Sayonara, Ayu san!

I met Ayu san when we both took Allan's course on the history of medicine a few years ago. She was a visiting scholar, doing research on athlete foot. In one section, we discussed a book called Modern Period - how 20th century American women embraced modern hygiene to manage their menstrual cycles. Ayu san said, in a dramatic yet assertive way, that Japanese women have the ability to control their periods. This amazed the American audience. 

And that showed Ayu san's character. She has great interest in, and actually believe in, certain things that we might regard mystical or even superstitious. We have talked about, on multiple occasions, her experiences with psychic readers. The messages she received from them became pivotal guides for her life, especially her personal life. This strong spiritual commitment provided her confidence and reassurance that sustains her life. 

On the surface, Ayu san is one of those achievers, finishing her degree quickly and obtaining one of the most competitive post-docs in Japan. She constantly works, even if she is aware of its caveats. But when I talked to her more, I found her quite an honest and warm person. She is one of my few friends to whom I can confide personal feelings about life, especially love life. She has a clear vision of what she is looking for, a vision gained from her psychic reader. It is a high, and unconventional ideal, maybe too high to be practical. Sometimes I felt conflicted when she asked advice from me. Should I encourage her? Should I recommend she be more realistic? I don't know. I see myself in her. 

"I have to believe in it, right, Yan san? Otherwise, how can I make it happen?"

Something in the past also bothered her - the tragic death of her former advisor. She has been trying to find the reason, but with no avail. In front of death, we all become powerless. This unpleasant memory lingers with Ayu san: underneath her ambitious and assertive face lies a vulnerable and sad heart. 

Ayu san is leaving, going back to Japan. People come and go, very typical of Cambridge culture. Whichever the pathway that Ayu san is taking, I wish her best luck. A person like her - sincere, idealistic, caring, and vulnerable, deserves a good life.

The Masters

CP Snow took over 30 years (1920s-1950s) to write The Masters, a novel on the academic life in an imaginary university in England. The plot is rather simple: The master of an old, prestigious university is about to pass away, so a new master must be elected. Faculty members presented two candidates: Jago, a professor in Humanities who has great ambition, strong social skills, but less of an academic achievement; Crawford, a professor in Science who is an established scholar, yet not as adept in human connections. Written in a first-person narrative in the eyes of one of the faculty, the book delineates the process of the election through a series of negotiations, persuasions, and power struggling. 

Snow is famous for his idea of "two cultures," i.e., the culture of Science and the culture of Humanities in academia. But the book strikes me not by the distinct characteristics of these two cultures but by a shared mentality that defines academic life, or more precisely, academic politics. As the heart of the contentious election lies the ambition, ideal, and self-interest of individuals. Both candidates desired the position badly, and they used all strategies, not always noble, to achieve their goal. The book is not an "exposé" of the dark side of academia, however. It is rather a sober reminder of the importance of social relationships and individual characters in shaping academic life.

In the eyes of Eliot, the narrator, each faculty member involved in this election has his own character. Eliot aligns himself with Jago, the candidate in Humanities. Why? Because Jago prefers self-torment than conceit. Ago is vulnerable in his own eyes. He is proud and diffident at the same time. Maybe at the deepest level, pride and diffidence becomes the same (p204). I resonate with this connection though it is hard to articulate why. Pride comes from within, from an attitude of pursuing something high and noble, with intrinsic values. Diffidence implies connection or comparison to others, how one positions oneself in a social network. We can do things that we feel proud of because they fulfill our moral needs. But that is a self-centered sentiment. Often times we don't experience that pride fully until what we do is socially recognized, or even better, appreciated. But that departs from one's own perspective; we are asking others, often unconsciously, to agree with us that what we think is right and good is actually right and good for everybody. Every time we do a good, unselfish thing, with lots of pride, we plead appreciation from others. Yet we are not sure whether what works within us works interpersonally, so comes lots of diffidence. Can we do things truly altruistic, without considering being paid back, not in material sense, but in a sense of social recognition? Are we all like Jago or Crawford, whose pursuit of mastership evinces their insistence on such a recognition? I don't have the answer. But I want to say this: morality entwines with sociability. I often consider my urge to do good things is self-satisfaction derived from a pure pleasure to be helpful and useful. But how pure is the pleasure if the satisfaction is conditioned and mitigated by the reactions from the helped? What if that person does not say "Thank you?"

