The little woman crouches over the flowerbed, loosening the soil with a rusty spade while carefully arranging dried leaves and vegetable peels around the base of the plant before covering up the “compost” with the loosened soil. She repeats these actions as she moves from plant to plant, until the bag holding her “compost” is empty. The relentless summer sun beats down on her exposed arms and legs, her skin bronzed from hours spent outdoors. Occasionally she stands up to ease the ache in her legs and wipes the sweat from her brow, taking a few seconds to look at the vegetation surrounding her. Satisfied with the “compost”, she fetches a bucket of water, saved from everyday household use and waters each plant, making sure not one drop is wasted. If it is late in the day near supper time, she will harvest ripened produce after taking a few minutes to contemplate what to present on the supper table that night. Finally, taking her selection, she heads back into the little house, starting the preparation of food for the two or three people who will dine together that night. This little woman is my mother, Tracy, and this is the story of her vegetable garden.
Saturday, February 16, 2013
A year before I was born, my family left Taiwan and immigrated to a small city in the middle of nowhere. We were now more than eleven thousand kilometres away from our country of origin, and in a place where access to Taiwanese cuisine was severely limited. It seemed certain that I was (my sister also) doomed to never have the chance to grow to love the food that is a part of everyday life in Taiwan. Indeed, it was also certain that I would have the chance to visit the country as I was growing up, but there was always the likelihood that I would develop a preference for a burger and fries over Taiwanese food and never take the opportunity to properly indulge in authentic Taiwanese cuisine.
Friday, February 8, 2013
Last week in Melbourne, my friend and I came across this guy busking on the streets outside one of the busiest train stations in the city. He was from Taiwan, and most of the songs he sang were familiar to me – popular pop ballads released by many of the biggest artists in Taiwan. His dexterity with the guitar left me nothing short of envious, and listening to him sing live, with just his voice and guitar as instruments, free of digital alterations, stopped me and many others in our tracks, inserting a short interlude into our busy lives, slowing down the frantic movement of people for just a few minutes, allowing them to take a break from the tedious march that we call life.
Thursday, January 17, 2013
This film is based on true events which occurred in central Taiwan in 1930. The international version was a combination of the two separate films shown in Taiwan which cut down the running time from four-and-a-half hours to two-and-a-half hours. I watched the full version over two sittings: Part I “The Sun Flag” and Part II “The Rainbow Bridge”, and believe this version allows the viewer to engage the story better than the shorter version.