The minority, The plural — Us
As a member of one of this island’s minority communities, I’ve often felt misunderstood. But I have never been afraid to tell others who I am, where I come from, or where my cultural roots lie. Beyond documentaries about Taiwan’s Indigenous peoples, I feel a deep resonance whenever I see other communities that still hold onto the vitality of their traditions—those rooted in nature-based beliefs, with distinct rhythms, music, and an honest, grounded beauty in everyday life. It is our plurality that forms a people, that shapes culture. We are different—and it is in those differences that the world finds its beauty.
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Those irreversible slices of life
Recently, in a novel I've come to love, I found myself grasping the weight of life's slices. In the story, there is a wicked sorcerer who freezes people in the instant just before tragedy strikes—suspending everything, sealing it into a crystal ball, and building an entire museum from these frozen moments. And isn't film, in its own way, just as cruel? As viewers, we are little more than instruments for collecting tissue slices—slipping into a character's world for a single fleeting moment, wandering through it in passing, only to return, in the blink of an eye, to the reality that is our own.