🎼 background music
The People
Thierry Wong
1 Cherish
2 Trudge
My Dad,
My Guardian Dolphin
1 The Old House
When the neighbouring house changed hands, the developer uprooted the old house and levelled it to the ground. What followed was piling and laying sewers. To build a new building, there was bound to be ruthless and aggressive hammering. The layout of the terraced houses meant that one change affected the whole block. The continuous vibrations caused the ceiling of the old house to fall off, the brick walls to crack, and the awning extending from the main building at the back of the house to sag into a U-shape, which was bound to collapse. The sixty-year-old house was due for some basic repairs. So, even if I was reluctant, I had to start the "clearing" schedule.
Sorting out the belongings of deceased ancestors has always been a heavy task. After wiping the dust off the books, what's next? Discard them? Or put them back in place again? Will I regret discarding them? If I put them back, what is the point of storing them?
My father has been gone for 15 years, and I have been resisting dealing with his belongings. On the one hand, I am unwilling to take responsibility for misjudgements. On the other hand, I also think like Ah Q, believing that keeping the belongings symbolizes that my father has not gone far. Perhaps, from a deeper psychological perspective, some aspects of the father-son relationship need to be sorted out before moving forward.
On the weekend, after "playing the pipa with my hands," following the rhythm of Tai Chi, I found the key, added some rust remover, and successfully opened my father's special large wardrobe, ready to "find a needle in the sea."
Inside the wardrobe, there were family trees, graduation albums, old photo albums, letters, bankbooks, notebooks...… Everything was in good order. If the precise calculations of my life schedule were taught by my father, but my grandfather had passed away when my father was only twelve years old, without the patriarchal Alexander, how was my father's meticulousness in handling affairs cultivated?
As the wind passed, the pungent sandalwood scent burst out, and the spacious wardrobe was filled with a quiet and eerie atmosphere, both peaceful and uneasy. In a daze, I saw an owl winking at me. Startled, I rubbed my eyes and held my breath. For a moment, my hair stood on its ends...…
2 Graduation Album
The most eye-catching thing in the 1950 Huazhong graduation album was the group photo, spread across two pages, with a large number of people. Everyone in the photo looked tall and strong, full of vigour. It only took me three seconds to recognize my father. I opened my mouth, and for a moment, my breathing became rapid, and I heard my heart pounding. I never thought that my young father would look so much like me. Among the vibrant and flourishing group, only my father appeared thin and reserved. Nevertheless, compared to my own high school graduation photo, the demeanour of the older generation was incomparable. If I saw eagles ready to take off in the graduation photos of that year, we, 30 years later, looked like pigeons strolling leisurely. World War II forced the older generation to drop out of school, and after the war, they put on their school uniforms again. The hardships endured during the Japanese occupation were all written in the photos.
The graduation album has lively and ingenious layouts, with classmates writing down their impressions of each other. I didn't see my father's writing, but I read the descriptions of my father by his classmates: "refined and gentle" , "deeply individual", "scholarly". From different perspectives, "refined and gentle" is a kind and lenient description of "frail." "Deeply individual" is a beautification of "dull". The true meaning of "scholarly" is more likely to be "a bookworm who only knows how to study."
In any case, these descriptions do not match the father in my eyes.
At home, my father was always stern. He would sign my test papers and then make new demands; when I had sores on my skin, my father would use a needle to break the yellow pustules for me, and of course, he would not forget to blame me, saying it was "the consequence of not paying attention to hygiene." I was not allowed to be late for the bus, otherwise my pocket money for the day would be forfeited; during the 5:30am. Taichi practice, family members had to walk lightly and keep quiet. Anyone who disturbed his thoughts would be scolded. Our family continued the Chinese Confucian model, "father as father, son as son"...…
Living under the same roof for decades, seeing each other day and night, I never looked up to face my father's eyes until cancer gave him a fatal blow. When the tumour lurking in my father's liver began to become active, his physical strength rapidly declined, and I had no choice but to serve him every day. Taking medicine became a daily routine, and it was only then that I let him put down the thick newspaper and caught a glimpse of his yellowed face. But at this moment, after taking off the dignity of an elder, his face was full of exhaustion and listlessness, and he couldn't care about anything other than his illness.
