A wish for Myself

Klin Cheng 

Feb, 1991 first written 

Feb, 1996 rewritten

Sep, 2011 typed out  

It was raining outside. And the day was Feb 15, 1991, beginning of another Chinese Lunar Year. I was alone in my place waiting for customers. Though students were already gone and few visitors came here, I was not bothered by this cool atmosphere. Admittedly, at this particular hour under such bad weather, there was no reason for me to do business. Still, I decided to keep my restaurant open—not because I had a zest for work, but because I thought differently from people with conventional wisdom. 

At lunch time a girl asked me if I would feel dull selling food myself. I said I wouldn’t. I didn’t tell her that I definitely will if I am accompanied by an uninspired fellow. Nowadays, explaining why is the last thing I would do. My queerness comes from the fact that I belong to those minority that are unique in their characters. So, sitting at my store on my own, I was mistaken for an unmarried man. Indeed, I am a maverick. I suppose in this world there are those in cage and those outside it. You don’t know which ones are the blessed. But as people kept tying the knot, I don’t think how many can free themselves. Having learned how to live with minimal spending, I was able to forsake worldly lures for eternal gains. So, despite the fact that I enjoyed the greatest happiness a family man can hope from his better half and kids, I still expect the delight of seeing my own growth. 

I missed those days when I made great strides. Being a man favoring cotton to polyester, classic to modern, I suppose I should give up things that are up-to-date. But I was by no means bound by traditions. Nobody could tell from my behaviors what I am made of. That’s why I told my customers the real substance that matters is often below the surface. If someone thinks he is too smart to be deceived, I’ll make a fool of him by serving things that look larger but weigh less. The big surprise lies here: As I camouflaged myself as an ordinary cook and concealed my identity so ingeniously, no one will ever recognize me unless they follow my clues and hints. But, most important of all, by refusing to expose myself bluntly, I learned to exempt myself from possible attacks by those who are cynic, snobbish and ego-conscious. I knew too well people envy the rich and are jealous of the talent. If I hadn’t made me an insignificant figure, I would have ended up as a sitting duck. After all, they can’t take me as anything more than an eating house boss. Still, I got my pride. Every time my customers found faults with my fare, I simply ordered them to leave, as I refused to see those who knew nothing about quality. Frequently, I told my patrons if they didn’t have a delicate taste, better find other places, because I wouldn’t give it a damn whether they come or not. 

Perhaps I was too proud saying this. But, that’s me—me beneath the mask. In no case shall I let people undermine this egohood. After all, it’s an image I shall maintain with all my might. I wish I could tell people that, for all my humble status as a cook, I remain pious in seeking for my holiness. I hope, through such faith, I can find persons who sympathize with me for my integrity as a creative writer and for my humanist commitment. 

Thus I wrote with gusto. In the past I hadn’t tried my best. Now I managed to exert myself as much as possible. I found it’s fascinating to recapture things that were well memorized. If I want to put down such memories beautifully, at least, I shall pursue the finesse required for masterpieces. That, for now, looks like a pipe dream. In the end, I might suffer disillusion. Yet, I fear nothing, as keeping on fighting for a cause I hold sacred makes me feel animated. I wish that, through my endeavor, I could tell people that “Remembrance of the Things Past” is not merely nostalgia, but also a work of art.