Stories from My Youth: XII - Alpha

Alpha Jill Lam.

She was born in Hawaii, USA.
She had long black hair, large eyes but small glasses.
She was not too short, nor too thin.

Whenever she blushed (which was quite often), her cheek would puff a little, and her face would look like a small apple. Almost immediately after her blush she would first smile, then pout a little, and finally she would laugh aloud.

Friends remarked that her laughter is loud and piercing. I, on the other hand, quite like her laughter. Everytime she laughed, it was open, innocent and carefree - in short, it was sincere.

I remember that one time she and I were sitting together at the school library, and for some reason she started to kick me beneath the table at my shin. Tony, who was also at the table, jested that something's going on between the two ofus. ("Look at the action below!") I laughed, but Alpha (oh dear Alpha!) got very angry and blushed. Red she turned, laughter she blurt out, and continued her kicks (perhaps not realizing that she should kick Tony, not me). When she later found out that she bruised my right leg, her eyes were sorry, but she was too proud to admit her wrong. And knowing that her eyes betrayed herself, she was obliged to stomp off.

I remember one gym class, when our physical education unti was square-dance. How unhappy she looked when she was paired up with me for the class! I was shy, for this would be the first time I hold a girl's hands since my beloved Sally. So reluctantly she took my hands that I thought I was an alien from outer space! But soon the music and the dance formed a special chemistry, and drugged both of us into the rhythm of the fun. Oh how happy were we - open, innocent and carefree - as we move around the gym floor, laughing at each other, laughing with each other. I found sincerity in her eyes, and assumed she in mine.

I remember that she moved away before the end of the year, and at the time I did not think I miss her. But the last day of school convinced me otherwise. I was standing outside the school by the ESL portables when I saw her figure at a distant, standing there, facing me. Instantly I brightened up and waved at her. Then I yelled outloud her name. The sound wave travelled across the basketball court and beyond, but seemed not to have reached her. At last I decided to run after her, only to have lost sight of this strange apparition. I was disapppointed, and was surprised by the disappointment.

Alpha, open, innocent and carefree Alpha. Was she the symbol of that which I have been seeking since? I have lost Alphaa at the end of my elementary school year, but she continued to haunt me in my consciousness...

Stories from My Youth: XI - Grade Seven Camp

Day 1

The first night ever in which I had to spend the night without any family members. Very vaguely, the following conversation took place, in which I did not take part in. I had pretended to be asleep.

"Finally I can be away from home."
"Damn right. I can swore."
"You swore at school anyway, Tony."
"Yeah that's very true."
"Johnson are you asleep?"
"Come on, he's such a goody-goody, of course he is asleep. He sleeps at like 10:30 every night. It's like 1:30 now."
"That's very true. I don't understand how he can be such a good boy -"
"Hey, when we got here, did you guys check out the girls' room?"
"No, why?"
"Well, I was looking at their room and I saw something hanging at the window."
"You think those are Carrie's bras?"
"I was thinking of the same thing."
"I don't know. I never really thought that Carrie has any boobs. It might be Sharon's"
"Well, Tony would know. Didn't you push Carrie off the other day in the multi-purpose room?"
"Yeah, but I didn't touch her there - "
"Sure you didn't..."
"I don't know. I would have to say Sharon's boobs are fake too. I mean, have you compare when she was in class and when she was in gym?"
"You guys are crazy. Why would they hang up bras in their room? It's probably just windowdraps."
"Come on man, why won't you allow us to -"
"To think about bad things outloud in which otherwise you would not be able to do so at home?"
"No. It is to express our curiousity on the beautiful complexity of the human body."
"That sounds like something Johnson would say."
"True. I bet Johnson has his secret lovers."
"Alpha? Too bad she's not here."
"I think we should all corrupt Johnson over the four days. He is too good."
"Seriously, I really don't think Sharon has real boobs. She probably stuffed it full."
"You are thinking of Dorothy."
"Or both of them!"
"I should have brought my binoculars. Then we might figure out whose bras are hanging on the window."
"Well, what about Jennifer?"
"She's okay..."
I think I fell asleep after that.

Day 2

The day was overall very exciting. The food, however, was terrible. But the fun times were when we got a chance to try out all the sports facilities. I played tennis for the first time; the soccer game between the guys and the girls was...well let's just say the girls gave a good effort.

The interesting moment was when we all went to shower. I was very much afraid of being naked in front of strangers. So when it was my turn to shower, I wore my underwear and quietly washed over at a corner. The other guys were very much more liberal. There was a competition of who has the biggest penis. They were slashing at each other, boosting to each other about their muscles (although they all had bony arms). There were a few who were trying to see through the tainted glass, or look for holes of some sort. Apparently the girls' shower is right next to the boys. I did not have my glasses, so I couldn't see properly. But it seemed that there were quite a few boys who already had their first sexual awakening. Maybe I was afraid to admit mine own.

