Wishing to be a coach

Klin Cheng

Feb, 1994 first written

Oct, 2004 revised

Sep 9, 2011 typed out

I was spending my days with patience and expectation—by patience I mean you have to go through all the trivialities and daily routines without making any complaints; and by expectation I mean you always have a wish for betterment and improvement despite all the thwarts. Knowing I was unable to make anything great and terrific, I got reconciled with myself. There were no more silly struggles regarding my unlikely pursuit. Everyday, dressed in tennis suit, I went to a nearby campus court for one or two hours workout. From time to time, my clothes were wet by sweat. Yet I continued to repeat my strokes until my playing hand can no longer be controlled. I didn’t make this for past-time or for amusement. It was a discipline that will fulfill my ultimate goal. Determined to advance myself in a way I hope, I found I had a zest for the sport. So, I don’t mind if the court is deserted or if I can find any company, since a wall is enough for me. Striking against it again and again, I was able to come up with a style that is graceful and elegant. In less than two years, my newly-trained right hand had already played as good as my skillful but injuries-plagued left hand. It’s an outcome of relentless efforts and a result of toil on even rainy days. Nobody understands why, at the age of 45, I still tried to hone my skills as hard as an up-and-comer. In fact, I was enchanted by the progress I made during the span. It simply pleased me to know I can win respects by becoming dominant over others. After all, I was to see myself as someone who can do something practically and devotedly. To meet this purpose, I had to exercise my will all the while. Pitting myself against my putative rivals, I just got the drive to move forward. Of course, I was supposed not to make anything that is beyond my capability, but to do what’s hard enough for me. Really, if I were to set an extraordinary example to any of my possible students, I should have made my act compelling. Already we had too many people who dealt with themselves and others in a big-headed way. I must be humble and cautious so as not to make the same mistake. It’s the only way to vindicate my honesty and act out my commitment.

I had been dreaming of becoming a tennis coach for a long time. The difficult part of it is I don’t want to be ridiculed as an amateur. And I believe only those who got the ability to bring forth the best are worthy of the job. But how impossible this was for me! I couldn’t even convince others to take my way of self-practicing. It might be that people would rather play with others than hit the ball alone; or, lacking the credentials to define myself, I just couldn’t pitch me as someone worthy of the name. But, I saw no reasons why my special way of training shouldn’t be introduced. It saves the necessity of a fellow partner and reduces the cost of coaching charges, while you can learn serve, volley, smash and forehand and backhand drives all by yourself. And this requires one condition only: get the know-how from me. Truly, doing this myself, I found the experiment working, as I was satisfied with my performance. Still, I am more a learner than a mentor. Before I could get anywhere, I shouldn’t be seduced to do such a lousy thing as recommend me for a feat that so many people believe they can demonstrate. I must first shape me up and show people how I came to his. Such an accomplishment, certainly, requires years of endless drilling. But that would not trouble me. I just wonder who could serve as the target of my teaching enthusiasm.  I thought of my young daughters. If one of them shows the same attributes as me, I shall have no problem coaxing them to follow my way. I just have to decide if that’s a good thing for them. Always I told people that children should be allowed to make their own choices. If I impose my priorities upon them, I’ll be guilty of two-facedness. That’s not the way I like. I’d rather do nothing than misuse the power of a father. After all, my kid girls are still too naïve to know the real thing. They would back off from me as long as I made them unhappy. So I must wait and see what might happen. Until they are mentally prepared, I won’t make the discipline a part of their life.

But, my advocacy for laisses faire has shown downsides. As a result of it, I could no longer command or demand my kids. Perhaps that’s why Ruchi, my first daughter, always do whatever her mother and school teachers told her to do instead of listening to my premonition. As a father, I would like to protect my baby beloved from being polluted by utilitarian incentives or addicted to our cultural opiates. But, at this age, how could they come to realize the nature of things? They were doomed to be burdened by those dangerous, poisonous and harmful encouragement, persuasion or urgings coming from the completely insane society. It’s impossible for them to understand why emphasis upon glory, honor and ornament was sometimes a moral sin. My heart ached each time I thought of the way we were brought up. Why boys and girls who show poor academic performance have to be punished? And why bright children are required to go through the ordeal of stressing themselves out again and again? Maybe I should chart a safe course for my innocent girls and help conduct the steering on behalf of them. Only I couldn’t do this without jeopardizing the harmony of my family. My wife, like many others, was opinionated. It was always she who decided what Ruchi shall or shall not do. I tolerated it simply because I was unable to show that her way of upbringing could be destructive. But I never forgot the price that I had paid for the foolish demands of my parents. My wife didn’t understand this, since she herself was not the victim. If my fatherly love can’t foster a solid personality and unleash a happy and healthy sprouting for my babies, what’s the use of the lesson I learned from wounded vanity? How can I stand being denied a say in anything concerning the cultivation of my daughters’ minds? My little daughter, Ruming, deserved a chance to be guided to wherever her turn of mind reflects. It doesn’t matter if she is capable of doing anything brilliant. But, I hope, in her, there must be something spontaneous, something that will bring her good spirits even when there is no applause. That’s what I am going to do as a coach. After all, I advocate an open way of education.      

