與爸爸的約會

  

My date with papa.

爸爸每個禮拜到了台北
打來約我吃飯的電話
再也接不到了

愛黏我學我鬧我
更愛亂七八糟寵我的爸爸
再也不能手牽手一起出去玩了

A Time for Everything

To every thing there is a season,
and a time to every purpose under the heaven:

A time to be born, and a time to die;
A time to plant, and a time to pluck up that which is planted;
A time to kill, and a time to heal;
A time to break down, and a time to build up;
A time to weep, and a time to laugh;
A time to mourn, and a time to dance;
A time to love, and a time to hate;
A time of war, and a time of peace.

My Daddy

Never had I thought we will part this way.

No last word, no last glance, not a goodbye, not even time for a sigh, not a thing at all. It still feel like a bad dream. Too surreal to be real. In a split of a second, not barely long enough to blink, my world is upside down. I became the kid who suddenly realized that she is the last one left in the emptied playground, alone in the chilling darkness, wondering where did all the sunshine and happiness go?

Design the memorial hall

Before I was able to start planning and designing the memorial for my father, the first priority is to confirm the memorial location and the number of guests. After numbers of discussion meetings, the consensus from the elders was to rent the largest funeral hall, which seats 1,000 people from the Kaohsiung City Mortuary Office. I paid the site a visit, and was very shocked by the hideous poor condition of the funeral building. My objective was to transform this bare space. There were only 2 weeks to plan and organize, and 48 hours to put everything together. On top of which, I was in mourning and had zero experience in space design.

Do not stand at my grave and weep

Do not stand at my grave and weep
I am not there,
I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow.
I am the diamond glints on snow.

I am the sunlight on the ripened grain.
I am the gentle autumn's rain.

When you awaken in the morning hush,
I am the swift uplifting rush
of quiet birds in circled flight.
I am the soft stars that shine at night.

Do not stand at my grave and cry.
I am not there.
I did not die.




千の風になって
by 秋川雅史