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.