Hmm...
So it's been a long, long, long time since the last time I posted something. I'm rather ashamed to say that I had fallen during my absence from the blogging world. I became used to procrastination, resulting in a further drop in my already low grades. Everything became messed up. I want a transfer. But with the current grades I think I'm going nowhere. I want to take a term to raise my goddamn GPA.
Life sucks when you've made a bad move.
What I've learned, though, is that you gotta follow your heart, not the dazzling shine of gold, not the cold, twisting voice of so-called rationality. Go and do what you want. You won't be miserable, at least, because you can bear the pains that come with it.
Unlike my state of mind now.
If I survive this and make it out into a brighter world, I'll kneel down and thank God for His generosity. I got myself stuck, and it's a hostile world out there, but He saved me. I wish this will happen. God, I'm praying for it to happen.
Only there are two exams that I have to pass first.
Wednesday, December 7
Tuesday, November 1
From Steve Jobs' Death to My Uncle's Demise
In 2003, my uncle died at the age of 51, after an eleven-year-long battle with diseases caused by a type of liver parasites.
He was supposed to leave us eight years earlier, according to the doctors. But with the determination to accompany his children into adulthood, he struggled on, fighting for every breath, every step. The parasites caused severe swelling of internal organs. Often, there was so much built-up fluid in his belly that he could easily fill a half-liter bottle with the liquid extracted. But even in these occasions, he never left his work. Through work, he felt that he fulfilled his duties as a citizen, and earned his family the support they needed. He wanted to contribute as much as possible to the nation that he loved with a stubborn, ferocious passion; and that was what he did.
He did not leave his work until he could see imminent death waving ahead of him. My aunt took him to Shenzheng, where his daughter lived, to say goodbye to his children. My parents and I joined them about one month after he was hospitalized. It was the only time I went to bid the final farewell to a person whose life was vivd to me.
When I saw him, he was lying on the hospital bed, so sallow and gaunt that I almost did not recognize him. His hair had turned completely grey. I tried to take his hand, but he moved it away before I could touch him.
Soon after we sat down, he began to cry, mumbling incoherent words of repentance as he did. Saying sorry was his priority now. He wanted to apologize for every mistake he knew he had made before he left. That included to me: he was sorry, tremendously sorry, that he had failed to keep up his promise to take me to catch crawfish.
I had already clean forgotten that promise.
Not much attention was paid to me, unlike what I was used to. Nobody smiled much. I attempted to cheer up my soon-to-be-widowed aunt by pulling her along in my attempt to steal the fruits from the decorative kumquat trees at the hospital gates. The raid was a success. We returned to the ward with stuffed pockets, still giggling with excitement, and shared our loot. The intense sourness made our eyes water before the real tears had to come.
Years later, as I see it now in my memories, the smile never fully reached my aunt’s eyes as we laughed on our way back to the ward. There was always the lingering shadow of death in the back of her pupils. When uncle died eventually, two days after we left, part of her died with him. Part of our relationship died, too. Without uncle there to maintain harmony and rationality, she could begin to act solely upon her own whims. Then things deteriorated to where they are today. I have not spoken to her for three years and four months.
I miss her. But she will never be whom she was to me again, not just because she had changed, but also because my vision is no longer blurred by innocence in the same way it did, eight years ago.
I never went to see uncle after his death. His ashes are now kept in a funeral house in Shenzheng, visited merely once, twice each year.
I wonder what things would have been like if he had lived to today. I am more inclined to believe that our relationship would have fallen apart, as our relationship with all other relatives.
Constantly I repeat this question to myself, “Why things worsened instead of going better?”
One thing is certain: the issues stem from our difference in nature in some fundamental aspects. We are far from great human beings; but we are always consciously trying to become better. Few others in my family does this.
Today I still do not have a clear answer. But I will keep thinking. Maybe tomorrow I will have an answer, maybe the day after tomorrow...what is certain is that someday, I will.
Comparing that with no reflection, you shall see what makes us different from the rest of our family.