Trying to Lift Myself

Klin Cheng

Feb, 1996 written

Sep, 2011 typed out

At noon time my two daughters came to my place to have their lunches. They showed me a bound volume of their winter vacation homework. On the cover of it was a nice artwork crafted by Ruchi together with one of her classmates. As the design looked so nice, I told her she was talented and it was a gift inherited from me. She disagreed, saying her endowment was from Mami. I said that’s not true, because ever since I was a schoolboy I had been good at drawing, always winning first place in school contests. My babe refused to listen to me. She said the only thing she acquired from me was my laziness. That’s ridiculous. She didn’t even know hard I had been working. Perhaps that’s why the other day Ruming grumbled to me: “Every time we asked you to check our homework, you did it carelessly.” Indeed, it was a lousy job I hated to do. Only I didn’t explain to them why this was so. There were lots of things I couldn’t make myself understood when I was taken as a lazy man on the condition that I failed to make money. So each time I was teased as such, I kept silence. It’s something I could ignore easily. But there is one thing I couldn’t: My wish to become a writer. It oppressed my heart and made me feel as if I were taking a burden that was too heavy.

My daughters didn’t know this. They, like all others, saw me as a retired cook, an unemployed translator, an obscure tennis coach, but not a man capable of doing anything significant. Of course, they got reasons to take me as such, because all my life I never produced any worthy work. There was no way for me to tell them I was striving for a goal that is grandiose.

Still, I believe I am a man for myself and nothing was wrong with my pursuit. My weakness lies at the fact that I was too honest to base my certitudes on unsound principles and too timid and too shy to show any affectedness of my soul. Fortunately, I was able to keep myself from falling into the pitfall of banalities, as I never let annoyance cloud my judgment. Truly, to keep my faith, I should decree I was immune from secular priorities. If I can’t follow that spirit, there won’t be any chance for me to see the presence of artistic beauty and truth, not to mention the refined air of belles-lettres. And my kids would keep on blaming me for my mindlessness.

The girl

Klin Cheng

Oct 27-30, 2009

      

She came with a charm that people say would captivate all the boys, yet departed with lots of hopes dashed and lots of sorrows left in the minds of those who admired her, as she went away with a guy that nobody thought was her Mr. Right. That, of course, set tongues wagging. One came up with an entirely abrupt remark: “Beauty and Beast.” It hurt me, listening to that kind of silly profiling, as at no moment during her stay at our place I thought she was a girl who had a dearth of rationality. Always, I trusted her to be able to do what she thinks is right for her without any necessity to explain her seemingly stupid act. So, maybe, we were just jealous in our emotional display, envious of the man who beat us to it, who had made us feel humiliated in our failure to notch what we prized. The competitors might feel frustrated, as the episode marred their hearts. But, actually, none were as distressed as those who were too timid to join the fray yet miserably burned by the torch they foolishly carried for her. They were the ones most devastated, and least known of their simmering grief. But, who ever thought of their untold love at young age?  Thirty years after the unfortunate experience by us, some still carried that endless melancholy, taking it as an unfinished romantic movement of epic proportion, trying to find true solace from it, and showing no regrets.

      At the time, you were not spurred into action, even refusing to get involved in such a big scene together with others. That deprived you of the dramatic privilege to offer her dinner invitations and made you lose a chance to see her in privacy. Perhaps, it was because you hesitated and thought it would be complete folly for you to jump on the bandwagon. But, trying not to be one of those dashing guys cost you greatly—it formed a barrier between you and her and decimated all your efforts to impress her as a decent big boy. Such was the punishment you got for your inability to rid your cold feet. Because of it, you were left out in the cold, painfully tasting the bitterness of wounded vanity.

