The first night in Tomakomai I was not able to sleep much. I cogitated in the dark, not thinking of anything important, but just sat on the chair and looking over the city through the French window. Slowly the street lamps were turned off by the batch. Soon the sun gravitated to the city and every streets and buildings were shone with a soft golden shine. The weather outside is 32°, but the perpetual AC fixed the room to warmer temperature than I have liked. Only remnants of snow can be seen on street sidewalks. Dressed in summer-like fashion I went down to the hotel cafe to have breakfast: Rice, natto (納豆), miso soup, egg and sausages.

I still had some time before the bus arrival. I put on a heavy coat and walked the streets around the hotel. In ways what the sultry air of Singapore did to my senses, the sharp, cold morning air of Hokkaido lifted my sagging spirit long inured by Southern California weather. Here and there a pedestrian or two can be seen going to work on bike or on foot, but generally the streets were sparse. White smoke is been puffed profusely out of the red and white industrial chimney to the north west. My heart was sinking a bit at the disappearance of snow. But with a sudden stroke of luck, the sky begun to relinquish a layer of light soft snow that disappear as soon as it touched ground. I felt exuberant; my heart tingedd with emotions as the white speckle danced elegantly downward. Slowly the dry pavements were mottled with small wet patches.

The bus punctually arrived to take me to Okurayama (大倉山) Observatory, the hosting site of the 1972 winter Olympic. The ski jump has now been converted to an observatory, overlooking the city of Sapporo (札幌). The road up to the ski jump is tortuous and winding, and the bus at times seemed not capable of gathering its strengthh against the gravitational pull. But eventually the bus deliveredd safely. By now snow was abound, and the wintry mountain top proved that my purchase of the heavy coat worthwhile. I paid a reluctant walkabout at the Olympic museum, shortly after, shelling out a few hundred yen, the cable car carried me off to the top of the ski jump. I have always had a vague notion that the ski jump must be a place of tremendous height, but seeing it for the first time from atop, as opposed to seeing it on television, the height and the steepness of this colossus surprised me. The clean air of Hokkaido offered an ever-expansive, picturesque view of Sapporo. I couldn't help but to click the shutter a few more times, from every angles possible. With my broken, rudimentary Japanese, I made an acquaintance with the old Japanese lady next to me. She was very polite and asked where I was from and my impression of Hokkaido. She had a wonderful wrinkling smile, and nodded her head every time I spoke, regardless of comprehension. We exchanged conversation much like what a dog and cat would, but we both knew we were enjoying the north island. Before going down I tasted a melon flavored ice cream cone for 300 yen. Savoring the ice cream with the whole Sapporo expanding right in front and soft snowflakes falling onto the ice cream, I tasted true happiness that I had not for a long, long time.

Taking the returning bus back down to Sapporo, the passing scenery of rural Japan put on their best appearance for me to appreciate, and snow added an inscrutable charm to everything that caught my fancy. On the way back to the city I saw a temple nearby, and I hopped off the bus to pay tribute and to wish my well being this year. When the bus reached Sapporo, my stomach was growling with hunger. Looking over guide books before I knew the place is famous for Genghis Khan BBQ (ジンギスカン鍋). I have heard many people telling as to why this sort of grilled lamb is called as such, but its true origin remains unproven. I was surprised to have found this dish in Japan because I had never come across lamb in all my Japanese food dining experience. Apparently Hokkaido is one of the few places, if not only, in Japan that offers lamb. With a tall glass of cold beer, it is a most satisfying lunch after a morning of wind and snow.

What can be better than a tall glass of cold beer? More beer! Nearby is the Asahi Brewery in Sapporo, open to the public for viewing and tasting. I followed the tour and watched in amazement at the efficiency of modern beer making. A large pool of manpower is no longer required, as machines and computers have taken over the operation. The guide explained that the whole brewery can be operated at full capacity by just two workers. I was amazed and chagrined at the same time to watch cans of beer been bottled effortlessly by streamlined machination. Photography was not allowed but I nevertheless did so in clandestine fashion. It looked more like a scene in Power ranger. After the guided tour of the brewery we were shown into the tasting room, at which we were treated with glass after glass of freshly brewed Asahi and snacks to go with it. There was a particular beer cake, slightly sweet with a aftertaste of beer that I grew so fond of that I brought two small cases home. "That is enough beer for today," I thought to myself as I strolled out of the brewery lightheadedly.

