No GuanXi

There will be no further GuanXi magazine content posted on this site. For purely archival purposes, what has been posted here shall remain – a small tribute to those writers, artists and friends who contributed simply because they are writers, artists and friends.

The “Editor in Cheif” (sic) of GuanXi may be contacted by email.

Letter from the Editor – GuanXi IV

Welcome to GuanXi Four – the Spring issue – marking our first full year. To celebrate this auspicious achievement we’ve put together yet another fantastic magazine for your enjoyment. I’d buff my fingernails on my shirt front but it prevents me from typing. I am, you may trust, composing this letter with a particularly smug and satisfied look on my face. You should see Gilbert – he’s absolutely giddy with excitement and performing his interpretive GuanXi happy dance. Matt is also very pleased but he tends to be more taciturn.

To mark GuanXi Mark IV, we are pleased to present our first ever centerfold – designed to be popped out and proudly hung on your wall; a limited edition suitable for framing. You can SEE IT HERE, but the proper centerfold is only available in the magazine.
It was supposed to be a naked photo of Gilbert (designed to be guiltily hidden under your mattress) but the pics were stolen. The list of suspects is, as you might imagine, almost infinite. Nevertheless, the feature was rescued by cartoonist Chris Lecours who raises a long suspected question about the world’s smartest human, Noam Chomsky.

GuanXi is also very pleased to host a feature from Taipei based photographer Tobie Openshaw, who recently organized a Ted X Talk on the island. Mr. Openshaw has spent years studying an unique Taiwanese cultural phenomenon: Betel Nut Beauties. Whether you think it’s a matter of shocking exploitation or a happy yet dangerous distraction while driving, his insight and photos will give you a fresh perspective on the subject.

Hamock Myson returns, in his inimitable style, with another work of fiction tracing the path of a particular bit of filthy lucre through the local economy while making thin reference to classic poetry. Let me not to the sharing of his fine tale admit impediments.

Kate Nicholson, in her recurring role as GuanXi’s culture maven, interviews a Fulbright scholar who is deeply involved with environmental art here in Taiwan and with curating exhibits featuring Taiwanese artists. Her outstanding article on Jane Ingram Allen presents some great photos and a fresh look at what it means to make art.

GuanXi is further pleased to announce that we now hobnob with a real live journalist. WaPo’s Taiwan stringer, Amber Parcher, haunts the island covering all things of interest to America. She spent her Chinese New Year visiting Cambodia and has taken the time to share her experience.

Amanda Fiore graces us with yet another poem. Amanda left Taiwan to pursue an MFA in creative writing back in the States and has been so kind as to flash glimpses of the depth and breadth of her talent. It is no exaggeration to say she is doing exactly what she was always meant to – being a writer and a poet – and that you should hang on to the early issues of GuanXi because her work appears in these pages.

We also have a bit of a blast from the past. Some may recall the magazine 24/7 and the crazed rantings of an untethered crank who called himself Mr. Bitch. Perhaps a quote from Elton John would be appropriate: The bitch is back. Stone cold sober as a matter of fact…
Not a precise quote, nor precisely accurate. Turns out it’s not easy to maintain that level of vexation…or sobriety.

As always, the articles found here are also available in the dead tree version. You can pick up a copy at any of the fine establishments listed in the left column. We invite you to leave comments for our contributors. We also invite you to join the GuanXi Facebook group, where you can communicate directly with the community and leave notes for Matt, Gilbert and yours truly. We do want to hear your thoughts, ideas, suggestions…and we’d love to have you get involved. It’s your GuanXi.

The Spring is sprung, the grass is riz…I wonder where your GuanXi is.

Gan bei!
Avi

歡迎閱讀關係四－春季刊－我們完成了一年四季的季刊，為了慶祝這成就，我們合併了另一份雜誌內容以供您閱讀，我摩拳擦掌著蓄勢待發準備好大肆慶祝，我沾沾自喜地臉上帶著笑容書寫這篇文章，你該看看Gilbert他興奮地跳著所謂的關係舞蹈，Matt也很開心，但相較之下他沉默多了。

為了使關係五有新氣象，我們驕傲地宣布關係五將附有我們第一份的摺頁海報，您可撕下海報展開來貼在您住家的牆上，原本那應是一張Gildbert的裸照（應被藏在您的床墊下）但照片卻被偷了，如您所猜想，嫌疑犯的名單太長而無從找起；然而，漫畫家Chris Lecours卻對嫌疑犯有所憶測，他向世界最聰明的人Noam Chomsky提出一些嫌疑性的疑問。

關係也很榮幸能夠主辦攝影師Tobie Openshaw的展覽，他最近辦了一個Ted X Talk，Openshaw先生花了數年研究台灣獨特的文化：檳榔西施，不論你是否認為那是一種令人震驚的探索，或者只是在開車時會令你分心的危險因子，但他的照片將帶給您對於檳榔西施全新的觀點。

