The writing for May 30th, Saturday, will be revised from time to time.
Subjected to my memory of the conversations during the walks.
Subjected to my memory of the conversations during the walks.
First draft: 6/2/2026
Latest update: 7/30/2026
5/30/2026
[12 am]
I can hardly sleep. My mom is blinded by the eye mask, sleeping next to me. A faint light, from a screen, is shining upon my face - the only light I could have. I am reviewing the maps, trying to remember the walking route.
[7 am]
Waking up before the time alarm. I am sitting in a café close to the commencement hall, looking outside the window, eating a pear. People rushing in and out, some wearing the same clothes as mine, the other are not.
[8 am]
Waiting, waiting with people. Sometimes talking to them. Noise flooding into ears without thoughts.
[9 am]
Commencement begins. People are having speeches. Later, waiting, waiting in line to go on the stage. A man is speaking out loud of my name, I step forward, I take a roll of paper, I shake hands and say thank you to some people, then I go off the stage, back to my seat.
[11:40 am]
I am rushing out of the ceremony. I am walking fast while taking off my cap, noise, sound, lights around me are fading in flux. Things flow upon me. What a fuzzy world. Looking out of the window, wind is hanging up on the trees so tight and intense that the gusty weather seems unreal to me. My dad is running back home, hoping to bring me a warmer jacket. My mom is with me, helping me change the clothes. Cynthia is going back to her car to carry out the equipment for Michael while he is setting up the camera, waiting for me outside the convention center. People buzz around, telling me it’s hard, it's abnormally cold outside.
[12:10 pm]
Back to my tables, right on time at 12:10pm. In a short distance, I see Abram standing in front of the table, facing back to me. I am approaching him.
Coming out, we walk side by side. The wind starts blowing in a crazy force when we are standing in the cross of the street. S Main St. is veiled. Under the rain. No runners, no seagull, no bike, no passerby, no history. Only a few cars drive through. The storm is so loud that it keeps the street extremely quiet. This morning you and your partner saw off their parents, who also came to Providence for the graduation. And now you are here, going on a walk which you almost forgot.
Why would you forget? I am questioning myself. Thinking about you is the one signing on May 22nd, the first day of the reading, who left at first then immediately rushed back to the table and signed the agreement. I would rather blame it on time. Today is May 30th, 7 days could allow a life to shift far away. You say everything happens for a reason. All at once. Thus, missing an appointment which is out of the main life track seems reasonable and predictable.
We suddenly stop by the giant glass window. As you are trying to point out the state where you originally came from, demonstrating it with your hands through an imaginative geographic. You are wondering how much I know about American geology.
Walking through the cross of Sheldon St and Hope St, Michael’s childhood house - my dear friend, also the photographer filming the walk - shows up as planned. You pointed out to the next building, introducing it as the first apartment you lived in this city in your first year studying here - a three-year master program relates to theatre and its theory. Two buildings next to each other, I think about that, while turning to the next street before it vanishes.
“What made you sign? I mean, you were in a rush to sign the agreement.”
“I thought it for a while, if I did not sign now, I would be thinking about it in the following days. And if I return later someday, I might have no chance to sign. So why not do it now?”
Yes, you say, it’s freedom. You are never sure about freedom. Are we in the vacuum? Perhaps, at least, I would rather agree with you at this point. When thinking hard about freedom, I feel you frown a bit. Wind keeps forcing the body, we are walking uphill. I say, almost. We are almost there.
It seems like I have never truly walked on this bike path in such a severe condition. The weather. We arrive, bending slightly and leaning towards to the bridge to place our pieces, a large and a small rusty bolt, on the bench in front of the bridge. It happens again, for every person who sees the face of the bridge for the first time, that awe. You are moving towards it, as your eyes are gradually being attached on the tip of the up structure. I guess so. I feel so. I believe so. Your attention shifts from the lower existence and directly surpasses the air up to the sky, landing on the giant. For a moment, I am not sure about the weight of this shift, as I also feel being watched even more. Your hand almost comes through the sealed gate while taking a picture of it. The awe turns into a gaze later.