A reservation was made in advance at Jozankei View Hotel in Jozankei (定山渓温泉), in the suburb of Sapporo, for the night's stay. Jozankei is a famous hot spring town in Hokkaido; and the hotels there offered rooms in traditional tatami style. I recall as a kid my family and I would often drive up the mountain in the suburb of Taipei to take a hot spring bath. How far away were those memories! The tradition and rule in Japan goes that one must wash oneself completely before going into the hot spring. It felt a bit weird to be naked among strangers, but since everyone there is naked just as I am, I soon flung myself carelessly as everyone else does. The indoor hot spring offers a panoramic view of Jozankei covered heavily in snow. And the hotel also offers an outdoor rooftop hot spring in which one could be submerged in the hot spring and watch the falling snow in relaxation. This is where hot and cold go hand in hand. After the bath dinner was served in Kaiseki style (懐石). The food was a bit too much, but I had no problem in taking in the fresh sashimi. The dining hall had a festive atmosphere as kareoke machine is never short of singers. Songs in Japanese and Chinese and Korean are perpetually in rotation. During dining I have also made many new friends from elsewhere in Japan and Taiwan. It was with a blissful mind when I stepped back into my room. The tranquil night view of Jozankei laid picturesquely beyond my window. I sat on the tatami, with a cup of hot green tea in hand, gazed satisfactorily toward the night snowfall. All of my troubles seemed to be tossed away.

Tags: Hokkaido, 北海道, Japan, travel, Tomakomai, 苫小牧, Jozankei, 定山渓温泉, Asahi Brewery, Okurayama, 大倉, Sapporo, 札幌

Before the alarm clock struck 6:30 A.M. I was fully awake. The early morning sun sifted through the window blinds and dappled the carpet with warmth. My mind was full of expectation, looking forward to traversing in the middle of a wide expanse of snow. Swiftly I got up and washed. For the seventh times since the night before I looked over the luggage, making sure no documents were missing. It was still early when I closed the door of my residence. The whole neighborhood exuded a Saturday sleepiness.

By the time I took care of long-term parking for my car and arrived at the international departure terminal by shutter bus, the check-in area was filled to the brim with people of every imaginable nationalities. Everyone was going somewhere, and I was one of them: I felt relieved at the change. As usual the security procedure for check-in luggage took longer than was necessary. I then proceeded to the Japan Airline counter, hoping for a business upgrade by showing my oratorial flash. Despite suggestions from colleagues and newspaper articles, which I tried them all, it went no where. Worse, the ticketing agent, perhaps getting annoyed at my futile persistence, issued a seat in the middle, neither aisle nor window, 47 E. "Sorry, this flight is full. That is the best I can do," said the agent. So much for my business aspiration. But my spirit was still high as I went through the security hoopla of taking off my shoes, jacket, open and power up my laptop, taking off the belt and put everything back. I walked a short distance in the corridor leading to the gate for JAL 061. When the boarding time came I boarded with a slight unbelief.

If there is one thing to complain about this trip, it is been stuck in the middle seating. My legs had practically no room to stretch, and going to the lavatory is just a hassle, much like asking for a bestowal from the fellow seat holder to excuse my bladder for functioning. Finally when the plane reached Narita I was elated at the prospect of a long walk to the domestic departure counter. I took a short JAL flight to Chitose near Sapporo. For the night I was housed in a business hotel in Tomakomai (苫小牧市), a sleepy, small paper-manufacturing port city near the sea. Hardly a soul was walking on the street. I felt too tired to venture out. After a simple nabemono (鍋物) dinner I went to sleep as soon as my head touched the pillow. Thus concludes Day 1.

Tags: Hokkaido, 北海道, Japan, travel, JAL,

This is the third day in and I am finally able to connect via high speed to the Internet. It was the JAL flight 061 that carried me across the Pacific into Narita, and another to take me to Sapporo, Hokkaido. Though my short trip is soon to be over, and the incoming post-travel depression is already stirring in the back of my mind, I am just having a blast. The picturesque Hokkaido offered a whole lot: clean air, crystal-clear water that taste better than bottled, soft snow, Japanese hospitality, cheap fresh seafood, and friendly people. As I am writing this in the comfort of the Renaissance Hotel, where reportedly the Rolling Stones are also staying, dark clouds are pouring down heavy rain and thunder sounding its fury. There are so many things that I wish to convey before they escape, but I just couldn't quite put it down for my mind is restless. Snow was falling lightly earlier yesterday, and I hope the same for tomorrow. Everything is so agreeable.