Hamock Myson回來了！以他獨特的風格創作，他用那虛空的言詞創作古典詩詞，只為了追求取得骯髒財富之途徑， 別因為我而阻礙了你欣賞他的作品。

Kate Nicholson再次為關係做了一個文化專題，她訪談Jane Ingram Allen，她得到Fulbright獎學金來到台灣，專研台灣環境文化及台灣藝術家的展示等，Kate傑出的訪談並呈現多樣化的照片，為藝術帶來新的觀點。

關係也很開心我們現在與一位WaPo的台灣記者Amber Parcher合作，她鑽研與美國相關之話題，她利用農曆新年的假期拜訪東埔塞並分享她的經驗。

Amanda Fiore提供另一首詩使雜誌更加多元，Amanda離開台灣到MFA，在美國寫作並分享她的寫作才能，這麼說並不誇大，她正在做她一直以來都想做的事－成為一位作家與詩人，你該看看關係的前幾季季刊，因為她的作品在前幾季都有刊登。

我們也從過去也得到了一些批評，有些人應該還記得24/7及不知哪個稱自己為Mr.Bitch的怪人的瘋狂的嚷叫聲，或許引用Elton John的歌詞較為適合：婊子回來了，如冰冷的石頭般冷峻，實質上…既不是非常精準的引用，也不是非常的準確；事實上是要保持煩惱或冷靜的程度很不容易。

如同以往，在這一季刊裡所有的文章您都可在關係網站(guanximag.wordpass.com)上查閱，因雜誌版面而無法刊登等照片，您在網站上都能搜尋得到，我們歡迎您瀏覽並留言給我們的投稿人，我們更歡迎您加入關係在臉書facebook上的社群，透過臉書，您可直接與所有社員聯繫或留言給我們，我們期待聽見您的想法、意見、建議等，歡迎您的加入！這是您的關係！

春天來了，綠意盎…而你的關係在哪呢？

乾杯！

Avi

Betel Nut Beauties

First impressions
When I arrived in Taiwan 12 years ago, I drove past the girls in the brightly-lit glass cages by the road, amazed that prostitution was practiced so openly! When I asked about it, I got one of two responses: “No, they only sell betel nut and cigarettes and drinks, nothing else”, OR “Oh, those are bad girls. Keep away from them, they cause accidents and give Taiwan a bad name.”
Smelling a controversy and a unique subject to dig into, I investigated further. It took some courage to stop at a stall and buy a can of Mr Brown coffee, unsure whether I would be run off by the gangster boss or kidnapped and made to pay for sexual services! But I did and what I found was very different from my expectations.

As a documentary filmmaker, I’ve always been interested in people who live on the fringes, and this unique subject had received very little serious attention. I became fascinated by the layers of misconception and entrenched prejudice faced by the girls, and I wanted to tell their story. Thus began an eight-years-and-counting quest; a documentary film that never found funding; a photo exhibition that attracted a ton of media attention, and a web gallery with over 1.8 million views.

Access
Getting betel nut beauties to agree to be photographed or interviewed proved to be difficult. They are notoriously camera-shy, and will usually refuse if a man just shows up trying to take pictures of them. At the first contact I always have a Chinese speaking female assistant with me to explain what I do. Everyone has a story to tell, and if they know you’re sincere, they will share theirs. If she says no, I just move on. If she says yes, I will usually build a relationship over time – go back, take more photos, give her some photos from previous occasions, and get to hear her life story.

The Business
The industry has cleaned up its act in many respects. Stalls are properly licensed; the gangster-owner element seems to be declining, and the girls are not underage. In places like Taoyuan County, the enforced dress code has done its job. During the economic downturn, I did notice some stalls closing, but I see them opening up again – there’s renovation going on so it seems business is still perking along.
I have never met a betel nut beauty who claimed that she was coerced into the job. Many do want to get out when the pretty clothes get old and the harassment from customers becomes unbearable. Finding a new job is not easy, and some find their way to gambling joints, KTVs or as hostesses in clubs. Most of them say that it’s a job like any other, with pros and cons, and more and more tell me that their parents do know what they are doing and are OK with it.

Harassment
Most of the women report some form of harassment. This mostly takes the form of men trying to touch them, or making repeated sexual advances, to in extreme cases driving up and exposing themselves. However, actual physical assaults are rare. The girls mostly have strategies in place for dealing with this kind of behavior, including security cameras.

Effect of my work
I’d like to make it clear where my interest lies: “I don’t support the war, I support the troops.” I believe betel nut is bad for you and I would never recommend anyone to take up the habit. Furthermore, I do not believe that sitting in a glass cage wearing lingerie to attract passing men is a great profession. I would not want my daughter to do it. However, I do believe the betel nut beauties deserve more respect and understanding than they’re getting.

In terms of the effect that my work has had, I believe I’ve managed to challenge the entrenched perceptions about the girls being of poor character and the business being a front for prostitution. At the very least, I have kept the conversation going. On several occasions Taiwanese people have come up to me at my exhibitions and challenged me for spotlighting this part of their culture. They would rather not be reminded; ask why I don’t photograph the beautiful mountains and flowers of Taiwan. I tell them that I am interested in the human angle. After going through the exhibition, they often come back saying, “I need to go and think about this a little more.” Those are my most satisfying moments.

