When I was not Biking at Night
People wandering in the campus could have never noticed that the size of this school itself is an interesting subject, which I wonder a lot when strolling, by any means-on foot or on a bike, around the environment. The territory of our university, on one hand, does not widely expand like those located in the centre of the pineapple field in southern counties, but on the other hand, not as small as those which timidly sited in the landscape of big cities. I notice it a soon as the first month I moved into the dormitory and at night, when everything still unfamiliar to me set into a more uneasy darkness of the nightfall, drifting about every places within the confinement of this school and getting myself more acquainted with it. Though, as I mentioned above, I took both measures when I was travelling in school, riding on a bicycle became closer to my preference as days went by. Anyone can easily figure out the time and energy one saves by biking instead of walking, on account of the geographic term “time-space compression”, when hurrying to the next classroom.
And consequently the nightly walk was replaced by biking every night. How should I put this? I simply found it so pleasant to roam through this field, especially at night, under the camouflage from this black velvet curtain. To put forth more directly, ‘tis the silence and the chance to be all alone that attracts me the most. How? There was just too much annoyance going on at day time, social events with classmates, courses to attend and the crowded roads I had to take. Not that I think so highly of myself that all above were looked down by me, but, as I firmly believed even till now, everyone needs the time and space of his or her own so that one can truly learn to appreciate the value and be comfortable with one’s identity, the characteristics that often got lost in the mingling with huge crowds. You are not likely to find them in the classroom with students be orderly seated, or a busy-going diner, let alone the room in the dorm with roommates coming and going all the time. It was the nights at NCU that I find most attractive.
So many nights I have raced in the chilly wind, from one path to another, mapping an imaginary campus inside my head. But not until that night when I first realize another magical aspect with the size of this school. Indeed the whole process was fully sped up by way of the bike at hand. Every main thoroughfare, whether flowers-garnished or not, dimly lighted or not, has the track of me trekking by. So this had been the routine of my life here before I accidently broke it.
What was that fragrance, I thought to myself. A sweet scent diluted in the thin night air I seemed to grasp for seconds but the next moment, it was gone.
That night, I left 107theatre with a mood so deeply, gravely shaken up. What was the film exhibited that night, I don’t remember. What conjures up every time with much vividness is the swell inside of me that sought for an exit to vent all the overloaded emotions. So I hopped onto my bike, as always, and then started to pedal so hard till I reached the speed of 30km/hr, I assumed. I circled the campus through every major route over and again, in hope that once my strength was worn out, so would be my extravagant sentiments. The result was sore legs and thighs, heavy panting and emotions that hadn’t gone anywhere else. I thought I shall go into sleep on this condition, before I accidently came to a path that, though lampposts could be seen, no single trace of light existed. This part of the school, now under construction, has always been dimly illuminated as if it never occurs to people that there is such a place that still belongs to the campus.
When I dropped by, the fainted floral aroma caught my full sense, especially when sank in the night, one’s vision is deprived by the heavy darkness. There only left the most primitive sense of olfaction that lies quietly in the instinct of human beings of which the importance has been constantly overlooked. Therefore I stopped all the effort with the bicycle and followed this almost barbarian-like sense, with a much sophisticated ardent, I must add, tracing down that beautifully created scent wherever it was emitted and whatever kind of flower it had belonged to. Not so surprisingly the source was the gardenia, a fragrant flower commonly seen planted at the front yard or the balcony of one’s house, for the rich smell it produces in full bloom. But what’s surprising is that how can a vast plantation of gardenia alongside the road be left in darkness, almost deserted, without attention or admiration from passers-by.
Let’s turn the clock to the daytime and we’ll see that when this relatively narrow and less-passed-through path is full of sunshine, people, if any, notice only the destination ahead of them. What’s more, it has often the vision that dominated a human’s sensory world. Wouldn’t it be a great pity that the fragrance of gardenia left unrecognized?
What does it have to do with the size I mentioned? Two aspects.
As I made use of the term “time-space compression”, you get to the destination with less time consumption if bicycle is at help. But the shorter time would also mean that you lose the time to carefully examine what’s going on around. I couldn’t have notice it until I slow down my bike. Otherwise, the delicate smell would be no difference to the swift of breeze. Do go so fast! That’s what I perceived.
Second aspect emphasizes on the human senses. We unfortunately rely too much on our eyes solely, regardless of other sense unless being triggered. When sitting in front of the desk, reading through page by page, did you just realize what was the smell coming and going through the nostrils as we respire? A light one, perhaps. But that could also count as one, whether it’s actually from the living foliage or the wooden smell from the aged cabinet. It is the sense of smell that goes deepest into our organic form, and even the emotional sphere. Pheromone is perceived through a spot located inside our olfactory organs. Smell, good or bad, helps the storage of memory, situational, as it is proposed by cognitivist.
To conclude, how the size of our school is magical is that the size, though regulated by the fences around, is nevertheless variable. Different speed and another perspective of sense give way to a new map of the campus. It could the map of one’s memory, or the smell, as I put forth. This is the practice to the mastery of multiple points of view. A walk can be more than a walk, and the campus can do more as well.