Ang Lee at Harvard

People tend to have two kinds of dreams. One is more realistic; the other, dreamy dreams, unlikely achievable in their lifetime. Randy Pausch, in his last lecture, talked about his childhood dreams, most of them were achievable, and he almost checked off the whole list. Almost. Because he did have dreams like becoming a NFL player, a hard one for a university professor. That is a dreamy dream. 

If switching career is my realistic dream, what is my dreamy dream? Probably a film director. A director who can master all kinds of genres, producing films from all corners of the world with a strong independent, creative spirit. Of course, I desire recognition, fame, and box office as well. So I would image that I am a mix of Darren Aronofsky, David Lynch, Hayao Miyazaki, and … Ang Lee. 

If I have to choose one in that dreamland to emulate, Ang Lee is probably my best candidate. I have seen almost all his movies, except a couple of early ones, and often amazed by his extremely diverse cinematography. It is even more amazing for his capacity to interpret Western culture (Sense & Sensibility, Ice Storm, Ride with the Devil) perfectly as an outsider. We don't see this sort of artistic and commercial success duplicated in academic world. Not at all. Can I even think of one scholar, who is from a non-Western background, produce groundbreaking scholarship on Western subject matters? No. The power dynamics is manifest in Western academics: Many Western scholars are great Orientalists, although that term is not used anymore after Edward Said's Orentalism, but not vice versa. If in the era of post-colonialism and post-modernsim, the West do not perceive the non-West as culturally inferior, they might still consider they are historiographically superior. In this sense, Ang Lee's success is almost a miracle. After all, the world of film-making is different from academic world, where language still matters tremendously. Maybe the visual is a more universal, powerful, and communicable language that made Ang Lee the single person who successfully worked against this power dynamics.

Too much on academic jargons. Back to the main topic. Ang Lee, together with his long-time partner James Schamus, came to Harvard to participate in a panel discussion about his films and his film-making experiences. It was an event that aimed to foster conversation between academics and artists. It was a nice attempt, though it is a bit awkward to see scholars offered their interpretations of Ang Lee's films, sometimes closely related to his personal experiences, right in front of the director. Of course Ang Lee was gracious, unassuming, and humble, and agreed with all these interpretations. But he also said something that manifested a clear distinction between a scholar and an artist: the former always analyzes, while the latter does what they feel right. Ang made movies out of his artistic instincts, not out of preoccupied analytical thoughts. In this sense, the philosopher-turned-director Terrence Malick is an exception, but even there we don't know how he produced a film since he rarely talks in public. Ang did say something deeper: We all live in pretense, underneath which hide our deeper, more complex, even disturbing, feelings that we cannot or don't want to explore. Film is one of the most powerful pretenses that allows us to explore our deeper feelings - often unpleasant, and a deeper understanding of ourselves. Making films, for Ang, is self-discovery. The topics and cultural backgrounds of his films are remarkably diverse, but they all connect to this discovery process, a process that resonates with all humanities. To use the cliché, we only understand the world by understanding ourselves. In this sense, the diversity of Ang's cinematography reveals the unfixedness of his own character: Always curious to explore new domains and never settled in one place. Underneath his docile façade lies a rebellious and free spirit.

Probably I will never be a film director, considering the dichotomous mindsets between an artist and a scholar. But Ang Lee's case is inspiring. Similar to Ang's experiences, I am also living between two cultures, and aspire to "step on the cultures of both China and West; wholeheartedly produce works with universal value." (兩腳踏中西文化，一心評宇宙文章 from 林語堂). How to make it work is a far more difficult question. How to balance between two cultural values? How to negotiate with my own tradition? Sometimes I consider myself a person who "travels with my root." (pilfered from Mu Xin 木心) I like that spirit because it nicely merges my individual spirit with my cultural identity. I don't believe in absolute freedom, because absolute freedom means absolute nothingness like what the movie Gravity portrays. Attachment is a fundamental aspect of humanity. What I desire is a "restrained freedom," conditioned by human relationship (family, friends, society). We may say Ang Lee is a genius, but he humbly attributed his success to team work, a spirit undoubtedly cultivated by him and his cultural background. Ang Lee's experiences best showed this: an individual, idiosyncratic indulgence of curiosity and pursuit of self-discovery can only be achieved and sustained by an effective collective support from others. A genius knows how to make the two mutually nourishing. This is no less true for academic success.               

