I've learned more about my family history in the past month than I have in my entire lifetime. While sixteen years may not be that long in perspective, I've come to terms with the fact that, growing up, I was ignorant of my roots. I'll be honest -- I never wondered about my background. I knew the facts: I'm a second generation Chinese girl growing up in America. My mother grew up in Suzhou, and my father, Chengdu. I'm also very lucky, as my family has never had to grieve any deaths (in relation to my grandparents). I've had my grandparents on my mother and father's side visit multiple times for one year/six-month time spans. I'm not sure why, but it never crossed my mind to ask anyone about what life was like before iPhones and Netflix.
Very recently, I've been experiencing what I'd like to creatively identify as the anti-existential crisis. As with any adolescent growing up, I've finally reached another rite of passage: my Holden Caulfield phase. Decorated with a fine cynicism and subtle skepticism, I've found my own healthy (or not so healthy) way to deal with the "phonies" in my life. All in all, I have all the tell-tale signs prefacing an existential crisis. I've had the religious talk with a lot of friends; I've embraced a sort of dark humor (and desensitized sarcasm) outlook on life, and my tolerance for stupidity is at an all time low. However, these past two weeks have revolved around my fascination at the fact that I am alive. I am breathing, and I growing every day. The tips of my hair used to be at my scalp, and my fingernails have lived a long and colorfully-nail polish filled life.
I think it all really hit me when I was sending my little brother, six years of age, to bed. Me sending him to bed was rather rare considering he's so used to my mother tucking him in, and I'm always drowning in my swarm of homework and studying. So, when I get the chance, I take it. Now usually I read a book of his choice to him; that'd been the norm for the past six years, but this time, it was like someone took a hold of the axis my world was built on and spun it around like the wheel of a kaleidoscope.
He read to me.
He picked up the rather extensive Toad and Frog chapter book and started slowly piecing the words together. Albeit slow and broken sometimes, his ability to read was awe-inducing. Maybe it was an out of body experience, or maybe it was my maternally-motivated sibling love kicking in, but I felt so dizzy. My whole world was spinning like the pointer of a Twister game -- and my perspectives were entangling with one another like the limbs of the people playing said Twister game.
And so with slow yet inevitable acceptance of my brother's growth, my thoughts began to sprout like the ivy that colonizes the hearty dirt in my backyard, and something embarrassingly obvious finally hit me. My parents had lives before they were my parents. Yes, obvious, but sometimes the most simple things are the most overlooked. Before my father became the 6 foot man that he is (I rounded up, shh...), he was as small as my six year old brother. Before my mother became the wondrous woman that she is, she had breakdowns about finals and worried about what her hair looked like in some lighting. They had their struggles, their talents, and their memories, but the most interesting part of it all? They've lived a life of contrasts. They went from Chinese culture to American society. They went from a time with no TVs to a media-influenced community. So, tonight when I asked my father about his family history, I didn't know why I didn't expect something grand.
To recap, my mother's side of the family comes from a long line of intellectuals. My great grandfather was dubbed the Great Educator of China during the Qing Dynasty, and he was prominent not only in the government, but in poetry, literature, and the humanities. Previous generations lived a generally affluent life, and they valued quality of life. Good natured people and all, they're rather kind as well. On the other hand, my father's side of the family parallels the chaotic pandemonium that is contemporary Chinese history. My (other) great grandfather was very involved in the military. He even studied in France for almost a decade, working with army men to strategically formulate the best weapons and attack plans. With the prominence of warlords in China, he was summoned to work as the head general of the tank units -- the first tank units to ever reach China. He was honored and diligent in his efforts, fighting Communism (and the Japanese). Unfortunately, he was killed in action in the Battle of Shanghai, and my great grandmother remarried to someone of a much lower social status, and that's when everything changed. With the Cultural Revolution and all the political uproar in China during the time, my great grandparents basically had to go into hiding and move the country side. One day, nobility and quasi-royalty; the next day, plebs and peasants. Simply, homely farmers. And then from there, I had relatives that had mental issues, relatives that became zealously religious (yes, cults were involved), and relatives that spoke their opinion. Essentially, my whole family was blacklisted at one point due to the anti-Communist force. My father grew up in a broken home, and slowly but surely, everything interconnected to leave me here: sitting in my bed at 2 AM, blogging about something beyond my control.
If my great grandfather wasn't killed in action, my family would've been extremely well off, riches and luxury a small price to pay. I could've been a princess, an heiress, anything, but instead, with one action, the history of my family was altered. The cruel twist of fate was cursedly made so my family history would follow that of Chinese history, and as proud of my culture I am, I must admit, China went through quite the roller coaster.
When all was said and done though, I realized how fragile life really is. Fate, whether it exists or not, is an aspect to consider because ultimately, we are all alive. We are living and breathing, and our brains are churning away to make sure it stays that way. We have lives and memories, and one day, we'll be thirty years older and reminiscing on the "good 'ol days". But in the big picture, one small decision, one seemingly tiny choice may change the chain of events for anything. Maybe in the future I'll take two steps to the left and end up in a mansion in the Hamptons. Or maybe I'll take a total flip and head in the opposite direction, leaving me in a tiny, yet cozy apartment in New York.
I'll never be able to control every single factor that happens in my life. I'll never be able to map out my future like the stars do with constellations. I'll never be able to check of a list: How To Be Financially Stable and Emotionally Happy: a List of Impossible Tasks. Life can change its course within a matter of seconds, yet we never seem to value the importance of our decisions. We spend our whole lives pushing the negative charge of a future that isn't meant to be with another negative charge of passion, and we still wonder when they don't attract. Like the glass slipper, life is fragile. It won't fit everyone. It won't fit just anyone. It'll break if I try and push something that doesn't belong, and it'll shatter if I act to recklessly with it; however, if I go the way the wind blows me, I'll be able to tell my grandchildren from my mansion/condo/suite/floating home (your pick, your pick) of how they came from both intellectuals and physical warriors. I'll be able to pass on the legacy that only exists today because of the path life decided to take.
So instead, I'll wear the glass slippers like Cinderella but build snowmen like Elsa. Who knows what my decision will do to the ever-lasting fragility of my life?
No comments:
Post a Comment