Keep the key for me
20220430 14:00-15:10
I locked myself in eight chains, each with a different lock. I handed out the keys randomly to passersby and asked, “If this were a metaphor, what would it mean to you?”
Two young women stopped. One was an Asian international student who didn’t understand Mandarin, so we switched to English. She thought it symbolized life. The other asked, “But what do you get from this?” I said, “Maybe it sparks something in people.”
A girl sitting on the back of a scooter looked too shy to approach. I quietly placed a key in the scooter’s front compartment. After I walked away, my helper Yung told me the girl leaned forward to peek inside, then turned to watch me from a distance.
A man in his thirties sitting outside a café said, “Cool!” He thought I was about to do a magic trick. To him, it symbolized the restrictions of the pandemic. He worked nearby but said it was his first time on Chifeng Street, and it felt like fate that he happened to be there.
At a bus stop bench, two high school girls who had just finished exams said they thought the performance symbolized freedom. When I asked what freedom meant, one said, “Doing what you want.” The other added, “But choosing from limited options.” They both felt their lives had been free enough so far.
A grandmother holding her granddaughter’s hand pointed at me and said, “So cute.” Surprised, I asked, “Really? Cute?” She smiled, “Yes, very cute!”
Back near Zhongshan, a woman looked at me with a wry smile and said, “You remind me of my arthritis.” I sat down beside her and asked to hear her story.
She used to be full of energy, organizing events for thousands. About three weeks ago, her arthritis flared up badly. The pain, she said, was so intense that it completely crushed her spirit to fight. I found myself in tears. I told her I felt ashamed, because while the pain I was expressing—real or symbolic—could eventually be undone, she had no choice but to carry hers every day.
Seeing me cry, she asked if I had tried anything to relieve my pain. I said maybe what I was doing right now was my own kind of rehabilitation. We hugged and said goodbye.
A woman in glasses said, “Ah, this is performance art. I’ve seen these online!” She also thought it symbolized freedom.
Two NTUST students passed by. One whispered to the other, “Look, that’s so cool.” As I approached, they looked down at their phones, muttering, “Don’t come over, don’t hurt us…” Both were in the hip-hop club. One insisted on trying a key and managed to unlock one of the chains for me.
A brother and sister sat on the sidewalk eating okonomiyaki. The sister thought it symbolized how our lives are controlled by others. The brother said it reflected the powerless and the lack of unity in society. He said one day he would stand up for change.
I told them my question—and even my own interpretation—was just one of countless possibilities. I was happy if it sparked any new thoughts.
My helper Hua told me that a father with a child scoffed, “What a lunatic.” A shopkeeper ran outside to take a photo. A couple quietly discussed whether I might be an art or design student.
Originally, I planned to let others unlock me. But right before I started, I realized how strange it was to chain myself and expect others to set me free. So I changed the plan: I gave away every key and kept none for myself. I asked people to keep them for good.
Afterward, I spent 40 minutes in a convenience store watching tutorial videos, trying to unlock the chains around my neck, wrists, and ankles with a hair clip. No luck. A nearby scooter shop couldn’t help either. Eventually, I went to an old locksmith. It took another 30 minutes to free me. His name was Chen Jianguo, and he told me he likes fishing.
I don’t believe the answer lies outside us. But when we project it onto something else and reflect it back, it somehow feels more convincing.
Special thanks to: Hua for photography, Yung for technical help, and DaWang for letting me prepare at her breakfast shop.
At a scooter repair shop on the corner, a little boy kept peeking at me from behind a motorcycle. When I approached, he backed away. A slightly older girl called out, “Come check it out! Nothing to be afraid of!” She was a fifth grader who said her weakest subject was math. I told her that the feeling of trying your best but still not getting the answer might be a little like what I was doing now.
The shop owners asked, “If you give away all the keys, what will you do in the end?” I said I didn’t know yet, but I’d figure something out—just like in life. They laughed and said, “We close at seven!” I joked, “If I come back asking for a key, you’d better charge me ten grand!”
As I walked away, I saw an older woman filming me.
A man in his fifties outside the park first thought I was ridiculous. We ended up having a long talk. In the end, he didn’t take a key but thanked me for the insight. The exchange felt like a peaceful debate between people with opposing political views who still respected each other.
