Entry 78: Risk for a Reason

People who save strangers must be a lot less than the people who look after themselves, otherwise we wouldn't hear stories about those heroic actions as they are regarded as noble. Altruism is certainly rare. When one is in danger, the normal thing to do would be to protect him or herself, at least to most people. Most of the time altruism happens when one person is saving another who is related to that person. It makes sense because, biologically all living things want to preserve their genes. It is natural for us to save others who share the same genes as us. Nevertheless, true altruism does exist. I've heard stories about people who risked their lives to help the Jews during World War I, even if they were not Jewish. I don't really know how people put others' safety ahead of his/her own. Maybe I'm just too selfish to understand. As for me...well, to be honest, I think I would look after myself first. I'm just too much of a coward to help someone in the midst of danger. If a person puts him or herself in stupid danger deliberately, I of course would be less willing to help him/her. I would care more for victims of natural disasters and other disasters that those people didn't foolishly put themselves into.

Entry 77: Why Take Risks?

Jon Krakauer said that mountain climbers have little common sense, and before they've actually experienced the climbing, they never realize how dangerous it is. He also said that climbers would forget about prudence when they could reach the summit. I think it's the same with other kinds of risks that people take. For example, before people take drugs, it's very likely that they have heard of the side effects, but people do it anyway. Just like what Krakauer said, people don't realize how dangerous the risks are before they take it. When they know the good things they would get when they do it, they lose cautiousness. This is also true about non-physical risks, such as investment. Before people put their money into a business, there is always the hope that they would get more money later. As a result some people might become less careful of their money. Also they never know how terrible it is to lose a lot of money until it happens. I think everyone has pretty much the same reason for taking risks; we want something that we would have to sacrifice a little in order to get it, and hoping that in return we get more than we sacrifice.

Entry 76: Participation

I think the job of a journalist is to write down events currently happening in the world, but few people know it, in an objective, informative manner that the public can read and learn from easily. To actually be a participant, it is certainly challenging to avoid putting too much of oneself into the emotional part of the event. At the same time, however, it might be the best way to fully understand the significance of the subject and obtain as much information as possible. I believe not everyone is competent for such a job. It takes courage as well as intellect to plunge oneself into some of the most radical and dangerous conditions while remaining objective. To be honest, I'm not quite sure how one can be really objective when faced with situations like that. Sometimes journalists would even go to places that are currently at war. Such life-threatening experiences are not easy to keep a distance from once you participated. There's a blurry line between being an observer and being a participant of an event. An observer is simply one who watches, but how far can he or she stand outside the event? A participant is one who takes part in the event, but how much does it take to be counted as participating?

Entry 75: Humor’s Role

I wonder if it's really true that when one is in absolute sorrow, one can do nothing but laugh. I don't think I would ever be able to fully understand how sad and bitter life was for Frank McCourt, for I was born in a good family in a safe country and a rather peaceful time. All I know is laughing and crying are both good forms of releasing emotions. You always feel a lot better after you laughed or cried hard for a long time. But the humor McCourt used was a bit different. It's the kind that makes you chuckle rather than laughing out loud. So what is there to laugh? If there are things to cry about there are certainly things to laugh about. Emotions form depending on the attitude one puts into an event. It seems to me that McCourt deliberately accounts sad events in a almost indifferent way, probably because he had seen too much. However he adds small details that lighten up the general mood of his story. Those details are the everyday humor we can all find in our lives, but we don't always see them. Putting humor in art is an art itself. In fact, even though it seems like humor is about positive things, I'm starting to think that often it is build upon sad things.

Entry 74: Sick

The hospital was never really a place of dread for me, for I have become somewhat familiar with it during my childhood. I remember clearly that my mother used to take my sister and me to this hospital where my father worked. A gray narrow hallway with a slope became our playground and we would run up and down and slide on it. The area where we stayed waiting for our father, as I recall, was not particularly somber, however. It had sofas and a few small windows. There was even a bird cage with two lovebirds.
The first vivid memory of visiting someone in the hospital is fairly recent. My grandmother was diagnosed with lung cancer not too long ago and at that time she was staying in a hospital (I believe it was MacKay Hospital) in Taipei. We went to visit her one day. It's true that there is a certain unpleasant smell in hospitals, but after a while you get used to it. Outside the Mackay Hospital in Taipei there were tall brick walls and some arcs to represent the period it was built in history. The hospital inside is just like any other hospitals, with a faint gray tone that was supposed to be white. The lights, though brightly lit, could not fully clear out all the shadows lurking in the corners. I can't remember now what it was like in the room where my grandmother rested, but it was a regular four-person room with the hideous green curtains separating each bed. There was hardly anything to do except reading a book and eating. There was not even much to look at for the walls are awfully dull.

Entry 73: Happy or Sad

It appears to me that sad memories are somehow stronger than happy memories. When I try to think of a significant experience I had, it's mostly about a struggle or a painful event. I don't know if that has to do with our life styles. Kids like me that are born in a good family and have proper education, we are naturally happier than people that are suffering everyday. What I mean is, since we are often feeling delighted and relaxed, happy memories don't stand out that much in our lives. On the other hand, if a person who's suffering or living in terror everyday, he or she might find happy memories more precious. Another reason why sad memories tend to be stronger is that at the time when they happened, they were usually shocking, painful, and often teaches the person his or her mistake prior to the consequence. We learn from our mistakes that cause us a bad time. Some memories however are a mix of sad and happy ones. I remember taking dance lessons with this wonderful teacher - the practices are hard and painful, but dancing is at the same time beautiful. I consider that period very influential on who I am today. All I can think of about my memories right now are the two times I hurt myself and had to get stitches, and the times we adopted our two cats.

