Post by duckie on Mar 25, 2011 11:16:26 GMT -5
There is no room for happiness in politics. No room for a nation to have had a pleasant past, free of fighting and betrayal. All nations must watch their backs for that proverbial dagger headed their way, as well as their fronts for open declarations of war, leading to so much anxiety and distrust that it builds up, clogging in their throats, stifling their heartbeats against the soft whistle of air, in and out, keep breathing because that's all you have left.
Despite that, Taiwan thinks that maybe she can consider her not-so-long history to have been... relatively happy. Sure, she's belonged to others ever since her existence was discovered, never to be her own, but none of those who have owned her have been unwontedly cruel- any actions of theirs were directly spurred by actions of hers, or actions that her people took. She remembers Holland, tall and pale and frightening, but kind until her people attacked his.
He was vicious, then, no mercy, and it causes her blood to rush in her veins, heart racing to even think of it.
An inhale of fresh air, and she can taste the ocean in the back of her throat, though her gaze is distant, unable to see the white sand beneath her feet or the clear, bright blue waters that lap, softly, softly at the beach, smoothing it over until it gleams, wet and compact. No, soft brown eyes see only the past, so distant, so important and at the same time, so pointless, now.
She remembers China, over so many long stretches of years. Remembers him forcing the westerners from her soils, remembers aiyah! Where are your clothes! and wondering why in the world she would need wrappings in the middle of the summer, remembers becoming his little sister. She remembers fine silk like a shroud around her body, hiding it from the sun, remembers running away and casting the fine garments to the ground in favor of running around, dirt on her feet and wind caressing her body, free.
She remembers the war, one of many, more westerners allowed on her lands, tall with hair like the sun, eyes green and blue and so bright that she felt she should shield her own eyes, and surely sight so dark should never meet that so light. Remembers words, from nation, from people, she never knew which, she is cute, is she not and the land is nice enough and bristling at the implications, only held back by what Gege called 'decorum' and his fingers resting lightly on her shoulder, trembling.
Held back by knowing that he couldn't afford another spat with these nations, that he was weak, so weak.
She remembers him by her side when America arrived, hand on her shoulder again, but steadying, pushing her into the short bow, childish words begging for forgiveness for her people tumbling from her lips unbidden. She recalls peeking up at him, in awe of the bright hair and bright eyes and sun-darkened skin, like hers was, so long ago. His easy grin, so different from any other nation she's ever met. And of course, he left too soon, and once more she was alone with China.
And so many years later, remembers watching him leave her island, as the smaller man approached, hello, I am your older brother, and she could tell that he was so, so old, not as old as Gege, but still old. Remembers lessons on manners, remembers fifty years of being confined, buried in heavy layers of kimono, face powdered to hide soft sun-begotten freckles, until she was so pale from being hidden away that powders were no longer needed.
A mere fifty years, and yet, she grew closed to Japan than she ever had been with China, onii-san, I don't want to leave, I'll miss you, still a child's words, though now from a grown woman's mouth as she hugged him, echoing over the waters between them as he left her island in defeat, escorted by the tall, stern American.
She remembers her quarrels with Gege, I want to be free! and the support of Korea and America- it didn't last long, both falling away to ally with China instead, but she appreciated it while it did last. And she remembers before that, before all of it, slipping into memories more calming than any herbal tea could ever be.
Naked and barefoot, dancing in the rain and rejoicing in the sunlight. Learning to hunt and to fish, swimming along her coast and giggling at the tickle of slick silver scales against her sides. A young woman opening her arms, welcoming her during the long, cold winter nights. The same woman, older, nuzzling her hair and reassuring her without words that she is just as important as any of the woman's real children. Siblings who are not siblings, tugging her hair and running away, giggling. Still a child while they all grow up around her, hard faced and angry when shipwrecked sailors try to use the land as safe shelter.
Rocks thrown, and one man, dark and tearful, a language that her people do not understand but somehow she does, please, Ilha Formosa, beautiful child, why do you do this? Hesitating before growing angrier, throwing the rock in her hand and sliding away into a dense copse of trees. Years later, the woman's last breath rattling in her chest, and she realizes that she will watch all of her people die.
And then, like now, she ran to the sea. Naked and barefoot as in those days, she steps forward, letting cold water lap at her feet and ankles. Farther, no hesitation, until the waves are larger, washing from her breasts up against her shoulders. She shifts, laying on her back, too far from the beach for anyone to see her, self-consciousness unneeded. It's only her and the ocean, and she smiles, eyes closing. For all that has happened, she is happy, no, content, and she lets her worries go, lets the water carry them, and her, away.
