"The Evergreen, Everlasting Christmas"

It's 1997.
A wreath of Christmas lights encircles your dorm room ceiling yearlong
I'm lying on my back on your twin bed,
studying you at your desk typing at the computer
Blasting down unknown players lurking in shadows
in a multi-player video game "Doom" between your problem sets,
Your copper hair glistens like a gleaming ornament amidst the lights
Outside, the December white winter snow descends upon the Charles
The whirl of cars sliding sluggishly through
the slushy Storrow Drive punctuate the hours
A chill fringes the windows, I look out at the barren branches and
the white walls of the MIT President's grand home
A festival of psychedelic spring flowers in fluorescent greens and fuschia cheerily adorns the wall before me—
A framed 1980s poster print of a painting you borrowed
The sweet scent of herbal weeds mingles in with
your last Stouffers tv dinner of mac and cheese
Empty plates of crumbs piles nearby the bed
A black-framed Ando Hiroshige's c.1855 woodblock print of
"Navaro Rapids" rests on your pale wooden bureau
A flat box lying on your clothes mountains features
a festive looking house illustration filled with windows of chocolate —
Windows framed by crinkled aluminum foil curtains opened reveal
daily event Cadbury milk chocolates partially eaten
Your mum in UK has mailed me one this year as well,
our first Christmas together.
I faithfully observe the rules, eating only one per day, delighted
You, who have been receiving chocolates for years,
carelessly breaks the rules and take two today.
Every chocolate representing the march of days
looking forward to Christmas.
The room is dim, I stare at the ragged nondescript,
mousey, brown-grey carpet beholding
another green-wired string of Christmas lights flickering,
you far away beyond arm's reach.
This moment feels familiar.

It's 2005.
Exhausted at 3:30 am from another Christmas night
working at the restaurant, my holiday family duties.
The faint scent of oil-drenched fried chicken wings and
chicken fingers lingers on my sweater,
I plop down by the computer in my brother's room,
deciding last minute to check my emails
Expecting a deluge of holiday greetings from well-wishers —
A headline catches my eye, "A sad new about Ben Walter."
I open all the other emails first, my heart sinking.
I note the "s" missing from the word news.
I stare at the period at the end of that email subject header.
Seems so final.
I click. A rapid of words flood fast...
"Died suddenly. Body found. Ben Walter. Shanghai. December 21.
Our good friend. Gone."
I scream. My brother doesn't understand, asks me to lower my voice. He's embarrassed.
I think of the last three emails he wrote on his last couple days to which
he thought I didn't respond. I replied too late. Two days too late.
I think of the last AIM message — the one I paused as I decided whether I should save that message.
I closed the window reluctantly, thinking there would be others.
I ponder what I was doing that day earlier in the week.
December 21. Freelance web design. A day just like most.
It's been 5 years since I've last seen you.
I was in Shanghai in the spring for a day earlier this year —
You were too ill to meet up, you wrote.
You have another college friend in town staying with you.
You have a venture capital meeting in the morning.
The taxi ride is too far away.
Over an hour, you protested. Too expensive.
Rivers apart, I'm by the Pudong, and you at the Puxi.
This moment feels familiar.

It's 2007.
I'm looking out the window on my right, it's a blur of white through my red and transparent swirled curtains.
Snow has melted into a soggy slush.
I suddenly remember I saved that Cadbury chocolate event calendar box somewhere in my closet,
A tribute to a Christmas I once looked forward to carelessly.
Wreaths of Christmas lights now encircle my common rooms downstairs year-round
Christmas lights crown every apartment since yours
Your Ando Hiroshige's woodblock print now rests
on my light wood bureau.
Your b-day card depicting a chubby coppery orange striped cat arms outstretched and wearing a British patrol hat leans up against this print. Card reads, "Happy Birthday! Or as they say in England...
Happy Birthday. We speak the same language."
A b-day card. A valentine's day card. A Xmas card.
Old cards to mark the new chapters of my life line my room.
Only you're not here to say it.
This moment feels familiar.


