From one’s adventures somewhere, gaining insights on life, translated…
Roads are, Walked Out, Waiting, is NOTHING Easy. “Waiting” is Like that Temple Underneath the Bamboo Woods. There’s a Rhythm that the Universe Carried. And, the Hardest Lesson for a Hermit, is “Waiting”. Waiting, for the Timing, Waiting for Oneself………Waiting for the Dogs to Return at Dusk. Waiting, for the Birds in the Water & Woods, to Soar………
here she is, Lady Liberty, photo from online…
After the Twin Towers Collapsed, I thought, New York had, disappeared. Right after that, I’d told myself, wait. Wait for it, to rebuild, wait until, the brand new twin towers get erected again. Later on, I’d found, a freedom tower, with 1776 meters in height, I caught sight of her, as I rode the trains from Newark Airport into Manhattan.
I’d waited, in New York.
Wait, is a verb, but, it’s, actually, very passive. The completed sentences of “wait”, usually relied on another term, arrive. Arriving, means that the act is, completed. And if not? Then, there would be, that scent of loss, that comes with it.
New York still stands, busying from dawn ‘til dusk, there were, over millions of feet, tramping the pavements, entering in and out of the subways, there were, millions of lamps, flickering on and off, outside the large buildings, there were, over ten million of mouths, opening, eating or talking, over ten millions of credit cards or online shopping slips to get processed. Over a million cloths that were, being disposed of right now or getting tried on. The money flowed through Wall Street. The songs and dances on Broadway continued. The men and women fall in and out of love, never getting tired. The three airport towers, sweating, directing the flights to and fro, the exhaust filling up the tunnels, the immigrants, the tourists, came by the bundles. Any single boxcar became, a micro version of the united nations. This, is the city of desire.
the Empire State Building, photo from online…
After I’d finished up a meal at a Korean restaurant with Hsiao, we’d said goodbye, I’d, walked from the theatre districts, to Time Square. It’s, October, I only had on a pair of sandals, as the autumn nights had, cooled down. How populated, the neon signs, filled up my field of vision. Is New York, the pride of Americans? She seemed to, belong, to the entire world. The nations came, on a pilgrimage to visit. The voices got louder by the minute. The atmosphere, filled up with joy. Business was going well for every shop all around me.
I’d, trekked through the lights from the cell phones, the trains, the neon, if, if a person, became willing on her or his own, or became willing, after, being trained to obey, with a stick of dynamite, and detonated here, then, I’d be, in the midst, of this huge panic, in this, burning flame.
In September of 2011, they were here, weren’t they? And, the last time I was here, was the millennium. I’d, bid this city farewell, for a total of fifteen years. Winter after winter, during which time, I’d, never returned. I’d recalled, that back when I was here, it was, already, dark in the nights, and, in this Big Apple, I’d not known anybody, only knew, that there was, a hostel somewhere, waiting for me. And this time, I was here, waiting, for someone.
and, here’s, Ellis Island, photo from online…
Wait, is a passive verb, like those metronomes, clicking out of tempo, with no set rhythm I can keep track of. Sometimes, it’s fast, sometimes, it’s, slow. And a tree, it’d, had to wait, for a very slow, and long time; but, ordering a burger at McDonald’s, you’d not needed to, wait for too long at all. Brewing up a cask of wine, we’d, waited, for our daughters’ wedding days; and buying a pair of brand new sneakers, at most, we’d, stood in line, for a whole day. Sometimes, the bus wait was fifty minutes, sometimes, it’d, arrived in just TWO minutes’ time, and, at others, I walked into the station, as the bus was, pulling in. The hospitals, the post offices, the banks, the tourist attractions, or those famous cell phone stores, there were, the masses waiting there. Waiting for the rain, is like, waiting for a miracle to grace us all.
Waiting for someone to arrive.
After the Twin Towers became ashes and dusts, there were, two holes that remained in their places, that later got turned into this black square waterfall of a memorial, with the brass plates surrounding, with the names of those who died carved. Over these thousands of names, there must be, at least, ONE atheist, a feminist, a Buddhist. Without a doubt there must be, at least, ONE Muslim, Jewish, Catholic, and Christians too. Huang, was one Christian that I knew before, maybe, I’ll, see HIS name, but I didn’t. I saw, a shy white rose, pinned, next to a name, his name was, Wallace Cold Hogan Jr.
