Beauty Under Heavy Clouds

I have always held a certain measure for aesthetics in my heart. It is not the most standard one, but it fits me completely and intimately. It outlines the contours of my sense of beauty and captures a corner of the atmosphere I seek.

Beauty is sitting in a café, watching people wander, laugh, cry, break up, part, and embrace. Beauty is sleeping quietly in the river, longing for the arrival of the next life. Beauty is lying on a vast field, breathing deeply the dampness left behind after heavy rain, mixed with the muddy scent of the soil. Beauty is sitting alone in a pavilion, holding a stiff ballpoint pen and writing waves as turbulent as the sea. Beauty is overlooking the bustling streets of Taipei from the top floor of Taipei 101. Beauty is taking a deep sip of freshly served black coffee. Beauty is wearing black stockings stigmatized under the frameworks of East Asian society. Beauty is the freedom of throwing away the umbrella and letting the rain drench you completely. Beauty is giving a big, bold white-eye to a man’s gaze when you are alone in a foreign country. Beauty is wearing wired earphones that connect the heart of the world. Beauty is meeting a Palestinian protest on the street and bravely giving them a long-lost warm smile. Beauty is the peace of exploring the moon alone at nightfall. Beauty is a pleasant encounter with an elderly stranger. Beauty is counting the stars alone, waiting for the day to return home.

I think there are still many scattered moments of beauty I have yet to speak of. Each time they pass by or occur by chance, they melt away instantly like cotton candy in the mouth.

My beauty has always been accompanied by freedom, by tears, carrying romantic blood, and from then on, unrestrained—just like honey water that becomes even more carefree once lemon juice is added. That originally pure honey water, paired with a precise amount of lemon juice, is like a secret key to the green tunnel.

But in fact, the most precious and most authentic beauty in my heart has never been about being a “good” person. In the template of East Asian society, what is handed down to us is social pressure like a waterfall of lava. We can simply understand it as structural imbalance.

As an East Asian girl, I have always been very clear about the role I play in this world. The East Asian system expects us not to speak too much, for girls not to be too opinionated, to take the initiative to yield, to be understanding, to swallow grievances, to be virtuous, to give endlessly, and to love the family.

This form of social structure has distorted my definition of beauty. Although I may appear to be an East Asian girl pursuing a free spirit, internally I am as conservative as a barren land. For example, I can tolerate infidelity in a relationship but still continue breathing for the sake of family reputation. I also conservatively restrain my clothing, physique, appearance, and manners. Everything is so meticulously sculpted in a Japanese way, yet I have long known that Japanese order has always been the post-colonial blood that Taiwanese women cannot erase. Every inch and gram must be carefully calculated, because internally I have not yet lived out another kind of model. So I say I am both contradictory and twisted, but I think this is the real me—constantly searching in the sea for the lost heart of the ocean.

I have also always known that we and Western women have both strived to push away the patriarchal structure like thick dark clouds.

But we are still different. We hold different cards and play different roles. However, I do not see this as a problem, because it was Western women who passed on to us the fire of the fight for voting freedom, igniting the first flame in our hands. Yet we are still not the same, because my situation has always been from the perspective of a post-colonial East Asian woman. That is why I sometimes feel deeply disappointed with the world. As a Taiwanese, we are constantly searching for our own identity. This is also why we have worn the kimono, changed into the changshan, experienced the qipao, and put on the Western dress, only to finally wear our own unique style. I think this is our destiny, like clothing—constantly accepting, transforming, improving, and finally becoming ourselves. Someone once said: In the daytime she wears a kimono, but when she returns home, she must immediately change into a Taiwanese shirt. The ultimate pursuit of aesthetics is always intertwined with identity.

To me, this is beauty.

I am always afraid that, as time goes on, we will be buried in the chasm of history, but I think some people are simply too tired. We all live in different times: I recall the past, he lives in the present, and you live in the future. Our constant misses at the crossroads also cause countless invisible intersections for our country.

Therefore, there is another form of beauty for me—courageously speaking the name of one’s own country, even when we know how strong the enemy is. This is something that constantly stirs in my blood. I think that at 19, I may seem like a little girl, but I still know that we ultimately cannot enter the United Nations like Western women, because our passport and national flag are not recognized by the UN. But you know what’s most awkward? I have always known that our passport is green, with the golden letters “Taiwan” engraved in large print, but I also know it is simply not yet widely accepted. Still, I am fine with being myself, because the United Nations was never a system tailored for us. So I observe the trajectory of the world as a bystander, but I truly love the world and strive to survive.

Yet I always hope that one day, we will be able to run freely hand in hand through the alleys, shouting.

Beauty is that morning when a young girl pushed away the East Asian dark clouds, saw the crow flying past, the feathers falling, the tears of leaves falling, the slightly tipsy sun, and stood on the land of the only country her heart yearned for, breathing in the free yet noisy social atmosphere. Yet it is still unaccepted, unseen, merely working hard to separate dreams from reality, detaching herself from the deep-rooted hegemony left by the world.

I think we are going to part ways. Longing is my only home.

Beauty is the place that sketches out my whole life, and I am that girl born after the remnants of the cultural grace of the Great Japanese Empire, raised under the Republic of China system continued on this island, yet always firmly stepping toward Taiwan’s future.

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