昨日黄昏

"我爱你, 不因为你乖巧也不因为你可爱只因为你是你,我的孙子."

我仿佛能听到我已故的奶奶说着这句话. 虽然她从没说过, 但我知道她是这么想的. 因为她的行动已证明了一切. 她的爱犹如一个美丽的黄昏. 暖暖的包围着我, 轻轻的呵护着我, 永远只想我快乐和幸福. 但从我失去您的那一天, 我又要如何快乐? 如何幸福? 虽然这灿烂的黄昏已成为过去, 但我仍然忘不了它. 忘不了这温柔的昨日黄昏.

虽然我知道以后我可能会遇到下一个黄昏, 但它不一样. 它永远也不能跟我奶奶的黄昏相比. 就算它有多么的漂亮美丽, 我心里的第一位永远是我奶奶无私与温柔的昨日黄昏.

The leaving of a true friend

Its been 1 years and 4 months since I've known you and you have given me 1 years and 4 months of joy. Our meeting was through the hands of fate and through that same pair hands we are about to part. I know you will lead a good life in Taiwan and I should wish you all the best but deep down, I will really miss you. Kim Koon, I really hope you will lead a better life in the future, a life that is better than the one you are leading now or that you have led before.

I remember the first time I seriously sat down and listened to your story. It was a tale of pain and sacrifice yet it also spoke of perseverance and selflessness. As my respect for your strength grew, so did my heartache. You made me realize how blessed I was yet at the same time you extricated my weakness so clearly for me to see. I was nothing in the shadow of you.

As our friendship grew, I started to do things for you from the bottom of my heart. Things I wouldn't imagine myself doing for just a friend. Slowly, you have taken a special place in my heart. You have written a beautiful yet sad chapter in my life-book. I always felt that I haven't done enough for you, for a friend like you and for the friendship between us. Can you forgive me?

Smiles and Laughter

Just as an update, I finally found a way to type chinese on my new laptop so there is a chance that future posts might be in Chinese. Afterall, I'm bilingual!

I like to smile and laugh. That's a fact I love to share. I have always believed that smiles and laughter are contagious and it would be my pleasure to spread the joy around. Because I am a simple person to the point that some people coin "naive", the simplest of things are enough to provide me with at least short-term joy. What do I mean? Hmm.... just receiving a sms from my friend Alex telling me that he received my cake and he likes it was enough to make my day and keep me happy! I really could understand the meaning of 施比受,更有福.

Because I often laugh and smile in a silly manner for no reason, many people can get the chance to laugh at my silliness which is COOL because then they are able to laugh too. Some people told me they like my laughter which I feel very consoled. But at the end of the day, below all that smile and laughter, I am still human. As often as I laugh myself silly, I am also enveloped in sorrow and melancholy. Yet when I am encased in the cocoon of the latter, I still have to plaster on a smile so that the people around me don't get affected and so that they can still see the laughter they like.

Haiz.... sometimes I really feel very tired. When the smiles and laughter do not come deep from the heart, I often feel a bolt of sadness right after the laughter. As tears threaten to mar the mood of others, I have but only the choice of masking them with even greater laughter. My smiles, laughter and joy are to be shared yet my sorrow, melancholy and tears are for me alone. I have tried my best never to let my tears see any other person besides myself for the simple reason that I don't have the right to do so. What right do I have, to mar the mood of those I hold close to heart with my pitiful tears of sorrow. I have none.

Yet in the deep recesses of my soul, in a long-forgotton corner of my heart, there is a voice hoping that one day, I can have someone I can cry to. Someone who doesn't need to say a word and just watch me cry. Someone I can hug and borrow a shoulder to wet with my tears. But I know the fufilment of such as akin to Martin Luther King (Jr)'s speech --- "I have a dream". Well, never mind, in the mean while, I will just have to plaster back on my smile and laughter and continue to bring joy to others before one day I get too tired to smile and laugh any more. Then, I will withdraw back into my cocoon of sorrow and melancholy in cold, harsh solitude.

Birthdays

Alas, its strange how I have many friends who are born in the month of May and each of them I hold so dear to heart. There's Joab on the 21st, Wah Toon and Wah Kiat on the 25th and Alex on the 28th. With the exception of Joab (cos I just got to know him), I didn't manage to get the others prezzies last year. For Toon and Kiat it was because I didn't get the opportunity to meet up with them and for Alex, by the time I knew him his birthday was over. All this was quite a regret but luckily this year I managed to get them something.