Tags: Sapporo, Japan, Hokkaido, travel

I often fancy a day in which television would be chucked forever out of my life and my future downtown apartment would be filled wall to wall with novels and smart books. I would waste no more valuable time transfixed in front of television set, instead the city skyline and the soft murmuring of radio will direct the attention of my senses. I will share the noise of the upstairs neighbor who will have taken up tap dancing at late hours of the evening; the couple next door whom are forever quarreling and hurling cruel insults to one another; and take in the endless, unsolicited advices from suburbanite that I have been cheated by paying for such small living space when a whole acre is up-for-sale out in the open. I will gladly include the aforementioned deficiencies as part of the package of living alone, nine stories up, from which my identity is represented by gilded name plate and two small square windows that looks over busy intersections.

Realistically, I am sitting in front of an 32 inch television, in a one story apartment unit, my facial contortions alternating from chuckling at TV shows to grimacing by sipping cheap, acidic wine. The big window to my right offered a nondescript, panoramic view of decrepit suburbia, where each single glance is a grim reminder of reality. Exhausted from work and school, pressed by the specter of tuition bill next semester, the Maugham novel, which was started engrossingly a few weeks ago, remain half way unattended. The newspaper was read in subject-heading fashion; the toil of journalists goes to waste day after day. The neighbor from two house down has a voracious appetite for ethnic music, macerating the whole block to his rhythmic gibberish every weekend. I have a long way to go.

Tags: Life, dream, reality, trifle

"I googled the term depression and depression.com came up." After a few sips of Kirin beer I confessed.

"I know you are mostly depressed, but I doubt it is clinical," said N., just when our cold udon with tempura and softshell crab were placed on the table. Her voice matter-of-fact as usual; but her eyes shone a gleam of empathy. "I hope it is nothing serious."

"No, just making sure that I am not. It felt weird browsing the site. My colleagues caught me looking at it but they mostly walked away."

Picking up the alabaster udon, I submerged it into the shoyu and swiveled around. A few specks of green onion and wasabi adhered to the noodle as I take in the deliciousness -- the chewiness of Japanese handmade udon. The wasabi made a strong, burning surge through the sinus, followed by muzziness. A few more sips of Kirin I was back to normal. By this time the waiting crowd outside grew denser.

"So did you learn anything from the website?"

"Well, yes. Besides the constant sadness and irritability, I found nothing else that fitted me, like sleeping too less or too much; eating less or too much; unable to concentrate. In fact, I see lunch and dinner as the bright spots of the day. Like now, I feel extremely happy eating."

"You are too skinny. Maybe depression will work for you."

I ignored her attempt at making fun of my weight. "But I did find something that fits me perfectly, a symptom called, what you call it, d-y-s-t-h-y-m-i-a, a low-level depression resulting from negative outlook of life."

We touched our glass and down the beer in one gulp. The tempura was fried to a perfect gold, and the shrimp slightly crispy on the outside and succulent on the inside. The famous udon restaurant in the South Bay did not disappoint.

Often times I felt overwhelmingly sad and depressed to a breaking point that I thought life to be not worth living. And there are times, like eating the delicious udon with N., I feel so blissful by the simple make-up of life. Whether dysthymia is something I carry around is not important. I have absorbed the grey cloud above my head as part of my lineament. Taking it away and I wouldn't know how to open my eyes.

Tags: Depression, dysthymia, N., udon,

Tonight the temperature dipped to 44°F and the wind chill factor made it seem even colder. The dark cloudy sky is still densely formed, but the rain only came down intermittently. Certainly the looks of it are more menacing than the actual substance. For supper I subsisted on rice, egg, carrot and brie; and oddly enough, they tasted quite good in one setting. Lemon the dog gave one languish look at the food and decided not to beg for it. I am always used to doing things alone, eating alone, driving alone, shopping alone, reading alone, watching TV alone, traveling alone, and on a cold day like today, drinking alone (some unheard European beer) seems to be the answer to everything. Forget what is bothering (the research paper); forget the ennui (life in general); forget what is to come tomorrow (the repeat of today).

Earlier in the afternoon, after returning a few books back to the central library -- it is always fun to borrow multiple books but returning them was never equally amusing -- and finding none of the novels I want to be available, I walked a few blocks outside, wearing the North Face jacket for the first time this season, watching the heavy cloud inching closer and eating away the few remaining clear sky. The sun strobed now and then, but was soon devoured entirely by the cumulus cloud. The air felt a bit stinging cold to the face.

While eating the four-course dinner desultorily, I flipped through the maze of cable television channels and landed on channel 243, BBC America, for the first time. The cold, vapid evening was spent in mild amusement at the eccentricities of Father Ted. Giggling to one's own self in a confined quarter sounds especially hollow if you just step back and watch in silence.