Day 3

The main event was hiking. As hills and woods surround our camp, we started our hike early in the morning down a long trail. We went through the woods and came to a rocky part of a hill. After climbing over that small hill, we came to a bigger hill, full of trees and bushes. The hike gradually got more steep, and as a result, more difficult. But the day was not terribly sunny, and occasionally there was a cool breeze patting us on our backs. (It was to rain tomorrow.) As I climbed I marvelled at the beauty of nature which I rarely had a chance to enjoy. The last time I hiked was back when I was little, in Hongkong, when we came upon the Valley of the Butterflies. The green was refreshing for me, who most often saw the black letters on white pages. Lunchtime came and we dined. Then our instructors asked if any of us would like to go on a harder climb to the top of the hill. For some reason, I lacked the courage to continue, and instead joined another portion of the group descending downhill. The downhill journey was simple, yet even to this day I can vividly remember the beautiful scenery: a continuous column of short trees ushered us back to our standing point. The narrow path was all green above the brown path - Nature spoke to me only in two colours, and needed only those two. Occasionally there was the odd pink ribbon, in which the instructors must have tied on tree branches to guide the students. But who would not be naturally attracted to the grace and beauty of the narrow pathway? No wonder Wordsworth was so taken by nature in his youth. I too had a will to just follow the path to see where it leads. Even though I knew that this is the pathway back to our camp, I secretly wished that the path would lead me to some place special - some kind of special adventure.

Day 4

Raining: our teachers and instructors decided to hold indoor games. Our cabin was the winner; in fact, we were so good that we were not allow to win any more candies.

We had the rest of the afternoon as free time. The guys (in the cabin) all stayed at the main cabin for card games. I, on the other hand, retired to our cabin. I looked out of the window and watched the rain fell from the grey sky, and each raindrop fell from the ledge of the roof. Mesmerized by the music of the raindrop, I simple stood there and did not even realize that some of the guys entered the room.

"Man he should have never done such stupid thing."
"I know. Why would he do that? It's like the last day too. Sucks to be him, but he deserved it."
"Hey Johnson, what are you looking at?"
"Huh?" I muttered, startled from my music.
"He's probably checking out the girls' room. See, I told you he was just pretending to be asleep. So, what did you see?"
"I didn't see anything. I was looking at the raindrops. So what is going on? What stupid thing?"
"Raz got sent back home because apparently last night he snuck out to one of the girls' cabin or something."
"I see..." I said nothing and went back to my music.
"Come on Johnson. Stop pretending to be a poet. Let's play cards."

I was obliged to do so. Card game was fun. There were jokes and laughter. The guys failed to corrupt me. But I wished I had listened more to the music of the rain:

"A tranquillizing spirit presses now

On my corporeal frame,, so wide appears

The vacancy between me and those days,

Which yet have such self-presence in my mind,

That, musing on them, often do I seem

Two consciousnesses, conscious of myself

And of some other Being."

Day 5

Woke up early in the morning, packed and left. I missed my warm bed at home, grew indifferent to "boy's talk", and would be missing the music of the rain.

Stories from My Youth: X - Matthew the Bully

Grade 6 is a rather memorable year, not for the usual good successes and triumphs. Something usual happened: to my own surprise, I was actually targeted by a bully!

My grade 6 class was one mixed with both grade 6 and 7 students. As a result, the two grades work on projects together, read together, and play together during recess and lunchtime. Whenever there is an age difference among youngsters, the older one is automatically superior. It is one of those unspoken laws out there.

For some reason, that year I had become a target for this grade seven boy named Matthew. I had never figure out why, and now I can only recall moments of his harassment. There was a time when he smacked me twice in the face with snowballs. There was another time when he pushed us grade sixers off the basketball court so he could play with his friends. Then another time he called me "bugar man" after a field trip; that actually caught on and for the rest of the year the grade sevens called me by that. The worst time was again at the basketball court. Again he was pushing us (well, more like me) off the court. I pushed him back and we almost fought.

I didn't understand that Matthew was bullying me. I could not understand why he did that. During the "bugarman" period, it was a really important period. I saw myself getting labeled by that name. Soon, he came up with a few other kinds of names too. I did not tell my teachers, because the unspoken rule is that we take these things in our own hands. But I did not know what to do. All the other instances are fine - the pushing and the violence. But name-calling is just a cheap shot.

I guess Matthew never did realize how much name-calling can hurt people. I had a tremendous internal struggle. I had to be strong. I cannot cry in front of him. I toughen up myself and lasted through the year.

During this time, however, I did find out who are my real friends. There were many who stood by me, defended me and supported me. I thanked them for that. Others were mere followers. Perhaps they were afraid of not conforming, and conformed at my expense. This was also the first time in which I came to study the social structure of our schools. I found out that there are three types of people: leaders, followers and loners. The objective for each student is to not be a loner. Both Matthew and I were among the leaders. Perhaps he felt threatened and had to move me down to the loner section? But thank goodness that never happened.