For Joab, I got him some chocolates because I don't really know what he likes and getting him too big a gift when we just know each other might freak him out. For Alex, I got him a 1/2kg cake delivered to his house on 27th. Haiz... but I didn't know he was holding a Birthday Party on the 23rd. He would already have a large large cake to enjoy so I guess mine is really very extra... Hopefully he doesn't find eating mine too much a burden. Haha. For Toon and Kiat, the twins I've known for 8 years, I got them a custom-made "gift-box shape" 2kg chocolate cake. That should last them for a while.....Haha. But I am really a silly boy. I already planned this from last year so when I was applying for my army computer card and needed a referee, I purposely asked for Alex's and the twin's address. But just when I was delighting in the upcoming surprise, I suddenly realised that I had to ensure there was someone at home that day to receive it. Damn! In the end I still had to reveal it just that they don't know its a cake. Though my pocket is burnt through (The 2kg cake especially was $90), but at least I'm glad I am able to get them something this year. Afterall, birthdays are special and I want them to know they too are special to me. Thanks for having been my friends!

Haiz.... "Birthdays are special" and how true this is. The reason why I never forget my friends' birthdays stem from my own desires. Somehow, I have started to place what I desire onto my friends. Birthday as the name suggests celebrates the day a person is born, but more importantly, it recognises the person's existence as a source of joy and happiness to others. Because you made a difference in the lives of others that's why people want you to be "Happy" on that day. And the reason why others give you presents on your birthday is not because they want to add on to your inventory but rather to let you know how much you mean to them.

I vividly remember the day of my 18th birthday. To many, it is a day of joy and happiness. But to me, that day was an unfortunate memory I have to carry. Nobody in my family remembered my birthday on that day. If you think the Dixon you know isn't silly enough, wait till you hear this. That day, I waited long and hard for my sister and my parents to come home. I pretended that it was just any other day. But deep down, I was hoping that they would suddenly turn around and whisper to me a "Happy Birthday!" That was all I needed to make my day, no presents were required. Slowly, time passed and when it was 10pm, I could no longer withstand sitting alongside them. I gave an excuse of being tired and retired early for the night but there was no way I could sleep. I lay quietly on my bed, staring at the digital clock in front of me. Time passed....10.30pm......11.00 pm.......11.30pm.....With every half hour, my heart wrenched with pain. My rational mind told myself that most probably they had a really busy and tired day so they forgot, its not their fault. Yet deep down, I was still hoping that any moment they would pop into my room and "surprise" me with a "Happy Birthday!"

11.59pm. My heart raced faster than a F1 racing car and my hopes started to dwindle by the second. On one side I knew all was lost but yet I still prayed fervently that a miracle would happen. Then, the clock struck 12.00am. The moment the time turned 12, tears trickled down the side of my face. I slowly wiped off my tears with my hands and turned around. I could no longer face the clock. As tears caressed me softly and I drifted off to sleep, I could only whisper to myself "Happy Birthday Dixon".

You could ask why then didn't I just tell them outright. But to me, that no longer had any meaning. I'd rather accept the fact that I'm negligible than create an illusion that I am not. I have long grown past the age of caring about presents. All I long for every year is just a simple sms and that is all it needs to make my day.

It is basically this reason why I don't want others to feel even the slightest pain I went through. I want my friends to know that they are ALL special, if not to anybody, it is to me. Even if I'm not at all special to them.

I have a BMT section mate called Yu Heng and I know you are most probably the only one who is so free to come and stalk this place. I really HATE talking to him. Why? Because he can always see through me. He always knows what I really want and he always knows when I'm really sad. Though he has never seen me cry, he knows when I'm about to. In front of him, I feel that I am being stripped piece by piece. Though he is very egoistic, always boasting that I can never forget him and I really shouldn't feed his ego any further but I really have to say, he is correct. I can really never forget him. Just like how I can never forget any of my friends I hold so dear to my heart. Between me and all my friends lays a pair of binoculars. From the side I am looking through, each and every one of them are big. Yet I know from the side they are looking through, I am but a minute figure.

My choice of pain and tears

Life has been a long, long operation and this surgery began when I became conscious of what was happening around me. I was injected with anaesthesia when it began and slowly, the doctor began cutting me apart. Inch by inch, the glowing sharp scalpel carved into me and crimson red blood began to flow out of the incision.