檳榔西施

在我12年前剛抵達台灣時，我開車經過路邊，看到一個個漂亮的小姐打扮清涼坐在明亮的玻璃櫥窗裡時，我很經驚訝台灣的妓女制度竟然如此地開放；當我問起朋友有關這件事時，我卻得到兩種不同的答案，「不是啦！她們只賣檳榔、香菸及飲料，不賣其它的！」或「噢！那些都不是好女孩，離她們遠一點，她們只會引起事端，而月也給台灣帶來不好的名聲。」

　　感覺敏銳的我嗅到一絲爭議性的題材，使我更想深入地調查下去；因此，我鼓起了勇氣到了一家檳榔攤前，買了一罐布朗咖啡，想到若流氓老闆強迫我或被綁架我要求支付性交易費用的話，我都不確定自己該往哪裡逃了，但我的實驗及發現與我的期待實在是差異很大。
　　身為一個紀錄片製片人，我一直對生活在邊緣的人很有興趣，而這特別的題材又沒有引起太大的關注，「我開始對人們對於女人的一些錯誤的階級觀念及根深蒂固的偏見等話題著迷，而我想要闡述她們的故事。」因而開始了我為期八年的探索，這部紀錄片從來沒有募款過，但這一系列的照片展卻吸引了一大批媒體的關注，且網路照片展也吸引了１８０萬人的點閱率之多。

Art of Impermanence – Jane Ingram Allen

Artist and exhibition curator Jane Ingram Allen has created art in everything from an elementary school to an old folks home. The Taichung resident has been living in Taiwan with her husband since moving to the island as a Fulbright scholar in 2004. Since then she has been involved with a number of influential community and international art events.

Under the Fulbright residency, Allen and her husband traveled the length and breadth of Taiwan holding community art workshops in paper making. She would usually start by making a map of the village or area in which she was working. “It was a way of learning the [local] culture,” she explains. “I would always collect things in each place to put in the map [and] the locals would bring me old pictures or old brochures of all of the famous things in their community.” The paper was made out of local plant materials: “I learned a lot about plants; ‘What grows here that doesn’t grow anywhere else in Taiwan?’”

Allen went on to found and curate, from 2006 to 2009, the Guandu International Outdoor Sculpture Festival, held in Taipei City’s Guandu Nature Park. Participating artists were required to create their artworks using only natural materials found locally. “In environmental art, if you’re trying to make something that is not going to pollute the environment and even be good for the environment, you have to think, as an artist, in a different way about materials. It’s a challenge to figure out how you can use bamboo to make nails.”

During 2010, Allen curated two exhibitions, Going Green: New Environmental Art from Taiwan and the ChengLong Wetlands International Environmental Art Project. ChengLong is small coastal fishing community in Yunlin County where flooding has created a wetland. It is now being promoted as a nature preserve and bird watching spot, bringing much needed tourist dollar to one of the poorest counties in Taiwan. The project involved international and local artists and, says Allen, “brought fresh energy to the local community and perhaps helped people realize that there is some value in having these wetlands and this art.”

With Going Green, Allen “wanted to show to the world that there are artists in Taiwan that are thinking about environmental issues and are presenting a different viewpoint.” The exhibition toured four US cities and she was ecstatic with the result. “You know, one thing that I think is really important about this show is that it brought two artists from Taiwan to each venue, so the local community had personal contact with the artists and with Taiwanese culture.”

International cultural exchange is crucial for Allen and she has been responsible for bringing a large number of international artists to Taiwan, as well as helping Taiwanese artists expose their work abroad. In her own art practice, she gradually became dissatisfied with the exhibition model offered by gallery spaces and found herself increasingly drawn to site-specific and 3-dimensional art creation. “Project-oriented pieces that are out in the community and involve local people and local materials. That’s why I have been so interested in residencies. When you do this kind of work you almost have to go to the place and do it.”

Ingram has a storeroom back in New York State that is crammed full of her artworks, “stuff I made and don’t want to throw away but really, what can you do with it? Maybe it will never sell and nobody will collect it.” This has led to a philosophy of impermanence that has a direct influence on her art. “I’m making pieces that either disappear over time or that are made for a particular place and I just leave it there. I think it is sort of liberating in a way; you don’t feel that your art is so precious that you have to keep it forever.”

This impermanence bleeds into the shows she curates. Most of the artworks in the ChengLong project, as well as the site-specific works made for Going Green, will eventually melt into the landscape and are made of materials that will help the environment. During her time in Taiwan, Allen has seen an increasing number of Taiwanese artists from all disciplines focusing on environmental issues. “I think because the environment is becoming such a pressing issue everywhere,” she explains. “Taiwan, because it is a smaller island, is going to be more affected because it is very crowded and very urbanised. I think even artists are starting to see this and think that it may be an important issue for them to make art about.” There is, however, still a long road ahead. “I don’t think environmental art will ever be a big movement in Taiwan until we see it in the public plaza. I think it would be a real stretch for a city to commission a sculpture made with hay bales.”