I suppose the point of this fragment of my elementary school life is that it is important to be strong and persevere. If I had not been strong, I could never become the person as I am right now. Instead of being traumatized for life by this, I now can laugh at this, and tell everyone: remember me? I was the bugarman!

Stories from My Youth: IX - The First Swimming Lesson

One sunny summer afternoon, Father decided to teach Johnny how to swim.

"Johnny, today you are going to learn to swim. Swimming is important because in times of war, the weak gets eliminated. I would not allow my sons to be the weak ones.

"You will first listen to my instructions, then watch me demostrate. After that you will dive into the water and swim. It is time you learn to swim the way Nature taught me - just jump into the water and float."

Johnny gulped. His legs started to shake.

"Father - "

"You are not backing out of this - not when I am the Man of the household."

"Yes Father."

"There are three things you need to know. One: when you dive, hands first, then your head and body follow through. Two: after you dove, you keep your fish-like position until you feel that you are floating. Finally, when you are floating, lift up your head above the surface to get a breath. Now watch."

Father stood at the deepest end of the pool. He bent down with his arms above his head. Then he jumped and dove into the water. Very gracefully he surfaced, took a breath, and finished off by floating on his back.

"Questions?" He asked as he got off the pool.

"Do I have to start from the deepest end?" Johnny asked.

"Yes." He sternly replied, like a military officer. Johnny looked at the deep end. It was ten feet deep. He was only five feet tall. It was like a shark's mouth, ready to eat him alive.

"Now go!" He commanded.

Johnny slowly took his position. Weakly he put his arms above his head, bent down and looked into the water. The water wrippled after the wind like the mouth of a great white shark. Fear overtook poor little Johnny.

"Do I have to jump?"

"Yes!"

Little Johnny's bony legs started to shake again. His teeth was rattling. He thought he was staring Death head on.

"Overcome!" Father yelled. Johnny was in tears. Mesmerized by Death, he could not hear the voice of the living.

Fathr marched to his side. Instead of a word of comfort, he said, "if you do not jump, no one is having dinner tonight. You must overcome fear."

The tears now dropped into the pool and disappeared without a trace.

"Jump now!"

Johnny jumped, but definitely not like Father. There was a great splash, and Johnny was not floating. But then again, he was not being eaten alive after all.

Johnny then struggled in the middle of the pool, trying to float. Father kept on yelling, "relax and overcome!" as Johnny finally hang onto the edge of the pool.

Father pulled Johnny up.

"Now do it again."

Having done it for the first time, Johnny was now not as frightened as before. The process was repeated over and over again that afternoon, until Johnny finally learnt to float on water on his back like his Father after a dive.

* * *

Overcome. Since then it had always been the word of my life.

Stories from My Youth: VIII - Diary Entries from Grade Five

Oct. Fri. 20. 1995

Today, I go to school, I have learn some French words. And I have a Computer project, but I haven't finish. Jackie is sick also. But better than yesterday. And today is spelling test, too. Time: 7:02pm

Oct. Mon. 23. 1995 [a picture of volleyball drawn]

Today I have gym, I play volleyball (pai-co) in gym. In lunch time, I can see my two brothers (Jackie, Tommy) play off the skate game. They are happy. After school, I make a thing is "Johnson, Jackie Paper Keep" and "Johnson Chan Scarpbook Keep Picture". And I am going to eat apples!

Nov. 10., Fri, 1995

Today, I have play foot-Hockey. It's fun. Tommy's classmate has come to my house to play with us. We play happy. At night, Tommy has cry because dad play a fun game with him but he don't like this so he cry. I always laugh.
~[Note: the "fun game with him but he don't like" is a "joke", as it was later corrected]

Nov. 11, Sat. 1995

Hi, my Journal. Today I have no school because today is Saturday. And We go to library. But Library is close. Oh! we forget, today is Remembrance Day. At night, we play [mahjong]. It's fun. But I lose many pieces. And we are going to play Monopoly in next morning.

Jan 9 1996

The second day I go to school, when I go to the library, the librarian said I had borrow a book and I haven't return, so Mrs. Smith make I can't borrow the books, while I haven't borrow it, how can I return, I say to the Librarian but she says you must return, so I have no idea. And I play square-ball! It is fun. Alex has win. I have listening text too. And Saxon comes to school.

Jan 10 1996 Wed.

Today in gym I play basketball with Kyle, Herny, Meggy. I and Kyle are a team. My team have lost. The school is 21-15. After school, I go to the school library, see the librarian, Mrs. Smith. Mrs. Smith help me to check in the library, maybe I have $15. My Anutie has got sick. Maybe she will die.
~[Note: I have no idea who this "aunite" is.]