Yet, when I was young, I was still under the influence of anaesthesia and there was no pain. Why? Because I spent my days getting into naughty acts, playing and not once was I really conscious of what was really happening. I was asleep. Peacefully resting in deep slumber.

However, slowly the clock turned to when I was 16. It was then that I told myself I had to change for the better. Yet, what I did not know was that with such a resolution came a hefty price. Slowly, the anaesthesia wore out and the sleeping patient awoke.

I started to change. I began to put others before myself and compromising to make others happy. My world no longer revolved around myself but around the happiness of others. When others were happy, I would be thrilled. When others were sad, I would be dejected. Then I began to do silly things. I would constantly think of how to make others happy but little did I know that bit by bit, I was losing myself. I used to be an arrogant performer, gracing the stage and flaunting what I had or had not. Yet, slowly I was reduced to an audience, to watch the shows of others and accord them the applause of encouragement.

I began to serve others and sometimes I even remarked at how selfless I had became. But deep inside, I knew I was dead selfish. Everybody has a motive for doing something, something they want to gain. To some, it may be money or fame but for me, I always went the extra mile for gratitude. I longed for the simplest "Thank you" for it was akin to a rainbow brightening up the sky. There are people whom I hold close to the heart yet deep down I know I do not have the same position in theirs. I thought I didn't mind for it was their happiness that mattered, but deep down inside it hurt so badly.

The operation is on-going and the anaesthesia has worn out. Every moment brings to me waves of pain and tears that threaten to obliterate me. I might have gotten used to the pain over the years but that doesn't mean it doesn't hurt any more. Now, I can only hope some kind soul can stitch me up and bring me relief to the screaming pain.

My proudest tears of my deepest pain

During my term in NS, I have come to understand that the night is exceptionally scary, especially when you cannot sleep. Its not because of the darkness and neither is it due to the fear of companions that come from the netherworld. Rather, it is because it is especially lonely. The worse thing is that I live with a bunk-mate yet the loneliness still seeps in to corrode my spirits.

When I'm lonely, I start to think of many many things. Some of these reflections have given me insights that I might only stumble across once in a lifetime, yet there has been one recurring one that never fails to haunt me and the very thought of it brings tears to my eyes. It can be considered my deepest wound. As this blog is pretty much unknown to many, to those that happen to stumble across it, my advice is not to read further.

My deepest wound that never really healed properly is the death of my paternal grandmother. Many a time I have thought of her in camp and I have penned down some of the memories I had of her while streams of tears overflow from my the edges of my eyes uncontrollably. I shan't repeat them but maybe just to put it briefly, she left me with her legacy of unconditional boundless love. And that is why I say, "The deepest love is often crystalised into drops of heart-breaking tears".

People say time can heal all wounds yet why hasn't it healed mine? The waves and waves of pain that this wound subjects me to only increases in intensity as time passes and each time it leaves me drained. The pain has long corroded the last of my defences and that is why I never want to talk about her to others in person for I am dead sure tears will roll.

You might ask me then is it because I am ashamed of my tears? On the contrary, I am very proud of my tears for they serve to remind me that my loves for her has only increased since the time she passed away 9 years ago. Yet, these tears of pride are only meant for her wherever she is just as my greatest love is only meant for her. She will always be the lady I love the most in my entire life and not even my future wife can take her place.

Being made use of

The world we live on is like a tapestry while individual lives akin to the threads. Everyone is woven into another person's life to create this masterpiece. However, wherever there is interaction there is always friction. This tapestry might be beautiful but if we look carefully there are kinks and mis-stitchs in it. It is up to us to iron them out.

In life, I believe that we shouldn't be too insistent on always benefitting. Sometimes, people make use of you to achieve a goal or obtain something. To people I really consider as friends, being made use of is never an issue. The fact that they bother to make use of me proves that I have some value left for them to use. However, please remember I'm human too and be gentle when using me.

"I have spread my dreams under your feet;
Tread softly, because you tread on my dreams"

If making use of me can let you achieve happiness, please go ahead. If you are my friend, I will be happy only when you are. Just give me a smile when you succeed and it will be my best reward - a beautiful memory I can keep to eternity.

The path that isn't smooth

I read a piece of Chinese writing some time ago which I found quite meaningful. So I thought I would share it albeit translated into English. I apologize if the result isn't that good.

There was a pair of father and son. The father told the son "Don't take this path in life. I have taken it and suffered a lot of hardship, knocks and failures. This path is definitely not smooth so please do not take it".

Yet the son replies "This path may be bumpy and difficult but you still made it through everything. If you are able to take it why can't I?"

