Thursday night was not peaceful. While I was lying on my back trying to sleep,
it seemed all the organs in my belly were constantly churning, making the kind
of noise reminding me of a xenomorph. What were they bitching about? I hadn't
eaten in the past 24 hours. Maybe that had to do with it. Dad passed away in the
morning, my cousin broke the news that we had been ready for. He was 80 years
old. Within one hour, thinking about dad, I decided to fast.
Dad and I had a turbulent relationship since the day I was born. At a young age,
I did not understand what he and mom fought about but sided with mom
instinctively. He was always the one leaving us for his mom and sister. There
were many tender moments between me and dad. He loved me as his only kid, no
doubt about that, but not exclusively and at times with pitifully little commitment.
Long story in short, Mom's bitterness passed on to me and, growing up, I said
many hurtful things to him. With time, I could try to imagine his upbringing in
that dark era and to put myself in his shoes. I thought I had figured out a few
things about him and meanwhile, disappointment had been replaced by guilt
because of my long absence abroad.
What I could not reconcile with was his unwillingness to fight his circumstances.
As long as I knew him, he lived in an unamed fear and it manifested in everything
he did. If he had ever fought it, he gave up too easily, citing political propaganda,
cultrual cliches, and later his age and
frailty to justify. His many virtues had no edge and the goodness he doled out to
others were taken for granted. Living by himself, he was constantly taken
advantage of until we hired Mr. Zhao. A firm believer in medicine, Chinese or
western, he never seemed interested in trying some self-reliance and changing
his lifestyle on his own. My exhortations for learning English and later a
better diet and regular exercises never worked. Basically, he lived his last
years fearing and being dazed by death, like a deer in headlights.
But why? Was it the hardship the family suffered as a result of grandpa's
persecution, Communism brainwash, the Confucian heirachy, or the cruelty of the
tribe? Or was it genetic? I couldn't nail a single source. He could have experienced
something darker than I could imagine. I knew he had tried to run away from
something. In that sense, I did too. Only he fled the village and I the country.
Dad's weaknesses, on the other hand, had more than motivated me. I tried to be
whatever he was not. While he loved Qu Yuan(屈原), I saw the guy as nothing but
a crybaby who killed himself for an unappreciating boss. Instead, I empathized
more with Li Ling(李陵), who cited: "Loyal but not to the point of suicide, I see death
as coming home. (虽忠不烈，视死如归)" in his letter to his friend 苏武 when the latter tried to persuade him to return to Han. Dad worshipped his mom to the
end. Yet I saw the harm of blind filial piety and announced more than once that
I would not be an obedient son. Frugal all his life, he nonetheless had no sense
of money and was often swindled financially. I inherited the frugality part
and tried to pile up wealth. Dad looked down on hard labor, and I strove to
improve my physical health. Etc. Without dad, I couldn't become who I am today.
He had been sick forever for one thing or another but this time we knew the end
was near. Monday afternoon, I could not help crying, thinking of his imminent
death. It was a long, gushing, cathartic weep. I knew he scoffed at Buddhism, but
sent him a picture of my hand-written message: Dad, next life, I will still be your son.