Jan 15 1996

Today I found the library book, that's make me happy! I can borrow book in the library again. I play basketball again in gym. The computer is funny, I play "TAX" and got the second score in the content. I have eat some cookie, it made from Mexico. At my ESL reading I finish a book.
~[Note: "TAX" is "tetris"]

3, June, 1996

Dear Diary,

One week more, we will fly to Hong Kong. Today, school not so happy. I arguy with Kyle, I will tell you later. Gym time, we play BBS (Baseball, Basketball Soccer). It's alittle boring, while we still have fun. I play tag at recess. I almost lose. The soccer game at lunch, not fair, 3-2, lost. Sad! When the school time over, Mr. Strandberg said to Kyle, because he has play something noisy with me, so he got in trouble, but he said that I and him had to sty after school because I play the same things, but Mr. Strandberg didn't call me to stay, so I arguy. Well, what do you think? I didn't stay finally and go home. But I feel mad. I also do want broke the friendship. Nah, we'll see what happens tomorrow. Back to home, we remember yesterday play the home soccer game 2 against 2. I and Jackie win Dad and Tommy 3-2. We make our call "New Westminster Young Man". Dad had to do some wood work. He does a job, he make the tables very nice.

June, 4, 1996

Dear Diary,

Today very luckily, Kyle didn't mad at me, our friendship didn't break, he still looked nice. I also get shot, I think it's very hurt, but within 5 seconds and that's done, and I don't feel anything, cool! Mr. Strandberg had hang out my math test, I got 96%

Stories from My Youth: VII - My First English Friend

Father first decided to move to Canada after our winter vacation in my third grade. A little bit after a year and a half, our immigration application was accepted, and we, a family of five, landed at Vancouver International Airport on June 8th, 1995.

As my spectacular grade four year had just come to an end, I was given a new challenge – to become the academic superstar I was, only now being ten thousand kilometres from home.

The summer gently skipped by, and too soon was September. The first day of school was vaguely memorable. I remembered stepping inside the school, and was ushered to the gym. At the door of the gym, Mother and Father waved at me, then left. Soon, a white tall male greeted me, and told me that he was my grade five teacher. I smiled and said nothing. While my English skills were the best in my grade back in Hong Kong, it was barely enough to pick out a few words from a full minute of introductory remarks given by the teacher, Mr. Strandberg (whose name took me three weks to remember and pronounce properly).

A few minutes later, a white boy stood by me. He was short and bald. He wore a t-shirt and a pair of shorts. A restless boy, he soon started to jump around, only told by a woman (his mother, I assumed) to calm down. I was amused by him and decided to muster all my courage (which is plenty) and my English (definitely lacking) to greet him:

"Hi, who are you?"

He looked at me funny, then smiled, "My name is Brian."

"Bri-an", I slowly pronounced.

"What is your name?" He asked.

"My name is Johnson."

"Johnson? Well, nice to meet you, Johnson."

"Yes, nice to meet you too."

As more students flooded the gym, so more conversation pour fourth between Brian and I. I no longer remember what was said and done that day, but as orientation came to an end that day, I can still remember my last question to him: "I forget what is your name. Can you tell me one more time?" And with a chuckle he told me.

We soon became very good friends. Although language at times was a barrier, we soon found common interests in sports, particularly soccer (before they introduced me the great Canadian game of hockey). At first, however, I could not understand what he meant by "soccer".

"So what sport do you like, Johnson?"

"I like football."

"Football? Oh, I don't like it one bit."

"Why not?"

"Because football is violent."

"What is 'violent'?"

"It is like, you hit each other." Brian body-checked me. I was so confused – football in Hong Kong is not violent like that.

"But you kick the ball. That is not violent." I said.

"Kick the ball? Oh, you mean soccer!"

"What? Pardon?"

"You like 'soccer', not 'football'!"

"What is 'soccer'?"

"It is your football. We call your football 'soccer', and American football 'football'."

That took a while before I understood it properly. But soccer is a universal game as long as you have feet and a ball. We had fun all the same.

The year moved on, and I got to know more friends. But Brian had always been my close friend. Along with this one other boy, Sean, we did all our sports together, played our tag in the playground, every recess and lunchtime. We were brothers at school, and occasionally Mother would allow me to play with them over weekends or holidays (but only occasionally, as Mother always say, "homework first, play second"). And we would remain as great friends throughout my elementary and high-school years.

It is indeed strange what fortune can be brought about by blind courage. Had I not introduced myself first to Brian, things might turn out to be completely different, and I definitely would not be the same person as I am right now.

Stories from My Youth: VI - The Rebellion

My Fourth Grade year is among the most memorable years in my school life in Hong Kong. The most striking event of the year was the great rebellion.

You see, the hierarchy of the class in my school was quite complicated. The homeroom teacher represents the ultimate authority of a class, which can be countered by only the Principal of the school. Within homeroom class, the teacher appoints a class captain to assist her in various matters: handing things out, keeping order of the class in between breaks. The captain has the authority to appoint several (two in my class) assistances to help her in performing these affairs. The rest of the students are lowly slaves, with unofficial hierarchy (depending on the degree of "smartness" and "coolness") within this student body.