3 The Barisan paper
My father's bookcase contained "Dream of the Red Chamber", "Romance of the Three Kingdoms","Journey to the West", as well as Lu Xun, Turgenev, Lian Shisheng...…
My father also subscribed to Reader's Digest. The books were openly displayed in the cabinet, for anyone to read. I remember that during the fourth grade year-end vacation, I had already read BaJin's "Family", Gorky's "Mother" ,"Childhood" and "My Apprenticeship"...…
Did my father believe in reading without borders? Was he a liberal?
Sorry, that's your misinterpretation!
In the second year of middle school, I casually bought a copy of "The Barisan Paper" from a stationery store on the way home from school. After dinner, I took out the homework I had to write from my schoolbag and casually put the newspaper on the table. My father found it, and without saying a word, he immediately tore the newspaper to pieces, took out the kerosene bucket used for burning joss paper for worship and struck a match. In an instant, the flames of anger were raging, baring their fangs and claws and their arrogance was rampant. In this way, the bowl of kway teow soup that I had saved from lunch in the cafeteria was ruined in a few minutes. I felt angry. At least, he should let me browse through it before taking action. Tactlessly, I picked up a few pieces of paper and complained, "I only read the headlines...…"
Unexpectedly, this provoked an even greater backlash, and I was lectured for a full fifteen minutes. The focus of the lecture was not the content of the newspaper; he was just anxiously asking me to pay attention to the serious consequences: "Just for this one and a half cents, do you know that this will cause me to lose my job? Who will be responsible for supporting this family in the future?"
I rarely saw him so furious and enraged. Intimidated by his power, no matter how aggrieved I felt, I had to endure it. I gritted my teeth and comforted myself: "Where there are green hills, there is no fear of running out of firewood?"
Watching "The Barisan paper" newspaper burn into ashes like joss paper, I no longer protested. As I watched, I actually saw a kind of postmodern humour. The tightly locked eyebrows gradually relaxed. "The Barisan paper" newspaper was offered to the gods. Was it an offense to the gods? Or a blasphemy against "The Barisan paper" newspaper? Like modern poetry, two unrelated words collided fiercely, like mismatched mandarin ducks and mismatched door gods, no wonder there was thunder and lightning.
This happened in the 1960s.
Why was my father so nervous and overreacting to a small newspaper, making a mountain out of a molehill?
Suddenly, I saw my father's notebook in the cabinet. Driven by curiosity, I pulled it out, hoping to trace his footsteps...…
Suddenly, I felt an electric shock, and my arm was paralyzed. It must be static electricity! I instinctively threw the notebook away. The notebook fell to the ground and opened up...…
1928, born in Taishan.
1935, arrived in Singapore, studied at Yangzheng.
...…
Calming myself down, I picked up the notebook, spread it on the table, and continued to read...…
1949, graduated from high school at Hwa Chong.
I propped up my chin and sorted out my thoughts...…
1950, Lim Chin Siong and Fang Shui Shuang entered Hwa Chong to study. My father brushed shoulders with them.
In the same year, the Maria Hertogh riots occurred. The Malay community protested against the biased views of British and Dutch newspapers, leading to bloody clashes.
1954, the May 13th student riots occurred. On June 2, more than 3,000 students from Hwa Chong and other schools occupied the hill for 22 days, demanding that the British colonial government exempt students from military service.
1955, the Hock Lee bus strike occurred. Lim Chin Siong was the leader of the Chinese labour movement, Fang Shui Shuang was the leader of the bus union, and Lee Kuan Yew was the legal advisor to the union.
Judging from the time and location, even if he was not at the scene, it was impossible for my father not to be aware of the storms of the times. However, after spending decades with my father, I never heard him say a word about it, whether it was about his experiences in battle or his news commentary from the side-lines.
My father was like an insulator, completely non-conductive.
4 Nemesis
To prepare for the renovation of the old house, I became a diligent mover, carrying items in large and small bags from the old house to my four-room HDB flat every day. Speaking of which, I have been "independent" for twelve years. During this time, I would at most nod to my HDB neighbours when we met, never exchanging pleasantries. Forced into the same elevator, I would briefly ask, "Which floor?" The next second after hearing the answer, I would press the floor number. If I knew which floor the other person lived on, I would simply take action directly, without even bothering to respond. Trapped in the elevator for these few minutes, I would prepare the key to open the door, or swipe my phone to reply to messages, or look up at the floor indicator above my head. Every second counts, streamlined actions, this is the rhythm of the 21st century.
