DesigNing

Pain in the Poohole Plastic:

We need to stop its villainous schemes

By Michelle Ning Lo May 15, 2014

You’re an average Taiwanese adult and your average workday involves a cup of coffee from the nearby 7-11, breakfast consisting of an egg wrap and a sandwich, a lunchbox you ordered with the rest of the employees in the office, and a nice bubble tea to get you through the afternoon until you can take out some fried rice and soup at a nearby restaurant for dinner.

        This all sounds all-too familiar, and now you’re wondering why the heck you’re reading an article with a boring opening. You’re probably questioning my writing skills, and you’re wondering what’s taking the food vendor so long. It’s midnight snack time and you really need to get some fried chicken strips into your stomach to stop that noisy rumbling.

I’m an Addict, and So Are You:

Discussion of the Fourth Nuclear Power Plant Controversy

By Michelle Ning Lo – May 01, 2014

What are we believing?

                Energy is a drug, and we are all hooked. But what’s more addictive than drugs? Cheap drugs, of course. The government of Taiwan has been storming its elite-filled brain for a way to cope with the nation’s ever-increasing demand for energy while maintaining its inexpensive electricity price, knowing that the energy-junkied population would inevitably freak if the government so much as touched a number on their energy bills.

以鋼筆和黑白墨水畫成。

Drawn with quill and black and white ink.

Letters inspired by films. 因電影啟發的信件。

Feb. 8, 2011 Mother and Son

Dear Life,

     I write to you to explain myself. You have always feared me, hated me, cursed me. When I take away beloved ones, you fling your arms skyward and question the reason of my existence.

But you fail to realize that I admire you and adore your work. The souls you create, and the creations of your creations, are things so beautiful even I at times ponder why I do what I do. And therefore I write you, not only with the hope that you would come to understand the meaning behind my deeds, but that I could find reason amid the guilt and grief I feel after every abduction.

Letters inspired by films. 因電影啟發的信件。

 Feb. 1, 2011 Wings of Desire

 Dear Observer,

      How are you doing? I wish I could see you and show you this magical world as it is, but right now I guess I can only use words to describe it. I’ll do my best.

     The first thing you notice when you arrive is the colour. Ha. I’m struggling for words already. I believe it is colour that makes this world so emotional. My favourite colour is red. Red has a warm feeling. It is also an angry colour. It is the colour of blood, the liquid inside your body that your soul lives on. Perhaps this is the reason why red is such a dominant colour in people’s worlds.

Letters inspired by films. 因電影啟發的信件。

Jan. 27, 2011 The Passenger

Dear Lies,

            Ever since the beginning of my wrong-doings, you had been using every way possible to try and protect me. Sometimes I wonder if you really did this out of love, like you always told me before you covered me up with a thick, black veil of stories. Sometimes I wonder whether it was because you were ashamed of me, whether I was so ugly that you would have to hide my face behind a mask every time I was in danger of being seen.

            You were always there when there was no turning back from what I had done. You always knew what to do, how to clean up the mess I had gotten myself into. When I had stolen something, you would come immediately to wipe away my fingerprints; when I had murdered someone, you would be there to hide the body. I had fallen deeply in love with you, knowing that as long as you were with me, there was nothing to be afraid of. And so my misdeeds grew rapidly in amount, and oftentimes things went beyond your control, and I would eventually be found out, but I didn’t care. I didn’t care a tad if I was punished or not; all I cared about was you being there, helping me hide, protecting me, loving me.

 Letters inspired by films. 因電影啟發的信件。

Jan. 20, 2011 The Diving Bell and the Butterfly

 Death,

     You are overwhelming.

     Just when I thought you had left me alone for once. Just when I was doing great, weaving success, fame, and wealth into Jean-Dominique Bauby’s story, granting him a loving wife and three beloved children, and of course, icing the cake with a mistress so as not to bore him.

小丑

在台上做一堆爛動作討好觀眾　笑聲轟隆隆
每天都做同樣的動作　努力工作　(為了生活)
爸媽牽著開心小朋友都來看我　都來看翻來翻去的我
看看他們愉快的臉孔　再看看我　好多話想說

Chapter 20

I pressed the doorbell. I was standing on the porch of Tutto and Leona’s house, dressed in a plain black suit, holding a small white rose. A week had gone by since the morning Tutto passed away. When Leona’s aunt had finally arrived at the house that evening, I was politely sent home, thanked for all the help and time I had contributed, and reassured that they would be able to handle everything from then on.