by
Janet Si-Ming Lee
Principal Designer, Siming Cybercreative
December 15, 2007

Idiosyncracies of an Effervescent Spring Longing in the Time of Autumn

A sea of black Chinese characters float below
Pastel and pyschedelic animated murals, phantoms of a
sugar-coated alternate universe spun in childhood fantasies
Pixieish, wide-eyed Yuki croons to an effervescent, bubble-gum
sky blossoming of cotton-candy pinks, golds and lime greens
Lithe-figured, sprite-like, she ebulliently leaps and playfully dodges
between the foreground and background of painted scenes and mirages
The tv screen glows, a turquoise-blue gem within the night of day
You chant along in mandarin to this hypnotic pantomime,
your British accent and boyish tones become
an idiosyncrasy of times and places you've traveled and imagined
You swim between your dream states —
Mesmerized by everlasting spring bling in a world of dim shadows,
Enchanted by fantastical potentials, numb to a greying reality
Autumn lowers its eyes to an icy winter enfolding its steel-cold arms
around us outside, between us inside
Quietly, I turn to look at you as I leave.
You hardly notice, your eyes entombed by the screen
displaying another world that grows intensely vivid
This brew of electric blue and kaleidoscopic colors bedazzling
continue to spin and draw you in...
Your copper hair, smouldering embers lit by artificial lights
A lone hue among browns, beiges and the whites of your reality.
The dark closes around you, I close your door behind me.
Beyond the wall, my silenced spring, I hear —
Your immortally child-like voice serenading this digital dream,
It's another autumn setting...
Your song lingering...

by
Janet Si-Ming Lee
Principal Designer, Siming Cybercreative
November 1, 2007

Heartbroken: A Pangaea Divided into Nations

Heart broken,
A world divided into nations
Pangaea, i dream of you
I never knew you well
You dwell in my misty childhood legends
Peaceful, seamless continent
You know not of boundaries
No borders to dispute
No cultural divides
No victors, no losers
Heartbroken pangaea
Your land shredded into countries
Your past battles itself —
Now amongst themselves
Your unrestful, war-torn nations divided now rise in pride
They declare their names:
Ambivalence. Alienation. Envy. Regret. Indifference. Despondence. Disillusionment. Dispair. Sorrow. Vexation. Perplexity. Resignation.
They all fight for Independence.
They fight for Contentment.
They fight for Unity.
For an empire in their own name.
Oceans of Time separate your distant territories adrift
Civil wars arising within your jaded countries spring forth new nations:
Compromise. Empathy. Compassion. Wisdom. Enlightenment.
Multilingual, multicultural, multi-perceptual complexity.
Your nations speak through the languages of philosophy, visual arts, poetry, psychology, spirituality.
Although we may sew your nations together —
One world scarred, jaggedly stitched in wary attachments —
Pangaea, you will never be the same.
You have less and yet you have more.
A heart broken, a heart awakened.
A heart defined by its lines.

by
Janet Si-Ming Lee
Principal Designer, Siming Cybercreative
October 3, 2007

The Story of Team Lychee on the Jimmy Fund / Dana Farber Boston Marathon Walk 2007

A Letter to My friends...

Hey guys,

Sorry for the belated report in on the Jimmy Fund/Dana Farber Boston Marathon Walk last Sunday, September 16th since I've been a bit busy with some client project deadlines earlier in the week and I wanted a bit more time to write a longer email. Anyhow, I wanted to thank you all for your generous contribution to the Jimmy Fund / Dana Farber Fund Walk! Through your tremendous generosity, I was able to raise $650 toward the Jimmy Fund and Dana Farber Cancer Institute that has treated more than 32,000 adult and pediatric patients and over 600 clinical trials in 2006. The money you helped contribute goes toward research and cancer treatments.

Cancer will affect us all — either to someone we love as well as some of us individually. I know some of you donated to honor a loved one who has faced cancer. My siblings and I donated in honor of our late paternal grandfather (ye-ye) and some of you donated in honor of a sibling's or parent's struggle. Your gift is a loving tribute and support for those you listed in the honor roll. I also thank you very much for supporting me as well in my choice to support this cause and in my efforts to get more fit.