Tags: Trifle, Alone, BBC America, Library

As we tootled from the over-congested parking lot to our respective classrooms every Wednesday night, L. and I developed an acquaintance based on the seven minutes walk. The time frame may be short, but our conversation always engaging and peculiar, until today. Her parochial intelligence baffled me.

"I wish my CPA study would soon be over." Said L.

I sensed a tinge of melancholy in her voice, so I supplied: "Mine won't be over till two years after. We are all in it together."

"You? What do you have to worry about?" She said this wide-eyed and with a slight mocking tone, but maintaining her spruce appearance.

"My library and information study, of course."

"You are not serious, are you? You mean to tell me you want to work in a library?"

"Why would I be studying if I didn't wish to become one?" I retorted, losing a bit of my friendly tone.

She gave a slight nonchalant glance at me. "I thought you just like to study. Plus, shelving books is not really studying. It is different from what I do."

The field of librarianship is often misunderstood (I get that incredible look every time). But L.'s contempt and belittlement of my choice are what ravished my mind, could this person, who claims to have a master degree in biology from China, be so impertinent and ignorant (usually is one or the other)? I wanted to correct her mistaken notion, but refrained, as I wished not to meet her half-way of her cluelessness. I gave a scornful laugh and walked my own way.

Tags: MLIS, Library, Trifle

Instead of putting ink on my upcoming research paper I am again wasting valuable time by writing nonsense. Last week, I think it was on a Sunday, on a mild weather afternoon, while loitering inside the majestic Pasadena Public Library, I came upon a book that is all too familiar yet at the same time seemed alien. The book is Eileen Chang's Written on Water, or 流言 in traditional Chinese, of which I have read over and again. To see the actual copy of Chang's work in translated English (by translator other than herself) is like meeting an old lover in a foreign country. This analogy does not make any sense but I am sticking to it. Without a second thought I grabbed the only copy and scanned the library card. Records showed I am the second person to have borrowed this book.

My initial reaction to the English title is that it does not match the Chinese title, which translates as "Gossip." But by separating the word 流 and 言, they somehow do resemble the sentence "Written on Water", as in "stream of word." Moreover, the title "Gossip" does not resemble the theme of the book. This is typical of me, reading without thinking; taking everything for their face value. But to my defense, I am not the only dimwit to think this way. Look at Amazon.

Nevertheless my trepidation in opening the book was not appeased by Andrew F. Jones' (the translator) thoughtfulness in the title. After all this is the first Eileen Chang in English that I come across besides the ones she translated herself, which I thought were not as incisive as those in Chinese. I put aside my newfound fascination for Somerset Maugham briefly and flipped through the pages of Chang and have discovered that, as two worlds apart as the English and the Chinese languages, the translator did a superb job in conveying the subtlety and nuances and color of Chang into English. In the few short stories I read so far the resonance of the original version was there, like rediscovering one's old lover's good and bad habits in bed in a foreign hotel. (My friend N. says I should do away with this nonsensical analogy, but I am sticking to it!)

I tried to convey this new discovery to another Taiwanese friend of mine, only to be poured cold water over my enthusiasm. "Eileen Chang in English? How is that possible? They will butcher her writing, and you will never get the true essence." She said this quite confidently before even reading or touching the book. supposedly, if I were a native English speaker not knowing Chinese, should I abandon all attempts and efforts to read Chang even if I do wish so, because I will never achieve the native essence and wisdom? In that case we shall live in a world without Franz Kafka, Fyodor Dostoevsky, Milan Kundera, Haruki Murakami and Marcel Proust. Wake up, mandarin Chinese speaker, you cannot monopolize the language.

Tags: 張愛玲, Eileen Chang, Ailing Zhang, 流言, Written on Water,

The pitch-dark sky is varnished with a few speckle of stars that only appear on days after rainstorm. The stone ground is still damp from the early evening shower. I came upon a path covered with fallen foliage, and as I waded the leafy avenue, the smashing sound of crisp dry leaf broke the silence of the night and accompanied my solo walk to the desolate campus parking lot.

The most reassuring sound after walking alone in a cold night is turning on the car engine. Slowly warm air murmured and sifted around the interior; slowly I acclimatized to the artificial warmth, forgetting it is 45°F out in the dark. The monotonousness of the late evening drive soon overtook my conscientiousness, in which scene by scene the day's happening replayed in my head like a film wheel, vivid but glossed over with the drone of time. Trifles, mild surprise and introverted anger all mixed indiscriminately together.

"Time weighs down on you like an old dream."

Was it Murakami who wrote this? Or was it Eliot? Dostoevsky? I cannot recall. Out of nowhere the aphorism is etched in my mind at such a timely moment. March is here.

Tags: Trifle