soup again. So she does. This time, the guards ask the woman to put on festive clothes and deliver the pot herself. So she does. The fat King takes a look at the woman, and drinks empty the soup pot. He again sends the woman back to the Inn. Two days later, there’s a knock on the door of the Inn. The owner opens the door and almost faints: it is the fat King. The fat King comes with a few guards, and asks the woman to cook the soup again. The woman cooks, and the fat King talks with her, and slowly finishes his soup. His eyes see the beauty of the woman, and he no longer thinks about his dead Queen.

Two weeks later, the fat King announces his marriage with this woman. When the wedding day comes, the fat King asks his smart lady, what she puts in the soup that opens his eyes. The woman smiles and replies, it is love. Two years later, the fat King is no longer fat, as the new Queen takes good care of him, and they have a prince born to them.

There’s a far far-away land

There’s a far, far-away land, there’s a puddle, a puddle full of water, only dogs like to eat, drink and roll around it. It’s dirty and is nothing of interest to anyone except dogs. One day, this yellow-jacket man comes along, and he is an engineer. He wants to fix the puddle. So, he first measures the hole in the ground, then gets the sand and cement. But no one notices him. He starts to mix the sand and cement together, so he can start to fill the hole. No one notices him. People walk by as usual, and the whole city is peaceful and quiet. He starts to fill the hole, little by little. Still no one notices him, except — for dogs. So in a sunny day, he completes the job of filling the hole. He is an engineer and feels completely satisfied about what he does. The hole is perfectly measured, so there’s no extra material lying around. The sand and cement is perfectly mixed, so it’s solid and can withstand years. He’s proud of himself, thinking, what a magnificent engineer I am. He even thinks of himself as a saint, because he doesn’t even care whether someone notices him or not. He is totally happy — the job alone makes him happy. Now, the city is perfect, except, the dogs have no puddle to roll around in. They have no where to go. The dogs are barking day and night. They are not happy, and they are not satisfied! Now, people in the city closes the windows so they hope to get some sleep. But the dogs are still barking! So they get up, and they notice something different. They don’t know what it is, so they search around the city with torchlight, back and forth, back and forth. Someone notices, there’s a newly-patched cement. He shouts out, so others come, they say, who did it? They don’t know. They don’t know about the yellow-jacket man. They have never seen him. But they notice the patch. They seem to remember it used to be a puddle, where dogs roll in it. Who did it?! They are accusing, but can’t find the victim. But they so want to go to sleep, so they all leave the site. But the dogs bark again, for four days in a row, the city people can’t sleep. They are tired. Finally the city counsel decides to do something about it. They decide to get rid of the cement, so they can have the puddle back. So, the city sends an engineer. He carefully measures the hole, and starts to dig. So in a sunny day, the puddle comes back to life. The engineer looks at the hole he digs, and he smiles. What a beautiful job, he says, see how perfectly I measure it, and how perfectly I dig, there’s hardly any trace of digging. It IS smooth! No one notices it, not even one. But the dogs do, dirty water starts to flow in. Dogs eat, drink, and roll around the puddle. They do not bark again, and the city returns to its peace. No one notices the puddle.

If Lord is faithful, why can’t I see the end of it?

In the middle of the night, I get out of bed
My husband sound asleep
My child by the doll side
Taking out a book to read, I just can’t sleep

Oh, if Lord is faithful
why can’t I see the end of it
even gold pot sits by the rainbow
when will miracle come to it

My mind is calming
My eyes are alarming
My hands are typing
Only heart not settling

Oh, if Lord is faithful
why can’t I see the end of it
even gold pot sits by the rainbow
when will miracle come to it

This love thing they say
are wonderful and mysterious
I’ll say you are wrong, nay nay
‘cause it’s only monstrous

Oh, if Lord is faithful
why can’t I see the end of it
even gold pot sits by the rainbow
when will miracle come to it

Oh, Lord is faithful
For all the things I knew
Gold pot sits by the rainbow
Miracle please comes to it

Pumpkin, why are you in pain?

Pumpkin, why are you in pain?
As if I can’t help.
You come home in plain exhaust
I only wish I can help.

Pumpkin, why are you in pain?
As if no one can explain.
I wish I had a magic wand
Removing all out.

