2025年3月29日 星期六

Echoes of a Distant Melody

#2025-0329

Echoes of a Distant Melody

~ The Everlasting Melody ~

Moodee grew up in a poor family, working on the slopes of a hillside where his parents planted sweet potatoes and fruit trees. His father and mother spent more days working for wealthier families than tending to their own dry fields and rice paddies. Often, he worked alone, for his younger sisters were too small to help.

During the long, laborious afternoons, a strange kind of comfort reached Moodee—not from family or friends, but from music. The Ye family, who lived in a large house hundreds of meters away, played songs through a loudspeaker, their wealth evident in the carefree melodies that drifted over the hills.

Sometimes, as he dug into the dry earth with his hoe, he heard Twilight Hometown (黃昏的故鄉), its melancholic tune blending with the golden hues of the setting sun. Other times, The One I Long For (思慕的人) floated through the air, its wistful lyrics stirring emotions he could not yet name. But his favorite was Green Island Serenade (綠島小夜曲), a song that carried the dreamlike quality of distant places, whispering to him of a world beyond the hillside where he toiled.

Moodee’s family owned only an old radio, its reception weak and unreliable. Still, the music from the Ye household became an uninvited companion, painting melodies into his daily life.

~ A Longing for Music ~

One evening, after delivering vegetables to the Ye family, Moodee passed by their open window and glimpsed something that made his heart race—a polished violin resting on a table. Its curves gleamed under the dim light, its strings waiting to be played. The Ye family’s son picked it up and ran the bow across the strings, producing a sound so rich and soulful that Moodee felt as if the very air around him had changed.

A longing took root in his heart. If only he could hold an instrument like that, play it, make it sing.

That night, using scraps of wood and fishing lines, he crafted a makeshift violin. It was crude, incapable of producing real sound, but in his mind, it played the same melodies he had heard from the Ye family's loudspeaker.

Days later, summoning his courage, he asked the Ye boy about his violin while delivering fresh fruit to their home. To his surprise, the boy didn’t mind and even allowed Moodee to hold it. His fingers trembled as they traced the fine wood, his heart racing with excitement.

Before he could pluck a single note, a sharp voice cut through the moment.

“This isn’t for peasants,” Mr. Ye said coldly, snatching the violin away. “Music is for those who can afford it.”

Shame burned through Moodee. He mumbled an apology and left, feeling the weight of an invisible boundary between himself and the world of music. That night, for the first time, he refused to hum along to the songs from the Ye family's loudspeaker.

~ Rise and Fall ~

Years passed. Moodee left the village for higher education, returning only during summer and winter breaks. Each time, he noticed changes in the Ye family. Once the wealthiest in the area, they began selling pieces of their land. Their vast rice paddies, once considered prime farmland, gradually disappeared.

One winter, when he returned home, he found the Ye household eerily silent. The loudspeaker no longer played music, and the house looked worn down, its walls stained with time. His father shook his head and sighed.

“They spent too much,” he said. “They had more than anyone, but they lost it all.”

Moodee gazed at the empty house, feeling a strange mix of emotions. The family that had once seemed untouchable had crumbled, while his own parents, despite their struggles, had endured through hard work and frugality.

~ The Violin's Return ~

Decades later, Moodee, now a grandfather, finally fulfilled his childhood dream. He bought a violin and a viola, learning to play in his later years. His grandchildren studied classical music—Haydn, Beethoven, and Handel—but for him, the songs that lived in his heart were the Taiwanese melodies of his youth, the very ones that had floated from the Ye family's loudspeaker all those years ago.

One evening, as he played his viola on the balcony, a familiar sound reached his ears—a violin, played somewhere nearby. The melody was old yet unmistakable.

Curious, he followed the sound to the remains of the Ye family's abandoned house. There, standing in the dimming twilight, was a young boy, playing an old, slightly worn violin. Moodee listened, captivated, as the boy’s bow danced across the strings.

“Where did you get that violin?” Moodee finally asked.

The boy turned and smiled. “My grandfather said it belonged to a rich family who lost everything. Someone sold it to him years ago. Now it belongs to me.”

Moodee’s breath caught in his throat. The very instrument that had once been denied to him had found its way into different hands.

Closing his eyes, he let the music wash over him. The violin’s melody intertwined with the cicadas, the rustling of leaves, and the distant echoes of his childhood. The Ye family's wealth had vanished, but their music—his music—had remained, passed down in ways no one could have predicted.

At that moment, Moodee realized something: land could be lost, fortunes could fade, but melodies—melodies endured.   (THE END)

🎻🎶🎹🎵🎻
Written & illustrated by: 
Mookoo Liang 
Near the end of March, 2025.

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2025年3月27日 星期四

(英譯) The Dance of the Discus

#2025-0327

This is an English translation of my previous post "七彩神仙魚," which I'd like to share with my English-speaking readers:

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The Dance of the Discus

Their name: Symphysodon.
Most simply call them discus.