Sometimes, there is no point in telling someone that a path is bumpy, rocky or hard to take. In life, we need to go through all these knocks and hardship in order for us to grow and mature. Going through these made you stronger and in the same way it will make the other person stronger too. There is a limit to what we can learn from others' experiences but what we can learn from our own experiences is boundless.

A person who always takes the easiest path and achieves success easily is akin to a thin tree branch; susceptible to breakage. Only when we suffer a few knocks here and there can we grow to become the strong, thick tree trunk that supports our life.

Libra Love

This was the third story I wrote but it was about a month later from the first two. The style of it is a little different as it uses Love as the overarching theme right in the front. This story speaks of unrequited sacrifice and contribution and the angst that accompanies it. As to how it compares to the first two, I leave it to you to decide.
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Ever thought whether Love had a horoscope? Well, if it did, it would be Libra because it is like a pair of scales. In Love, there is always giving and taking but the key to it is balance. It is never a good omen when the scales tip excessively to one side and what it will leave behind is a trail of unhappiness and suffering. I was born under the horoscope of Libra. However, I never knew how to strike a balance in Love and unfortunately, I had to endure each and every ounce of unhappiness and suffering this unbalanced scales left behind.

When I first met her, she was not exactly the most attractive person around. She did not ooze copious amounts of charm and neither was she gifted with a beautiful face. To put it plainly, she was nothing more than ordinary. This ordinariness was not limited to her physical appearance; her character was also extremely average. Bubbly, outgoing, sociable and vocal were all adjectives that I would never use to describe her. We were classmates and it was only due to this reason that I even noticed her existence. Through some small chat I had with her, I found out that we totally belonged to two different worlds. We had totally different interests, goals and perspective of life. Also, I was the type of people who could never endure loneliness and always had to be in the company of others. She, on the other hand, was comfortable with being alone and going about her own life. However, Love is extremely magical. When Cupid’s arrow shoots you, there is no way you can escape and that is exactly what happened to me.

Even until now, I have no idea why I was attracted to her. We had almost nothing in common and I am sure to her I was not her best friend yet strangely I began to notice her. Slowly, I wanted to know more about her – her family, her hobbies and what she thought of me. Of course, all these were not done blatantly. I did not have the courage to tell her that I liked her or maybe to put it more succinctly, I was even afraid that she might find out about that herself. I had to ensure that my questions seemed as though they were but passing questions that were linked to the conversation. Although it was tiring having to think through everything before I even strike up a conversation, I was always happy when I got my answers. That was when Love first planted its seed in my heart and yet I had the faintest idea whether the fruit this seed would eventually bear would be sweet or bitter.

To me, she was like a magnet; drawing me nearer every day. When I did not see her, my mind would be racing with thoughts of her. Whenever I thought of her alone, I would smile like a silly little kid but all this made me feel blissful even though she never once displayed any reciprocation. Slowly, I began to sink into this quagmire of affections. I began to fuss over her and showered concern over her. Even the slightest cough from her would get me uptight and I always had to think through whatever I wanted to say to make sure they were sensitive enough not to hurt her in any way. Sometimes, I was very afraid my concern would be too overwhelming and obvious in such a way that she would know what I was thinking. I would consistently tell myself to practice restraint and remember to toe the line of friendship. However, I could not stop myself from doing all these and that was when all the suffering began.

To me, she was everything. Her happiness was all that sufficed. Whenever the environment became quiet, I would strike up a conversation just to make sure she wasn’t feeling bored. Whenever she talked about herself, I would convince her that she actually had quite a handful of achievements just to make sure she had something to be proud of. From the choice of food to type of movies, everything was catered to her interest and soon I even began to forget what I myself liked. Everything she said was etched deeply into me and I could even remember the most trivial things she said about herself such that they mattered more than the biggest achievements of my life. To me, everything was about giving and I thought as long as she was happy, I would be happy. I did not yearn for the slightest reciprocation like a single word of concern for me.

However, that was what I thought. Actually, deep down I longed for at least some sort of reciprocation. It did not matter if I gave one hundred percent and just received back one percent. A single smile or word of concern was what I yearned for but I did not receive even that one percent. All that existed was me giving and giving.

