In those days that I had insomniac nights, I had a curious interest in frangipanis, trees, and potted plants. LZ’s living room had three potted plants resting on an old-fashioned book cabinet near the window. One night, while he and his father were watching television with the lights off, I quickly did a pen sketch of the potted plants and the window. That sketch, entitled "Potted Plants", was to become one of the best sketches I did for the year. I even did a canvas of the same scene which Dr Ho liked a lot, though we both agreed that the sketch was better than the painting. What I wanted to capture was the feeling of the fading light shining through the window, like the fading light that shone through the windows of my old house before it was sold.
LZ’s place was coated with oil and carpeted with dust. While I enjoyed my freedom, I did not quite enjoy staying there. There was probably more dirt and grime in his place than I could clean in a week. That aside, his father often cooked some pungent Chinese medicine and I suspect LZ himself could not tolerate the smell. The only things I loved in his house were the potted plants and the windows. The potted plants evoked a feeling of ominous uncertainty. Some of their leaves were large and thick, others were thorny. My love for windows began about seven or eight years ago, when I saw the window as a paradox of both entrapment and hope...
(Excerpt from an unpolished writing "Holidays")
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