短暫的藝術
　　藝術家及展覽會館長Jane Ingram Allen在每件物品上都能創造藝術，不論是在國小校園裡或是養老院中，都看得到她的作品；自從2004年以Fulbright留學生身份來到台灣後，這位台中巿民就和她的丈夫一直生活在台灣；自此之後，她就一直忙於社區及國際藝術的活動。
　　在Fulbright實習下，Allen和她的丈夫遊遍台灣，並且舉行造紙的社區藝術講座，她通常會以當下她正在創作的主題為開頭，比如製作村莊或地區地圖等；她說：「這是一種學習＂當地＂文化的一種方式，我習慣在每個地方收集東西來放進我的地圖，而且當地人也都會帶舊照片或者印有當地名產或名勝古蹟的小冊子給我。」而這紙是由當地植物材質製成，「對於植物，我學習了很多，有什麼是在台灣生長且不在其它地方生長的呢？」

Digging Up The Bitch

Some folks still recall, with varying degrees of either chuckles or mockery, an expired nom de plume under which I regularly vented my spleen, exorcised demons, and generally mocked the unending supply of intolerable stupidity and frustration that seems to comprise the daily struggle in this vale of tears we call life. “Mr. Bitch” ranted, at various times, about local food, love, violence, bad drivers, American foreign policy, fear, sex, deadly sins and the burden of existing in a world in which so very many things are so very aggravating. It was cathartic and, given my nature, rather easier than shooting fish in a barrel.
At a recent meeting with the principals of this fine magazine, it was suggested that I resurrect the Mr. Hyde to my…well…there was never any Dr. Jeckyl but that’s beside the point. I seem to have forgotten exactly where I buried the body.

It’s not that there are no provocations – if anything, the number and kind of things that would have caused sputtering, incredulous raving at the sheer myopic brainlessness of both individuals and humanity in general have only multiplied. It simply turns out that another of the things someone wiser than I once said is true: As one gets older, the number of issues worth fighting over shrinks.
It’s not that I have no passion left, it’s that I’ve become far more discriminating about where I spend it. Sure, Sarah Palin still makes me roll my eyes and wonder what sort of epidemic of imbecility infects a few million Americans, but it bothers me far more that Bacardi rum is no longer stocked at Carrefour, Save ‘n Safe or the RT Mart.

This change – call it crankopause – is certainly at least partly due to age (I’ll not insult the word by calling it maturity). When I arrived in Taiwan, my beard was black and there were only a few stray grey hairs on my head. It drove me almost to the point of murder trying to get my brain around the cultural necessity on this island to maintain social harmony by telling people what they want to hear (as opposed to the truth). As one hardwired to say what I really think (and often without waiting to be asked) this caused no end of trouble. Now, however, I just shrug and go on about my business. Getting twisted up over things you cannot change is like smashing yourself in the face with a ball peen hammer – it feels better when you stop.

Aging is a strange process. I look in the mirror and see the same young man who has for years been looking back at me. More recently, however, that fellow in the mirror has taken to asking, “What the hell happened to you?” I can only shrug my shoulders as we say to each other in perfect unison, “I have no idea. It just happened.”
I’m a little slower off the dribble and can no longer get above the rim; the long pots still find the pocket occasionally but I haven’t had a break over 50 in almost a decade. I used to play tennis. Went out with a neighbour to hit a few balls and was surprised to find I still have a pretty stroke but there’s no way in hell’s half acre I’m chasing balls from alley to alley. The ankles and knees have lost their spring, and the lungs register very serious objections with rather frightening impatience.
I no longer have any interest in hitting the clubs, spending a wild weekend in Kenting, or knowing where the hip kids are going to be on Saturday night. If they aren’t in my living room, I don’t care.
And, for better or worse, the well from which I drew the venom necessary to power Mr. Bitch has almost run dry…or perhaps not dry, I just no longer keep mah bucket handy at all times.

In response to the suggestion that I crank out a fresh Mr. Bitch, I spent more than a few hours chasing various threads down pointless cul de sacs. I simply couldn’t spare the vinegar for things that only amount, these days, to mild annoyance.
I do, however, have a shovel and a vague idea of the general location of the grave. I am not at all averse to digging up those old bones and hooking the corpse up for a Dr. Frankenstein style lightning strike to jolt some juice into a righteous screed should the stars so align. A good friend – one far too smart to believe such utter shite – recently tried to argue for homeopathy. THAT is the sort of thing that can wake the dead (while offering absolutely no assistance to the living). So, fair warning: I may have mellowed and moved out to the mountains, but the ghost of Mr. Bitch still lurks…and waits.