To summarize my odyssey of good will: I COMPLETED the ENTIRE 26.2 miles (yes, all in one day)... Not in good time. But in good spirits. And with good company. Fortunately, a friend (John Liu) I made on the walk was able to join me for the grueling walk. The day started on track — I got out of my house by 5:15 am making good time. I had planned to take the subway in from Davis Square and get to Copley before 6:45 am to take the bus shuttle out to Hopkinton where the race began. (This race runs the same course as the Boston Marathon.) As soon as I started going down the escalator at Davis, I was met by an Indian woman who smiled at me as she was going up the other way. I thought, this day is shaping up nicely. I was quite proud of myself for being organized enough to get to the train on time. The Indian lady then turned around and called out, "There's no subway trains." I turned around. She repeated, "There's no trains. I've been waiting." I stared at her blankly. "30 minutes." I then started shrieking, "Are you KIDDING me????? Are you sure???? I think I hear the trains coming" A dozen thoughts started racing as I knew my deadline to get to Copley Square was tight. "Noooo, no trains. Trust me. There's no trains. I've been waiting," she repeated. At this point, I ran like mad out the door and found a taxi and with a flat fee of $20, I made it to Copley with plenty of time to spare. I bought batteries for my walkman and some kashi chocolate chip granola. (Yes, I'm so lame that I don't even have an ipod YET.)

In any case, my sister's friend John (who wrote to me via facebook) climbed onto the bus and I offered him one of FOUR japanese buns with curry beef (my latest fav at the Porter Exchange japanese eatery place). I sorta half-napped on the train. Unfortunately, I had not slept more than 2 hours before the walk. I had big plans to prepare everything beforehand but nope, that didn't happen. I couldn't find my credit cards. I later found it my purse... of course. There was plenty of food at Hopkinton... There were coffee, bagels and cream cheese, bananas, and yes, even Dunkin Donuts. You'd be proud of me that I only grabbed ONE munchkin. I ate the bagels and cream cheese. I registered and got a t-shirt (that I will lose later on the walk). I putzed around for so long that John and I didn't leave for the walk until almost everyone had left. Not sure which direction to turn, a guy turned to look at us and said to come over to where there was a big banner even if it was several paces backwards. He then smiled and said, this is where thousands of marathon runners have started. You're now standing where they stood. I felt awed. For a minute. Then we started walking. It was a sunny day, slightly chilly but it warmed up as the day progressed. We passed by a lovely lake (or reservoir?) where I caught sight of a lily-white swan in a bed of white leaves or soddened blossoms, sunbathing alone.


I was amazed how folks seemed rather disciplined and competitively walking past even a mom with a baby stroller talking to her friend raced by us. Even older people seemed to striding forward quickly. It was definitely more competitive in feel than the Boston Walk for Hunger (you can see my page and donate still I think) where we walked at our own pace and no one seemed to look over their shoulders much to benchmark their place on the course. By mile 8, my left knee was unexpectedly starting to get sore and stiff. I was amazed since on the Walk for Hunger, I completed all 20 miles very easily — it wasn't until about mile 18 (ten miles later) did I feel even a tad more tired. However, here I was attempting to go further and I was more sore already. I chalked it up to the fact that I wore the wrong sneakers. I wore another pair for the Walk for Hunger that I bought at a sports store in Maine for Alex's marathon run. It was on sale but white like dorky runners over 50 might buy. So, I chose beauty and style over utility and wore my black Sketchers sneakers (the label said "Sketchers Sports." I felt reassured). By mile 8, I realized the Sketchers sneakers were not supporting my foot arch and was probably not absorbing the shock of walking on the cement for hours on end. I also think I didn't rest up from the South End Open Studios event where I was on my feet for probably 6 hours so that didn't help things either. Anyway, from mile 8 to 13 (at Wellesley College), I hobbled through those miles. By the time, we got to Wellesley, there was nothing left but some jars of peanut butter and some sad mushy-looking something in a bowl. I elbowed John, whispering, "Do you think that's an egg salad?" He shrugged. I didn't have any but I welcomed the chance to sit for 40 min or so. My youngest bro John had called me on the trip to wish me well and to suggest I prop my feet higher up to reduce lactic acid buildup in my legs. That might have helped. We had plenty of hi-C fruit punches, and cheese and peanut butter crackers on the trip and other granola bars along the way.

