The Calmness After Raging Waves

Last Sunday, we went to the Redcliffe Peninsula. After spending some time allowing the kids to play on the jumping pillow by the seashore, I suggested moving to a place where we could admire the sunset over the ocean.

When we arrived, the waning sun was shedding its golden rays onto the lawn where we were standing. There was the sea in front of us, with a patch of stunning golden waves reflecting the light of the sunset. The clouds had been turned into pink, orange and purple. A few canvas boats were lazily floating on the water, while a couple of fishing boats were moving steadily, crossing the golden waves. Our two boys were chasing each other on the lawn. Occasionally, there were passersby leading dogs who greeted us.

“Once I retire," I said to my wife, "I will take you to the seashore every afternoon to admire the sunset, watching the waves moving from far to near, and the tides rising and receding.""But the ocean is not always calm," she said. "Sometimes, there are tempests!"She was correct. The ocean is not always as calm as it was then, and it is not unusual to see raging waves. This is just like a person; sometimes, a very gentle person can have tantrums. Life contains suffering. But there will be a day when all this suffering has passed, leaving only memories, and our life experience will have been enriched. 

Many years ago, a friend living in Shenzhen told me, "Please never think of or speak of the sufferings in ZTE again. We've understood you. Past is past. Let's look forward to the future."I'm very grateful for my friend's concern. However, when thinking of those stories, I have not felt annoyed or disturbed. Instead, I view it as a glory. It is unusual for a fresh university graduate to be deceived by a tech giant. To some extent, it is the proof of my excellence.

When we came back home, I drew a picture in the evening when my toddler was sleeping. It has become one of my most satisfying landscape paintings.

My musical journey

Every Monday afternoon, I take my son to piano lessons after finishing work. This is also an opportunity for me to learn music theory from a teacher as a spectator, even though the piano is not the instrument I play.

I did not have similar opportunities during my childhood. When I was very young, I had few toys. One of my favorite activities was role-playing, using toilet paper and rubber bands to make fake people. During the first year after my dad came back home, he bought an electronic keyboard for my eldest sister, which was why I always thought he favored her more.

However, I would occasionally imitate my sister and sit in front of the keyboard to play a simple tune, such as "Ode to Joy." Around the same time, I could play a nursery rhyme on a harmonica, though I still did not understand how to read sheet music. I played songs by ear and through practice.

A couple of years later, I got a bamboo Dizi. I was almost immediately attracted to its pleasant sound. Dad was said to be an amateur flutist, so he began to teach me. Meanwhile, I bought a couple of music books to learn the techniques along with music theory by myself.

When my seventeenth birthday came, my parents bought me a very expensive xiao flute. At first, I refused it as it cost too much, but Mum and Dad insisted on giving it to me as compensation for a childhood that was lacking toys. They also bought a very cheap erhu which broke after just half a year.

Since then, playing the xiao flute had become my favourite hobby. I liked to play it on the balcony of my dorm during my years in Xi’an, and it gave me much pleasure and decorated my university life. I only stopped for a couple of years when I first came to Australia, but I couldn't hold out for longer, so I picked it up again and often played it on the lawn close to Indooroopilly State High School. It soothed my heart when I was lonely, especially when I was isolated and bullied on campus, or when I had quarrels with my grandmother.

When I was still studying, I was eager to finish my degree as soon as possible; however, my supervisor continually said there were too many spelling and grammar errors in my thesis and would not allow me to submit it. I was very frustrated because I knew I couldn’t improve my English to correct them in a short time. I didn't want to do anything but find something that I was interested in. I went to a music store nearby and bought a classical guitar. From then on, the classical guitar became my favourite instrument, and it has accompanied me through all those difficult times.

To me, Dizi is like my first lover in the good old days. Xiao is like my ex-partner who has lived with me for a long time and now is still one of my very best friends. The classical guitar is as if a lover that I am now dating for.

Children’s Day

The recent newsletter from my son's primary school described the activities for Under Eight's Day. We didn't have a festival like that when I was growing up in China. Instead, we had Children's Day on June 1st for all children before they entered secondary school, which is probably the closest equivalent.