至今仍然有一些讀者帶著不同程度的輕蔑及嘲笑回憶著我之前所使用的筆名，那時隱藏在這筆名下的我，定期地宣洩我的怒氣以驅趕我心中的惡魔，並嘲弄著生活中不斷發生且不能忍受的傻事及挫折，就像我們為了所謂的生活而不斷地奮鬥而流下的眼淚一樣；如同Mr. Bitch一樣，我多次談論食物、愛情、暴力、不良駕駛、美國外交政策、恐懼、性、致命的罪及生活的重擔等等，世界各地很多地方這些原素都在惡化；過去這些是純淨天然的，比射在籠子裡的魚還要更簡單；最近我和這家雜誌的負責人會面後，他們建議我喚醒Hyde先生成為我的…嗯…從來就沒有Jeckyl醫生，但這些都離題了；我似乎真的忘了我把屍體藏在哪了。

Cambodia

Cambodia feels a world apart from Taiwan. There’s an intangible glamour to this sweaty, scruffy country in the heart of Southeast Asia. The capital city, Phnom Penh, has an energy that can’t be felt in the metropolises of Taiwan, China or Japan.
People here don’t subscribe to the same traditions and beliefs of prim and proper East Asia. Here, the people are loud and colorful–if you upset a Cambodian, you’re going to hear about it.

Phnom Penh’s riverfront bustles with tourists and Cambodians.

But this humble country is a vortex of positive and negative energy, metaphorically akin to the classic struggle between good and evil. One of the oddest things about being in this country is knowing that so many of the people you meet and see have survived an unimaginable hell, and yet here they are, trying to make the most of what life they have left. I find myself wondering who among me was a child soldier, or who supported the mind-blowingly genocidal propaganda of Paris-educated Pol Pot’s regime. Do I pass former soldiers on the street? Were any of these people responsible for the mass killings?
On the other side of the suffering, it’s too easy to picture today’s Cambodian children starving, their bloated bellies round with air and skin dripping from malnutrition. (Reading first-hand accounts of survivors from the Khmer Rogue reign, a wild Communist faction that destroyed Cambodia from 1974-1979 hasn’t helped my imagination.)
The fact is that everybody here over a certain age lived and suffered through the Khmer Rogue and the nearly 30-year civil war that followed. Accounts vary, but it’s widely accepted that some 2 million out of Cambodia’s 7 million residents were killed in just four years during one of the most murderous regimes the world has ever seen. Many people survived by fighting for the bad guys.

Mehak Sokhom, a 25-year-old Cambodian who lost his family and his left arm to a landmine 10 years ago, lives in dismal poverty, unable to get a job because of his disability. He spends his days speaking to visitors of Siem Reap’s relatively unknown War Museum about the underground war still raging against Cambodia’s farmers.

What makes Cambodia unique in the encyclopedia of political experiments gone awry is that the bloodshed here is so real and raw, the stains still drying, and yet Cambodia is one of the few places on earth where the past is so closely intertwined with the present, like a dream you can’t quite rip apart from reality. Tuk tuk drivers paste their rickety carriages with advertisements for rides to the Killing Fields, a ghastly mass grave of thousands of men, women, children and even foreigners just outside the capital city limits. Laundry crusts in the dust from Tuol Sleng, a hellish elementary school-turned-prison that served as the epicenter of the Khmer Rogue crazy. Cambodia’s current president lost an eye as a high-ranking general for the Communist party. He spends his time trying to stall a joint United Nations/Cambodian war crimes tribunal attempting to prosecute his former comrades.

A 13-year-old girl selling books to tourists along Phnom Penh’s shabby riverfront poses for her friend, who took control of my camera for the night. The ubiquitous children hawkers speak excellent English and are ready to make friends with anyone who will spend time with them.

Unsurprisingly, none of this has stumped growth. Cambodia’s tourism scene is surprisingly developed, and Phnom Penh, Siem Reap and party beach towns like Sihanoukville are cities on the rise. There are only a few buildings more than five or six stories tall in all of Phnom Penh, but the Koreans and Japanese are moving in quickly with grand plans for heavenly skyscrapers. (The Japanese actually own the Killing Fields, charging tourists an entry fee in exchange for paving the roads from Phnom Penh.) Whatever the price, Phnom Penh will soon be the Paris of Southeast Asia, they say.
The growth continues outside the capital. Siem Reap, an outpost near the Thai border sprouting out of the massive Angkor Wat temples, is finding its footing again as a haven for counterculture. And waves crash against strobe lights in hip clubs along the Gulf of Thailand in Sihanoukville.
All this suggests Cambodia has far better days ahead than behind. It’s clear its people have made a collective decision to move on, perhaps because it’s the only thing they can do. Like the dawn breaking on a sleepless night, there’s no choice but start the day. The ghosts from too-recent atrocities live peacefully with the good people here now. Like yin and yang, Cambodia’s horrific modern past balances out with the passion of its people alive today. And life goes on.

The sun sets on boats moored in the Gulf of Thailand on Serendipity Beach in Sihanoukville, a busy stretch of sand with beach chairs and drinks galore.