Despite that, Taiwan thinks that maybe she can consider her not-so-long history to have been... relatively happy. Sure, she's belonged to others ever since her existence was discovered, never to be her own, but none of those who have owned her have been unwontedly cruel- any actions of theirs were directly spurred by actions of hers, or actions that her people took. She remembers Holland, tall and pale and frightening, but kind until her people attacked his.
He was vicious, then, no mercy, and it causes her blood to rush in her veins, heart racing to even think of it.
An inhale of fresh air, and she can taste the ocean in the back of her throat, though her gaze is distant, unable to see the white sand beneath her feet or the clear, bright blue waters that lap, softly, softly at the beach, smoothing it over until it gleams, wet and compact. No, soft brown eyes see only the past, so distant, so important and at the same time, so pointless, now.
She remembers China, over so many long stretches of years. Remembers him forcing the westerners from her soils, remembers aiyah! Where are your clothes! and wondering why in the world she would need wrappings in the middle of the summer, remembers becoming his little sister. She remembers fine silk like a shroud around her body, hiding it from the sun, remembers running away and casting the fine garments to the ground in favor of running around, dirt on her feet and wind caressing her body, free.
She remembers the war, one of many, more westerners allowed on her lands, tall with hair like the sun, eyes green and blue and so bright that she felt she should shield her own eyes, and surely sight so dark should never meet that so light. Remembers words, from nation, from people, she never knew which, she is cute, is she not and the land is nice enough and bristling at the implications, only held back by what Gege called 'decorum' and his fingers resting lightly on her shoulder, trembling.
Held back by knowing that he couldn't afford another spat with these nations, that he was weak, so weak.
She remembers him by her side when America arrived, hand on her shoulder again, but steadying, pushing her into the short bow, childish words begging for forgiveness for her people tumbling from her lips unbidden. She recalls peeking up at him, in awe of the bright hair and bright eyes and sun-darkened skin, like hers was, so long ago. His easy grin, so different from any other nation she's ever met. And of course, he left too soon, and once more she was alone with China.
And so many years later, remembers watching him leave her island, as the smaller man approached, hello, I am your older brother, and she could tell that he was so, so old, not as old as Gege, but still old. Remembers lessons on manners, remembers fifty years of being confined, buried in heavy layers of kimono, face powdered to hide soft sun-begotten freckles, until she was so pale from being hidden away that powders were no longer needed.
A mere fifty years, and yet, she grew closed to Japan than she ever had been with China, onii-san, I don't want to leave, I'll miss you, still a child's words, though now from a grown woman's mouth as she hugged him, echoing over the waters between them as he left her island in defeat, escorted by the tall, stern American.
She remembers her quarrels with Gege, I want to be free! and the support of Korea and America- it didn't last long, both falling away to ally with China instead, but she appreciated it while it did last. And she remembers before that, before all of it, slipping into memories more calming than any herbal tea could ever be.
Naked and barefoot, dancing in the rain and rejoicing in the sunlight. Learning to hunt and to fish, swimming along her coast and giggling at the tickle of slick silver scales against her sides. A young woman opening her arms, welcoming her during the long, cold winter nights. The same woman, older, nuzzling her hair and reassuring her without words that she is just as important as any of the woman's real children. Siblings who are not siblings, tugging her hair and running away, giggling. Still a child while they all grow up around her, hard faced and angry when shipwrecked sailors try to use the land as safe shelter.
Rocks thrown, and one man, dark and tearful, a language that her people do not understand but somehow she does, please, Ilha Formosa, beautiful child, why do you do this? Hesitating before growing angrier, throwing the rock in her hand and sliding away into a dense copse of trees. Years later, the woman's last breath rattling in her chest, and she realizes that she will watch all of her people die.
And then, like now, she ran to the sea. Naked and barefoot as in those days, she steps forward, letting cold water lap at her feet and ankles. Farther, no hesitation, until the waves are larger, washing from her breasts up against her shoulders. She shifts, laying on her back, too far from the beach for anyone to see her, self-consciousness unneeded. It's only her and the ocean, and she smiles, eyes closing. For all that has happened, she is happy, no, content, and she lets her worries go, lets the water carry them, and her, away.