He was supposed to leave us eight years earlier, according to the doctors. But with the determination to accompany his children into adulthood, he struggled on, fighting for every breath, every step. The parasites caused severe swelling of internal organs. Often, there was so much built-up fluid in his belly that he could easily fill a half-liter bottle with the liquid extracted. But even in these occasions, he never left his work. Through work, he felt that he fulfilled his duties as a citizen, and earned his family the support they needed. He wanted to contribute as much as possible to the nation that he loved with a stubborn, ferocious passion; and that was what he did.
He did not leave his work until he could see imminent death waving ahead of him. My aunt took him to Shenzheng, where his daughter lived, to say goodbye to his children. My parents and I joined them about one month after he was hospitalized. It was the only time I went to bid the final farewell to a person whose life was vivd to me.
When I saw him, he was lying on the hospital bed, so sallow and gaunt that I almost did not recognize him. His hair had turned completely grey. I tried to take his hand, but he moved it away before I could touch him.
Soon after we sat down, he began to cry, mumbling incoherent words of repentance as he did. Saying sorry was his priority now. He wanted to apologize for every mistake he knew he had made before he left. That included to me: he was sorry, tremendously sorry, that he had failed to keep up his promise to take me to catch crawfish.
I had already clean forgotten that promise.
Not much attention was paid to me, unlike what I was used to. Nobody smiled much. I attempted to cheer up my soon-to-be-widowed aunt by pulling her along in my attempt to steal the fruits from the decorative kumquat trees at the hospital gates. The raid was a success. We returned to the ward with stuffed pockets, still giggling with excitement, and shared our loot. The intense sourness made our eyes water before the real tears had to come.
Years later, as I see it now in my memories, the smile never fully reached my aunt’s eyes as we laughed on our way back to the ward. There was always the lingering shadow of death in the back of her pupils. When uncle died eventually, two days after we left, part of her died with him. Part of our relationship died, too. Without uncle there to maintain harmony and rationality, she could begin to act solely upon her own whims. Then things deteriorated to where they are today. I have not spoken to her for three years and four months.
I miss her. But she will never be whom she was to me again, not just because she had changed, but also because my vision is no longer blurred by innocence in the same way it did, eight years ago.
I never went to see uncle after his death. His ashes are now kept in a funeral house in Shenzheng, visited merely once, twice each year.
I wonder what things would have been like if he had lived to today. I am more inclined to believe that our relationship would have fallen apart, as our relationship with all other relatives.
Constantly I repeat this question to myself, “Why things worsened instead of going better?”
One thing is certain: the issues stem from our difference in nature in some fundamental aspects. We are far from great human beings; but we are always consciously trying to become better. Few others in my family does this.
Today I still do not have a clear answer. But I will keep thinking. Maybe tomorrow I will have an answer, maybe the day after tomorrow...what is certain is that someday, I will.
Comparing that with no reflection, you shall see what makes us different from the rest of our family.
Saturday, October 29
Learning that I Have Another Illegitimate Cousin
Today I was told that my second uncle had an illegitimate daughter.
I had met the girl before, when I was about three, four years old. She had just learned how to walk. I remember chasing after her, who was always running away in unsteady but amazingly fast steps, and calling, “Sister, sister, com back!” I don’t remember her face. But my mom said that she looked like my uncle. And from the way she always ran without looking at what lay ahead, she was like him.
My memories of her exist now in fragments. They have faded in brightness but survived through the long years as happy memories--until the revelation today. Among them, there is a glimpse of my uncle’s face when he looked at her. I still remember that tenderness and care in his face, and being perplexed when I saw it: he was never a man who loved children; and most of his rarely-seen expression of affection had been directed towards me. Why would he have so much love for that girl, who was “neither a relative nor a close friend”? Now I know that she is his daughter. And my cousin--a “sister” by blood.
I am not extremely surprised. Before, when I questioned my mother with snippets of tabloid news that my uncle had had a secret lover, she replied, “There are a lot of things you don’t know!” Now I know one of them, Mom, and it damn well makes me want to puke my guts out.