Since they were really clearing up the place and there was virtually no one really left from the walkers' group, I felt the pressure to start walking again. Thankfully, John was kindly carrying my bag of snacks and water bottles I thought I would need on the trip. Boy, was that so not necessary since you hardly go more than a mile without snacks at every station. I offered him a Japanese Calpico lychee drink and he suggested that we call ourselves "team lychee" since apparently, the Jimmy Fund had plenty of teams. Not able to conjure up a better name, that seemed appropriate and cute name. As the walk progressed, John ended up carrying more and more of my stuff. (Thanx, John!!!!)



In any case, we were walking along and noticed that there was barely anyone who seemed to surprise us from behind so we were wondering if we were last. At one point, I rested my sore knees around mile 14 and was stretching them above my waist. An Enterprise van pulled up in front of us. An attractive late 30-something guy jumped out and grinned at me. I started wondering if he was about to ask me out since this had happened to me in Harvard Square when I was delivering mail for Harvard one summer between college years. The guy started saying, "I've been watching you. I've been following you." This was getting WEIRDER by the minute. He glanced over at John and sorta dismissively said, "And you, too." He then proceeded to say that apparently, we were probably now last on the walk. Yikes. He said that they have been monitoring us since we were last and they couldn't clear the stations until every walker has gone by. I looked around nervously for more of those Enterprise vans circling around. He offered to drive us further down the walk. I refused since I knew I could complete the walk even if very bad time and I wanted to be able to report to you fine folks, that I have completed the entire walk. He then proceeded to say ominously, "Heartbreak Hill is ahead of you." Really? I thought I had passed that. Nope, he said, you have three BIG hills ahead of you and he asked me whether I could make it. I said yes, if I passed one of them already (which I did), it was barely anything. I proceeded further but I felt the pressure was on. A woman at one of the stations said, "You're very powerful. We can't leave until you do." Talk about PRESSURE. At this point, I stopped all joking on the walk and walked for miles plowing forward. Amazingly, my left knee improved. Maybe it was that the path was more gravelly and more soft so it hurt less. The mysterious Enterprise vans kept circling around. It was like Big Brother was watching. They would stare at me through the window, maybe slow down at some points, stare and nod at me silently, or on occasion, ask me how I was doing.


Eventually, we passed by a couple about 65 or so. Yes, we were even behind the older people. The wife was hobbling around from a hurt, swollen knee bundled up in thick wraps and her husband was determined to complete it. The hubby was sounding a bit grumpy as he cited his wife as the reason why they were so far behind. "What can I do? I can't walk on ahead without her." He sighed loudly, looking back at the ol' ball and chain behind him. "She's my wife." We gleefully passed by them, relieved to now only be the THIRD slowest rather the absolute slowest people on the walk. We watched the Enterprise vans now flock around the older couple behind us, the new targets of their attention. Phew. A short time later, I saw a bunch of high schoolers walking. Boy, did it feel great to walk by them. I would rest for a bit and anxiously ask John to spy on whether those darn high schoolers were catching up. As soon as we caught sight of them out of the corner of our eyes, we were up again and walking. Slowly we hobbled past more "kids." At the top of Heartbreak Hill, they had a guy playing the saxophone standing on a car. Nice treat.




Each mile was marked by a big posterboard with the faces of kids under 7 or so. Written around the photos of each child, were their names, what they liked to do for activities and what they wanted to become. Brilliant idea! It seemed as we got closer to the city, the balder the kids got. Maybe it was a nudge, nudge, don't whine because the kids are having it tougher idea. At one point, I saw this cute photo of a girl and the poster board declared that she liked to "dance, play with her friends, and draw" or something like that. Listed under what she wanted to become, the poster stated "I want to be a dancer." I cooed, ooooh, that's so cute! Then I looked at her age. One. I'm sure if you asked me what I liked to do at age one, it might be something like "mum mum, blah blah blah, and yadda yadda" and I want to become a "boodoopoo" or something. I'm sure I didn't say I want to grow up to be a graphic designer and artist. :P And even if I were able to announce that, the higher-ups in my life would probably had vetoed that declaration and listed "scientist" or "doctor" or "chemist."

