A Beautiful Yet Brief Time

Over the past week, I have been traveling with my family. For our family, this was a rare grand reunion. I took my father to visit my older brother, sister-in-law and nephew; my little nephew is only a bit over a year old, and it was the first time both my father and I had seen him. A child of this age is utterly adorable, impossible to put down. When my father saw the little nephew, he became wistful and sorrowful. I knew he was thinking of my mother, because at that moment I was also thinking of my mother. If my mother were still alive, seeing her eldest son with a child of his own, she would surely have been beside herself with joy.

On this trip, my feelings were somewhat mixed. In the near future, my son will leave us, going far away to seek his own future. Deep in my heart I hate to part with him, always hoping he could stay with me a few more years; but I also know that a child must eventually grow up, and only by leaving home can he truly grow up. So however reluctant I am, I must let go.

After the 1998 college entrance exam, just as my child is doing today, I left my hometown and left my parents; from then on, I have never again gone back to live in my hometown. Although I miss my hometown deeply-one might even say my soul is bound to it in dreams-until today I still have not been able to return to live there. My hometown and my parents have already come to treat me as a guest, because nowadays I only go back once in a while to stay for a few days.

When my older brother and I walked our father through the streets of Hong Kong and recalled bygone days, waves of sadness swept through my heart. When my brother returned to his own home that day, he even wept. It has been a long time since our family has been together and had a good, long talk.

My father, nearly eighty, has recently suffered severe decline in his recent memory, often forgetting things that just happened. This could be an early symptom of Alzheimer's disease, or it could simply be that, as people age, their memory naturally declines. But this makes me inexpressibly sad: the father in my memory, shrewd and capable, shouldering every heavy burden on his own shoulders at all times, is not like this. When he was young, my father's mind was sharp, and he could always handle complicated matters in perfect order. Although he is still very wise now, his reaction speed is clearly not what it used to be.

While walking in the streets, my father still insisted on carrying the heaviest bag and pulling the heaviest suitcase, and would not wear a sun hat, instead giving it to us. We certainly would not allow him to do this, and would only give him a very light backpack to carry-if we gave him no luggage at all, he would keep protesting. My father's physical strength is indeed still decent; he often rides his bicycle, crossing mountains and ridges to wander around the towns near his home. When an elderly parent is in good health, the children have much less to worry about.

We stayed in Hong Kong for two nights, living near Mui Wo Ferry Pier in the depths of Lantau Island. This was relatively cheaper accommodation we found on the spur of the moment on Meituan: 500 RMB per room per night, with two free breakfasts. In Hong Kong, where every inch of land is precious, this price was practically at rock bottom.

Right outside the hotel was the beach. On one evening and two mornings, our whole family walked along the shore, enjoying the sea view and chatting at leisure. My father is a very frugal man; when we decided to take him on a trip to Shenzhen, Hong Kong and Macau, my father refused to come with us-he could not bear to spend the money. But during the journey, my father was very happy, finally feeling that this trip was worth the money, and began to look forward to the next trip.

Perhaps because of our age, neither my brother nor I have the "fire" of youth anymore; we got along extremely harmoniously with our father. In this whole life, the three of us father and sons have perhaps never been so harmonious.

Having been away from home for so many years, both my brother and I deeply miss the days at home when we were children. Although our family was very poor, my mother was very loving, and my father was very strong-willed. He insisted on putting his children through college, and no matter what difficulties he encountered midway, he would not give up. He named his two sons after the famous saying "One's aspirations should be lofty," which shows how high his hopes for us were when he was young.

I must admit that from the moment my father gave me this name, I was implanted with a certain sense of mission; even now, I still find it hard to accept the outcome of an empty life. I also have a courtesy name, "Qingmin," which my father also gave me. Both this given name and this courtesy name have had a profound influence on me; one might say that my father's education of his children began the moment he named them.

My father was not an ordinary rural farmer. Although, because of the times, he was deprived of the right to an education by his family's class background, he taught himself a great deal of knowledge. He had both ambition and foresight, and he could endure hardship; precisely because of these qualities, we were able to receive a good education in that era.