The following weekend had been uneventful. I couldn’t find the motivation to do anything. My family had been very understanding, respecting the fact that I needed some time alone but not forgetting to let me know that they were there if I needed them.

The following Monday, I had gone to class. It was an odd moment realizing that Tutto’s death had not changed anything. The building had still been flooded with noisy college students, Mrs. Tanlle had still been threatening to flunk me in class. When I had climbed up onto the roof for a moment of peace, the sun had still been shining like a brand new light bulb, the trees had still swayed and danced in the winter breeze. I had sat down in front of one of the walls that lined the roof and had put my palm against the brick; it had still felt warm, as if Tutto had just been sitting there beside me.

What had changed were the seats at the corner of each of our classrooms. They were now always empty, standing in the shadow like loyal dogs, waiting for their owner to return to them.

 Chapter 19

Neither Leona nor I said a word as we rode in the ambulance carrying Tutto’s body home. I was exhausted from crying, and just sat there, hands in my pockets, seemingly staring at Tutto’s pale face but not really seeing anything. Leona appeared to be feeling the same. Her fingers were clasped together, her knuckles were white, her expression was blank.

The ride home logically should have been only about half an hour, but it felt like a week. Despite having done a lot of thinking already at the hospital gardens in the morning, my brain wouldn’t stop working. I thought about how I wasn’t there for the last few moments of Tutto’s life. I thought about how instead of me comforting Leona it had been the opposite, with me crying like a baby and Leona gently patting my back. I thought about the last words Tutto had written down for me, how it had been merely an answer to one of my selfish questions. I thought about how it would have meant more if I had asked him to write down what he really wanted to say, either to me, or to Leona, or to anyone.

I had been thinking so much that I could barely remember what happened that morning as the ambulance pulled up to Tutto’s house. The house was small and old; its framing was a little crooked, and the paint was peeling and molding in all places. However, it was a nice little house, with a beige body and an olive green roof and trimming. Leona opened the front door as the ambulance driver and I carried Tutto’s body into the house. As we passed Leona on the front porch, I thought I heard her whisper in a voice so quiet it was barely there: “Welcome home, Tutto.”

The inside of the house looked just as small as it did from the outside. The tiny mudroom led to the living room, where there was a beaten up leather couch, a desk, a shelf of books, and a small glass cabinet that held many picture frames. Beside the living room was the kitchen, with a stove, a fridge, some cupboards, and a small table that must have served as the dining table. Leona opened a door at the back of the living room and revealed the bedroom, with two beds, each situated on one end of the room, and each with a small nightstand placed beside it.

 Chapter 18

      I woke up to the gentle glow of the sunlight coming through the window curtains. Leona and I had both stayed the night at the hospital. I was lying on one of the benches next to Tutto’s bed. Leona was still sitting beside Tutto’s sleeping figure, her head tucked in her arms, her hand still holding onto Tutto’s. Tutto hadn’t moved from the position he was in the night before. His head was slightly tilted towards where his sister was sleeping; his hands limp at his sides; the rest of him hidden underneath the blankets, with his chest moving up and down along with the rhythm of the pumping of the ventilator.

     I quietly got up and stretched, being careful not to disturb the others. After brushing up in the washroom, I went out the building for a walk. I learned a lot of information last night, and I needed some time alone to digest it all.

      I looked at my watch. It was eight-thirty. My first class would be starting in an hour, yet I had no intention of going. My buddies would definitely notice my absence and start worrying though. I’ll give them a call later, I mentally noted to myself.

      It was a chilly morning, even though the sun was blazing like a huge bonfire. I turned up my jacket collar to keep my neck warm. The hospital garden was deserted except for a few nurses pushing patients in wheelchairs, taking them out for a morning stroll. It was November, so most of the birds had already migrated south; the trees were bare of leaves, their naked branches stretching to the sky as if trying to extract as much warmth from the sun as possible; there were very little flowers in sight, most of them small and withered, losing the battle of beauty against the harsh Canadian winter.

和重視高度和細瘦感勃艮第的時尚比較，義大利的時尚重視寬度。鈍頭鞋、寬肩膀、和寬帽子都是這個造型的特徵。

Compared with the Burgundian fashion, which emphasized height and slimness, the Italian fashion emphasized width. Blunt shoes, broad shoulders, and wide hats are some of the characteristics of this fashion style.

-羅寗 Michelle Ning Lo