Today I have a strange feeling. I think about this borrowed time in a borrowed space. My posting was supposed to end in late January and with the pre-defined timeframe, my life in Paris ended extraordinarily smooth psychologically. The predictable limit of time allowed me to undergo automatically a self-initiated transition of the mental state from the unique Parisian life back to a post-repatriated life in the city of home. There was no misfit of the re-settlement. The impression of the city was not as adversely as people describe, and the effort I need to get back to the pace of the city is minimal. As I strongly recognize, a significant change of my perspective to sense everything beside me naturally occurs. It is a very pleasant finding. My eyes and my vision can figure the lifestyle in any place that I need to stay. True, things stay in their originally orbit, only my view alters. Life can still be manageable, at least at this point of time.
I read two books namely ‘終於悲哀的外國語’ by Haruki Murakami and ‘en aôut, la tranquilité (八月寧靜)’ by Chan Ning recently, and both authors talked about the self recognition of their psychological journey being a ‘visitor’ (or better say a passby-er) in a foreign state they resided. I agree that it is a journey to discover oneself, and to me, the metamorphosis through this journey to Europe just happened so naturally and evidently that my sense of value has differed from what I used to have two years before. This kind of growth needs not be catalyzed only physically or geographically, but one needs at least a true heart to sense.
Just one week before I departed from Paris, I was informed about the borrowed time in a borrowed space, and without much preparation, I was arranged to stay in Moscow for the past few weeks. It was not an easy task and it appeared like a feathery current that drives me through a short way to an exit from the beautiful land. In the borrowed time, things turned out to be twisted and out of recognizable appearance. It was the physically tiredness that re-shapes my moment into a partially unconscious state. Time is distorted and my sensation is accidentally paralyzed. No mood, senseless, I get a cold from the coolness of the surrounding.Moscow shall be leaving me when this dark night ends. After the week-long busy schedule of meetings and discussions, the coolness seems to surrender to a new spring calling. It is time to wake up and call for a new mission. It is the source of the morning fountain, but at this single glance, the air is filled up with a mixture of haze and mist. A typical set up of the dreamland.Libellés : haruki murakami, self, sense, tourist, voyage |
