A Bittersweet Life

It’s very impressive how a single piece of music is able to determine one’s subconscious state, moving his heart and soul.

A disciple asked his master, “Do the leaves flow or is it the wind?” His master replied, “No, it is the heart and the mind.”

Just like how the movie A Bittersweet Life (2005) brilliantly portrayed, I saw how the leaves flowing by the air while I was driving from work and somehow I could feel the air brushed on my face even though the windows were all closed.

And I still precisely recall the magnificent notes of its powerful score. One blood-bathed story about mobs where you witness such horrific ruthless crime but it ironically has got a really splendid score.

It interprets a loneliness that drives you dreaming of warmth, a kind of warmth you cannot get from tools you can easily buy. It takes utilizing your eyes, heart and soul to accomplish the emotion you’ve been dying to feel, no matter how deniable you make your mind up.

That the truth of life is finally all about being in love. Say it in another language, word, writing … when you are invoked at the idea of staying, of the warmth of sunlight, of beautiful calming music, of tears falling through your cheeks, of embracement and jolly to be with somebody, of the unusual ability over sensing how the future would be, then it’s humanly, bitterly, love.

One late autumn night, the disciple awoke crying. So the master asked the disciple, “Did you have a nightmare?” “No.” “Did you have a sad dream?” “No,” said the disciple. “I had a sweet dream.” “Then why are you crying so sadly?” The disciple wiped his tears away and quietly answered, “Because the dream I had can’t come true.”


She was typing on her computer that noon when the sound of roaring thunderstorm disrupted her concentration. She had been working hard for so many painful yet raging hours that even just glancing to the window was none that she could have thought of. She was writing a story about a faux pink leather handbag her grandmother had given her as a birthday present, with a funny note on the inside which says something awful about some homicides happened decades earlier and they got things to do with her grandfather. It was not gruesome at all, it was a depressing story. While writing she could not bear not to cry and furious at the same time. She needed to simplify how she feels, wiping the wasted tears away, and that’s when she looked up on the window, to see the silent drops from the sky, pixilating the glass, blurring the garden. The thunderstorm kept on bellowing. She wiped her tears with the fifth tissue paper.

The Sun Beneath The Clouds

We don’t need to visit places which names we can’t pronounce, we don’t need to book an expensive flight and stay at fancy hotels, we don’t even need to search for pleasure by having a lot of high end gadgets.

Whenever I feel some kind of weary and it happens to be at a bright sunny day, I look up to see the sky which I never intended to. I just look up. And how I see such a graceful sightseeing above that I have to look back and then stare for seconds.

It is the sun beneath the clouds.

How we can always admire the beauty of the flashy sun with half of its feature concealed by the atmospheric clump of cottonish clouds up in the clear blue sky, and the light radiates the whole surroundings.

Imagine a day not too warm, not too chill, but it’s a rather pleasant weather where you may feel like moving your feet around the sidewalk to enjoy the sceneries, flowers blooming and birds chirping. It’s probably not real but hey, believe me, it’s what people want, at least it’s what comes to my mind everytime I picture a kind of ideal place to live in.

And it sets back my overall mood, heart and brain. It’s like having a sip of ginger coffee, only healthier and cheaper. It’s such a pleasure by just viewing the magnificent scene.