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There are those people who may
not recognize you at first sight after thirty years, but would exclaim
after careful examination "Oh, It's you!" They would say,
"You used to have a round face," or "You have become much
darker." They would hold your hand not letting you go. They would walk
a long distance to see you off, and you would feel their eyes behind even
after you had driven off, and couldn't help hot tears. It doesn't matter
what you do now because they are just happy to see you again. They don't
want anything from you.
There are those, like an
adviser, who care about you all along as your parents no matter how often
you call or email to say hello to them. They would do whatever they can to
help you with anything; They would listen to you on the phone when you felt
falling apart, and tell you, "You will grow up after this. Under
certain circumstances, lowering yourself is what you need to do." You
would only feel lucky to have known them in your life.
There are those, like a school
teacher, after twenty four years out of contact, who would pat your
shoulder, and simply say, "So, you are back." Just like that,
everything got re-connected instantly. You would talk and joke with each
other naturally and comfortably as before (when they first graduated from
college beginning their teaching career). They would tell you with proud
that your photo was still hung in the classroom. It seemed that you had
never left.
There are those, like an old
classmate, who would get together immediately or drive a long way to come
to see you when they heard you were back. You may have seen them once or
twice in the last twenty four years. They would ask, "What foods do
you miss the most?" and take you to eat donkey feast and beef hotpot.
They would say, "You only need to say it." He or she may be a
government official, a doctor or an entrepreneur now. You know you can
count on them.
There are also those who would
not speak much, and only after drinking a few beer at a classmate
get-together dinner party, ask with a red face, "Are you fine in
America?" while filling your plate with crabs, grasshoppers and cicada
nymphs, or pour wine from your cup to his (because he knew you couldn't
drink). Then you knew it was real and true.
But
how come I have forgotten the name of the "barefoot doctor" in
the village who used to heal my frozen hands, that I had served as a
student representative, that someone outcompeted me once in math exam in
high school, the shoe style we were all wearing back then, and even the
jade bracelet and those postcards from Rome and letters from America? Maybe
that's why I need to write and photograph.
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