　　柬埔塞跟台灣完全是二種不同的世界，雖位居東南亞的中心但破舊且髒亂，然而在首都金邊卻有一種能量是在台灣、中國或日本的首都所無法感受到的，也使得這國家有種無形的魅力存在。

這邊的人民不認同與東亞相同的呆板傳統及信仰，這裡的人很愛說話也很活潑－若你傷害一個柬埔塞人，很快地，你將會聽到有關的傳聞。

但這個簡陃的國家又有著正面及負面的渦流，近似的比喻的話就是典型的善與惡之間的爭鬥；其中最怪異的一件事是生活在這個國家，你清楚地知道很多你看過的人都在無法置信的地獄裡生存著，然而他們還努力試著讓生活有價值；我開始懷疑自己像個少年士兵？又或者像是支持鼓吹受巴黎教育的波布政權(歷史的獨裁者，曾進行大屠殺)的一員？我是否在街上曾經跟過去的士兵擦身而過呢？有任何人該為這大屠殺負起責任嗎？

Suggested reading list on Cambodia’s recent history:

For an emotional read that can put any of your problems in perspective, check out these excellent books on the Khmer Rogue reign of Cambodia:

First They Killed My Father by Loung Ung–firsthand account of a well-to-do Phnom Penh family turned upside down by the Khmer Rogue.

When the War Was Over: Cambodia and the Khmer Rogue Revolution by Elizabeth Becker–A former war correspondent for The Washington Post (and current New York Times reporter) who was one of the few journalists allowed back into the country before the Khmer Rogue’s fall analyzes the United States’ involvement in the war.

Stay Alive, My Son by Pin Yathay with John Man–Yathay was a former engineer for Cambodia’s Ministry of Public Works when his country descended into hell.

Amber Parcher is an American journalist living in Kaohsiung. She writes for The Washington Post, Monocle Magazine, Taiwan Business TOPICS, Waakao.com, and, of course, GuanXi.

Change – Amanda Fiore

it was gold and yellow when it came

dressed in silk camouflage ribbons
and carried plumbers’ tools

it swung its orange-peel tongue
like a sassy aunt

and shook its fat fairy-tale fingers
into pools

I stayed frozen and afraid in my ancient chest–
my cage of decrepit bones

Thought to protect the old organ
but it came fast

plunged in a cold metal hook
combed its iron coils

my skin slid off
like an old gym sock

and it plucked my eyes
to squish between its toes

when the dirty work was done
it sewed two terrible hearts

embroidered them with spiders lace
stuck them on with glue

then it hung the old me
on a splintered fence post
and sat back on its haunches.

I turned this way and that
admiring my new colored scales
like a thousand tiny dresses.

I never wanted to change
but when it was through
like a crisp breath of colored sand

there was no more me
and so
no more you.

NV7 – Hamock Myson

9PM: He finished his last slice in the booth at the pizzeria, picking at the crumbs on the plate. It being Saturday, his thoughts drifted to which of Taichung’s assorted talent pools he would grace that night.
She was shopping near Yi Zhong night market with two of her old high-school friends who both looked vaguely like Joey Ramone, and the three girls wound up at a confectionery store next to a police station. Nary a chuckle as they passed the candy bras and jockstraps, but upon seeing the shop’s marshmallow facsimiles of disposable panty-liners the crew succumbed to a fit of nervous giggles. They decided to buy some condom-shaped chocolates, a compromise with decency.

10PM: The pink hundred-dollar bill carried the serial number NV749416AK, a code signifying nothing and everything. It changed hands for a plump bird at a fresh-roasted chicken market, proceeded to a betel-nut stand three kilometers away, and then eased into yet another 7-Eleven like a key into a familiar lock. The stoic cashier gave it to him as change for a thousand as he copped a tall can of liquid nitrogen. He stepped outside to fuel up.
She said zai jian to her friends and bundled into a cab in front of Chung Yo department store building C. The taxi still smelled like the cologne worn by the last passenger, a smooth metrosexual bank employee taking his girlfriend out to sip blue-colored cocktails at a reasonable pace.

11PM: He navigated sans wingman into a lounge bar named for a popular island getaway. He liked this place because it was a Taiwanese anomaly, a theme bar that didn’t seem pretentious. Two or three beers later he paid with a handful of cash including NV7, and walked out to his scooter in the cool air.
She got two texts from her Canadian friend asking if she wanted to go out. She didn’t really, but an insistent ennui answered for her, and she replied they would rendezvous at midnight at a trendy dance bar on Hua Mei. She liked foreign friends but if you asked her why she probably couldn’t tell you, her confession draped in reticence.

12AM: Our fateful bill had once gotten stuck in an existential echo-chamber near Feng-Jia night market. For more than three months, every person who spent it did so within the same ten block radius. So many times it almost escaped, but the infinite spectrum of goods and services had created a hermetically sealed economy. The bartender at the lounge ordered beef noodle soup, and gave NV7 to the delivery driver. His fourth stop after that was the Hua Mei nightspot, and the bill went from hand to till.
She met her friend and they jealously compared each other’s outfits, her arsenal included fake eyelashes and glasses with no lenses. Angular rainbow spears bounced from a CD hanging behind an old woman’s wheelchair. She was selling lottery tickets two blocks away.