     Admittedly, she was not a raving beauty who had everyone at her feet. But, she held you spellbound and made you eager to lay bare your heart. That was the difference between her and other girls and the main reason we took a fancy to her and fell for her. We, in some way, wanted her to put us in good spirits and help regain our faith—that’s something we can do with a soul mate, and the purpose of our pursuits. No wonder, everybody brought their best out to engage in the battle, without even a bit doubt that   this was made out of our insane obsession or foolish notion.

      Unfortunately, many fizzled in their attempts.

     That was sad tales repeatedly told by our pals. And the cause of those who gloated over it—an outcome I foresaw, and a thing you can never erase. That’s why I chose to keep everything under wraps, and pretended I was an onlooker, an outsider who took no part in any sentimental romance. But, who knew that behind it there was a secret story? Who knew a quiet man other than everybody else could be afire with the same amorous longing and fascinated by the same woman and suffering the same emotional distress? At any rate, that was not a melodrama naïve people envisioned. I, like everybody else, wanted to have a happy ending for my role in this particular play. Yet, too frequently, it ended up as a tragedy and plagued us like a lingering nightmare. It was as if we were facing a woe we can’t address—that, perhaps, was because we never really survived this unfortunate mishap, and never really forgot that young girl who once lived in our minds and ignited all our passions for divine oneness. 

      So, maybe, in the aftermath of all this, we deserved an antidote to our travails. We could try something to resolve our grievances, and let people know that, in our reminiscence of these lovelorn days, we recollected a forgotten past that featured our naiveness and greenness. By reliving that experience, I became simple again. No longer was there any difficulty for me to sing my lyrics, show my mood, and tell my secrets—after all, she was my lady, my goddess, once, we shared a world that was transcendental. You looked at her eyes, and you knew she was telling you her mind. That was when I was holding her hands indulging in her dancing invitation, when I got a glimpse of her soft spot for me on her look, when I felt intoxicated for that glory. Yet, it was the night before she was leaving, the night before we realized what happened between her and that lucky guy, the night before I was able to bid her a fond farewell in my disillusionment. 

      Thirty years after her departure from us, I remained enthralled by her innocent gaze. So, instead of deciding the finale of my story, I continued to search for her soul, hoping it will help find an answer to my forbidden love. Because of it, I was able to lift my existence above my personal destiny and spray my moment’s happiness to those who had hankerings after goodness and refinement. Now, I found myself no longer a solitary fellow who had been sidetracked. It’s not just that I’ve psyched myself up for my dream, but also I’ve made it possible, though, at first, it was but a conscious intention of me to make the girl I adored an eternal love. After all these years, it has miraculously proved to be more than a pleasurable impulse, more than a fanciful idea. So, who can say I can’t handle spiritual things? I can’t give them the form of tangible experiences?  I can’t be an inventor of seemingly real fantastic occurrences? 

      I never regretted having thrown me into a slave to that penetrating gaze of hers, because there was something tempting and seducing in it. You just felt good surrendering yourself to that spell, that dizzy magic. That’s why I made it my most urgent aim to go on the search. Already embracing an opportunity that had seemed unlikely at the start, I don’t think any attempts to unravel the secrets of my sweetheart and get me reconnected to her would make me suffer more—I’ve made myself immune to that agony. The only question: If I can find her and tell her she was the force behind all my efforts.

Platonism

January, 1977                    

A prose by Klin Cheng

   There is a kind of love, not brotherly concern exactly, not fatherly affinity entirely, not erotic passion exclusively, but a mixture of them, a purification of all these great fellow feelings. In essence, it is an affection based on imagination. But, when put into practice, it shows friendly interest in, fatherly attention to and heterosexual obsession with one’s object of devotion. Often, it is expressed by letter-notes, without incurring any obligation upon the receiver of those noble sentiments. And all the stuff that made it work is out of the consecration of a devout fellow who is emotionally and intellectually ebullient. 

    In almost all cases, this love is applied to a haunting beauty who is ensconced in the sanctuary of one’s most pious dedication. The incarnation of this beauty is a lady who understands him, responds readily to him, and shares all the beautiful things with him, though, in fact, they are never together. It is this woman he is always missing and would exert all his efforts to enjoy soul-communion with.  Thus, the merit of this relationship is, through it, a man with strong spiritual longings may gain a spur to sublimation and  transfer the wish of getting union of his eternal love to artistic creation. Historically, the episode of Tchaikovsky and Madam Meck typified Platonic love’s utmost value—because of it, both became immortal.  Therefore, it’s a divine attempt that awed us.