好像大家常用下雨打比喻： Why is rain involved in many metaphores?

The rain was pounding so hard on the air conditioner (just happens to be located next to my bunk bed) that it produced the strange sensation that I had done something wrong. Or at the very least a flood of water and some kind of chemical fluid (which I hear window units contain) would awaken me by falling on my head. That is if I did so happen to fall asleep.

Sleeping...not so successful.

Tonight I have done two things that would make my mom cringe (and that my friends is pretty hard to do): 1.)Not getting a good night‘s sleep and 2.)
smoking(tobacco)cigarettes. Sorry Mom! I don't do this often.

I went out to the balcony 陽台 and watched the the storm. This has rain has been a day's cleansing of our sewage system. I watch the rain and I start to wonder if it is coming from the sky.

It looks like a wash of the landscape. Like in Disney's Mary Poppins when they jump into the chalk sidewalk drawings and at the very end when it rains, it spoils the party. It is that type of vibe.

On a side note: I really enjoyed that part of the movie. Especially the tap dancing penguins. If Disney stole my imagination...well, it was at that point. Tap dancing on salted floors with Dick Van Dyke is pretty much the shit, even for a penguin.

Many people use rain as a metaphor of types. Or describe rain using metaphors (it is raining cats and dogs.... and on another note: why is it that Taiwanese love to bring up that saying so much?) I remember my high school English teacher, Mrs. Tower saying that rain usually signified a significant change in plot or a character's motivation.

Some people like to see rain as some sort of mourning or weeping.

The rain I am seeing is like a power washer in a shoe box.

You know why I hate the time laying in bed before falling asleep so much?

It is too close to meditation for my liking. Also a lot of times it involves reflection on the day and life...which turns into worry. And when rain is pounding on air conditioning unit next to your head you start to think...a little too much.

And why does the thinking keep coming back to Noah's Ark? Forty days and nights and some really big flood...a pair of tap dancing penguins.

Damn you childhood Biblical stories.

Damn you.

Anger is a Gift

Never listen to Rage Against the Machine when you are already pissed off.

I haven't set anything on fire. Yet.

Sometimes I think I was meant to be born in a post-colonial country fighting against US backed military coups.

That is such a privileged American girl thing to say.

I am so fucking angry.

It started yesterday. And the scary part of it is: I have nothing concrete to be angry about.

I don't think I have been this moody since high school.

But if I have to be institutionalized for one more year I might burn shit down. Really...do you ever look around you and think...this shit is all built on lies. And I am lying and so are they. Civilization is one big lie. Pretending hurts. Do I　sound like I have gone off the deep end?

Yes. ok. Well that is not a new thing. I do it at least once every 3 or 4 years.

Last night a friend told me that he thinks that politics and ideologies are just manifestations of emotional problems....what a crock of shit right? He says he gets his anger out by running and sex...well I have done both (on top of the political radicalism) and I am still pissed.

I want to scream at everyone to wake up. I feel like a caged tiger. Pacing back and forth back and forth.

不知道我的問題在哪裡。

Does the moodiness level out with age? Some one tell me it does or get me some fucking Prozac.

I want to be a medicated robot without feeling. Quickly. Then I can quit bitching in this electronic diary.

I realize these past few posts have been on the negative side. I believe I need more challenges in my life　and less time on my hands. Perhaps more sleep.

Getting a beverage and trying to read some Chinese literature. I am also skipping class tomorrow. And trying to get lost. Which won't be hard for me.

Anger is a gift. The kind of gift that's like ugly second-hand lazy boy chair. You don't dare sit in it because feels like it doesn't belong to you...you can however, picture it going up in flames.

If you have recurring symptoms, come back and see me.

This is getting a little ridiculous. Missy Elliot shouldn't make me miss home. I don't even know her. But her music makes me remember my country's many cultures. I miss it so much! I want to shake my ass for real (jumping up and down to Lady Gaga does not count as dancing Taiwan...I am sorry) I need a my country where being outgoing does not scare people. I need a place where I can drink a pint of whiskey during my weekend and not be viewed as alcoholic (yo yo respect my ability to hold my alcohol bitches! 我的酒量不錯～～～有什麽好大驚小怪的！)

My homesickness like a bad case of rheumatoid arthritis. I deal with it by taking endless amounts of pain killers, not treating the core symptoms. So it doesn't take much to resurface---momentarily covering up the grinding pain only makes the sickness worse.

I can go off about how much I love Taiwanese food (I am addicted) and culture (for real) but deep down I know would eat shitty sandwiches(yes I am being overly-judgmental of US food) for the rest of my life just in the name of being back in *my element*.

Today I can't focus because of these few thoughts running through my mind:

Dad is in the hospital and I am not there.

I miss a lover. Yes you...

I really miss Mom.

Goes without saying I miss friends and family.

