They played together, grew up together, and now, he's, at his, younger brother's, funeral…translated…
Childhood is, an odd sort of a, place.
On my father's pickup truck, riding toward Hualien, I had two feelings, one, I didn't know what my father in the driver's seat, was chatting with my mother on the passenger's side about, what are they, seeing together, and, the other feel, leaving, Taichung.
Back when I still couldn't decide where I wanted to go yet, during the summer breaks and winter breaks, I was, always, sent to my maternal grandparents' in Hualien, and every time we left as a whole family from Taichung, the adults would say, "we're, returning back to Hualien"; while every time we left from Hualien back to Taichung, they would state, "let's go back to Taichung!"
And for a very long time, which way is "back" for real, I'd become, totally, confused, on.
My father's pickup was a 1.75 ton small pickup, after setting it up, it's roomy enough for a twin-sized mattress, the pillows, the quilts, the snacks, the comic books, and the barf bags, with a small light bulb hung downward, if you pull the tarp down, latched it up, then, it'd looked like, a comfy, small suite. But it actually, wasn't, there's NO air from the inside, not too much to look at, and there was, that scent of, diesel from the engines that transpired in the air.
Back then, the trip back to Hualien or the return to Taichung, it was, too difficult for me, I'd had to, go for rounds of feeling carsick, and barf, several times.
The tarp needed to get latched tightly on, my father told us, that if the truck was moving, we can't, lift it up, and I'd, always, worked my hardest to sleep the way, waking up, falling asleep until I was, wide, awake and can't sleep for another, wink, the truck is still, running on the, roads, and I had, no idea where I, was then.
Until the truck ran across the train tracks close to my grandmother's home, my father would then, slow the truck down, that was, a sign of our, arriving to the destination, no matter what, at this time, I'd, always, waken up, and my younger brother would, run out of, any certain field that belonged to the locals out, chasing behind, the truck, calling out to me loudly.
Older brother! Older brother!
There's that, long expected feel of excitement, and a sort of a, familiar to his voice, along with, a kind of fatigue, that I didn't know how to, put into words as a child, yet.
Hearing my younger brother called out to me, then, I'd, lifted up the tarp then.
He'd only arrived a few short days earlier, and became, a country-raised boy, his vest, shorts, were covered in dirt and mud, barefoot, black in the face, even the knees, were too black they'd resembled that of two coals, only his grins that showed his teeth were, completely, white.
He would chase after the truck, and called out loud, and my father would slow his pickup down considerably, and, as the car started, operating slower than the ox, my younger brother would climb onboard, and sometimes, I'd, automatically, leapt from the truck. He would pull on me excitedly, told me of the hens that lay the eggs inside grandma's chicken coup, told me where he'd gone in the fields to dig up all those, yams, told me how many popsicles are left inside the freezer, told me how many fish he'd caught yesterday in the creeks. Then, I'd, behaved like a city kid, first, afraid of getting the dirt all over me, didn't DARE to touch, to step in various parts of the land, but shortly afterwards I'd, turned into, that wild one, taken my shoes off, started, running fast through the farm, and, my knees would get, blacker than his two knees.
I can only imagine, that my face was, also, black then too, and, as I'd grinned, my teeth would appear, especially, white, it's just that I can't see my self, I only saw, my younger brother.
He was only two years younger, half of his face looked like mine, half of his face, looked like, him, seeing the grins on my younger brother, it was like, seeing, half of my own, childhood.
Later we grew up, and, spread out, started on our, individual, lifepaths, and, we would meet up from time to time, but, never run together, we'd, rarely, headed back to, Hualien together.
I always remembered his grins as he chased after the pickup.
It was, WAY better than that photo of him on his, funeral.
This younger brother, who came two years later than I did, seemed to, rush to, go back, then suddenly, he, did.
During the funeral, I'd, recited the Buddhist verses for him, and, the Buddhist master hosting his funeral kept beating the wooden knocker, in the space, the sounds were, so busy, there's, no ventilation whatsoever.
After the rituals were over, the noises still, echoed inside my brains, I couldn't, get rid of the, sounds. On the way back to the parking lot by foot, suddenly I'd felt, so alone, I really wanted to hear something, so I'd, started, "the sound of the chants, the verses filled up my head now."
the path back to childhood, you will, NEVER find, again!
photo from online
"Same here", says my young.
"It's a wonder, that Chou in The Journey to the West said that the Master, Tang wanted to ask the Monkey King if he'd ever heard the ringing in his, ears.", I'd told my young.
Originally, they were all, straight-faced, then, they'd started, chuckling, then, grinning, I'd made myself laugh too then.
My original intentions were to laugh, but, weird is, no matter how hard I'd, laughed, I still can't quiet, squeeze that, teardrop, out.
Leaving childhood, it's such a, difficult, journey, and you will, NEVER find your ways back, after you'd, left.
So, this is how you'd, lost your childhood, your brother was a metaphor of what your childhood was about, playing in the wild fields, doing all those, things that wild children do, you'd basically had a, childhood in the wilderness with your younger brother as your companion playmate, and now that he's gone, you'd, lost your only connection, the only association you have of your own, childhood years, and you'd, become, an adult, all of a sudden. As that's, the effects of loss, it makes us all, grow up, in a, split, second.
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