Testament 1 - 2
Hong Kong Type #2
2.
After coming back from the edge of death, I lost my feelings towards many things, as if a part of myself had already died. Life became peaceful, but within this tranquility there was a huge sense of unease. However, I couldn't express what I was uneasy about.
For a very long time, I stayed at home and did nothing. All day long, I was either staring blankly out of the window, or curled up sleeping in bed. Fox was the only creature I had close contact with. I wished I could become an animal, caring only about eating, drinking, shitting and sleeping. Rubbing noses with its kind, licking each other, these would be enough to get through the day.
My dad remained the same, caring for me meticulously. He constantly asked me how I felt, whether I was feeling better, and if there was any discomfort. Dad cooked really well, a skill he acquired after Mom passed away. During the initial period of my convalescence at home, he was like a royal chef serving a princess, ceaselessly creating a variety of delicious dishes. When the time came, he would knock gently on my door and say softly,
"Ah Fei, would you like to come out and eat something?"
As soon as I brought the food to my mouth, he would ask if it tasted good, all the while making a show of feasting heartily himself. Of course, I would say it's delicious, but I could only manage a forced smile, unable to put on a truly satisfied expression. Seeing this, Dad must have felt somewhat disappointed. Regardless of the taste, I wanted to eat more to put his mind at ease, but my appetite was never cooperative. After a few bites, I could no longer swallow. In the end, I would leave the table with apologies, and my dad would sigh, “You’re so skinny! What’s to be done? What’s to be done?”
I had always been an obedient child, and ever since that incident, I became even more compliant. I handed over my mobile phone and laptop to Dad for safekeeping. The TV at home was unplugged, and Dad even gave up his daily habit of reading the newspaper. We were completely isolated from the outside world. If it weren't for the view of the street from the window, I would have almost forgotten the existence of the world.
My brother would occasionally come home for dinner and chat with me. His tone seemed to have softened, treading carefully as if he were handling a fragile glass object. Aside from him, the only person allowed to visit me was Little Poor. She had been a good friend for many years. We'd known each other since primary school, went to the same secondary school, and attended the same university. She studied geography while I majored in Chinese literature.
Little Poor got her nickname because her grades weren't good when she was young, but they weren't extremely bad either. She described herself as just a little weak, not a terrible failure, which was a silver lining in her misfortune. She held the same attitude towards her appearance, and thus lived a contented life. In contrast, I always had good grades, at least among the top ten in class, but I always felt it was not good enough. Each time the report cards were handed out, I felt sorry and ashamed in front of my parents and teachers. I often envied Little Poor and self-mockingly called myself "Too Poor".
But Little Poor seemed to have become a bit reserved. On the surface, she was still as casual and playful, but when the conversation reached certain points, she would hesitate to continue. For instance, when it came to the university, or some common acquaintances. She didn't talk much about Ah Wang either, just mentioning that he seemed very busy and they rarely had a chance to meet. Ah Wang and Little Poor were from the same college and knew each other since the freshmen orientation camp. I got to know Ah Wang through Little Poor, so she often claimed to be our matchmaker. But this matchmaker now seemed less inclined to play her part. She didn't bring any news of Ah Wang, nor did she help arrange a meeting between us. Strangely enough, I didn't seem to mind.
The decision to temporarily suspend my studies was communicated to my counselor personally by myself. Professor Xin was a teacher I trusted a lot. I enjoyed attending her Modern Literature class and had planned to write my graduation thesis under her supervision. My dad had already informed Professor Xin of my situation, so when I took the phone, there was no need for further explanation, I simply expressed my desire. She offered some comforting words, asking me not to worry and to rest well. I don’t know if it was hearing the concern in Professor Xin’s tone, or the feeling of reconnecting with the outside world after a long time, I became agitated and apologized to her in tears.
After I started taking medication, despite feeling a hollow tranquility most of the time, there were occasional abrupt recurrences. Sometimes it was due to a certain stimulus, but sometimes I would find myself crying for no reason at all. During those days, my only opportunity to leave the house was to see the doctor. Psychiatric appointments at public hospitals took forever to secure, so my dad asked a friend to find a private doctor and took me to see him immediately after I was discharged. When taking me out, Dad was extremely cautious, arranging everything beforehand to ensure a smooth process. However, there was an "incident" in an area we were supposed to pass through on the way back, which caused Dad a lot of anxiety. He promptly asked the taxi driver to take another longer route.
One morning, Dad offered to take me on a walk in the nearby park. I didn't particularly want to go, but I didn't feel resistant either. I thought to myself: If Dad says to go, let's go. I suggested bringing Fox, but Dad said dogs weren't allowed in the park. Recalling that there indeed seemed to be such an unreasonable rule, I suddenly felt very depressed and started crying, holding Fox and thinking it was pitiful that dogs weren't allowed in the park. Fox probably thought it strange that his owner, who could burst into tears at any moment, was behaving so erratically. My dad quickly changed his mind, saying that if I wanted to bring Fox, we could go the usual route instead. Seeing Fox wagging his tail in excitement, I decided to go out with him.
Since that day, I started going for walks outside every day. Usually in the morning, and sometimes I'd go again in the afternoon. Eventually, I said to Dad, "You can trust me to go alone. I'm not a little girl anymore, it will be fine." My dad realized that it wasn't a solution to keep me under protection forever, so he no longer restricted my freedom to go out. He gave me a new phone, which contained basic contact information and apps, but without any social media. I promised him that I wouldn't use the phone to surf the internet, it would only be used for contact when I was out.