Now my dad is the only one of the three boys in his generation who has not produced an illegitimate child. I’m rather grateful, honestly. No matter what he did, he loved my mother and me and never considered a divorce.
But that doesn’t make me feel any better about my uncle.
The existence of the illegitimate child had finally been revealed to his wife last month. My aunt did not talk to him for three days, and that was it. She knew that she was financially dependent on him, so she did not fight. He knew this too, so he did not see any need to apologize.
This is my extended family--a place where money is the only thing that speaks, much like the outside world. Three years ago, when my grandmother died, I had decided that before I give birth to my children, I would severe all relationships with relatives back in China. My parents called me crazy, idiotic, totally out of my mind. But looking back, I think I made the best decision I could with my extended family.
Sure, relatives teach lessons. But in the end, I don’t think that the value of the lessons outweighs the disgust they give me.
I had met the girl before, when I was about three, four years old. She had just learned how to walk. I remember chasing after her, who was always running away in unsteady but amazingly fast steps, and calling, “Sister, sister, com back!” I don’t remember her face. But my mom said that she looked like my uncle. And from the way she always ran without looking at what lay ahead, she was like him.
My memories of her exist now in fragments. They have faded in brightness but survived through the long years as happy memories--until the revelation today. Among them, there is a glimpse of my uncle’s face when he looked at her. I still remember that tenderness and care in his face, and being perplexed when I saw it: he was never a man who loved children; and most of his rarely-seen expression of affection had been directed towards me. Why would he have so much love for that girl, who was “neither a relative nor a close friend”? Now I know that she is his daughter. And my cousin--a “sister” by blood.
I am not extremely surprised. Before, when I questioned my mother with snippets of tabloid news that my uncle had had a secret lover, she replied, “There are a lot of things you don’t know!” Now I know one of them, Mom, and it damn well makes me want to puke my guts out.
Now my dad is the only one of the three boys in his generation who has not produced an illegitimate child. I’m rather grateful, honestly. No matter what he did, he loved my mother and me and never considered a divorce.
But that doesn’t make me feel any better about my uncle.
The existence of the illegitimate child had finally been revealed to his wife last month. My aunt did not talk to him for three days, and that was it. She knew that she was financially dependent on him, so she did not fight. He knew this too, so he did not see any need to apologize.
This is my extended family--a place where money is the only thing that speaks, much like the outside world. Three years ago, when my grandmother died, I had decided that before I give birth to my children, I would severe all relationships with relatives back in China. My parents called me crazy, idiotic, totally out of my mind. But looking back, I think I made the best decision I could with my extended family.
Sure, relatives teach lessons. But in the end, I don’t think that the value of the lessons outweighs the disgust they give me.
Friday, October 21
A Wrong Turn of Events -- Exactly As Planned
I had always been telling other people, and trying to persuade myself, that it has always been my dream to become an actuary.
That is, until now: when I am officially enrolled in the general mathematics program, aiming at a major in actuarial science, at the University of Waterloo--my “dream program” in my “dream university”. Now, the truth is so evident that I can no longer cover it, not even trying to do so for myself.
I have to admit it, finally, that mathematics is not the passion of my life. I have no inner motivation to keep my mind on it for seven hours a day, seven days a week. It is not the spiritual food that suits the taste of my heart. Good for an occasional snack, at the most. And deep inside, I know, I have been aware of this from the very beginning. Yet I chose this path, for the lure of a high salary and stability.
In high school, while walking in the hallways, I had told myself again and again that I should follow my mind rather my heart. I despised my former mentor for his choice to let his inner child (one marked by irresponsibility and lack of self-control) run freely. I thought that by believing in that rationality should rein in emotions, by suppressing my desires to become a writer or anything “riskier” than an actuary, I was better than him.
Now I realize that I was only partially right.
As soon as I start to have to spend fifty hours every week trudging amongst piles of homework, all of which mathematics related, all my genuine desires began to venture out in rebellion. I created a blog. I started to subscribe to several news magazines. I placed more entries in my notebook than ever. The romanticist in my nature called out to me: leave, leave this torturous place, follow your heart and do something you enjoy.