New semester is about to start...

Today is literally the last day of summer. Tomorrow, the new semester starts. I am actually looking forward to it because it means a change of rhythm and style of life. This summer in Boston has been quiet and non-disruptive, and I am glad that I got some work done. The memory of my travels lingered. It took me a while to complete this transition, mainly mentally. Perhaps human mind is wired to gain happiness from anticipation. Before the travels, I did all necessary preparations - learning French, applying for fellowships - to get ready. Now the whole thing is over, so what is the next? This is the after-effect of an exciting experience; I was shrouded by a sense of emptiness and sadness. 

This nostalgic sentiment has been reinforced by what lays in front of me: publish a paper, finish the dissertation, find a job, and what happens after. All these sound daunting and not so much fun as my traveling experience. But I know that I cannot travel forever, just as I cannot be a student forever. I have to move on and find new excitements among new challenges. That is what life about. 

In the upcoming semester, I have three goals to achieve. First, to teach. I have always enjoyed teaching, not only because of its fulfilling process of knowledge transfer but because of the lively human company that it engages. Second, to apply for dissertation completion fellowships. This is another round of preparation. As I said earlier, anticipation is often a nice thing, as it motivates me and gives me hope. Third, to finish the second chapter of my dissertation. I am already excited about it, which is about minerals and alchemy. I hope that the first two chapters of my dissertation will be robust, paving the way for the rest of my writing. 

It will be a busy semester, but not crazily busy. A life in balance is a life that functions well. Early today, I biked on the Minuteman Bikeway again, for relaxation, exercise, and meditation. When I study, I find enjoyment in an interesting story, a stimulating comment, or a thought-provoking perspective. But when I biked on the suburban Boston, I smelled the lush trees, I listened to the raindrops, I looked to the beautiful red dirts on the road. They are another kind of enjoyment, equally indispensable for me.   

Good evening, Spy Pond!

I have been back to Cambridge for almost three weeks.

It took longer than I thought to get resettled because of many miscellaneous things that I need to take care of after I came back. But mentally it is not easy either. I have been traveling in the past whole year. It was an exciting life, packed with activities. I also managed to meet many people especially during my stay in Taiwan. The interactions have been quite pleasant. Now I am back to Boston. I need to adjust to my life in the old days, quiet, regular, and solitary. It is a contrast to my travel life, but I know deep in my heart that as a humanities student, I will spend more days like this than those I spent in the past year. I am not complaining because I am quite all right with a solitary life. It is just that for this time I have been traveling for such a long time, I need a bit more time to get back to my normal life, that is, to establish a routine for my reading and writing. There is a slight sense of loss and loneliness, though, that had lingered with me these days. 

So today I biked to the Minuteman Bikeway, my favorite bike route in Boston. This route almost becomes the counterpart of Nicole Arboretum in Ann Arbor, my spiritual sanatorium. Ah, Nicole Arboretum, I miss you! The Harvard one at Jamaica Plain pales in comparison. But the Minuteman Bikeway is cool. It is almost like biking in the woods, and you have the feeling of entirely being emerged into nature. Each time I see the sunlight penetrating through the tree leaves and imprinting shades of all kinds on the road, I find it touchingly beautiful. When is the last time I saw this? Maybe in southern France last summer? On the way to the Grand Chartreuse? 

Initially I had the plan to just bike to Bedford, a mid-point on the path. Once I arrived there, however, I had the energy to go even further. So I did, and eventually reached the Walden Pond near Concord. This is the second time I biked to the pond, this time with more efficiency. It was quite a ride. Exhausting but worthwhile. I will tell you why. On my way back, I passed the Spy Pond near Arlington. It was already after eight and the sun was gone, but the clouds still had the reflections of the sunlight. It was truly amazing to see those clouds above the serene pond. In the past year, I have seen many beautiful sceneries, but beauty is everything, as long as you have the eyes to see it. Here and now, I found it! Let's hope the moments of beauty in life, like this, will motivate us to move forward and embrace all the challenges and difficulties. 

LJM Impression

It is a pleasure, and an honor, to know LJM.