When I was alone, I would think why in the world was I doing all these for? Why was I acting like a silly and stupid person giving and giving, asking for only a smile that she never gave? Deep down I was feeling very tired. Tired of spending my time and effort just thinking of ways to make her happy. On top of that, I felt extremely sad. Sad that I never received a single word of concern from her and my existence was almost negligible in her world. The feeling was like an overflow of gastric juice making my stomach sour and my ears teary. However, I could not stop myself from caring for her and thus this pain only proved to intensify. In the middle of the night, tears would trickle down my cheeks just thinking of my one-sided affection. As the seedling of Love grew within me, so did this pain and weariness.

Eventually, I was totally overwhelmed by all of it. I could no longer withstand the pain and weariness Love was giving me. I was but human and all that talk about giving without asking for returns were but idealistic notions. Today, I decided that I had to let go of this affection. The only way for me to be relieved of all that pain and weariness that was plaguing me was for me to learn to let go. I made the difficult decision to leave her and in my heart it was like cutting the thread that linked us together. However, this thread had already been implanted into me. I had to rip it out of me along with the part of me it was attached to leaving me all bloody and wounded. I knew that for the pain to stop I had to endure this heart-wrenching pain. If I could succeed in doing so, I could remove the lease that was put around my neck; suffocating me to death. It was as though someone held on to my heart and crushed it. Ripping off these affections left a deep gash on me and my whole body was dripping in blood. Beads of tears flowed down my face but I knew if I could leap across this barrier, it would be the last time I had to cry for her.

Hopefully I can really succeed in letting go. If not, this pain will only return to haunt me with ten times the magnitude and when that comes, I know I will no longer have the strength to pull myself out of that quicksand.

Beautiful Eyes

This was the second story I attempted at writing straight after the first one. I didn't really like it as much as the first because I felt that the emotions were not as thick. Anyway, this one comes with overwhelming maternal love, a grudge and regret.
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Many of my friends have commented that I have a pair of beautiful enchanting eyes. According to them, my eyes seem to twinkle with a life of their own. However, this pair of eyes was never something I was proud of. Conversely, they told of a story of boundless regret and pain – my life story of regret and pain.

I never believed that marriage was something happy because my parents’ matrimony was anything but that. My first memories were nothing but quarrels and disagreements between my parents. I never understood how two people could argue so much. Logically, my family was decimated quickly. My mother left the family in search of a better, happier life. Being closer to my mother, I begged for her to bring me along but she did not relent. She had cruelly deserted me as though I was nothing more than an old piece of clothing. My father died shortly having met with a traffic accident and I was brought to an orphanage where I grew up. I could not accept all these and I cried myself to sleep every night. Maybe it was due to the excessive crying, I soon developed an eye infection and by the time I underwent treatment, I had lost my sight.

After I came out of all the sadness, my childhood was nothing but a flash-flood of hatred. All traces of love were wiped clean and I sank into nothing but a quicksand of hatred for my mother whom I conveniently blamed for my plight.

The deepest hatred evolves from the greatest love

I sought solace in music, using it to nurse my torn soul. I learnt how to play the piano and my talent even caught the attention of the orphanage such that they sponsored my lessons with an accomplished musician. I bloomed under his tutelage and within a few years I was often performing at concerts and recitals. I carved a career out of music and for that I was always full of gratitude for the orphanage.

On one of my frequent visits back to the orphanage, I overheard the director speaking to a person whose voice was strangely familiar. The director was thanking the person for having sponsored my music lessons for the past few years. Upon hearing this, I was not filled with the slightest tinge of gratitude because it was at the same time it dawned on me who possessed that cursed voice.

My breathing quickened as several thoughts raced through my mind. “How dare she come back!” “Did she think she could really make amends for what she did!” I was shivering with anger as the dormant hatred within me erupted from within like a volcano.

I marched into the room and everything hurtful within me exploded. Of all that I said, the sentence that I could never forget was “You gave me my life but you took away everything good from it. You think you can make amends but all you have done cannot erase the slightest bit of misery I went through.” Having said all that, I stormed out of the room and left the orphanage hastily.

For the next few weeks, this lady whom I once called mother tried to contact me to explain herself but not once did I give her the chance to go on for more than three words. My life was no whiteboard which she could just erase off anything that she wrote wrongly. More than ten years ago I dreamt day and night of our reunion but now I realized everything that I dreamt of was utterly wrong. The day I lost my sight was the very day she lost her son.

I went about my life as usual but never once did she stop trying to reach out to me. Her attempts came in the form of explanation, begging and tears. As the days went past, her tries slowly smoothened out the hatred within me. I began contemplating to listen to what she had to say and maybe give her a second chance.

