The Triviality of Life

Fall in Canada, 2015

"In five years, where will you be?
 What will you be wearing?
 What will you be doing?
 Who will you be with?"




So my Facebook reminded me that the last time I was back home in Canada was in 2010. That was five years ago. I found it a bit unsettling to know how much time has gone by, so fast.

So what exactly happened during these five years?

I worked in three different places, and changed job three times. And I have just begun a new job last month.

I quit my day job as a journalist, something I've debated and struggled for a long time.

I went to Japan to study Japanese for a month, something I've wanted to do for ages. The experience, though short, has changed my mindset completely.

I enrolled in a wine course and obtained Level 1 qualification.

So the past five years has been filled with happy moments, except for work.

But even for work, the things that used to bother me, the arguments I had with my boss, the thoughts looping in my head, the stories of my colleagues, all seem so trivial now.

Even the things I cared about, my stories, my interviews, are but a distant memory.

If we only live to find that everything is irrelevant and easily forgotten, what is the meaning of our experience?

Five years ago, I thought about happiness too.

Now, I don't think it's such a big deal of a topic.

Happy or not happy is just a state of mind.

You live, you work, you laugh, you're upset.

You talk, you listen, you argue, you stay quiet.

You eat, you sleep, you wake up, then repeat the whole process,

You die.

The river will come flowing again

A few month ago, I had a chance to interview a deaf percussionist while she was performing in Hong Kong. And I had the nicest, most touching interaction with another human being, a stranger really, for a very long time.

Arriving at the hotel where she was staying, I didn't have any expectation. I knew what her story was about, briefly, by reading a few reports about her online. I knew what her face looked like. And I knew what I was going to ask her.

When we met, I felt a calm air surrounding us, projected by her graceful look and gentle smile.

We sat down to talk for an hour. I felt relaxed, though I was aware she has been deaf since 12 and wearing a hearing aid. There was no sign of her having difficulties hearing my questions, even when some local guests sitting next to us were talking loudly - like shouting - at their table. I frowned at them, she didn't.

We touched on her childhood and the moment when she knew she was going to be profoundly deaf as a teenager. And we talked about how her music teacher told her to quit the idea of wanting to be a solo percussionist. "It simply didn't exist," she was told. I wonder if the teacher said that out of kindness because he knew she was deaf and so that would be an impossible goal.

Everything went well and up to the point when I said thank you for her time. Then something happened. We continued to sit for a while, and started to chat.

I didn't know how and why but we started to talk about something else - something personal.

I told her a recent feeling I had - I would wake up in the morning not having the drive or desire to do what I am doing, the feeling of being stuck and disappointed about everything.

And she shared with me a personal story. For a few years when she also felt 'stuck' in her life and her career, like there was no end or future to anything.

"The reason why you're frustrated is because you care about what you do. You're passionate about it; therefore you're frustrated. That's why you feel stuck," she said to me.

"What should I do to keep myself going on?"

"Well, there's really nothing you can do but keep on doing what you're doing, every day.
And then, one day, the river will come flowing again."

There was a moment of silence, before we stood up and walked out together.

At the lobby, I thanked her again as I said goodbye. She smiled at me while we shook hands.

Walking out the hotel, I felt a warm feeling inside me, an urge to cry.

Sometimes, we hear the nicest thing from a stranger, on a random evening, in a hotel in Wan Chai.


Note: The kind soul and famous artist I interviewed was Evelyn Glennie.
Listen to her TED talk: "How to truly listen" here.
Read my short interview with her "To her own beat" here.

Seven Eleven

So I finally got to meet you in person, after maybe 10 years?

You named a station I've never heard of. I looked it up on the metro and found it.

I was early, as usual.

I took a fashion magazine on the shelf at the entrance and started reading.

Next to it were other types of magazines, pornography mostly. It's funny in this country how different things are presented side by side, as if they try to tell you everything is the same, really.

 At 8pm, when we're supposed to meet, you were not there yet.

I walked around the store, looked at the neatly packed sandwiches which I love.

Then I saw some rice sake in a cute carton box with a devil's face on it. I took it and went to the cashier.

I went back to the magazine stack, flipping through another magazine and waited.

The glass door slid open, my heart lifted a bit.

But it was not you.

At 8.40pm, I started to feel a little down.

So I left.

I walked back to the station, looking at the faces coming my direction, thinking if I would see you on the street.

 No.

At the station, I checked the other side of the same exit (which I've done before).

I couldn't be wrong about the location, I thought.

Then I took a small turn, and there you were.

Wearing a hat (not red), standing in the middle of the exit, looking at the people coming out the station. Looking for me.

I knew we're going to have a nice chat.

It's nice to see your face and hear your voice.

It was real, and surreal.

Like many things in life, what we expect may not happen, and vice versa.

Just being able to meet and talk in the same time and space, is magical and

beautiful.