Rambling Thoughts
Rambling Thoughts
I don’t know why I feel so down these days. The overcast weather was one reason
perhaps. But I haven witnessed worse weather than this. Last night I sat at my
shut laptop a long time, reading poems written by unknown hands. Somewhat I felt
sad and discontent with myself.
I keep dreaming about the bumpy road behind my parents’ countryside house. I dreamed about the gurgling river in summer times. And I dreamed about the square wood table my family used to sit at in the small kitchen. From the passage of the
kitchen there was the storeroom. There were normally one-meter-high wheat and corn hoarding in the round wooden bins.
There is house extension going on in the house I stay in at the moment. The scattered bricks and cement reminded me of the only family photo in my family’s album. That time we hadn’t built the courtyard yet. In the photo my parents stood behind my sister, my brother and me. Behind us there were lumps of unused cement and build dregs. My parents looked very young and cheerful. And we three children were all not ten yet.
I think I had a lovely time then. The courtyard and the later built kitchen gave
the house a complete and cozy look. In summer times we used to climb along the
staircase to get to the top of the house. On the flat roof my father used to tell us revolutionary stories, some fictional, some real. Overhead we could see the
starry sky and the bright moon. That time I lived every day and made the most of it, having no idea what was transient and what was forever. The life was sweet
, and the life was gay.
I had never doubt the longevity of the house and the breezy summer evenings. But
after I finished middle school and entered secondary school, my parents decided
to move to town. I remembered the last winter we were in the countryside house
, my mother bought me a red woolen coat. I sat at the dining table and felt awkward when my mother asked me to try the coat on in front of my father. I didn’t
like my father very much that time, which I can’t figure out why. Probably just
because of the awkward age.
I didn’t have a deep impression of the housed we lived in town, and I never dreamed about it at night. The only memory I had was when my family was having the
house built, my father had to go to inspect the build every day. When it was summer he had to go and spray the water on the cement base to prevent it from cracking. That time I was working in the county. Once somewhat I went broke and had to go home asking for money, my father looked very disappointed. Looking at his sweaty face in the sun, first time in my life I felt very bad about myself.
I know that our memory is selective and that, as time moves one, we all tend to
remember the good things happened in the past. But I am not sure that I indeed exaggerated the sweetness of the countryside life. It is true that we couldn’t afford everything we wanted, but the delight and merriness of other aspects of life made the want of material stuff so negligible. Well, for me at least. Sometimes I told myself that I had to get over with the past, but I am not sure now. After all, sweet memories have all the tendency to linger.
Soon it will be my mother and my sister’s birthday. I don’t know why I made such a fuss about it this year. My heart aches to think that I can’t be present and say happy birthday to them. I missed the hand-made noodles my mother cooked during the past few years when it was someone’s birthday. After I came here, I tried to make the noodles in the kitchen downstairs once. But of course it could
never taste the same. It’s just the life itself, it can never be the same ever
again.
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