It must have been autumn by then, but the weather was still unusually hot, and I would be soaked in sweat after only a few steps. When I passed the pedestrian overcrossing leading to the railway station, I often saw police officers in heavy gear standing guard. When there were no police officers, they were replaced by young men and women in black sportswear. The railings on both sides of the overpass, as well as the ceiling and floor, were plastered with papers bearing various images and texts. I didn't know why these papers were posted there, nor did I understand what they were trying to express. Sometimes the papers would be torn down in large quantities, but the next day they would be plastered again.
When I spoke to Dad about it, he observed my reaction carefully and tentatively asked, "Do you remember anything?"
“I seem to recall some vague dreams.”
"Then just treat those as dreams. They're just dreams and won't affect you. Do you understand?"
I nodded, trembling slightly, and asked, "Can I still go out on my own?"
"Of course. It seems it's time to slowly adapt to everyday life."
I began to expand my walking range to nearby stations and shopping malls, places where there were more people. I wasn't afraid of passersby, on the contrary, I felt that even when people brushed past me, they were all very far away. As long as I didn't have to deal directly with others, I was not panicked. As for shopping or ordering food, it was a bit nerve-wracking, but I gradually overcame it. I remembered when I was in kindergarten, the teacher took the whole class to the supermarket, and using the coins prepared by our parents, we learned to pay at the checkout counter. My feelings at this moment were very similar to those times. My body was gradually returning to the human world, but my heart remained on the threshold of consciousness.
After a while, a store in the shopping mall was about to complete its renovation, and they posted a notice outside seeking shop assistants. I looked up at the shop's sign and saw that it was a chain store selling Japanese style cake desserts. I went home and told my dad that I didn't want to be idle all day, and I wanted to try finding a part-time job. Dad was surprised and showed a troubled expression, stroking his chin and hesitating to agree on the spot. However, my brother, who happened to come home for dinner that night, strongly agreed with my suggestion, saying, "No matter what, my sister has to face real life. Before she's recovered enough to go back to school, finding some simple work to rebuild her confidence isn't a bad idea."
As we had no mother to take care of us since we were young and our father was busy with work, my brother played the role of a parent. He always protected me outside, but at home, he was very strict with me, sometimes even harsh. He learned to be a strong person very early on, so he often got angry at my timid and retreating character. If our gentle father played the role of a mother, my strict brother took on the role of a father. His encouragement to me would easily turn into compulsion, making me doubly afraid and dare not defy him. Now that he approved of my decision to find a part-time job, I felt even more anxious.
Once the store opened, I started working there. On the first day, I was inevitably nervous, and even had thoughts of backing out on my way to work. But in the end, I gritted my teeth, put on the full uniform, showed up in the newly decorated store, and listened to the manager's instructions with the other new employees. I found that my concentration was very limited, and I couldn't grasp the logic in the manager's speech. My heart was pounding with anxiety, but it was too late to regret now.
I had thought that working as a sales assistant in a cake shop would be easy, but I was wrong. The store was very popular and it was its first time in this area, which attracted a throng of people. There was a long queue and the scene was chaotic; all the shop assistants were busy and overwhelmed. I had always been clumsy, not even capable of doing housework, and now with my poor focus, coping with such a complex environment was a real struggle. Mistakes like messing up payments, forgetting to place orders, accidentally knocking over trays, and failing to answer customer inquiries were frequent, and I was repeatedly reprimanded by the manager.
There were also colleagues who found me a nuisance, grumbling about me on the side, or even backstabbing me to the manager. However, there was a guy who would silently cover for me when I made mistakes. When I thanked him, he just nodded slightly, as if it were part of his job. But he also had his own issues, often forgetting things and unexpectedly taking days off. He received several severe warnings and was in no better condition than me.
When I came home from work, my dad would ask how work was. I didn't want him to worry, so I said everything was fine, but once I returned to my room, I would quietly shed tears, thinking, "Have I become useless, incapable of doing anything?" I had initially wanted to regain my confidence, but instead it was utterly shattered. Who else would be so foolish as to shoot themselves in the foot?
I remember it was the eve of Christmas, the shop was packed, and the cakes for pre-order were piled up behind the counter. Each order took ages to check the number and ensure the correct goods were dispatched. I took an order from a tall man, and when I looked up, I felt like I recognized him. The man then called my name, and from his voice, I realized that he was my secondary school art teacher. I wouldn't say I was overjoyed, but I did feel a sense of warmth, like receiving a letter from an old friend whom you hadn’t heard from in a long time. At the same time, I felt embarrassed as if he had witnessed my woeful state and wished I could hide myself in a hole.
"Why are you working here?" The teacher asked with surprise.
I was at a loss for words, so I deflected by asking, "Are you buying a cake to celebrate Christmas?"
He smiled shyly and said, "My wife loves the cakes from this store."
All I could do was to give a foolish grin and asked him to wait while I fetched his cake. Somehow, I forgot that I still had an unprocessed order in my hand. After a great deal of effort, I found the teacher's cake, packaged it, and handed it to him. Seeing the situation in the store, he understood it wasn't the right time to chat and shoved his name card into my hand and said, "Call me when you have time."
I waved goodbye to the teacher, watching him hold the cake box against his chest protectively, wading through the bustling crowd. Because he was tall, I could still see his grey-haired head, looking like a helmet from a distance. Just then, a middle-aged woman who had been waiting on the side suddenly exploded in anger, loudly complaining, "Does this shop only cater to friends? I was here first, why did someone who came after get his cake before me?"
I stood there helplessly, feeling the manager's hand on my shoulder as he pulled me back, putting on a smiling face to apologize profusely to the irate customer.
That night, I was fired.
[To be continued]