Pumpkin, why are you in pain?
What’s in your mind
We can only guess yet not for sure
You know how painful can be

Pumpkin, why are you in pain?
Allow me to kiss your cheek
To smooth your shoulders
Even when you cry out “mommy, don’t!”

Oh, Pumpkin, you are in so much pain.

Austin Film Festival

My script got into Austin Film Festival, it’s a big deal, yes, as Austin is soooo Big. But I thought, as anything big, it would act cold, remote, and arrogant. It’s quite the opposite. First, I received a letter, with a hand written note commenting about my script — I was already overwhelmed — then I got a call from the festival personally congratulating me and inviting me to go — if that’s not enough — people stayed up late to book the hotel room for you, and people helped you to grab that pitch spot you wanted to get in — down to getting on the wait list for a roundtable — it’s comfortable and personable. Just when I was sweating about schedules, I received a tailored itinerary — Thank you for all the people working around the clock — Austin, I love you.

Getting back here

I only realized that I haven’t been to this site for months! The first draft of my script is finished and now I am on my 2nd draft. Still long way to go. When they mention that you need to take some risks on yourself, they are not kidding. I found that I left the part that hurt me most out of the script. My softest spot. It is hard, isn’t it?

Getting back here is like taking a walk on the meadow again. I can breathe, I can enjoy, I can dance a little. I don’t care what others see me. I am where I am originally to be.

Getting back here, give me a peek of what have been through these years. Every piece I write, is the state of mind or heart of that time. Honest, and lively. And I like that.

Writing shall never been a burden, but an enjoyment one takes in its solitude.

Writing shall never been judgmental, otherwise the pen cannot follow, and the voice stops right there.

Writing is everything, everything you want, everything can be. It doesn’t even need to make sense. You can, if you would like, to make sense of it later.

For now, just write.

I like the feeling of getting back here, to my post, to my blog, to this space that is totally mine. Not shared, not judged, but out there, totally mine.

Maybe someone is listening, but that’s not what matters most.

When you get to social media, you are pressured, as if you write for others, to please others, to gain more fans, to be more social. That, takes the fun out of it. It always involves certain level of compromise. And that, is tiring.

Here, I can just write. So free.

I see some leaves dropping from the tree in front of me, and I am tucked in my bed, writing, and resting.

It is so good to get back out here!

A writing camp visit

Recently I joined a writing camp, and felt totally out of place. It is a Chinese Christian writing camp talking about pop culture, in a discussion format. What upset me most probably wasn’t quite the content, rather, the guidance. At one point, I questioned, should we just limit the talk about “attitude”? Chinese like to talk about “attitude,” can we DO something about it? The class went silent, and the instructor said not everyone could create.

It is a rather academic focused approach, and I believe it has its own merit, but it eliminates other “non-academic” possibilities. Sometimes things come in different orders, and we all have the ability to create. Sometimes I appreciate African-American culture, as it de-emphasizes the formal education, but more practice. Maya Angelou is one of my admired authors, once a prostitute, I don’t know how Chinese culture can accept her, if ever. There are different schools of thoughts, but I think emphasizing only one way to do things is a product of culture, biased by experience.

I remembered I prayed before I went there, and God says it would be good for me. I just find myself frustrated, and ask, God, why is this good for me, totally feel out of place and stupid in the process? Who knows? Only HE knows.

Melody

Sentiments, freeze in one single step, in one single moment, dripped with heat, ice and colors of rainbow.

Time after time, we dance an unknown dance, the melody only sung by us, a beat only the blind remembers. And we walk, carefully, to the other end of the room, thread after thread, weaving in a singular motion.

Together, we fly, fly away and all, as the view of our balloon opens, so is the field of flowers, opening, splendid; as waves of glasses, dews, the reflections one by one, closing and opening, one by one; moving close to each other, yet far apart from each other.

Wheels, running; gas, steam, coming out of the train; are we there yet? Saying goodbye is so difficult, but farewell, we need to wave to the past, running behind us, never return, please. What’s before us. Treasure, most valuable, like the jewels of your eyes, your smiles like wine, and your beauty as a rose. Come, sit with me; come, lie with me. Let’s enjoy the evening, the dawn, the night.

Time, stop. You cannot.
Time, go back. You cannot.
Time, here, you are here with me.
Time, go forward, always, in that direction, circle around.
Life, turns, around.