Yet I am still indecisive. I plan about writing a book, starting a jewelry business, joining my father in his plan to found a logistics company--anything that will effectively prepare me for life after university yet distract me from the routinely university work. But so far, except for the book, everything else exist only as a blueprint. Even if they do become reality, university will still have to remain a major focus of my life. I will still have to face more and more mathematics work, which is becoming increasingly painful every day.
Unless I go somewhere else.
That is, until now: when I am officially enrolled in the general mathematics program, aiming at a major in actuarial science, at the University of Waterloo--my “dream program” in my “dream university”. Now, the truth is so evident that I can no longer cover it, not even trying to do so for myself.
I have to admit it, finally, that mathematics is not the passion of my life. I have no inner motivation to keep my mind on it for seven hours a day, seven days a week. It is not the spiritual food that suits the taste of my heart. Good for an occasional snack, at the most. And deep inside, I know, I have been aware of this from the very beginning. Yet I chose this path, for the lure of a high salary and stability.
In high school, while walking in the hallways, I had told myself again and again that I should follow my mind rather my heart. I despised my former mentor for his choice to let his inner child (one marked by irresponsibility and lack of self-control) run freely. I thought that by believing in that rationality should rein in emotions, by suppressing my desires to become a writer or anything “riskier” than an actuary, I was better than him.
Now I realize that I was only partially right.
As soon as I start to have to spend fifty hours every week trudging amongst piles of homework, all of which mathematics related, all my genuine desires began to venture out in rebellion. I created a blog. I started to subscribe to several news magazines. I placed more entries in my notebook than ever. The romanticist in my nature called out to me: leave, leave this torturous place, follow your heart and do something you enjoy.