Before me, they glide—
silent, slow, effortless.
Drifting forward, drifting back,
moving to a rhythm only they understand.
Serene. Untroubled. Completely free.

Ah! Today, for the first time,
I truly see them.
Not just with my eyes,
but with my heart.


A note for curious minds—
Discus is not discuss.
In sports, a discus thrower hurls a weight across a field.
But these discus—
they are weightless,
spinning only in water,
never through the air.

Lunch with family, a place called "Rén Bĕn Zì Rán"*
and there they were,
swimming like brushstrokes on liquid canvas.
Only now do I begin to understand them.

How I adore their beauty—
not bold like the koi,
but delicate, ethereal,
quiet poetry in motion.

🐟 🐟 🐟 🐟 🐟 (see photos)

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* 人本自然 (pronounced "Rén Bĕn Zì Rán" and literally meaning "Humanity and Nature") is the name of the restaurant where I saw the discus fish for the first time yesterday. Jean, my two sisters (Xiuzhi and Xiuqing), and I returned to this delightful restaurant for lunch on March 26th, the day before Jean's birthday.

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相關文章 (See also):
1)  七彩神仙魚 (盤麗魚屬)     (2025)










2025年3月26日 星期三

七彩神仙魚 (盤麗魚屬)

#2025-0326


學名:Symphysodon
(colloquially known as discus or discus fish)
 ~ ~ ~
麗魚科的一屬:盤麗魚屬

真實存在⸺就在我眼前
靜悄悄,慢悠悠地
游來 游去,
游去 游來 🐟 🐟 🐟
好不自在 (= 好自在) 的樣子!

哈!今天我頭一回
發現
發現之同時 也用眼睛也用心
觀察+欣賞

 discus fish

喜愛學習的朋友們
可得注意
discus ≠ discuss
體育賽事中,discus throw(er) = 擲鐵餅 (者)

今天同家人在 "人本自然" 午餐
餐後,目睹了 
我才約略懂得 the discus

好喜歡
那 ~ ~ ~ 獨特的 (有別於錦鯉的)
🐟 🐟 🐟 🐟 🐟 (see photos)


圖/文:Mookoo Liang

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2025年3月24日 星期一

Birthday Celebration?

#2025-0324

Many friends have sent me birthday blessings this year, and I’d like to express my heartfelt gratitude here and now.

To be honest, I tend to forget my own birthday. Even when I’m reminded, I don’t feel the need to make any special plans to celebrate. In the past, birthdays were often seen as mŭ nàn rì (母難日)—a time to reflect on a mother’s pain during childbirth rather than a day of personal joy. So how can we celebrate our birthdays without remembering the hardships our mothers endured?

However, as time passed and life became more prosperous, birthday celebrations became more common and intentional, regardless of age.

Yesterday, I turned seventy-one. Since it was a Sunday, I went to church as usual. Rev. Lily and some friends remembered my birthday and greeted me with cheerful, heartfelt wishes. (Thank you, dear friends, for your kind words!)

Today, my wife and I decided to take a longer hike in the mountains (see photos below). According to our iPhone step counter, we both walked more than ten thousand steps!

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相關文章 (See also):
1)  Happy Birthday 2019     (2019)












2025年3月18日 星期二

Tea & Coffee: Friendship and Faith

#2025-0318

I would like to express my heartfelt gratitude to Ms. Zhēnmĭn for inviting us to this special gathering she hosted today at Rev. Sam’s residence. It was a wonderful opportunity to reconnect with familiar faces—Ms. Sùlíng, Xiăo-Tāng, Wĕizhēn, Rev. Sam and Ms. Guólì—as well as to meet new acquaintances like Ms. Táilíng, who lives in Hong Lou, the nearby "Red Building" complex.

Zhēnmĭn, one of our closest neighbors, has a remarkable talent for flower arrangement and chá dào, the traditional tea-serving ceremony. She prepared a beautiful spread of fresh fruits, including grapes, apples, guavas, and grape tomatoes, along with an assortment of delightful desserts. As we enjoyed these refreshments, we also had the pleasure of tasting high-quality coffee brewed by Wĕizhēn, the son of our former senior warden at St. James’, Mr. Joseph Hu.

What a wonderful occasion it was! Among us were individuals from different religious backgrounds and faith communities, yet our conversations flowed effortlessly. We shared personal experiences openly, without tension or debate over our differing beliefs. For instance, Zhēnmĭn, a devout Buddhist, has formed a close friendship with Sùlíng, a Christian, just like Xiăo-Tāng, Wĕizhēn, Jean, and me.

I pray that all of us who gathered here today will always be blessed with love—the true essence of our spiritual lives. Amen.

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相關文章 (See also):
3)  同登阿罩霧山     (2022)
4)  《莞爾哈哈》     (2018)
5)  Congratulations to Deren     (2021)