Snow

My first experience of snow is actually fake.

As I grew up in a Taiwanese family, my mom, for her own reasons, somehow kept a western holiday tradition that kids received Christmas gifts in socks and we decorated a little plastic tree with loads stars, Santas and shimmering balls. And yes, fluffy white cotton pads with a slight medicine smell which we bought from pharmacy. Limited edition candy floss with holiday smell for kids who live on a subtropical island.

That was our Christmas, and imagination of a far far away land where people speak totally different languages, eat turkey for this peaceful day. We had our snow tree in our heads when sleeping with enthusiastic expectation for gifts next morning.

Second time was when travelling in Hokaido at winter 2003 when I was early 20’s, company outing with crazy colleagues in advertising agency. We all acted like kids, busy threw each other into snow on pavement, like we finally had the chance to show our passion (or anger) to each other outside work, about 15cm depth of cold pale pillows everywhere, amazingly lucky that none of us got hurt.

It was a morning when I opened the window and saw quiet Otaru, totally silent, like there were only me and snow in this universe. For some reason that everything in front of my eyes seemed to be grayish when I was in my early 20’s, things were all looking back at me under a dark coloured veil. Now I somehow realise that maybe it was exactly the way how I saw things. However, this snow appeared right in front of me, purely white, and suddenly stood out among all the gray background, like a punch right at my head, gently fierce. 

England was the 3^rd time. Finally I made it to the land which I imagined when I was a child. People do speak a totally different language; even I tried to equip myself with 6 years of English learning at school, yet the accent still often made me fall in foggy blank. December 2004, one night I was hanging out with some foreign school mates in a warm kitchen, talking talking talking. Suddenly a riot outside the window, it was snowing.

Little white petals falling from the sky, all the Asian and Mediterranean students rushed out, playing, taking photos, making silly poses, laughing outside, including me. Our first snow in England. I still remember one Nordic friend remained sitting in the kitchen holding beer in his hand with an interesting smile and said “this is not snow at all.” I laughed. In some way, I started feeling the veil is fading, little by little, maybe the snow, maybe the time in England, maybe my friend’s note about my first snow in the UK, or just simply the mist woke me up.

About 1 year after, I stepped on the Land with Midnight Sun. A short trip planning by me and my ex, my first time to see his town, and maybe also the last time I see him in life. It was only October, but snow already visited the Vikings.

We walked around in the woods, thick white velvet layered on numerous pine trees. Dark everywhere, trees quietly whispered, only faint light shinning from a distance, I knew that guides the way home for me, though I only wished to stay there forever at that certain moment, whilst forever of course wasn’t listed as one of the options for me back then. Snow seemed to be heavily white to me this time, still pure, with a sensible weight in my head.

Then I have never seen snow ever since.

A good friend once asked me whether I wrote about snow before whilst he is on his path chasing winter all around the world, not his first intention to do so, of course, but interesting that it has became a distinguishing part of his journey.

My first snow experience ended along with the unavoidable process of growing up, one day when we couldn’t remember where we put the tree was last year, maybe somewhere deep in an unknown cabinet, so we gave up. I always dream of Hokaido for its natural beauty, amazingly delicious seafood and friendly smiles there, yet one shocking day that TV news said Hokaido was visited by an unbearable earthquake early this year, damaged. That night in the UK still remains vivid, I always find it funny that how people see things in varied ways because of culture difference.

As for that night in Norwegian woods, it still quietly sits in my head in a vague space. Snow fades eventually, as an irreversible rule in the world. “Thank you, thank you, thank you for being so beautiful.” Little girl said before the night falls to her plastic tree with fake snow.

That was me.