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22 november Here it comesTakes so long to post the second story...
This is a story taking place in a rural country somewhere in China. The friend of my father ZH was walking along a country road. He caught a vague figure of a farmer working in the field. Why he was sitting on the ground cutting the wild grass instead of stooping? Curiosity drove him walk closer to him, and then to his surprised, he discovered that this farmer had no legs. ZH opened the conversation with him by some light questions, like discussing the weather and the crops. When asked about why straining himself on the farming work so hard to him, the farmer replied with a long story.
He used to fight in the big wars against the Japanese. One of his dearest fellows was severely wounded in one battle. Shortly before his cessation of breath, he told him to look after his baby girl whose mother died at her birth. A fierce batter as it was, he sworn immediately he would bring up the little girl at any cost. As if misfortunes never come singly, he himself lost both of his legs in the succeeding battle. When the wars ended, he went back with the girl, still leading a poor life. Now the girl was in college, and he hadn't married. All he concerned was how to work hard enough to support the girl. ZH could see how much he loved her, with a heart of a biological father.
He said:"I had promised him. I did, and she is my daughter, my family." Getting wounded is only physical aspect of damage but what is always difficult to heal is the psychological damage. PTSD is a mental illness hard to treat because soldiers or victims involved so much personal feeling. Losing a fellow with those flying bullets and earsplitting canons in sight gave him pain inside that would never vanish, making him cry mutely in dreams, only the girl the dead warrior left gave him sense of meaningfulness and ease at heart; yet the stronger bang could be disappointment. In this world of profit and interest, it's been long since we question ourselves "what if we lost the war? are we ready as they were to fight without hesitation?"
It reminds me of the article called "Soldier's Heart" by Louis Simpson. The farmer's heart must be bleeding inwardly. 15 november Pub NightHonestly, pub is the last place for me to choose for killing time. I felt kinda lost in the dim light. Even talking with friends becomes the most difficult thing in the noisy background. The "Shut up and Get Drunk*" thing is really far from my expected life.
For the celebration of Crystal and Vivian's birthdays, we went to a pub called "Wan Xiang Hua", talking and chatting and playing "Mafia" until 2 am, and ---Kareoke is the next on our schedule. Completely losing the sense of time, we sang. ...We got dorm at half past seven in the morning, and I threw myself into my warm dreaming-cradling. I woke at 10 am feeling as if it's already 3 o'clock in the afternoon. It's really not a big deal to others but I had never stayed up an entire night before, even the new year's eve. Yet, it's really a fresh experience so far. I found that sometimes the noisiness can truly make my mind spinning, not because of dizziness, but letting the mind scuttering through a new angle to view the environment, view the people I'm familiar with. Who smiles the whole night, who laughes with the hand covering her mouth, who kept challenging others to complete tough "dares", who is so shy to even talk with others, drinking her own beer...We are "rediscovering" each other.
 Maybe girls' binge is the opposite of guys'. Soberness is the main theme. There were times I felt I am even more sober than bathing in the day light. The absence of brightness gives me calmness and objectivity, and casting away myself for a night feels exciting. Peut etre, we need time to be another self, to rest "the conventional one".
 *the name of a pub we passed by.
03 november AftermathI finally finished one task...
Not easy.
Don't know what to say all of a sudden.
A disorientation of mind.
...
Weeks ago, Dad told me three true stories that touched my heart. I'm so eager to share them with you. This is the first one.
Hua was still a prisoner 3 years ago. If not for SARS, he would have been out and free one year earlier. The time passed so slow behind bars. He missed his mother and father so much, and also his ex-wife who divorced him before he got inside. Sometimes he thought of killing himself to end all the guilt and suffereing yet he heard the voice telling him to hold on and wait for the whole new start. Sometimes he was so longing to a bite of a fried chicken and he made a promise that the first thing he would buy after getting out was to buy one hot fried chicken. As time went on, he got two letters separately from his relative, saying his mother and father had all passed away.He was nearly collapsed. Everything had gone...
Thanks for his guitar skill, guards and wardon liked him a lot and all became his students to play guitar. He got a shortened sentence and after 13 years, plus the restless waiting of the abatement of SARS outside, he got on the train home, with a fried chicken in the bag. 13 years, in desperation and longing, he was there, on the way home though he had no close relatives left now, to freedom and to the rebirth. Yet, when he took out the chicken, he suddenly felt no appitite at all. It was a weird feeling. He felt he had cloyed with it even without a single bite. When he got home, he was stunned by the desolation, the coldness of an empty house...even though he thought he was prepared to see this. Everything became hard again yet he had to swallow all this... ---It sounds like a story that can't be more ordinary, yet I feel an unspeakable bitterness...something I don't know how to express correctly. The old picture of an outlaw is fading in front of me...No matter what he had done in the past, what I care is the life he will face; serving time have rehabilitated a soul...that is enough. It's worthy.
Dad always wants me to remember, those who once were in jail are not all "bad guys" in my stereotyped thinking...They possess some experience we don't have and some more mature thinking of cherishing a person or a loving sentiment. Sometimes a deviding line between black and white is ambiguous... Look around my side, I can say few people are not the beholder of some kind of discrimination of ex-prisioners, which is indeed a big problem for them to live on as a normal being. |
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