We are on our way back. You say the weather should be better when my last walking happens. I wish, I think. Knowing people once climbing up to the bridge, the conversation shifts towards the danger in a relationship. I wonder, how to think about that, the constraint between your loved one’s concerns and the desire/impulse to do something that you extremely want to devote. Any solution? A love constraint a person. It seems like, an unconditional agreement has no other choice but to compromise. As for you, you eventually decided to stop doing that as you feel bad to feel your loved one worrying about you. For a while, I hesitate and doubt about it with few reactions to you. We keep walking until arriving the pizza shop. I say you deserve a nice slice.
[1:55 pm]
The lady who came yesterday returns. It seems like she is almost waiting for this to happen. As I am five minutes late, I was rushing to the table. I had no clue of what my second participant would look like, as it was signed before I realized. At this moment, the lady in the orange, me, and the second participant and his friend, four of us were running into each other in front of the material table. She sees me and asks if the walk would happen today. I say it is happening now and I am going to take the second walk. I forget the detailed expression on her face, yet I can recall her impression hanging around the air.
I am looking around at the table. For a moment, I see no one is nearby, even though many people are walking and looking around this area. A note is tucked underneath the second agreement, giving me both hope and despair. It’s your handwriting.
“As per the contract I was present May 30, 2026 at 1:50pm to participate. You were not here. I can understand why this may be the case. I am open to renegotiations…I Geo bear witness to Gaca having been here at 1:50pm :)”
(*I am not sure about his handwriting of “Gaca”. It needs to be confirmed if I could get a chance to reconnect with him in the future.)
A friend of yours join the walk unexpectedly. As the witness, as another walker. You choose the snow from blizzard. I pick up the branch. I refuse to tell you Abram’s choice of route as you shall make you own decision. You also take a brochure of the grad show with you.
Before walking on the route B, you randomly run into someone you’ve known, saying you are going to participate an artwork. I detach and am debating to that. Then, you ask if you and your friend could smoke during walking. 40 minutes look easy for you, I relief. You are a walker; walking as your passion as your way to navigate the city. Also, surprisingly, you are familiar with the bridge. We immediately come into the agreement that shall bring your friend to the bridge as he is from Boston and has never been to the bridge.
You admit you didn’t sit down and listen to me reading that day. As a curator for local public art in this city, you are intrigued by my major. The label on the floor shows ‘digital + media’. You feel confused by the time seeing my body is there, a human voice without any other interpreting format. You wonder why I end up in this way. I am trying to find some English words to fulfill the answer. I eventually
In 2019, your daughter was born and it’s the first year you knew this bridge. Later, you would go to the bridge after dropping her off nearby. The story seems familiar, I say, or I wonder, we take it for granted, the bridge is a transition. A vacuumed place full of rust. Yes. It is.
We are walking on the pathway that passes underneath the section of I-90. The weather is less gusty as before. Yet I start coughing out of control. You friendly confront me saying I have been walking for a while. Without words, we stop at the front of a large, inclined platform that covered with tall grass for a while, wondering and gazing the light shedding on the waving greenness after storm. At one moment, I could hardly recall the route. The branch is waving up to the air, as if it could show the direction. I fail. We take some detours and eventually still miss the tunnel I supposed to pass through. Weirdly, I don’t even worry about not getting to the bridge. There are many ways direct to the bridge, we both know that, but here, now, only this route shall lead us to the bridge we want to go. It is the rule of the game. I do not say these words to you, but I am so determined that I take advantage of your patience only to fail in figuring out the route.
We are here now. I let you keep the jar after you pour the water on the bench. As you’ve completed the return of the snow from the blizzard this year. Me and your friend lay the branch and the brick down. We see each other off without approaching to the gate even if your friend has never been here before.
Later, as I am almost leaving, I see the big rusty nail that Abram was carrying with has already disappeared.
[3:35 pm]
Returning from the second walk, I have an intuition to walk by myself after two walks with people. Firmly, to think by myself. I say this to me at the same time hoping to meet the last person at the material table. I know I am not running late so I walk in a decent pace. I am approaching to the table, wondering if she is the person I imagined a few days ago.
photo at the bridge on 5.30