An hour after we arrived at Mui Wo Ferry Pier, my father and I had already grown very fond of this place. Mui Wo Ferry Pier nestles against the mountain and beside the sea; it is a quiet harbor. There is a direct ferry from Mui Wo to Central, Hong Kong; under normal circumstances it takes only 50 minutes to get from one place to the other. People who live at Mui Wo, if they work near Victoria Harbour, take this ferry to Central and then transfer to a bus.

Compared with the busy districts of Hong Kong, Mui Wo is like a paradise apart. Houses near Mui Wo are not expensive, at least far cheaper than my home in Beijing. The scenery near Mui Wo is beautiful, and Mui Wo at nightfall is very tranquil. Lights dot the surroundings; a great, bright moon hangs high in the sky above the sea, casting a long reflection on the water. As the rippling light shimmers, the moon's reflection in the sea looks even more beautiful. There are even cows by the shore; from time to time there is buffalo dung on the beach. This kind of pristine environment is not often seen.

By the shore there are also many banyan trees of great age; the aerial roots hanging down from the trunks have also plunged deep into the earth, forming a great cluster. I said to my son with a smile that those old trees and withered vines at the gate of Lanruo Temple in the Hong Kong movie A Chinese Ghost Story actually exist in the real world. For a moment, I very much wanted to settle down right near Mui Wo, living with three generations under one roof and fully enjoying the joys of family life.

But this wish will be very hard to realize within the next ten years. My eighteen-year-old son, full of lofty ideals and ambition, hopes to go thousands of miles away to study and achieve a great career. Before the bubbles in his ideals are deflated, no one can make him change his mind. By the time he returns after completing his studies, his grandfather may already be very old. And I, after ending this trip, must also return to Beijing to work and live; my older brother will stay in Shenzhen; and my father, still able to care for himself, still refuses to go with us to settle in a big city to which he cannot adapt.

Three generations under one roof and the joys of family are very far from us; only these few days of reunion are real, and are what all of us cherish beyond measure. In the future, will I be able to live with my son and grandchildren as three generations under one roof? I think perhaps that will also be difficult. Today, father and son are separated; as time passes, each will grow accustomed to his new life, and when we reunite again, it may only be for a brief vacation together. Perhaps by then my son will also be over forty-at forty one is free from doubts; it is probably only after this age that a person can truly understand, tolerate and cherish his parents.

From my father's present state I see my own future. In modern society, old age and loneliness seem hard to avoid. From my father's present state I also see myself after seventy, growing old day by day, no longer able to handle many of the jobs I can handle today. In truth, the number of days I have left of a clear mind, sharp thinking and abundant energy is not great.

This gives me a sense of urgency. Until now, I have not yet written a work that satisfies me; this makes me always feel that I am only wasting my years, doing insignificant work, and unable to live up to the expectations my father and I have of me. So I also want to spur myself on once every day, and work harder to fulfill my heart's desire.

Many people do not suffer over this question, but there are a few people in this world who do feel pained by a lifetime without creative achievement. Such people, because of their relentless pursuit of creative results, have strong inner drive throughout their lives. I do not know why some people among the population possess this trait; as one of them myself (and my son seems to be such a person too), I know it is hard for me to escape this fate. Unless life ends, or the brain can no longer function normally, I will be unable to stop my steps.

Is it more meaningful to be three generations under one roof and enjoy the joys of family, or to tirelessly pursue one's ideals? It is hard for us to compare. It would of course be better if the two could both be achieved, but real conditions often make this impossible, so every family is constantly making trade-offs.

Perhaps beautiful times are inherently brief; or it is precisely because of their brevity that we find them beautiful and cherish them. Being together day and night might produce a different result; in the friction of daily life, mutual dislike is probably unavoidable. As Mr. Qian Zhongshu said, between people it is like hedgehog to hedgehog: when they get close, they prick each other and it hurts; when they are far apart, they feel cold. Adult family members, each living an independent and free life, taking moderate reunion as a seasoning-that is perhaps the best outcome.

Those long parted long for reunion, yet when reunited they fear how quickly the days will pass; the moment of parting must eventually arrive. After parting, we again look forward to when we shall meet again; on the day of reunion, without even wine, a cup of plain tea is enough to make us happy. In the human world, what is most precious, of course, is affection.