The afternoon became, really cloudy, looks like it was, about to rain, than, it did. I’d made it to the Totto Ramen restaurant in time, and, I’d learned that, at five in the evening, was when they will be opened, for the supper rush. The customers filled out their names, next to a digit, then, squeezed in tightly, underneath the roofs by the entry, escaping the rain. Asians, Caucasians, mixed children, were all, waiting here. There were those, with umbrellas too. And, this, is as about a melting pot as it gets. I’d waited for an hour, at five in the evening, the restaurant opened, I sat alone by the bar, ordered up a bowl of ramen noodles, and a dish of small food.
and, the World Trade Center Memorial…photo from online…
Actually, in these past fifteen years, I was here before once. That evening, I’d driven past Manhattan with a friend, snuck a peek at Time Square, and, stayed overnight on Long Island. The very next morning before I got out, my friend already, took the cab out, I’m sure, he must’ve had a day of jam packed adventures, as he’d not returned, until the wee hours of the night. The very next day, I drove out alone on my own, just, left him there. And, all these year, I felt, nothing BUT regret toward my own stubbornness and jealousy. I’d, owed him, an “I’m sorry!”
But how, do I, apologize? My Yahoo! mail already, destroyed him for me, burned him, to ashes; and his cell, was left by me, in the darkness of the blackened ashes of history, got blown away, by that wind. Such a humorous sort of tragedy that was, what an odd way to end. I’d, called out his name.
He’d never appeared. A decade flew past.
Some people are hurried, without ANY mind to wait, especially, waiting on a woman to ready herself to leave, they’d gotten infuriated. Some had, gotten used to, waiting, and is used, to engaging in that tug-of-war with time, the decade long it took, to study hard, to pass an exam, and finally, received the highest grades. The woman stood by that cold urn, and waited, for a total of EIGHTEEN years for her husband to come back home. The cold cases, that’s put on ice for god knows how many years, were, finally, CRACKED. As the prodigal son returned, it must be, on her/his own time and terms. Loving someone, there’s no way, that one can, hurry the person, and must, wait, until the person comes to her/his senses on her/his own terms and times. The Messiah that the Jews waited for several thousands of years for, still NOT here yet.
It was, the precious friend from the Southern Worlds.
The breezes started, that was, from the seas, the wind grazed across my face. There were, the seagulls, riding the winds. The sun was, clear and bright, such, a wonderful day. The ferries set out, stepping out onto the upper deck, faced up to the seas and the skies of blue. The blue clear waters of the ocean looked like the eyes of an adolescent girl who’d just, learned, also, like the gentle hands of a mother too, and, it’s also, like that minuet by Mozart. The ship was, packed, and the tourists all conversed, in their mother tongues, and, I’d started, wondering, HOW many different mother tongues are here, including our own.
The clouds rolled up, very comfortable.
The ship slowly came towards her, her crown of branches, with a Roman robe, with a book in her left hand, a torch, raised to the skies in her right, stood, tall over the seas. “Ah! America”, as over billions of people saw her, they’d all thought, but, most had forgotten, that she originated, from France. And, all who saw her, and entered into this land, all hoped, that she will, endow them with the freedom and chances, and waited, on one’s, own new life to begin. Once upon a time in America, but, the past, isn’t really, gone.
The ship started out again, toward Ellis Island. I’d turned around, to look at her once more, recalled how there was, the year, 1776, carved to her book. And, the Immigrants Museum is up ahead, but, my eyes drifted toward, the island of Manhattan now. The skyscrapers filled up the island, there was, a freedom tower, and, it was, very easy, for me to see it.
Waiting until the wolves, invited the sheep into their dens, the tigers, slept in with the hogs, and the young lions, lived with the calves.
Waiting on, the moralities of the world to return.
Waiting on that day, that we will, NEVER have to wait again.
So, this, must be a very extraordinary experience, like going to see the Wall with the names of the fallen soldiers, you’d feel, very humble, standing before something so HUGE, and, you will, feel like, you were, a part, of someone else’s history too.