At the beginning of the year, Miss --- has appointed Kitty as the captain of the class. Kitty, in turn, appointed several of her friends (both girls) to be her assistances. The guys in the class were not happy with this arrangement and complained to Miss ---, but Miss --- dismissed our concern.

As they say, "absolute power corrupts absolutely". Soon Kitty was abusing her authority. She began to chat, first with her assistances, then with her other girlfriends. Such hypocrisy, we guys complained, is a "disorderly action" and should not be tolerated. Miss --- again dismissed the guys' concern.

Another day, Peter, made a paper plane and flew it across the room. It hit Kitty on the nose, and the class burst out in laughter. Kitty, steam-red, crumbled the plane and threw at Peter's face, not once, but several times. I was stunned: a warning for Peter might be sufficient, but attacking Peter was not acceptable. She further took out a pen and marked down Peter several times (which, she actually had no authority to do so). Kitty, without realizing it, had just ignited her own destruction.

As her abuse was greater, and the anger among classmates grew, one day, Bertrand, Peter and I (the elite of the hierarchy) talked amongst ourselves for a plan of action. A plan was decided. Kitty was to meet her Waterloo the next day.

So the next day came. The second class-change was when the great battle began. Bertrand, Peter and I simultaneously dropped our erasers on the floor, and all three of us stood up without permission and slowly picked them up. The entire class was silent with awe. The three of us glared at Kitty, and Kitty, enraged, screamed, "You three are so dead. I am going to give all of you two marks. Peter, that is clearly enough for you to see your parents."

"You can do whatever you want, because what you do has no significance. You are nothing." Bertrand said with his trademark calmness.

"Why don't you give us five? Six? Seven? You might run out of space, or better, run out of ink, since you want to give us so many!" Peter jested.

"It is not yet my birthday, so I do not feel right accepting so many of your special gifts!" I added.

Kitty was so angry! But at the same time, she had nothing to say to counter our sarcastic comments. The elites were known for their wits as well as academic excellence. She could only scream, then she mumbled something incoherent, and finally, resigning herself to draw innumerable marks. We, however, were far from laughing. We had managed to delay her such that, at the height of Kitty's rage, the Principal entered into the room.

I do not know what happened at the meeting between Miss --- and the Principal. I do know, however, that the next day, Kitty resigned her position. Co-captains were nominated and then appointed by Miss ---. Bertrand (as expected) and another girl, Jennifer (surprise, given her lower status), got the jobs.

Stories from My Youth: V - Conscious of Conscience

So happily I closed the zipper of my bag, and smiled to myself: tomorrow I shall treat all my friends to snack, just like last week. I slowly took off my socks and put on my pajamas. I lied down on my small bed, and slept with the lights on. My brothers were still watching TV outside with Father and Mama. Mother was still in the shower.

Suddenly, Mother bursted into the room, opened my bag and took out the twenty dollar bill I snuck into the small compartment of the bag. I shot straight up and watched her unfold my secret. She stood, closed the door, and commanded me to stand up. I instinctively followed her command. she held the bill right up to my eyes, and asked,

"How did this get here?"

I tried to cover up with the best possible lie. "I was just playing with it." My eyes, however, averted hers; my mouth found no more words; my face must have been burnt with shame.

"Are you, my son, stealing?"

The question was left unanswered. She immediately went to my desk and grabbed a small ruler, took my hand, and smacked it several times. I looked on like a robot, taking the punishment like a labouratory mouse.

But the she stopped. She threw aside the ruler and cried.

I saw those tears flooding out of her eyes, and for the first time in my young life, I knew what it means to be wrong. I was wrong. Not only that, but I had hurt Mother in being wrong.

Mother was sobbing, and I, too, started to cry. Father came into the room and saw the scene. Initially he wanted to inquire the happenstance, but Mother gave him a quick look, and Father withdrew.

What happened afterwards I can no longer remember. Did I get a good night sleep? Did Mother get a good night sleep? What happened the day after at school? Did I pine to treat my friends to snacks?

I was wrong. The voice of conscience made its grand entrance into my consciousness, and never left.

Stories from My Youth: IV - The Taste of Failure

Do you know how failure tastes like? Remind yourself that instance, and try to zero into that moment when you have found out that you have fail. What was your reaction?

You should remember that cool afternoon, when all your schoolmates were lining up inside the concrete yard under the five old trees. Principle Tam called each individual class to their class. As you were waiting impatiently you find your grade 3 homeroom teacher, Mr. Jon, whispering into your classmates' ears something, then each student reacted differently: the reactions ranged from joyous tears to despairing laughter to utter indifference. Then you remembered: yes, Mr. Jon is whispering each student's ranking in the class. The report cards were coming out next week, and everyone was eager to know how they fared this term.

As you have done well in your previous two years, never falling out of the top five of the entire grade, you prided yourself, and boosted to your friend that you would again be in top five for this new year. Mr. Jon slowly approached you, and you, with expectation, lent your ear to hear those devastating words: 17th.