In any case, as I plodded further along, I kept exclaiming, "WHEEEEERE is the next baby face??????!!!!" Meanwhile, John reported in that his walking condition had downgraded from "good" to "okay" by mile 23. I was at "this is taking a long time" to "this is taking a DARN #*@!*$%!@@#^!@$!$#$%&%$%@!@@# long time." Finally, we made it to the end of the walk (making a very short detour to pick up angora melon/kiwi lime fro yo nearby the Kenmore station area) sometime after 6 pm. Fortunately, we were NOT the absolute last people on the walk. There were a few high schoolers (or young college students) after us.




Lessons learned:
1) Wear comfy sneakers designed for marathon race (even if they look dorky)
2) Don't bring any snacks since they will only be dead-weight unless you don't like the type of food they provide there
3) Start walking EARLIER than the pack so that you don't end up last
4) Go to sleep early
5) Check to see what time the subway train runs (apparently it runs at 6 am on weekends and not 5 am as they do on weekdays) BEFORE leaving for the shuttle
6) Bring music - ipod or walkman
7) Gleefully savor ALL your calories... no one's counting today (not even your mom... yes, even if she's Asian and STILL slimmer than you have ever been your entire adult life)

I limped my way home and slept an hour later pretty much with my feet propped. The next day, I was still partially limping on my sore left leg but the right leg was 99% perfect. The stiff leg lasted for 1.5 days but all in all, it was a great adventure.



AGAIN, thanx so much to those of you who have already contributed to the cause!!!!! Your generosity is appreciated by many folks who will benefit from your thoughtfulness. (I'm sure those smiling babes in the photos are thanking you as well... if they could talk. Oh, wait... these kids at age one can quote Shakespeare and draw like Picasso or work to solve the riddle of the universe. Kids seem to be getting smarter every generation.) IF you haven't contributed yet, you can still do so and my page is here:

http://www.jimmyfundwalk.org/siming



siming *___*

1/2 of team lychee on the Boston Marathon Jimmmy Fund Walk

50 Trees Sing Your Name... Remember You for Centuries: In Loving Memory of Ben Walter on his 29th b-day

Today would have been the 29th b-day of my dear best friend Ben Walter. I dedicate 50 trees through Oxfam gifts in his memory so that they can sing his name and remember him for centuries. Two peace books have also been dedicated in his honor as well in hopes that we can build a more peaceful world. Much love to you, dear brains.

- siming

Chance Meetings Defined by Random Chaos or Fate?

“I like chance meetings — life is full of them. Everyday, without realizing it, I pass people whom I should know. At this moment, in this cafe, we’re sitting next to strangers. Everyone will get up, leave, and go on their own way. And they’ll never meet again. And if they do, they won't realize that it's not for the first time.”
- Krzysztof Kieślowski (Director of Film Trilogy "Red", "White, "Blue")

To be familiar with Krzysztof Kieślowski's films is to recognize that this quote befits his approach toward filmmaking and story developments. A minor character in the backdrop of one film becomes the primary protagonists of the sequel.

I find this quote fascinating as I have wondered this as well. I wonder what our lives look like if we could zoom out and see the complex matrix of our interactions with others, the points when we intersect at junctures of street corners, classrooms and theatres. As strangers who think we have never met, we discover we shared the same space years ago at the same time. When we look at each other...perhaps we look familiar. Maybe we have been familiar. I recall being in high school (perhaps the summer of junior year?) and a classmate named Taylor made a rather perplexing comment as we waited for a bus. Someone made a comment that my hair had reddish highlights or silver highlights. Taylor, solemnly observed me and said I had silvery-shiny highlights. He then said he knew me pretty well or something like that. At that point, I said to him that I recall seeing him in our junior high school biology class where he sat at the first row closest to the door entrance, his red and black checkered jacket covering his head. He slept (or pretended to sleep) through all the lectures. I never spoke to him then I think but he was one of the amusing characters in that classroom aside from two girls who came in dressed as if they were pregnant, their backs arched over presumably by the weight of their poofy pillows tied to their bellies or more likely, by the weight of their imagination of a pregnancy. Taylor said quietly and dismissively of that fond bio classroom memory, "I know you much more than that." Hmmmm. Well, maybe in a past life.