I have such vivid recollection of Portland's streets, people, and vibe that if I close my eyes it almost feels like I am back there. PDX is the best city in the world, yo! She is my girl...I think my only true love.

GOD FUCK I WANT GOOD COFFEE.

I WANT TO PET A GOD DAMN CAT. A NICE FAT, WELL-FED, WELL-CARED-FOR CAT! More importantly M-cat! Milo, will you remember me when I get back? We will do a good head bump when i get back.

This feeling is enough to make a girl give up on this dream. If I can learn Chinese up to this level...I think I can do anything....or anything ELSE.

Including pursuing that dance career and study of international law...

Wait what? From Missy Eliot to international law. That's how I roll, otherwise how would I go from Midwestern, good ol' Delton, MI to a small Chinese speaking island in the Pacific.

Warning! Being abroad you may experience two forms of insanity: 1.)Culture Shock (got a handle on that one) 2.)Homesickness (recurring daydreams of kissing the floor in the LA airport...gross I know)

I think I need another dose of medicine.

Also, this is the song that made me homesick. Please listen.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jv1uae2SwvY

When I get back I have small request: I want to hear this song in a backyard and dance my ass off. That is it...dance with other lady divas that can hold their liquor.

Wow, that felt good to get off my chest.

Continue on...

Nothing a little wiskey won't fix...

And keeping it short and writing more frequently, I figure this is a better style than using my blog as a quarterly emotional vomit pit.

A day (and very long night) has passed. Has passion returned? uh...let's just say, I feel normal, renewed, ready to seek. As The Who once sang, "They call me the seeker, I've been searching low and high...I won't get to get what I'm after...till the day I die."

A bottle of whiskey.

Talk of capitalism and Marx in Chinese----FINALLY!

A hotel room, a bottle of 梅酒=爽

And I finally feel--normal. Beyond normal---fucking good. Nothing like scratching that itch huh? I am talking about the political conversation...I am. No really. Ok...I scratched a few itches.

And---I got hit on at a tea shop. And I am like yeah bitches. Like a normal (what my American ass considers normal) hitting on a girl situation. “你會不會熱?！我好熱啊！受不了！” Yes...ask me if I am hot (temperature wise.) That is normal. Not that I am on the prowl...but nothing makes me feel more normal than getting hit on. How bad did that sound? But this is coming out of all honesty. I think I am looking more confident these days...and people have quit talking to me in English and I am so fucking happy! And then afterward, drinking taro carmel milk tea. Fuck yes.

Today I will study.

I am panicking about the time when people ask me how long I have been in Taiwan and I have to say I have been here a year.

You know why?

Because I have ridiculous standards. And I feel a year sounds like a long time, and my Chinese should be fucking fluent awesome!

But hey it will come along...because although it is an insane journey learning Chinese in Taiwan...it really is 順路 "on the way."

I am the seeker. And while I experience this place, the low and high, I know I am going to learn a thing or two.

And it helps not being so "itchy."

Little fact: 痒 yang (3rd tone) the word for itchy is also the word to feel a tickle (ticklish.) Say what?

Wait a darn second...

I believe in passion.

Me too.

I seemed to have lost it.

But actually it might be hiding from me.

That's it. Hiding. It is a never-ending game of hide and seek.

Having a functional and meaningful conversation using Chinese---passion

Siting here studying endless idioms about marriage and how to describe a beautiful woman in 4 word-phrases 俗語 ----passion goes into hiding.

Dancing in the streets of Taiwan and not caring who is watching me---passion returns.

Realizing I deeply, deeply miss Portland, OR. Knowing that I absolutely left my heart there---Passion fizzles out and dies.

Talking to an Indian man about his pain and experiences of racism in Taiwan. And hearing how he struggles through them. ---Passion comes out of hidding.

His story really gave me strength and renewed passion that sometimes is lacking here studying in Taiwan. I know that language is beautiful because we need it to communicate, not only our wants and desires and happy time, but our pain and struggle

And that is it. My passion. It exists among the struggle, among the ability to share a struggle, to use language to communicate it, to move towards love, compassion, and peace.

See...now that is the shit I used to say living my one-bedroom apartment, working-student life-style in Portland, Or. Maybe I smoked too much pot.

Doubtful. I always felt like if I could follow a passion it would grow.

And I was doing just that. But recently...well, it was like this. You are walking with a companion on a forest mountain path, and then the companion disappears. But at first you don't notice it (maybe originally she was walking behind you) and as you get further up the mountain you suddenly realize the travel companion is gone. You worry that you will never see the her again...

And I am just thinking, why go to the top if I have no companion to enjoy the view with. It is meaningless right?

Nothing like rain and thunder to make you face what is lacking in your life.

Just wish I could get a grasp on that thing called passion. It is truly priceless.