I am not the kind of person who is willing to open my heart and talk to everyone I meet. This kind of nature must be inherited from my father's genes. Over time, when neighbours meet, they give each other a cold face and not linger.
But the upstairs neighbour just happened to be a retired shipyard worker and I believed that he was my nemesis in life. We always had to meet on a narrow road. The first time we met, he introduced himself with a playful smile: "Brother, can you guess how old I am? Almost seventy." Then, he asked, "How about you?" Who asks about the other person's age like that? This is not in line with modern etiquette.
Today, he descended from the sky again...…
"I'm from Kuantan. Kuantan, do you know? How about you? Are you going back to vote?"
"I was born in Singapore."
"Liar!" The old man squinted at me, "Tell a lie, lose a tooth!"
I looked at him and clearly saw that his teeth were already loose and extremely unevenly arranged. Calcium deficiency?
Why do I have to come from somewhere else? I was clearly born and raised here. I retorted angrily, "Then, guess, where do I come from?" "Kuala Lumpur!" The old man was very excited, "Right?"
"Why Kuala Lumpur?"
"Looking at your fair skin, you must have come from a big city."
Oh, so in his eyes, Singapore is not big enough. Big, what does that mean? Does it refer to the area of the country? Or the degree of urbanization?
5 Choice
The old man upstairs was actually releasing goodwill, trying to inject humour into the dull community life. I knew this clearly. However, I didn't appreciate it. Because we had different frequencies. His appearance made me feel oppressed, made me nervous, and made me suffocate.
Suffocate, what's going on?
In the elevator, when I was squeezed between two sweaty fat men.
During group exercises, when my hands couldn't keep up with the collective movements. In writing class, when the teacher asked us to write about "father" or "father's love is like a mountain."
In the coffee shop, when the uncle at the same table opened a mock parliament, and everyone played Li Ao, the Taiwanese writer, competing to stand out...…
Why suffocate?
Because there is no choice.
Fortunately, the development of the Internet has given us more choices.
If you don't like vulgar soap operas, you can go online to listen to Harvard University's open courses.
If you don't like Liang Popo, you can switch to a Chinese channel to watch "I Am a Singer."
If you don't like coffee shop parliaments, you can hide in a small building and become a unified whole...
But in the turbulent 1950s, did my father have a choice?
In 1948, the British colonial government announced the Emergency Regulations, intending to extinguish the flames of nationalism and anti-colonial struggle spreading throughout Southeast Asia.
In 1949, my father graduated from high school, which was also the same year that Mao Zedong ascended the Tiananmen Gate Tower and announced that "the Chinese people have stood up." The Chinese Communist Party excitedly seized power on the mainland, while the British colonial government was terrified and uneasy about the export of Chinese ideology.
Therefore, 1949 can be said to be a dividing line in the history of local Chinese education. For general graduates, what was on the agenda after graduation was nothing more than: further education or employment? For graduates of this period, they also faced the choice of ideology and identity. Or rather, he had to face the various follow-up problems after making such a choice. The establishment of Nanyang University was a social demand under such a historical context. And, its substantive intention was to solve the problem of higher education for Chinese school students in the region.
However, there were still six years before Nanyang University opened in 1956. The only option for graduates before Nanyang University opened was to return to China and participate in the entrance examination with the locals on the mainland. Then, be uniformly assigned to different cities in China for further education. Most of my father's classmates went to China, but my father, who was bookish, stayed behind...…
1950, hired by Longshan School, annual salary of one thousand five hundred yuan.
1951, taught at Hongwen School, annual salary of two thousand three hundred yuan.
1953, taught at Chong Cheng School...…
The notebook clearly recorded personal footprints. Was this really his choice? Or a compromise?
Looking out the window, the clouds in the sky suddenly transformed into an eagle, a horse, and then a fish. Clouds are free, they have endless choices...…
6 Tai Chi
When I started my Tai Chi journey, my father had already been gone for ten years.
Learning Tai Chi had nothing to do with my father. Although my father had practiced Tai Chi for decades, he had no intention of teaching me the skills. At the age of fifty, I suddenly felt that my neck and shoulders were stiff, and my finger tenosynovitis also clearly sounded the alarm: "It's time to take care of my health, don't become a burden on the country in my old age."
One day, I saw an advertisement for Tai Chi enrolment on the Residents' Committee notice board and immediately signed up, without a referral or calling friends.