I think of random coincidences... maybe they were fated and deliberate rather than the debris of chaos, part of a matrix of a determined future unbeknownst to us. Recently, I joined Facebook.com site and was surprised and bittersweetly delighted to see an email from the younger sister of my late best friend and former bf Ben Walter who happened to have searched for my name on Facebook that very day I signed up. I had wanted to look up Angharad's contact info through a friend of hers since her contact info was not on her site. What a strange and beautiful coincidence that she should have happened to think of searching for my name that very day I signed up.

I wonder about deja vu... is it possible that some people seem familiar to us because they are characters in our lives each time? Perhaps, those who experience deja vu more often re-experience their lives over and over, seeing the same characters again each time. However, for others who are living their lives currently for the first time, perhaps, they don't experience deja vu or a strange sense of familiarity with their existing lives. If we suppose this is true, why then are some of us destined to repeat the same struggles of our previous lives, treading through the same muddy paths, destined to make the same mistakes? Is there a lesson we're supposed to learn but keep missing each time? I like to imagine that perhaps at the moments of our deaths, we are offered two options... a new beginning or a chance to return to our past lives if that would be the only way to see our loved ones again. What if it took thousands of years to be reborn as ourselves or billions of years for the universe to return to this state where we could relive our lives? What if there are some of us who are aware of this cycle somehow in our subconscious and the deep-seated loneliness we may feel stems from the bittersweet recognition that our time is but one quick instance in the billions of years it will take to return and see the ones we love again? Would it not be bittersweet and lovely then to see the face of our loved ones and to re-experience perfect moments with them only to know that it would take millions of years to return to that same moment? What if I've been a lonely nebula floating in the ocean of time, in the womb of the universe waiting to be reborn but alone all this time...

If we could zoom out to witness and map the paths and crossings of our lives like spectators observing our context to our contemporaries, what would the map of our lives look like? Do our paths and interconnections repeat every hundred of years in the paths of our ancestors? Presumably, the world we live in is experienced as smaller to us even as our life footprints span a greater distance. We can travel to further places than our ancestors did in a lifetime. However, could our travels mirror the movements and distances of our ancestors in their clans at their micro-level? I often contemplated when I was in college whether human interactions mirror molecular interactions. Could friendships, relationships, and larger group networks be described in terms such as covalent bonding, ionic bonding, etc?


- Janet Si-Ming Lee
Principal Designer, Siming Cybercreative

Deconstructing the Film "Day of Fire": Deconstructing Lives, Deconstructing Relationships, Deconstructing Life Meaning

On Saturday, I checked out the Boston Film Festival (session 14 showing) at the Boston Loews Theatre. There were four film shorts that comprised the session 14 grouping of films:

• Bombay Skies (21 min)
  
• Club Soda (23 min)
  
• Backyard Suicide (14 min)
  
• Day of Fire (94 min)

I was a bit surprised at how polished they were compared to other indie films I think I recall seeing at other Boston or Somerville movie theatres. I found them of Kendall Square indie film quality even at their current state.

