til spring comes (2022)
10 mins / digital & 16mm / colored / usa
https://vimeo.com/738879229
when the rains stops and the sky is clear,
the remnant will be hidden in an illusion that everything is as good as fresh.
it feels that i will never know where
the forgotten dreams,
interrupted thoughts,
burnt words,
and deprived memories
have gone.
where will their ashes lay?
a memo of mine:
Today is April 19, 2022, the day of the Grain Rain in the 24 solar terms. It is the last one of spring. Summer begins in 15 days.
Much of the spring has been shrouded in sometimes fierce and lithe rain with temperamental wind. As the Chinese proverb goes, “a good rain knows its appointed time,” originating from the ancient saying — “rain gives life to all grains.” Will it be the same this time? Will this rain give life?
The sweet-smelling magnolia trees on my way to school soon begin to sour, rotting under my nose. The world is collapsing around me. Walking along the road, feeling time ebb away, flower buds refusing to thrive before their bloom. Are they still flowers? I don’t know anymore.
Momentarily defeated while walking in the rain against the cold wind, the shadows of raindrops exist only for a second becoming dewdrops on fresh grass, swaying branches, and half-bloomed cherry blossoms. Formed into puddles, as they fall and fade into a continuous cycle. Where will their ashes lay? I still don’t know. Into the wind, into the sun, or into the spring. Like how I will never know where the forgotten dreams, interrupted thoughts, burnt words, and deprived memories have gone. Is this where the innocent people have vanished also?
Today is April 19, 2022, the day of the Grain Rain in the 24 solar terms. It is the last one of spring. Summer begins in 15 days.
Much of the spring has been shrouded in sometimes fierce and lithe rain with temperamental wind. As the Chinese proverb goes, “a good rain knows its appointed time,” originating from the ancient saying — “rain gives life to all grains.” Will it be the same this time? Will this rain give life?
The sweet-smelling magnolia trees on my way to school soon begin to sour, rotting under my nose. The world is collapsing around me. Walking along the road, feeling time ebb away, flower buds refusing to thrive before their bloom. Are they still flowers? I don’t know anymore.
Momentarily defeated while walking in the rain against the cold wind, the shadows of raindrops exist only for a second becoming dewdrops on fresh grass, swaying branches, and half-bloomed cherry blossoms. Formed into puddles, as they fall and fade into a continuous cycle. Where will their ashes lay? I still don’t know. Into the wind, into the sun, or into the spring. Like how I will never know where the forgotten dreams, interrupted thoughts, burnt words, and deprived memories have gone. Is this where the innocent people have vanished also?
I want to pick up a few flowers which have been knocked down by the wind so I can bring them home. It’s an attempt to prove to myself that spring has really existed. Even if it’s only here for a moment and it has been tarnished and torn apart, letting the heavy rain ruthlessly pound down on any hopes of survival. Fortunately, spring will come again, maybe next year, or in ten years, even one hundred years, there will eventually be a moment of rebirth. I need to tell myself that much.
Timeless moments, like stargazing with my grandfather in the yard, frolicking in the snow with friends, bright bonfires in dark forests. All that excitement, longing, wishing, and disappointment. They can’t be lost to time, right?
It’s just that this rainy spring afternoon should be joyful. Instead, the air is charged with melancholy. Tender, somber, crushing. The misty sky, raindrops hitting the slate floor, unsure of what path to take while the broken and shattered are blind to their pain. Like a child sound asleep, deaf to the racket in the world surrounding them. Spring promised us hope and rebirth, where is it? Gliding down a path, my eyes take in slowly falling flowers and their demise in the puddles. When the rains stop and the skies are clear, these remnants will be hidden in the illusion that, everything is as good as new.
No one will ever notice any difference.