Yet I am still indecisive. I plan about writing a book, starting a jewelry business, joining my father in his plan to found a logistics company--anything that will effectively prepare me for life after university yet distract me from the routinely university work. But so far, except for the book, everything else exist only as a blueprint. Even if they do become reality, university will still have to remain a major focus of my life. I will still have to face more and more mathematics work, which is becoming increasingly painful every day.
Unless I go somewhere else.
吾日後定為河東獅矣
看央視93版三國演義，看到周瑜臨死前握著小喬的手，說甚麼諸葛亮每爭必高自己一籌云云，頓時燃起俺一個女權主義者的滿腔義憤，遂來博客泄憤。
93版三國演義有不少改動原著的地方。有的改得還可以，不過這一段不屬於這之一。原著中，周瑜在第三次被氣之後，很快就死在軍中，所以說這樣的話可以理解。但是，在電視劇里，小周已經回家了，看到了自己的賢妻嬌兒。他臨死之前，不對妻兒表示任何不捨之情，還只念念不忘一個孔明？這是多無情無義的一個丈夫兼父親啊！
依俺的火爆性子，對這種負心漢，不等他說完，就該左右開弓兩耳刮，一腳踹進江裡餵王八！不說你不控制自己的情緒被氣死，導致我青春守寡，娃兒幼年喪父。你臨終之前還不對我和孩子表示歉疚（當然，這裡當爹的要死了只帶著老婆跑到江邊死去，都不讓孩子在旁邊。），不說甚麼夫人委屈你了來世還願與你重續前緣，不說甚麼兒子閨女爹走了你們好自為之，反倒一個勁兒惦記那個諸葛亮！聽了這話，你不死我都要把你掐死了！
泄憤完畢。我估計以後我嫁人了肯定是個河東獅子，百般挑剔又刁鑽。看哪個福大命大膽子大的敢把我娶進門。
93版三國演義有不少改動原著的地方。有的改得還可以，不過這一段不屬於這之一。原著中，周瑜在第三次被氣之後，很快就死在軍中，所以說這樣的話可以理解。但是，在電視劇里，小周已經回家了，看到了自己的賢妻嬌兒。他臨死之前，不對妻兒表示任何不捨之情，還只念念不忘一個孔明？這是多無情無義的一個丈夫兼父親啊！
依俺的火爆性子，對這種負心漢，不等他說完，就該左右開弓兩耳刮，一腳踹進江裡餵王八！不說你不控制自己的情緒被氣死，導致我青春守寡，娃兒幼年喪父。你臨終之前還不對我和孩子表示歉疚（當然，這裡當爹的要死了只帶著老婆跑到江邊死去，都不讓孩子在旁邊。），不說甚麼夫人委屈你了來世還願與你重續前緣，不說甚麼兒子閨女爹走了你們好自為之，反倒一個勁兒惦記那個諸葛亮！聽了這話，你不死我都要把你掐死了！
泄憤完畢。我估計以後我嫁人了肯定是個河東獅子，百般挑剔又刁鑽。看哪個福大命大膽子大的敢把我娶進門。
Thursday, October 20
啥都不缺，就是缺德
“據南方都市報報道，13日下午5時30分，佛山南海黃岐的廣佛五金城裡，兩歲小女孩悅悅(化名)，在路上被一輛面包車撞倒和碾軋。而之後將近7分鐘時間，還有呼吸的悅悅一直孤零零地躺在路邊，18個路人先後經過，但都當沒看見，而其間悅悅又被一輛貨車碾軋過去。
最終悅悅被第19名路人抱到路邊，隨後被送往醫院急救。這名路人是一名撿破爛的阿姨。”
http://www.chinareviewnews.com/doc/1018/7/6/2/101876247.html?coluid=45&kindid=0&docid=101876247&mdate=1021083003
小悅悅事件並沒有讓我感到多麼驚訝。幾年前，我二伯的一個徒弟在火車站被火車撞傷頭部，昏迷在血泊中。在接下來的幾個小時里，他被里三層外三層的人圍著，看著他的生命一點一點流逝，沒有一個人撥打電話叫救護車。最後還是一個熟人也去看熱鬧，認出他來了，才叫救護車來送到醫院。搶救了幾個小時還是死了。
我一直不懂許多中國人的這種看熱鬧的心理。一個人－－一個跟你無怨無仇的人，一個同類，躺在地上生命垂危，你卻能站在那裡看著他慢慢死去，完全無動於衷！
我家的貓，看見了一只死貓，還要淒慘地叫幾聲。一只狗，看見另外一只素不相識的狗有困難，還要上去幫助。這些圍觀群眾，豈不是畜生不如？你說怕幫了人家，被反咬一口賴為罪犯，那偷偷打個120，總可以吧？
現在還有不少年輕人，滿懷豪情壯志，聲言要讓中國主宰亞洲乃至於全世界。我只想用古人的一句話問他們：治天下者，以人為本。我們如此草菅人命，以何德何道可服天下？
最終悅悅被第19名路人抱到路邊，隨後被送往醫院急救。這名路人是一名撿破爛的阿姨。”
http://www.chinareviewnews.com/doc/1018/7/6/2/101876247.html?coluid=45&kindid=0&docid=101876247&mdate=1021083003
小悅悅事件並沒有讓我感到多麼驚訝。幾年前，我二伯的一個徒弟在火車站被火車撞傷頭部，昏迷在血泊中。在接下來的幾個小時里，他被里三層外三層的人圍著，看著他的生命一點一點流逝，沒有一個人撥打電話叫救護車。最後還是一個熟人也去看熱鬧，認出他來了，才叫救護車來送到醫院。搶救了幾個小時還是死了。
我一直不懂許多中國人的這種看熱鬧的心理。一個人－－一個跟你無怨無仇的人，一個同類，躺在地上生命垂危，你卻能站在那裡看著他慢慢死去，完全無動於衷！
我家的貓，看見了一只死貓，還要淒慘地叫幾聲。一只狗，看見另外一只素不相識的狗有困難，還要上去幫助。這些圍觀群眾，豈不是畜生不如？你說怕幫了人家，被反咬一口賴為罪犯，那偷偷打個120，總可以吧？
現在還有不少年輕人，滿懷豪情壯志，聲言要讓中國主宰亞洲乃至於全世界。我只想用古人的一句話問他們：治天下者，以人為本。我們如此草菅人命，以何德何道可服天下？
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