17th?! That is impossible!

Do you remember how those words pierced into your pride for the first time in your life? Do you remember how immediately tears flooded your vision? There was no sound afterwards, but the constant echoes of "17 - 17 - 17". Oh do not try to erase or alter your memory: you cried that day, because for the first time in your life you feel like a failure. You cried, but not out loud ("boys don't cry!"). But it hurt you, didn't it? You have fallen out of your elite place in your class. It felt terrible to be bad and weak, not noble and good.

As the failure shattered your pride, however, you resolved yourself to take action. You are noble, good, and it does not suit you to be a weakling. Hence you had decided to do your very best from now on. Unlike some of your peers, who were jealous of your success, you would not be envious; instead of evil contemplation, you would act out your rage at your own weakness. You would strive to become the best. You hardened yourself against such failures, and as a result, by the end of the year, you had become the strong one again, the top five, the noble and the good.

But that bitter taste of failure, how can you forget it?

Stories from My Youth: III - The Bike Accidents

I

Little Johnny, three years old, barely learned to talk, saw the older children at the park riding their tricycles, wanted Mama to get him one. Mama promised Johnny, but then little Kenny, Johnny's cousin, now also begged Mama to get him a tricycle. Mama scolded the two children, but, as old people are often soft-hearted towards the young, she bought not two tricycles, but instead one bike, she bought this interesting bike with two seats. The two boys were overjoyed, as was Mama ("Oh see how Mama laughs! You can only see her remaining teeth and not her eyes!"). Mama and the mothers of the boys took the boys to a nearby park, and the boys, after a fight over who gets the front seat ("Johnny is too kind, and Kenny exploits that!"), they rode around the trees. There were other kids riding too, and they had a small race. Kenny and Johnny's bike was of course faster, since they had two people pedaling. So they won, and sang in joy. Around the park they went, about the few trees remaining in this concrete forest, around tables where old men smoked and played chess, and some old women chatting about their grandchildren. They turned and turned, and about sharp corner their bike flipped. The boys crashed into the wooden bench near the mothers. The actions in the park paused for a second, and then everyone resume to their things. Mama and the mothers, however, quickly rushed to the boys. Johnny and Kenny, hearing that Mama is coming, picked themselves off the ground, dusted their now dirty shirt ("Remember to always keep clean!"), and stood with their hands on their back. The boys were bruised and bleeding on every limb, but upon the distressed smile of their Mama and mothers, the boys were also smiling. Mama asked, "does it hurt?" The boys shook their head. Then Mama said, "come, we will get you some ice -" Kenny yelled "Ice-cream?" Mother said, "No...ice for your wounds." "So-Ping", Mama said, "we can get ice cream too!"

Pain = ice cream...

II

Both Johnny and Kenny, a recent graduate of their respective kindergarten schools, received a bicycle from Mama. Very soon, the two boys learnt to ride the bikes without supporting wheels. Mama, however, decided that it is best that they kept their bikes at hers, so that whenever they visit (family gatherings at Mama's are usually biweekly) the two boys can ride their bikes in the halls of the apartment. On one such occasion, the two boys were racing in the dark halls of the apartment when Johnny, who was leading, rode over an oily puddle (nobody knows how that got there) and skitted. He crashed with his head first, and then bike landed on him, scraping his right knee. Kenny, who was following closely, also came crashing in and landed on his hands. Johnny was screaming as blood flooded the concrete floor, and Kenny, who got up, was also crying. But he, injured on his palms, ran to Mama's room, and called for help. Once again, Mama came rushing out, followed by the mothers. The fathers were sitting, talking of politics, drinking their beer. Kenny helped Johnny up, both Mother and Mama took Johnny's hands, and they slowly walked to Mama's apartment. ("Didn't I tell you to be careful?") The wounds were cleaned, but a scar remained on the knee cap.

Pain = tears!

III

The past week was Johnny's seventh birthday. Father actually took time off this weekend to take Johnny and his two brothers out to the park. As Kenny moved to another portion of town, and took his bike with him, so Johnny too took his bike with him to his new apartment. That day Johnny brought the bike with him to the park, and he raced against his brothers (who were on foot. They only had one bike). Father watched from the side to witness the triumph of his oldest son. How proud he feels for his son, who is good and smart! His other sons must be like him too, if not more brilliant. One of them shall become a lawyer, the other a doctor, and the last one an architect. He almost drools as he daydreams...O his sons, with their grandsons soccer team (the girls can be cheerleaders at the side)...Then there was aloud crash. Johnny was thrown off his bike after making a sharp turn. His elbows were bleeding badly, as with parts of his leg. His brothers stopped chasing him, and they started crying. Father calmly walked over to the children. Johnny was on the verge of tears. Father said, "Men have courage. Men don't cry. What good would crying do? Come, let us go to the fountain and we will wash off the blood. Then I will take you to eat wanton soup." The brothers also quieted down, and the men left the park.