1AM: He visited a karaoke bar with rustic wooden benches, primarily to flirt with the spicy staff. The music was the same quaalude-sprinkled pudding that he heard warbled from speakers all over the goddamn island.
Her wai guo ren friend had drunk too many whiskey-cokes and was catching a rabbit in the girls’ room. Such abandon contrasted with the girl’s cautious sobriety. In an intense moment of self-loathing she realized that she never did anything even the slightest bit out of control. Her English teacher had once required the class to each translate an famous poem, she had chosen Frost. She dialed the number for a cab as the bartender provided her change: NV7 and a few shiny coins.

2AM: He parked outside his favorite after-hours bar, and the pull of the disco-house beat was as real as any gravity. This opium den for electronic music addicts welcomed him warmly, and he sat at the bar suspended in a trance bubble.
At the last minute, she decided against going home and walked two blocks down Hua Mei. She saw him when she went in, he was the only foreigner there. Despite her nervousness, she channeled every drop of her desire to do something spontaneous. Reaching into her purse she stroked the hundred. It shivered, remembering how it had once gone from being tucked into exposed cleavage at a sexy KTV to being used for a kindergarten tuition payment in less than six hours. Ironically the name of the kindergarten was the English word for immorality. She put the bill on the counter to pay for a pack of smokes. His eyes fixed on NV7 before looking up at her. They clicked immediately.

3AM: A crescent moon hung in the dark sky above his roof, but he didn’t see it. He had company. She didn’t see it either, and that made all the difference.

　　一張序號為NV749416AK的百元鈔看似普通，卻又意義深遠。首先被支付到烤雞店，之後到了三公里外的檳榔攤，進而到了7-11，就像支鎖鑰將彼此陌生的生命進而串連到同一國度。
　　這決定我們命運的鈔票曾經滯留在逢甲夜巿附近的一間密室將近三個月，每個使用它的人都在附近消費，沒有超出方圓百里；很多次，它幾乎逃離了這個地區，但眾多的商品及良好的服務早已創造出了一個無邊際的商圈；酒吧裡的酒保點了碗牛肉麵湯，並將此百元鈔給了送貨司機；它的第四站是華美夜生活區，而此鈔票隨即從手中溜到店裡的錢櫃了。

Cuttlefish – Chef Alvarez

Spring is in the air.

It’s also in the ocean and this spring, as the weather warms up, there is a local treat swimming deep in the waters off the North East coast between Keelung and Ilan: Cuttlefish. Despite the name, they are not fish. They belong to the same family as squid and octopusses.

I have a particular attachment to these mollusks as they take me back to a stint in Italy, in the region of Veneto. Italian cuttlefish is generally larger than the nice baby ones that are available through summer. This March, as part of a set menu on the Top of ONE, we will feature a very nice dish of Italian and Spanish influence. It combines the flavors of olives, garlic, chorizo, tomato, extra virgin olive oil and fresh herbs to compliment the tender cuttlefish.

Ingredients are everything. Ask any Italian or Spaniard and they will all tell you your dishes are only as good as what you put into them. If you can find good quality green olives, spend a little extra and get them. At the hotel I use an Italian type of olive called a Cerignola. These olives are medium sized, semi firm and a nice shade of green. Olive oil is no different, when making a dish that calls for extra virgin olive oil, get a good bottle. You simply can’t compare the amazing taste of good extra virgin olive oil to regular oil.

Do you know what country makes most of the olive oil for world consumption? Give up? It’s Spain. Most people would assume Greece or Italy, and they do produce a lot, but Spain makes 1/3 of the world’s olive oil. Extra virgin is the term given to oil that comes from virgin oil production only and contains no more than 1% acidity.

Spanish chorizo is also not the easiest item to find – if you can then you are lucky, if not, then you can get some pancetta or just use a nice bacon or ham and add some dried red chili flakes to give it the heat.

There are three components to this dish: the cuttlefish, an olive and garlic mixture, and a tomato and chorizo ragout. I like to garnish this with watercress or any kind of nice pea shoot, but feel free to use what you have around.

I hope you enjoy this dish and check out next issue when we will be making some molecular cocktails for summer using spheres of mango juice and foams of passion fruit. See you in the summer issue of GuanXi Magazine.

酥炸墨魚佐西班牙辣腸蕃茄橄欖醬汁 Fried Cuttlefish
INGREDIENT QUANTITY
材料 數量
墨魚 cuttlefish, beak removed, cleaned 90g
小蘇打 baking soda 2g
水 water 125ml
蕃茄切片 tomato, diced 45g
西班牙辣香腸切片chorizo, sliced 20g
蒜片 garlic, sliced 5g
酸豆 capers 4g
荷蘭芹切碎 parsley, chopped 1g
蕃茄醬汁 tomato sauce 45g
橄攔油 olive oil 25g
豆苗 pea shoot 10g
香蒜橄欖醬汁 olive and garlic mix 35ml

PREPARATION AND SERVICE PROCEDURE:

Soak the cuttlefish in the baking soda and water for 30 minutes. Heat up vegetable oil in a pot or a wok and fry the cuttlefish. Remove cuttlefish, drain and season with salt and pepper. Heat the olive oil in a saute pan and begin to fry the sliced garlic and the chorizo. After 2 minutes add the tomato and capers. Cook for another minute and add the tomato sauce, bring to a simmer and remove the heat. Add in the chopped parsley, place the tomato ragout on the plate, top with the fried cuttlefish, then drizzle around the olive and garlic mixture, place some pea shoots around to garnish.