Entry 72: Immigrant’s Journey

The biggest difference between my experience and Jhumpa's is that I have never immigrated to another country. I've stayed in Taiwan all my life. I guess in order to compare myself with her, I would count my transfer from local schools to PAS an immigration. Yeah, totally. I'm surprised there are actually some similarities. Her family in America still practiced Indian traditions at home. I attend an American school, but my family still speaks Chinese and follow some local customs. She talks about some confusion she had about her identity as an Indian-American. I have never had any ethnic questions about myself. I know exactly I'm Chinese/Taiwanese. The problem with that is not the same as an identity issue; it's political. The quote at first didn't spark any resonance in me. Then I thought if coming to PAS is an immigration, then yes. My sister would serve as the first immigrant generation here. She came to this school first and underwent the painful adaptation before I did. My first three years in PAS was accompanied by my mother and sister. Departure would be the three of us moving to Hsinchu in a small rental flat. Deprivation was how we gave up our comfort in Taichung to live in Hsinchu, and of course the money. I had to go through the adaptation myself, but I knew I could do it because my sister had done it. And during those years we went to school everyday together. So, yes, what Jhumpa said can pretty much apply to me as well.

Entry 71: Two Lives

I was born in Taiwan and grew up here. I first went to local schools. There I was exposed to mostly Taiwanese culture. Outside of school I was totally immersed in Taiwanese culture. However, my family doesn't speak Taiwanese and so neither do I. Both my mother's and father's grandparents were from China, as a result my family is more Chinese than Taiwanese. I had a hard time in Taiwanese class in school because the teacher expected everyone to have already known the basics of the local language. Nevertheless, I still consider myself a Taiwanese. I think it was after third grade that I got in touch with some serious Western culture. The first step was my mother introducing English oldies to my sister and I as a way of learning English. I was never fond of Taiwanese pop music, but those English oldies paved the way for my music appreciation now. Later I came to PAS and I was submerged by all the Western-ness. I think after spending these years in PAS, I was influenced both in thoughts and actions. I started to grab the sense of individual and sought to express myself more, even though previously I had been a dancer and it was important to present yourself on stage. I became bilingual, but while my English improved I forgot some of my Chinese. Now I can't even write a Chinese sentence without using a dictionary.

Entry 70: My Style

My clothing style is nothing special, but most of the time I prefer a more androgynous style. I rarely wear skirts and dresses because they are not as convenient. I usually just wear T-shirts and pants or shorts in the summer. However I do enjoy a more formal look, such as suit jackets or long coats (I don't actually have one). Although I care about how I look, clothes are really not my main concern. I believe I'm quite thoughtful (sometimes think too much) and I'm serious toward most subjects. Not that I'm boring; I enjoy a good sense of humor and laugh a lot. It's just that I treat things seriously, which sometimes bothers me. I'm not good with strangers; I only become talkative when I'm with someone I know well. I'm a downright perfectionist. I get upset with myself all the time when I can't draw a certain anatomy, can't write an essay, or just can't do something in general. That also makes me a very neat and tidy person. I put my stuff back in the same place every time. I listen to almost every genre of music, as long as they appeal to my ears. Besides music from the past decades, I also listen to eccentric music that very little people can tolerate. I consider myself open-minded as an Asian, since I believe everyone, whether they're from different races or have different sexualities, should have equal rights. I have struggled over myself about my style before. I couldn't figure out whether I should accept my style or try to follow another style that I like better than my own. Now I think the best way is to take influences from others, but still be yourself.

Entry 69: Magic Pictures

The first picture on page 356 features a group of children peeping curiously at a bird sculpture standing in a doorway. The building is gray and old. There are some graffiti on the aged walls. The bird sculpture is a ostrich made out of wood or plastic. Its front is exposed while the rear is hidden behind the unopened door. The children look at it as though it is alive. The magic-realistic part of this picture is that it is set in a realistic, street-corner view, but the bird sculpture is portrayed as being animate. I think this picture is trying to depict the way the villagers reacts to the old man with wings. The people in the story and the children in the picture all stare and having fun with the strange object (man with wings/ bird sculpture). Maybe the bird sculpture in the photograph symbolizes how a "stranger" is like an object to others rather than an alive being.
On page 361, the third picture has a landscape with rocky mountains. Sitting on the tallest rock is a sculpted moon with a human face. The sky is blue and shows that it is day, not night. What is ironic is that we see a moon during daylight, the moon is not in the sky, and most of all, it's not real after all. The photograph however contains realistic elements - its setting. Just like magic realism writings, they usually start in a realistic situation and environment. After that, things get weirder and weirder.

Entry 68: Magic Realism

I think the problem with understanding magic realism is that in a magic-realistic writing, the author doesn't always provide reasons for bizarre events. When strange things happen in a story, the author doesn't tell the readers how or why they happen, they just do. Plus, the writers tend to use a serious, almost indifferent tone that we might find difficult to relate to. Due to our inborn curiosity, we like to question why things happen until we get a satisfying answer; one that we think is logical. As a result, when inexperienced readers (and ones that don't like to think) don't get a story, they become frustrated because the need for reasons is not fulfilled. Instead of ponder deeper into the story, those readers give up immediately and thus lose the chance to appreciate even the obvious strangeness.
You know, strangeness can be very enjoyable.
For me, I think magic realism is awesome! I don't believe that in order to appreciate something you need to understand it first. No, I enjoy being perplexed. In those moments of confusion is when you start noticing other parts of the work; parts that seem special to you. For instance, when looking at a modern art painting, sometimes the point is not to fully understand its meaning. Instead, the sheer aesthetics of the composition, colors, and texture can trigger strong emotions in us.
I'm fascinated by weird things.