Pain = courage?

Stories from My Youth: II - The Marriage Proposal

English class was over at St. Maria Teresa Kindergarten School, and it was lunch time, which was to be followed by an hour of nap time. All the graduating children (how proud of them that they are five, and many were able to tie their own shoelaces!) flooded out of the classroom and into the dining hall, where the "little boys and girls", as the "big kids" called them, were already sitting, impatiently waiting for their older peers, hungry for their meal (they were having spagetti today!). Johnny sat down with his "girlfriend" Sally ("Oh what a nice gentleman this Johnny is!") at the end of the long table, saved only for graduates. Johnny was imitating Miss Wong's expression, pronouncing "apple" rather incorrectly. But the imitation was exact and humourous, and the two laughed out loud. The little ones followed their lead, not knowing what was so funny.

The grannies brought out several pots of spagetti, and the teachers helped the children to get their share. Johnny took Sally's bowl and helped her with her small serving ("I don't really like spagetti"), then he helped himself to his usual bowlful. Sally grabbed a pair of chopsticks for Johnny ("Forks are scary...") and a fork for herself.

Lunch was normal as everyday: food dropping on the table and on the floor, kids screaming and crying, chatting and laughter. Johnny and Sally, as usual, ate in silence. Lunch break came to a close when the grannies came and picked up the pots and bowls. Johnny, as usual, gathered the bowls around him, and handed them over to a granny. The granny, looking old and frail, smiled warmly ("She smiles like Mama") and pinched him on the cheek ("But Mama's hands are not rough like sandpaper..."). Then the grannies retreated back into the kitchen.

The younger kids were now ushered to their classrooms for their nap. A few of them were already asleep during lunch and had to be awaken up. Screams and tears followed, as expected.

The older kids were then lining up in pairs. The pairs always change, except for Johnny and Sally. The kids then held hands and marched to their individual mats. Miss Tong, their homeroom teacher, then handed out blankets to the children, and the lights were turned off, save the crack of the partly shut door ("Remember, conquer your fear of darkness!"). Miss Tong was chatting outside with Miss Wong, but would occasionally come in and see if any children were chatting. One time Johnny was laughing at Sally's joke, and Miss Tong came in and yelled at him. But today Johnny was especially quiet. As Sally, seeing Johnny's silence, went to sleep, Johnny kept his eyes open for a while, and gently looked at Sally: they had so much fun together. They should always be together.

Nap time over, and Sally shook the drooling Johnny awake. Following that was an uneventful math class, in which all the questions were answered by Johnny and this other boy.

The clock struck three, and it was time to go home. All the kids lined up to get their bags. Johnny, sensing this to be his moment of fate, grabbed Sally by the hand and led her aside. Miss Wong and Miss Tong noticed this unusual gesture, went to inquire.

"Will you marry me?"

The three women looked at each other, then laughed aloud.

"Johnny, I'm not going to marry you, silly!" Sally teased, as she poked her finger into his cheek. She, too, was laughing.

Then poor little Johnny also followed the laughter, not knowing what was so funny.

Stories from My Youth: I - Burn on the Tummy

Baby brother is sleeping, and another is crying; Mother is frantically running back and forth, in and out of the room, and Father is at store, working until very late. This was the observation of a four year old boy, half naked, waiting patiently for Mother to shower with him. For all short life he has been taken care of by Mama and Mother. But now that the family has just moved to a newer, but much smaller apartment, and Mama no longer lives near their home, poor Mother really has no time to give all her attention to the little boy. Stilling running back and forth in and out of the only bedroom of the house, and into the living room (which is also the dining and family room), Mother told the little boy, "go and take the shower by yourself."

The little boy looked a bit reluctant. One can imagine a cloud of confusion forming in front of the forehead of the boy. But such a small cloud was scarcely noticeable in a room where greater clouds of confusion trail Mother.

"Just turn the knob to the left and you'll get hot water." Mother said.

And so the little boy went inside the bedroom, opened his own little closet, carefully took out his clothes ("Remember, one t-shirt, one pair of pants and one pair of socks!"), closed the closet ("Remember, always close the closet!") and rushed out of the room and into the bathroom. He closed the door, took off his clothes, carefully ("Always be careful!") laying them on the floor (so that when he is done, he can step on the clothes so as to not get the floor wet), stood on the toilet lid and took the shower handle off the rack just above the toilet. Remembering how Mother used to hold the handle, he held it with his right hand, and, remembering Mother's instructions, turned the knob all the way left. Water came out, and the little boy pointed the shower head to his tummy.

Success! He thought.

The water, however, soon turned from cold to warm, from warm to burning hot. It is burning the little boy's belly button! Yet the boy turned not the shower off, nor pointed the shower head away from his tummy. Why is it so hot? That’s not how it was when Mother showered with me...