We have been knowing each other for almost two years. Initially we met at a welcome party at K's house at Harvard. Later I participated in a course he and K co-taught in EALC. We also had several individual meetings that engaged topics both within and beyond academics. He is indeed fascinating to talk with.

Now since I came to Taiwan, I have more opportunities to meet him and his family. He is truly a generous, humble, and caring person, a remarkable teacher and a genuine friend to me. Last night, I went to his place to have a farewell dinner with him, and had a long conversation with him. Most of time, our topics have nothing to do with academics.

LJM talked about how our personal lives tangle with family background, especially our relation with our parents. Our personality is fundamentally shaped by how we were raised, and in his view, we tend to project that onto our relation with our partners, whether we are aware of or not. Marilyn Monroe is a beautiful woman, but she divorced three men in her short life. This possibly results from her constant, sometimes excessive, demand of love and attention from her partners because she did not have it when she was young. She was an orphan. The thought is Freudian, but I reckon the reasoning based on my own experience. I wonder, sometimes, to what degree my own life, especially my emotional life has been influenced by my relation with my parents. Quite a lot, I believe.

Furthermore, LJM talked about scholars in general. He thinks that all scholars in the world are perfectionists, but perfectionists of two groups. That is, the obsessive-compulsive type (强迫型) and the narcissistic type (自恋型). The former has a close-to-impossible standard for their academic achievement, so he/she continues working for that goal without feeling satisfied. The latter feels strongly about self-capacity, and constantly demands others' positive evaluation and applause to reinforce that conviction. The two types work from different directions to achieve perfection: the former from within oneself - he/she may be a bit machinist; the latter from outside - he/she strives for external recognition.

How about myself? I believe that I am a perfectionist, 80%OC, 20%N. For most times, I work for my own sense of fulfillment, even that engages a bit of maconism. Other times, I image situations in which my contributions, often veiled by my humbleness and low-key behavior, are eventually recognized and appreciated by the world. No matter how low-key I am, I believe there is a trace of ambition in me, reflected by a desire for recognition. Ah, the vanity of being a scholar!

I don't know how to handle these sentiments. As a student, I have been enjoying my academic life, especially in the past year of traveling-study(游学). But once I graduate and get a job in the academics, I may understand more what LJM talked about. Everyone has a dark side in himself. And for a scholar, this dark side may manifests in powerful ways precisely because scholars are also alike. Even I perceive myself as a nice and easygoing person, can I survive in this world without revealing my dark side. I still believe there is a possibility of doing that. But only time can tell. I have been hiding in the schools throughout my life, so the test is in front of me. It is a bit scary to look forward, but I have no other ways...

At least I have some role models, like LJM himself.

Taiwan Impression

Without notice, I have been in Taipei for more than a month. The life here is certainly comfortable. I live in an apartment in the east part of the city, not far from the famous Zhongxiao Road (忠孝路). Behind my place is the Four-Animal Mountain (四獸山), from which I can have a nice bird-view of the whole city. It is not far from Academia Sinica, the research institute where I study as a visiting scholar. 

This is my first time to visit Taiwan, so my cultural adventure continues. Compared to London and Paris, this is a much more familiar environment: the language is the same, and the food is exceptionally delicious. True, it is not so exotic, but it is no less interesting. Here are some of the highlights:

Even before I came to Taiwan, L recommended Chengpin for me (誠品), a chain bookstore initiated in Taiwan. I went there in the first week of my stay in Taipei. The reading environment is comfortable and welcoming. Many people go there just for reading, not buying. The Dunnan store is open 24 hours/7 days, attracting voracious book-lovers from all corners. The book collection, for a historian like me, is not so spectacular, but this welcoming reading environment is unique. With the withering of chain bookstores in the West, the Chengpin phenomenon is quite interesting. One Saturday night, I stayed there until 2AM. Well, I wanted to stay overnight because it sounds cool, but my body didn't allow me. So I went out, grabbed the city bike, and cycled home along the quiet Zhongxiao Road. On the way, I stopped by a small restaurant to eat something quick but delicious. When I arrived home, it was already 3AM. Well, life couldn't be more enjoyable.