It was at this time I received an excellent piece of news. The doctor I frequented called me to say that he had found a donor who could donate a pair of corneas to me. It was the best news I could ever get – a chance of seeing things again after more than ten years of darkness. The operation was arranged the next day and when I recovered, I finally regained my long lost vision. With this joyous feeling within me, I decided to visit my mother to give her a second chance.

I went back to the orphanage and asked the director for her address. To my question, he solemnly told me something that utterly shocked me. My mother had passed away and it happened only a few days ago. However, before I could come to terms to that, the director told me that she had suffered from cancer but deliberately terminated her treatment. The reason was simple, she wanted to donate her corneas to me. I collapsed to the ground with my mind a total blank.

My mother had decided to repay me with whatever I lost yet her amends left me with the greatest debt of my life. I never spoke a single word to her since the time she tried to make amends. I deprived her of a chance to explain herself but more importantly, I deprived myself a chance to love her again. When I decided to give her a second chance, it was actually a decision to give myself a second chance but now everything was over. In fact, there was no need for me to hear her explain herself. Deep down I had already forgiven her and it was on the very day she had returned. For every bit of hatred running through my blood, I had double the love for her in my heart. I did not need to know whether she had her reasons for leaving me for none of them really mattered. I only wished that I had the chance to tell her the simplest three words, “I love you” but it was no longer possible.

Although I was drowned within all the agony of her departure, I forced myself not to shed a single tear. She had left me with her eyes and I had no right to use them to cry. I had to see the world on her behalf as she was now part of me. I vowed to treasure my life even more because part of me belonged to her.

These eyes told a story titled sacrifice and spoke about regret, pain and most importantly a never spoken “I love you”.

Painful Love, Painful Memories

This was the first story I actually attempted at writing so it is very coarse. Purely fictional with a tinge of family love
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Like any child, discipline was a memorable part of my life, yet for me it was exceptionally painful – lovingly painful.

As I race down memory lane and my past plays itself through my mind like a black-and-white film, I return to the time when I was about four or five years old. It was then I made my first mistake in life – to lie. Details of what constituted the lie I fabricated have been blurred by age. Afterall, it was but a mistake any other normal child around that age would make and it is only through our mistakes do we learn. However, the way I was taught right and wrong was nowhere similar to how other normal children were taught. I remember my father was furious, or maybe furious was but an understatement to describe him then. Seething with anger, he brandished a bamboo cane and swiftly lashed out at my hands once. As the cane left a red stinging mark on my forearm, I reciprocated with an equally angry look at the person who dealt the blow.

Yet this time what I saw in my father’s eyes was more than anger. I could not discern what there was but I knew there was definitely a tinge of something else. However, before I could extricate the mix of emotions, the next scene shocked me so much it left my mouth agape. Using all his might, my father lashed out at his own left forearm twice. Then with tears rolling in his eyes, he muttered a sentence I would never forget.

“You have erred by telling a lie, but your mistake has showed how much more I have erred in teaching you. You have to be disciplined for your mistake but I will also not go unpunished for my negligence.”

This was so much more painful for me than the physical distress the cane could give me. It seared my heart so badly I cringed as though it was bleeding. I ran towards my father and clutched onto his injured arm tenderly while my small body plunged into his embrace. Tears dripped onto the two parallel red marks on his arm and how I wished my tears could alleviate his pain. However, my tears were no magical phoenix tears; they were but drops of guilt and remorse from a disobedient kid who had hurt his father. At that moment, I felt something dripping onto my head and I did not need to look up to know that it was my father’s tears.

Only when two people cry together do they understand how much they love each other

For the rest of my childhood, I was often praised by others for being an exceptionally obedient child. Some jokingly said that it was because my parents were strict disciplinarians and I was fearful of the punishment that awaited my mistakes. They were absolutely correct. I was very afraid. I was afraid of the punishment my father had to endure for my mistakes. For me, the ultimate torture stemmed from the pain my mistakes would inflict on my father. I was not strong enough to bear such a pain, a pain that transcended the normal caning or grounding plaguing the average kid. For those many years to come, I was also never strong enough to face that.

We were two entities but our pain was one

Twenty years later, my father is no longer around. However, the cane that he wielded twenty years ago on that fateful day still hangs on the wall in my room. Whenever I see it, I remember what my father has left behind for me – his legacy and teachings of love and pain, intertwined into a bamboo cane and crystallized into drops of tears……

Was it pain or was it really just love?