Among the four films I watched, the one that impressed me the most was the film “Day on Fire" directed and written by Jay Anania. The poetic and slow-moving feel of the film with its philosophical metaphors, an artistic fixation with thoughtful, beautiful faces that speak volumes when silent, discoveries of lives intertwined and re-examined at the end remind me of Krzysztof Kieślowski’s films. Kieślowski once said that he casted actresses (e.g. Juliette Binoche, Julie Delpy, and Irene Jacobs) and actors who had thoughtful faces that seemed to say so much even when silent. It was a study of the relationship between several individuals living in NYC — a Palestinian woman Nadzia who is obsessed with learning about all the nitty-gritty, gory details of how a victim experiences a suicide bomb (you find out she lost her parents to a bomb I think), a blond model that befriends the Palestinian, and a lonely middle-aged guy who seems alienated and odd, trying to make an awkward connection with others in the city. There several other secondary characters that you find are all interconnected somehow. At the hospital, Nadzia tape-records a medical physician describing the clinical, dry details of the physical impact and experience of a bombing and while you listen to this endless, grotesque description of bodies torn apart, the camera lingers on beauty during a model’s photo shoot which presents an interesting paradox running in parallel.

The story begins with physicians making an arrangement to transplant the eyes of a donor killed in a recent accident to another victim who has her cornea sliced out by a psychopath. The film seems focused on the intriguing eyes of all the actors even a filthy beggar who interacts with some characters on the streets. Although his face is covered with the dust and grime of the streets, his bright blue eyes are beautiful and pure as they were when he was a child, and perhaps unchanged by time as he peers out at the world. The film probably could have been edited down a bit more but I think it could have been drawn-out and long intentionally since the tape-recording of the bombing was supposed to be described in meticulous detail. The slow deconstruction of a bodies torn by a bomb parallels the slow deconstruction of the relationships of the characters that reveal their universal connection.



- Janet Si-Ming Lee
Principal Designer, Siming Cybercreative

In Search of the Everlasting Perennial?

A small, round glass bowl of orchids
Rests on my square, kitchen table
Delicate, pale pinks crown this simple glass —
Yet their petals are firm, crisp, and young
The unbroken idealist.
The light of a cloudy Sunday afternoon
Illuminates the ribboned lines that spill from dotted centers
The drizzle-beaded bay window
Framed by a pseudo-tropical view of a lush ivy and spider plants adorn the fringes of my window view
Overlooking
Outside, a garden of winter weeds
A square patch of brown, barren earth lie unpopulated with greens
The lawn stoicly waits for a sullen summer.
Oh, spring orchids, so perfectly formed and hopeful
Today.
But what of tomorrow?
I've seen your brothers and sisters wilted and browned,
Your mothers and fathers stooped by age and cynicism
Once beautiful like you are today
Bittersweetly, I look upon your frail beauty and resolute pride
and recognize your fragility
But what of the child
Who sees her first orchid?
Or her first flower?
Was love purely hopeful and non-melancholic once?
Were we too young to remember what it felt like then?
And now too old to forget the loss, we pine for memories
we never lived and never knew?
Should we aspire for a childlike naivete unspoiled by regrets and
long-lived experience?
Or walk a tight-rope life, tottering between tentative hopes and
absolute losses, burdened by the knowledge of life's transience?
Can there be a flower that never dies?
Or must we make do with the perennials that expire
And are reborn anew —
But not the same?
Oh, the sun has broken through the grey clouds!
Can the disappointed hope once again be renewed?


by
Janet Si-Ming Lee
Principal Designer, Siming Cybercreative
May 20, 2007

An homage to "u"

A poem I wrote last summer 2006 when I took a typography design (the study of letterforms and the role of typefaces in communication and information hierarchy development) class at MassArt. This is an homage to typography in memory of my dear best friend Ben Walter (munch 2):

"An Homage to U"

Sorrow sleeps in the nooks of the serifs
Hollow loneliness echoes long around the counters
I'm a letter in black sheep —
in a word out of context
Grouped in with other letters;
A phrase seeking meaning
A floating non-sentence in a nonsensical world.
I kearn myselfcloser to my neighbors only to find them —
Shifting     away, forming new interletter spaces;
Gaps   of   misunderstandings
Someone removes a letter — u —
Beside me, close to me...now gone.
Lonely. I'm aware we're now a mispelled word.
Perhaps, I need a new arrangement... maybe meet new neighbors.
It's all been a scramble of mispelled letters since you've been gone.
Hoping this will all make sense someday.


by
Janet Si-Ming Lee
Principal Designer, Siming Cybercreative
Summer 2006