From then on, every Thursday after dinner, I dutifully went downstairs and reported on time. The teacher was an elder. Decades of practice had made him kind and amiable, calm and humorous, without the old master's various tortures and criticisms of his disciples in martial arts movies. After a semester, the Yang style steps had become smooth.
Today, Xiao Zhang in the same group shouted excitedly before the end of class: "I'm taking leave next week."
"Oh, going back to vote?" The master understood.
Xiao Zhang said that he spent a thousand Singapore dollars to buy a plane ticket, but the local classmates were concerned about where the durians were fragrant.
"You didn't go to the mass rally? isn't this blind voting?" I joked.
"Even if we don't go to the scene, we can watch the speeches online." Xiao Zhang protested.
That's right, time travel, modern people are good at it...…
7 Letters
"Wow! So many love letters? Amazing!" The old man upstairs saw me carrying an environmental protection bag, and his eyes scanned it like an X-ray.
I was used to his roguishness, so I went along with it—
"Are you jealous?"
"Back then...…"
"The past can only be reminisced." Before he finished speaking, I dropped a line of lyrics and walked away...…
I took the folder containing the letters from the environmental protection bag and inserted it into the IKEA bookshelf, ready for further cleaning in the future. After completing the task, I took advantage of the gap to open the letters and read them. My father had been gone for 15 years, so personal privacy did not apply, right?
The letters in the folder were filed according to the names of various relatives and friends, and several of the names had grown up with me and were considered acquaintances.
Uncle Qiang was a relative from my father's hometown in Taishan. The content of the letters was nothing more than that the ancestral house, ancestral grave, and ancestral hall in his hometown needed renovation, and he was asking for remittances. After the remittance was received, he would write to follow up on the progress of the project, whether a new coat of paint had been added, or if new windows had been constructed, or if the termite bitten wooden doors had been replaced. Trivial matters...…
Once, when my father received a letter, he slammed his right hand heavily on the table with a "bang," shaking the cups. Immediately, I heard him call his uncle. For personal letters, I generally only get information from the information at the bottom of the letter, and I don't know the inside story. This time, because he discussed it with his uncle excitedly, I heard the situation clearly.
My father told his uncle that the remittance before the Lunar New Year had been received, but the amount of three thousand Singapore dollars was not enough to re-cover the roof of the ancestral house. So Uncle Qiang decided to distribute the remittance to the villagers so that everyone could have a good Chinese New Year. The revolution has not yet succeeded, and I hope that relatives will continue to remit money, otherwise the ancestral house will be eroded by termites and will soon collapse.
The uncle's instruction was: Tell them to let the building collapse, anyway, we won't go back.
After that, the correspondence between the two places was interrupted.
This happened in the 1970s.
After the correspondence with the villagers was interrupted, my father gradually resumed contact with his high school classmates. After the reform and opening up in 1978, perhaps "overseas relations" were no longer a crime, so the exchanges between the two places became more frequent. Among them, Yu Jing was a name I was familiar with. Every time he received a letter from an old classmate, my father would smile, hold the letter in his hand for a long time, and hum folk tunes involuntarily.
People, more or less, have a voyeuristic mentality, so I decided to start with Yu Jing's files.
(Letter 1)
The remittance has been received. Your kindness, brother, has moved me deeply and is unforgettable.
The letter startled me. What? Just after getting rid of the investment in repairing the ancestral house, my father started a new charitable donation. No wonder my mother has always been critical, saying that my father's heart is filled with relatives and friends, but not his own family.
(Letter 2)
Remittance received, many thanks for your assistance, I will never forget it.
I learned that you will soon be retiring from your job. You are not attached to your career at its peak and are bravely retreating. This takes a lot of courage. After you retire, brother, if you want to come to the mainland for a walk, while I still have some connections, I will definitely do my best.
Singapore and China did not establish diplomatic relations until 1990. Before the establishment of diplomatic relations, civil servants did not dare to travel to China rashly to avoid suspicion. In the early 1980s, my father retired from his job and finally broke free from this shackle. He was liberated! After receiving his provident fund, he spent a whole month traveling all over China.
(Letter 3)
After some preparations, I expect to go to Hong Kong next month. Fate is tricky, at the age of knowing destiny, everything has to start again. At that time, I will take it one step at a time.
Brother, you should seize the time to enjoy family life after retirement.
