I still remember...
I hated Chinese, I still do. But back then I didn't realize that when I was in standard 1. Teacher used to give us homework to practice writing Chinese words and at that time I was one small little lazy fart. Didn't want to do it at all, but with the presence of a mother waiting for her chance to obliterate her son the moment he slacks... I believe a standard 1 would know how to think twice.
When you first start to hold a pencil after a brief period of holidays and you start to write your first Chinese word, it does shake a lil. Then the writing goes haywire, but of course to me that time it was considered masterclass. Mom used to do the house chores at night after she finishes cooking, and I would be sitting at the dining table self-indulging my stupid "masterclass". Whenever mom reaches the dining table, she would always take a peek at what the hell I was writing, and if not for the word example written on top of the page, I kinda believe she would never be able to figure out what I was writing.
That's when she would hid her laughter, took the rubber, rubbed off my art, and before I knew it, she wrapped her hand over mine. She was teaching me how to write. Neatly. Since my hand was secured around hers, I tried to trace the outlines of her palm.
When you first start to hold a pencil after a brief period of holidays and you start to write your first Chinese word, it does shake a lil. Then the writing goes haywire, but of course to me that time it was considered masterclass. Mom used to do the house chores at night after she finishes cooking, and I would be sitting at the dining table self-indulging my stupid "masterclass". Whenever mom reaches the dining table, she would always take a peek at what the hell I was writing, and if not for the word example written on top of the page, I kinda believe she would never be able to figure out what I was writing.
That's when she would hid her laughter, took the rubber, rubbed off my art, and before I knew it, she wrapped her hand over mine. She was teaching me how to write. Neatly. Since my hand was secured around hers, I tried to trace the outlines of her palm.
It wasn't smooth, it wasn't soft, and I wasn't expecting that.
But something more abstract was under her palm, and I felt warmth and comfort in it. I felt safe, I felt that everything could never go wrong. It took me very long to figure out how did she do that (I'll repeat I was standard 1 and naive), but I was happy, in a very unexplainable way.
Before I could comprehend it, mom took away her hand, and said THIS is the proper way to write. I broke my stare from her and shifted my eyes onto the writing. I saw perfectness from the point of view of a standard 1. Every line of the word flowed smoothly, and every edge was neatly curved. Stunned didn't really describe the state of feeling I was in.
From then on, I always dreaded for the moment teacher would give more homework on writing. Then I'd wait for the moment she starts cleaning up the dining table..
And I'll ask her how on earth I was supposed to get every word written.
"Happy Belated Mother's Day mom, I love you."
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