將墨魚肚內墨汁清除後放入蘇打水浸泡30分鐘。熱油鍋並將墨魚放入油炸後以胡椒、鹽調味。將蒜片及西班牙辣香腸以橄攔油香煎2分鐘，加入蕃茄及酸豆拌炒1分鐘後放入蕃茄醬汁以小火燉煮。關火後加入荷蘭芹，並依序放上番茄、墨魚及豆苗裝盤，綴以香蒜橄欖醬汁即可。

香蒜橄欖醬汁 Olive & Garlic Mix
INGREDIENT QUANTITY
材料 數量
帶子綠橄欖切碎 green olives, cerignola, chopped 50g
蒜頭切碎 garlic, chopped 50g
荷蘭芹切碎 parsley, chopped 5g
特級橄欖油 olive oil, extra virgin 75ml

PREPARATION AND SERVICE PROCEDURE:

Place the olive oil and garlic into a sauce pan and being to heat, once the garlic starts to fry, remove from heat and add the olives and the chopped parsley, cool and store in the fridge for 24 hours to develop the flavor.

將蒜頭切碎以橄欖油拌炒至金黃色後加入綠橄欖及荷蘭芹，放入冰箱冷藏24小時備用

Impermanence – Mike Leznoff

It seems strange to talk about impermanence in the springtime. Springtime feels like a beginning, not an end but impermanence isn’t about endings – it’s about adding to our sense of appreciation of life as it unfolds. The real trouble is we resist this fact of nature and cling to a fixed view that things are permanent when they are not. Things are always changing: our relationships, our bodies, the weather, our health, what we eat, who we know, where we go, how we feel.

Every moment is different. Some are pleasing, irritating, colourful, tiring, satisfying, but they all pass away to the next moment in a continuum of unceasing change. Excitement ends and monotony begins, pain ends and laughter begins, a dream ends and a new day begins, but really there are no beginnings or endings, only an uninterrupted flow of experience.

Who is experiencing? Who is learning? Who is laughing? Who is reading?

In the springtime flowers bloom. The flora comes alive after a long winter and we delight in its beauty. The scent is intoxicating, the shapes attractive. We appreciate a flower when we see it just as it is. We don’t hope it will be different and neither are we troubled that it will not last. We can see the flower came from a bud, and that when it withers it rejoins the soil. Later the flower will be part of something else: you, a bird, the rain, a road, a tree, and round and round it goes, becoming other things all the time. It becomes hard to pinpoint when things are just one thing at all, because they change so fast. Impermanence is like that. It is everywhere and active, and the more we realise it the more appreciative of each moment, and of our lives, we can be.

Who we are is not fixed either, though we may strongly insist otherwise. Our bodies change whether we like it or not, and we change as well. We like to say our personalities change, but that implies something that does not change possesses our personalities, which makes no sense. Nothing is immutable. Where is the person who was a child? Where is the teenager we once were? Who are we now and who will we be in the future? We may harden or soften, slow down, burn out, learn or unlearn. It is a mystery what we will become. We don’t know what it will feel like to be different than we are today. We will change and we have the central role to play in that change. How we respond to impermanence is our choice.

Nations, mountains, rivers, deserts and species are impermanent. Empires have risen and fallen. Modern humans didn’t appear until around 200,000 years ago and in the last hundred years we doubled our average lifespan but also severely exploited the resources of the planet. War, famine and epidemics have made routine appearances in our history but we act as if our actions don’t have a collective effect. Impermanence often strongly reminds us otherwise.

It is said that nihilism is a ‘near enemy’ of impermanence, a trap one can easily fall into, but just because everything is impermanent doesn’t mean that nothing exists at all or that life has no meaning. The impermanent nature of reality adds meaning to our lives because this is something we all share. Everything we have will go, no matter how we try to control things or how rich we are. Our children are impermanent and their children too but this makes them and the world they inherit more precious, not less. Our world is impermanent and our lives are impermanent – doesn’t that make our time together more sacred?

只是暫時的

春天來了，又到了花兒開始綻放的季節，漫長的冬季過後，花神也甦醒了過來，而我們也可享受到花兒的豔麗；花朵的香味使人沉醉，花朵的形狀引人注目；當我們看到花時，我們欣賞它的本質；我們不期望它會有所不同，但我們也不因花兒的凋謝而憂慮；我們可以看到花從花芽開始生長，當它枯萎時，它又回歸到了塵土；之後，花就會成為其它事物的一部份：你、鳥、雨水、道路、樹木…等，持續循環成為不同事物；要精準地判定一件物品就單純地只是一件物品實在很難，因為它們變化得太快了；暫時性就是如此；它持續存在著也無所不在，我們對它瞭解越多，我們就越能感謝生命中的每個時刻。