I am pleased to learn that your two sons are motivated and well-behaved. I have no children under my knees, and I will transfer all the blessings that God should have given to my children to them.
Contact me after arriving in Hong Kong.
...…
8 Disguise
In the 1990s, one sultry afternoon, my father told me that a rare guest had come to the house and insisted on pulling me out of the study to meet him. I reluctantly put down the homework I was grading and went to the living room to socialize.
This uncle, who spoke Cantonese with my father, was called Mr. Zheng by my father back then. He spoke very quickly, had a loud voice, was very energetic, and could see that he had seen big storms and was a very decisive person.
I sat at the end of the table and listened to their conversation. The topic was nothing more than the experiences of various classmates. I was not familiar with these people, so I was distracted and thinking about my own thoughts. Compared with my own classmates, although I kept their phone numbers, I rarely contacted them. I think my generation has different emotions and beliefs from them. In the twenty-first century, interactions between people are often based on some kind of reciprocal relationship. We have been classmates for several years, just because our test scores were close, we were rigidly assigned to the same school to facilitate the operation of the education system. This is an accidental situation, and classmates may not have common interests and pursuits. After this stage, we break up, and there is no sadness in no longer contacting each other. Aren't the comrades in the military and colleagues in the workplace all passers-by in life?
My father chatted and laughed with his old classmates, and I pretended to agree on the side, feeling bored. In less than a quarter of an hour, I made an excuse and politely flee into my study...…
Mr. Zheng, is he Yu Jing?
Afterwards, I took out another longer letter...…
I am very happy to be able to visit your house in Singapore this time and reminisce about the old days. Although I was unable to obtain Singapore residency, I am very happy to be able to come back and take a look. This time, the main purpose is to bring my wife's ashes over and place them in the Kong Meng San columbarium, and I also pre-purchased my own memorial tablet for a hundred years later. Time flies, and my savings in Hong Kong over the past ten years have enabled me to fulfil this wish. Don't worry.
Back then, the three musketeers swore an oath to study abroad together and serve the country. On the day of departure, your mother suddenly appeared at the Red Light Pier. Her hoarse cries made you feel embarrassed and ashamed. Are you still complaining that your mother prevented you from fulfilling your dream of studying abroad? You don't know, but her shrill cries still echo in my ears. Nagging, resentful, and sincere. In my impression, she has always been mumbling to herself: "My younger siblings are working in the rubber factory to help you complete high school, and now you are willing to leave? If you leave, what about me? What will I do in the future?"
A blessing in disguise. Looking back, it was precisely because of her interception that you avoided many future troubles and lived a peaceful life. Of the classmates who went north together back then, there are not many left on the mainland. Man's child has obtained a US green card, and he is going to sit in "immigration prison" immediately.
One generation does the work of one generation. We grew up in such a specific era, and not standing up is to betray the trust that the era has placed in us. Times have changed, and many people have different interpretations of this period of our history. Let it be, let it be, the great waves wash away, how many romantic figures have been washed away, all have passed away!
In the past few weeks, meeting with old classmates in Singapore has been nothing but eating and drinking, many heads have gone bald, many ideals have been lost, and many words cannot find an object or occasion to confide in. Leaving or staying, advancing or retreating, is not up to us, and the changes of the times are even less up to us.
On the eve of parting, I was very happy to see your child. In him, I seem to see a you from the past, quiet, low-key, and unpretentious. I have seen your efforts over the years...…
Is he talking about me? Tsk! Here comes Li Kui! A self-righteous fool. Hmm, is this the writing of the same person? This time, the letter is longer and more prose-like. There is a bit more tenderness under the decisive and resolute. If his bold straightforwardness, fast-paced vitality, and full-bodied strength show the style of that era, then our generation's secret schemes, cunning utilitarianism, and silent lightness are also a characteristic of the times, right?
9 Compassion
Compassionate Hospital, on duty, accompanying my father on his last journey.
In the middle of the night, I was awakened by my father's sobs...
"Pain?"
I wanted to call the nurse to increase his morphine dose.
My father stopped me, shaking his head and saying, "It's too late." Choking with sobs, he was completely defeated.
What's too late? I didn't understand.