I can still remember that there was usually an evening carnival held in the open air at school. Each class would put on a performance on the stage, such as a choir, a dance, or a drama, but as usual, it was none of my business. I was never on stage throughout the years at primary school. Even when everyone else danced to "Jingle Bells" in Grade Three, I was the only one left in the audience area. I didn't mind that at all and even felt lucky as it gave me much freedom to do whatever I liked, such as staring at the moon, counting the weeds on the ground, and looking for uniquely shaped rocks.

When I was in Grade Five, my mum bought me a new pair of pants for the carnival. "Though you won't participate in the drama, you should still dress smartly and enjoy the activities," she said.

When I arrived at the classroom, my teacher was instructing some students on how to perform the play "The Fisherman and His Wife". She glanced at me as I entered the room. She was telling off the boy who was supposed to play the fisherman, saying, "Why are you wearing such brightly coloured pants? You don't look like a poor fisherman at all! Please find someone wearing grey to swap with you."

"Who is wearing grey?" the boy asked. The teacher gestured to me, signaling for me to come over. She then said, "You two go to the bathroom and swap your pants, please!" I was highly reluctant to do so, but since it was the teacher's instruction, I had no choice. "Hooray!" "Well done!" All others cheered as the boy performed on stage. "The drama was very impressive!" the principal remarked. But I sat there unhappily, staring at the blue pants I had exchanged with the other boy.

When the carnival ended, we went back to the bathroom to swap our trousers back. "Why are my trousers so dirty?" I asked. "It's none of my business," he replied, “The teacher told me to rub some dirt from the ground onto them. She said it was the only way I could look like a poor fisherman." At home, I cried and blamed my mother for giving me a pair of grey pants. I sweared I would never wear them again.

As I grew older, I realized that this was simply a form of schoolyard bullying. It was the teacher, if not the boy, who wanted to embarrass me. While art imitates life, it also elevates it. In a drama, one does not need to wear exact replica clothing to portray a character convincingly. There are many other ways to convey your role to the audience; that is the true art of the stage.

Recently, I sang Cantonese opera, performing both the male and female roles. I do not attempt to sing exactly like a woman, as that is impossible. Instead, I alter the two voices just enough to make it clear that there are two distinct characters: one male and one female.

The Love That Can’t Tell

 Yesterday, I drew a picture of an old lady taking three children to eat jelly in a revolving restaurant. My son saw the picture, pointed to the little boy in the middle, and said, "That's me!" "No," I said, "that's me when I was very young." The story behind the picture is that my grandma took me and my sisters to a revolving restaurant during her first visit to China since migrating to Australia. I was five years old at the time.

Grandma was the kind of person who liked to hide almost everything in her mind. I felt it was very challenging to know what she was really thinking about. I remember that many times I saw her staring at an old black-and-white photo of a lady sitting on a chair. I asked her who she was. "She's my mother," she said. However, she refused to tell me why she looked at her mother's photo again and again throughout the year. "Do you miss your mum?" I asked. "No," she responded.

One day, when I woke up in the morning, Grandma merrily told me that she had cooked some noodles for my breakfast. "Now you should know how good I am to you. I am over eighty. Who else would I make breakfast for?" she said. "Yeah, you're good to me. But that doesn't mean you're better to me than to others. You took care of others when they were very young. You cuddled them, soothed them to sleep, and fed them. But when I came to your place, I was already grown up. At least you don't need to feed me," I rebutted.

A few days later, I came home just as the moon was rising. Grandma was standing on the porch, waving anxiously at me. She urged me to come to the dining table as soon as possible, and she opened the microwave to fetch a bowl of soup. After dipping a finger into the soup, she said, "The temperature is just right. This is a bowl of American ginseng soup. I only have one bowl. Drink it as soon as possible." "But I am not hungry," I said. "Sit down!" she ordered.

With one hand holding the back of my head and the other hand holding the bowl, she fed me! After she finished feeding me, she looked out the window and glanced around. Suddenly, she giggled and said, "This is a secret between us. Don't tell anyone that I gave the soup to you!" She looked smug.

A nightingale with a true heart

Yesterday, I drew a picture of a bird and flowers. While drawing the bird, I thought of a fairy tale called The Nightingale, written by Andersen. In ancient China, there lived a nightingale who could sing beautifully. His songs touched the emperor, who couldn't keep tears from falling while listening to his singing.

But soon, the emperor of Japan sent a mechanical bird to China, causing the real bird to lose favor in the palace. The end of the story was that the emperor became very sick a few years later, but the real nightingale flew to his bed and cured him with its singing.