"Mother!" The little boy let out a scream, and did not realize that it was a lot more horrific than he thought.

Mother rushed in, and quickly turned off the water. She put the shower handle back on the rack ("Always put things back to where you found them"), and looked at the tummy, which was now redden with a slight burn.

The little boy now cried. Oh! The tears were enough for his shower that day. Mother took the boy’s hand and led the little wet, naked boy outside. After drying the boy, Mother then pulled out the emergency kit in the kitchen and took care of the burn around the belly-button. Then she gave him a toy car, and he happily ran off to the room and played.

Father came home at ten that night. Mother told of him the small accident. Father said to the little boy, "My little man, as long as your little thing is okay, you are fine. Man must be able to bear pain, for man must do many great things in -"

"Your soup's ready, hungry bear..." Mother called from the kitchen.

Stories from My Youth: Dedication

Dear Little Girl,

I know that you like to listen to stories, and so I wish not to disappoint you; but since I am not particularly imaginative or inventive, I can only satisfy your desires by telling you real stories - stories of my life. Sitting at the edge of my second decade, I feel that perhaps now it is a good time to look back at some of the things that happened to me: my triumphs, my failures, my pride, my shame...In short, all that contributed to mould the child into the Big Guy right now, right here, right before you (in print, of course). It is only by writing down the past that I can conquer the past - for what is written down cannot change, and one can only conquer a static idea. It is by overcoming the past that I can be in the present; it is by conquering the past that I know I will have a future.

But Little Girl! They are also for you, for as you fear (or shy away from, perhaps?) of telling me your past, you choose to listen instead; and so the stories are for you to listen to. As you listen you might hear echoes of my past in your memory. Memory is a weird thing - it hides in a corner and weeps, until consciousness drags it out of darkness and dances in it in the light of the present, only to be ushered back to its corner, by that mysterious hand of everyday forgetfulness. Memory can only weep once more, and it is not known when it shall dance again.

Give me your hand, Little Girl, and let me dance with you. Let us lead each other out of the past and into the present - I shall lead, and you follow; I shall tell, and you listen. As I bring to you my past, so may you gradually pull on the thin thread of fragments of memory, leading them out into the open air, then capturing them with your pen. Behold my past, and behold yous, and see how we parallel each other before we intersect at our dance...

Perhaps you might wonder why you are chosen to be the partner of our dance. To this wonder I have no reasonable answer. But reason is often overrated - it answers no fundamental questions. Do you recall the moment when our eyes met? There was tranquility in a room full of gestures, words and laughter. The gift of tranquility was what you gave me that day, and in return, I shall give you my past. But as yours is a simple prelude, so mine is a complex fugue. Preludes and fugues, Bach teaches, always go together.

And now, Little Girl, I shall unfold my past to you...

Forgiveness and Apologizing

A friend already has her new year resolution planned out: she wants to be more (or properly) forgiving and learns to apologize properly. I suppose that is a good thing to learn.

I do wonder:
1. Why learn to forgive? Why not just never get angry?
2. Why apologize? Why not just do things you will not regret?

Of course, we must remember that most of us are only human, and cannot achieve my two ponders above. Others, however, have try to overcome man, and they have become the Overman.

Maybe now you can guess my new year resolution. In fact, if you know what my new year resolution is for 2005, you would know what all of my life's new year resolution.

Shakespearean Jokes

Reading the Ming Pao Saturday Magazine, I have come across some interesting jokes written by Mr. Wong Jim, a cantopop icon who passed away last week. He is also an intellectual, and in his "Works without Decency", he writes the following:

Riddles from the West:
1. Six inches (guess a Shakespearean comedy)
- As You Like It
2. Twelve inches (again, Shakespearean comedy)
- The Taming of The Shrewd
3. Wet (Shakespearean comedy)
- Midsummer Night's Dream
4. Dry (Shakespearean comedy)
- Tweifth Night
5. Three inches (Shakespearean comedy)
- Love's Labour Lost, or Much Ado About Nothing

My dear readers, I'm sure you would understand these jokes a lot more quickly than I do. They are indeed interesting.

PS: I still don't understand the last one. Any pointers?
PPS: I don't usually write these things. I promise for a more inspirational entry next time, after exams.

An Apparition

Have you ever been haunted by a distant memory? A person you've met a few years ago on the streets by pure chance, or an old elementary classmate who moved away after one mere year of your acquaintance? I remember her. She was in my grade 7 class, and moved away (who knows where) before we graduated. I remember her long hair, her small glasses, her sunny smile. I remember her gawky laughter, her voice speaking always speaking in A major, but sings in A-flat major. I remember her kick at my shin, underneath the table, inside the library, with Tony and Carrie sitting with us. And I remember her apparition before me, distant from the ESL portable, and I waved, and yelled out her name, only to find that she is not there. If she is to stand in front of me right now, would I recognize her? What makes her so haunting, that even now, after 7 years, I would still recall her so vividly in my mind?