After some explanation, it turned out that he was referring to the last few stocks in his hand, because the market was sluggish, and he was worried that he would not be able to sell them before his deadline. On the surface, what my father couldn't let go of was money, but I understood the heavy, invisible troubles weighing on my father. For my father's generation, living comes first, then life, then personal choice. This kind of philosophy of life has been practiced for decades and is deeply rooted and cannot be changed. Is living without life meaningful? Perhaps its meaning lies in helping others fulfil their wishes. Compared with other flamboyant lives, my father actually has greater resilience and endurance.
"Everything, we'll talk about it tomorrow."
Pulling up the bedding, I gently patted my father's back to coax him to sleep, as if the person in front of me was a new-born baby. At this moment, we felt each other's body temperature, and the body temperature awakened a memory from when I was four years old...…
My father took me to Changi for a group picnic. I was impatient with playing group games in circles and "singing together," so I went straight to the nearby sea to play in the water, and my father followed closely. He first let me ride on his shoulders and walked into the water to warm up. Then he let me sit on his back and gently submerged me in the water to tease me. I was afraid of slipping into the water and exclaimed loudly, so I hugged my father's body even tighter...… In my impression, this was our only physical intimacy.
Tears welled up in my eyes, and I finally remembered everything. My father was the owl guarding the night, the horse that explored the water depth first, and the whale that protected me through the stormy waves...…
I gently patted my father's body, and gradually, my father's emotions calmed down. Later, my father fell into deep breathing. He calmly and deeply exhaled the last truth and nothingness in the air in a painless state...…
10 May
May, a month full of belligerent spirits.
The May Fourth Movement in China in 1919, the May Storm in Paris in 1968, and the two 5.13 incidents in the history of Singapore and Malaysia all occurred in May. In May 2018, there was another general election in Malaysia.
Will the curse of history strike again?
Tense nerves need to breathe, and a bleak life needs to be relaxed. In the gap between following up on the news, I repeatedly read "Ol’ Horse Takes Command," chewing on the subtle meanings in it. No, this is not the "Sunflower Manual," not the "Quotations from Chairman Mao," not the "Bible." I am just entertaining Ol’ Horse, entertaining life, and entertaining myself! Who says that modern people's cynicism does not have Philistine wit?
Ol’ Horse: Every encounter is a reunion after a long separation!
The lingering soul does not dissipate, and the mountains and rivers meet...…
"Did you win the bet on the general election?" Look! He categorically asserted that I was a gambler in the first sentence.
"Grasping the Sparrow's Tail" - "Cloud Hands" - "Single Whip" - "Lower Back" - "Turn Around"...…
"Don't forget, at 4:30, the RC (Residents' Committee) will distribute free mutton porridge. First come, first served."
Changing my mind, I lowered my eyebrows and reflected...…
Didn't I also assume that he loved to be greedy for small gains?
Ol’ Horse: Where there is a light, there is someone, and leave a light...…
When all my childhood playmates around me entered English schools, my father, unwisely, threw his two children into Chinese schools; when it came to entering middle school, neither of the two children applied to Hwa Chong; and finally, the children were engaged in work outside the system. My father went against the tide, as absurd as Picasso, was this a self-harming protest? Or a deliberate management?
Ol’ Horse: Saying that there is no regret in life is all crap. If there is no regret in life, how boring it would be.
Uncle Jing, Ol’ Horse is talking about you.
After going through the great tide of history, you have long disappeared from the public's view. The confession of returning to the roots is your love for this land, but you have been wandering all your life, staying in different docks. How much can personal will play a role in advancing and retreating?
Where are you?
Ol’ Horse: All knives have sheaths...…
On May 9th, no one held a knife, but they just encouraged each other to "go home and vote."
On a dark and windy night, Malaysians spontaneously stood guard at the polling stations. At the first sign of trouble, they immediately activated the flashlight function of their mobile phones to monitor any attempts to cheat.
Times have changed, people no longer strike, boycott classes, or demonstrate at every turn, and people are beginning to look for more effective ways to speak out. People are all individual existences, how do brainwaves travel and connect?
Ol’ Horse: Life or death, right or wrong, success or failure, honour or disgrace, in the end, it's just one word - I!
Immersed in jokes, my gestures are like Master Zhang drawing talismans...…
The Tai Chi teacher looked sterned and commented in his cool words, " Stay focused with your eyes. Then, closely the movements follow. No swinging around without aim...…"
Ol’ Horse: The true meaning of the knife is not in the killing, but in preparation.
Late at night, people are not quiet. Lurking, I waited for another piece of the puzzle to fill in...…