What is the difference between the real and mechanical birds? Only the real bird can sing from its heart. A song from a true heart can cure a soul while those with hypocrisy only make others sick. Any form of art should be created from the creator's true heart. Otherwise, it is hard to move people, or what is worse, it is harmful. This is a principle I have always adhered to while making any art product. 

Many years ago, when I was about to leave Xi'an, a friend said to me, "Oh, my dear Little New, you're too kind-hearted because you treat everyone with a true heart. I'm afraid that you will be hurt sooner or later, since not everyone is as friendly to you as we are." After leaving Xi'an, my life became very different. I went to Australia and met a lot of people. Just as my friend had expected, I was hurt by one person after another. I even tried to learn to be more hypocritical and cunning, but I found it very hard to be that way. I have a strong feeling of guilt when telling a lie. Having experienced the ups and downs of life, I've chosen to be myself, living a simple life. I want to just be a nightingale Lin a forest, singing with my own voice and own heart.

RESPECT

When I was working at Queensland University of Technology, I often went to the swimming pool down stairs of my office.
I have never been a good swimmer, and as a result, I always stayed on the gentle exercise lane by the side.
One day when I was swimming as usual, I found other people in my lane all moved away to elsewhere. I puzzled, checked the surrounding environment and saw that a person was slowly taken off from a wheel chair and the carer who was helping him blamed me not moving away. “Sorry!" I said, "I didn't see you. I will leave now." However the boy from the wheel chair suddenly said, "No. I don't want you to leave. Please don’t. Could you stay and swim with me together?" I nodded my head. After playing for a while, I told him that I needed to go back to office for work.
"I'm very glad today." The boy told me and he looked at the carer pleasantly. "Every time when I came here, all people who were playing in this lane would move to others, making me lonely. I'm glad that you can stay with me." Then he asked, "could you let us know when you will be here so that we always try to meet you?" "It's hard to say." I said, "As I am working just upstairs. I come here whenever I like. But you can try to ask others to be with you too. I am sure they will be glad to be with you if you request.”
"No." He said, "I only want to be with you as you swim badly. Though you can walk faster than me on the land, you can’t be faster than me in the water, which makes me very happy!"

A Revisit To A University Campus

Today we went to Brisbane CBD, and parked our car at QUT's Gardens Point Campus. This is the campus that I had studies and worked for a long time. I am familiar with everywhere and everything, including the lawns, the buildings and the classrooms. The giant "Undersea World" animation screen is still there at P block, and thus we stepped into it and let the kids play there for a while. Many times in the past I felt embarrassed to come to QUT, especially I was afraid to accidentally meet someone I had known before, but this time I am relieved. I know I am innocent and I have done nothing wrong. This is why I have no longer been afraid to face anyone or anything.

My previous office is located at Level 7 of the building. I still clearly remember that in the then Head of School's office, a Dutch professor that I once admired, blamed me for my presentation to some business stakeholders, "Your understanding of the theory is correct, your method to the investigation is sensible, your conclusion is objective, but you are wrong to directly speak out the conclusion in front of the business stakeholders as your result will make them very unhappy." At that time I really thought I had done something wrong or guilty. Ten years later, I stood in the building and thought of that conversation. Though I know he really criticised me, I've no longer think it to be my guilty, but instead, to be something that I should be proud of. At least I am brave enough to speak out my research findings in front of business stakeholders, even when my conclusion is said to potentially make them very upset and annoyed.

I watched a documentary on ABC iView last year, which was about a man who was undertaken a gender reassignment surgery as a new born baby due to a genital different from normal people's, agreed by his parents and recommended by a doctor. This surgery caused all traumas of his whole life. He later found out the doctor and asked him why he did this to bring him all those sufferings. The doctor said he was sorry for the man's suffering, but he made this decision because he wanted to help him as this was what was suggested on the textbook and the trainings in hospital after he graduated, though he knew it was no longer suggested in nowadays' material. In fact, the wrong suggestion was a result of a fake medical research.

The doctor intended to help the then newborn boy to make that decision but the decision in fact harmed him. There were many incidents happened during my days at QUT as a researcher. All these contributed to my eventually leaving from research. In the past I thought these incidents hurt me a lot. But without them, how could I really escape? After understanding this, I've no longer annoyed of anyone or anything. All have become history, and I have a much better life.