Since the topic is on bookstore. Let me say a bit more. There are plenty of more small-scale bookstores in Taipei, which I have yet to explore. Early today, I took a walk with L in the NTU area, and visited a bookstore that sells rare books (舊香居). The place is quite inviting, with nice sofas and reading facilities. The rare books, most of which were published in the early 20th century, are displayed on the nice bookshelves. They are pricy as well, only for the genuine bookworms! L showed me a work of Mao published in the 1940s. It costs more than 10,000 TWD. That is quite a fortune. Well, for a poor student like me, I cannot afford that. But flipping though these old books certainly is pleasant. There are some other bookstores on the Chongqing Road (重慶南路) and NTU area, which I am eager to explore.

Cafés in Taipei. There are many. L recommended some on the Zhongshan Road (中山北路). I also found some near where I live. Usually I am not a café person. I found that I become most efficient at a place that is quiet and non-intrusive, like at home and in a library. On the other hand, the cafés I visited have their own characteristics. The owners are usually friendly and interactive; the coffee is tasty, though I am not an expert on that; the interior design is individualized and quite artsy, or at least very cute, a vintage of Asian stores. For me, the last factor is the most important. I have been to many cafés in Paris, most of time using them as a working place. But one café in particular, called "La Caféothèque," is quite nice: it has a whole wall of plants in the room, vitalizing the place nicely. Although I haven't found one like that in Taipei, many cafés I visited have their own styles and orientations, making a person like me, who enjoys coffee only at the surface level, become more engaged. That is what is so nice about Taipei: it beautifully conglomerates traditional culture with modern sensitivities from the West.

The cultural life in Taipei is vibrant. I am amazed by the diversity of art programs available here. Tradition arts like the Peking opera and Kun play are flourishing, but there are also many western plays and dances that are shown on the regular basis. Pina Bausch's troupe will perform later this month. The tickets are sold out long time ago, so I have to go to Gaoxiong for that matter. Two weeks ago, I also went to see a piano performance by Alexandre Tharaud, the handsome French pianist who performed in Michael Haneke's acclaimed "Amour." How could I expect my French connection continues here in Taipei?! Well, the situation is like this: the pianist is French; I saw the movie "Amour" in London; and now I saw his performance in Taipei with a Taiwanese girl. Woo, the world has truly become global. But in this global context, there is still room for local artists, as it should be. My Taiwanese friends recommended to me quite a few local dance troupes including the famous Cloud-gate dance troupe (雲門舞集), 光環舞集, and 優人神鼓. Along the world-famed artists in the major arenas, there are also places where local artists can present their more independent and experimental works. I haven't explored any of this, but my experience before (I was impressed by a small performance in Beijing four years ago) made me have good feeling for this type of production. Just early today, as part of our city excursion, L and I walked around the area of Treasure Hill (寶藏巖), where independent local and foreign articles present their art work. It is an interesting place to visit. We needed to climb up and down along the narrow paths that meander along the hill to visit many little houses where the art works are displayed. The place attracts young people, who go there to interact with the artists and sometimes with the art works themselves. Not far from this art village is the 觀音亭, a site for religious offering. The juxtaposition of these two very different cultural sites is fascinating. 

Well, I guess there are many more manifestations of this amalgamation in Taipei because of its complex history: It has Chinese traditional culture at its root. No matter how contemporary politics in Taiwan tries to present that culture to their own calculation, I think the cultural link across the strait is undeniable. Moreover, it was colonized by Japan for half of a century so the Japanese influence is everywhere (the architecture, the food, the shopping centers, etc). Then the Western influence is also obvious perhaps due to the close ties between Taiwan and America after the WWII. One example is that the majority of the researchers in the Academia Sinica have a PhD degree in the US or in Europe. That has become a no-brainer in Taiwan. Finally, an increasing attention to the indigenous peoples (原住民) in the recent years. Altogether, these four aspects interweave, sometimes in harmony and other times with tension, making the society highly dynamic and vibrant. That is what makes Taipei such an interesting city. 

More than 60 years ago, a Taiwanese writer 吳濁流 wrote a novel titled The Orphan of Asia (亞細亞的孤兒). I doubt that many people in Taiwan these days still consider themselves orphans. Nevertheless, the cultural and political identity of Taiwanese is still a central subject in contemporary discussion. As a person from mainland China, obviously I am sensitive to the subject (same for my Taiwanese conversationalists as well). But I, as an outsider, came here first to observe, to contemplate, not to judge. 

[Well, It's been a while since last entry. It is hard to keep this as a routine, but I will try...]