Cronología de la muerte

Capítulo 13

That's Sweet Mom!

It turned out that her father had come back home to pick her up. Although her arrogance had greatly diminished, she still screamed and yelled as she was being helped into the car. Sweet Mom was back; she was determined to rid my mind of the demon.

How lucky I am to have her continue to be the beacon in my dark life!

Finally, the ship left the shore. The dark sky was filled with twinkling nebulae, and the distant sound of cannons seemed to echo.

I imagine a brand new life ahead; we're going to America, on the other side of the ocean, that distant and mysterious place. I'll spend most of my life on that continent.

Goodbye, Shanghai.

Goodbye, my hometown.

After a difficult and long journey, our family arrived in the United States. My father started a new business in San Francisco, and we continued to live a respectable life.

Even in the completely unfamiliar United States, Sweet Mom still had to change my habits and personality.

But the more she interfered with me, the more I resembled my mother, that was her conclusion.

She warned me that I was greedy, never satisfied, never enough to eat or sleep. I was like a rice basket with a hole in it, never to be filled—I would never find true love, beauty, or happiness.

My Childhood in Shanghai (4)

Unfortunately, her words were like a curse, and they came true for me.

I pretended not to hear her criticism. The only thing that worked on Sweet Mom was a blank expression, which often made her eyebrows twitch. I didn't care what harm I might suffer; I was growing up. My legs no longer bent; I learned to endure the pain. I hid my deepest feelings deep inside, and I'd even forgotten how I stored them away.

To this day, I still clearly remember that night that should have been sweet and warm, but which turned into a sad one in the years to come. Sweet Mom made me feel for the first time that the curse had come true.

That was a year after I entered university. My mom asked me to come home for the Mid-Autumn Festival gathering—a Chinese Thanksgiving.

My father, brothers, and I, along with many distant relatives—some of whom have been in the United States for decades and can barely speak Chinese anymore, and others who immigrated recently and speak very poor English—sat down in the backyard of a cousin's house in Manlon, admiring the perfect Mid-Autumn Festival moon.

We carried paper lanterns with candles lit inside and walked towards the swimming pool.

In the reflection on the water, I saw the moon appear, like a golden gourd instead of the round disc I was used to seeing. I heard people murmuring something, their eyes filled with tears of happiness or sorrow.

I kept my lips tightly closed, but not a single tear welled up in my eyes. I could see the moon just as clearly as they could, and even marveled at its beautiful radiance, but why didn't I feel the same emotion as they did?

Why are other people moved ten times more than me? Am I born cold and heartless?

This is my fatal flaw: suppressing my emotions in order to prevent my knees from weakening.

I want to experience what I desire. I gaze at the full moon, imagining the Jade Rabbit and Chang'e in the Moon Palace, wishing to accept more emotions. I anticipate both joy and fear. I've made up my mind; I'm ready, and I'm waiting, hoping…

Sadly, I felt nothing; my strong legs were standing perfectly straight.

On the night I was admiring the moon during the Mid-Autumn Festival, I realized that I would never experience these beautiful emotions again.