Pieces of Memories

I recently returned from a 19-day journey to a ‘developing’ area in the northwest of the Country. Most places I went to were much better than my expectations, and it might be because of the swift tourist industry development in the whole province. Along the main roads, restaurant foods were tasty, and the cooked rice grains were all in full shape without sand and husks. The shops were abundantly stocked with goods and produce from all parts of the Country. I could even find several brands of ‘moon-cake’ from the city I live in. Of course, most owners of the restaurants and shops spoke the Language with a non-local accent.

I found something odd from the second day onward: though everywhere we went was packed with people, few older people and children were around. I met more of them when the car moved further away from towns or at the far corners of local open markets where you could still buy several small, dusty apples of different sizes with a one-yuan bill. Once, I genuinely felt a touch of humanity when a cheerful squatting woman gave me two large home-made roast vegetables and lamb buns with her dark, coarse hand and took four yuans from me. Then she surprised me as she pulled down one of her long socks, put the money into it, and pulled it up again. What a big personal wallet!

Her shallow smile under the heavily suntanned and wrinkled skin came back to me as I enjoyed the buns as breakfast the next morning. That was the smile of a humble ordinary living person, and it is a precious human relic to me. The buns were delicious but could be better with a bit more lamb. Well, nobody should demand more at such a price. The unguarded sentiment awakened my memories of a visit to a poor mountainous area in a southwest province exactly 20 years ago, and they lingered on for quite some time.

While trying to organize the photos taken on this journey, the same sentiment returned as I looked at a snapshot of a boy and felt disappointed by my poor photography skills. The memories of the journey in 2003 sieved back into my conscious mind. I went through all the photos taken in 2003 to search out those taken during that visit to that mountainous area. It was a hard job for a disorganized person like me.

Finally, I found the photos. I found the faces of the people I met then. I found contentment, surprise, confusion, curiosity, fear, despair, embarrassment and misery on their faces. I recalled some of the conversations I had with a few of them. And, I even re-experienced my frustration, sadness and helplessness while trying to cheer them up. When fear and sadness are the only things a child’s face can say about themselves, it is the saddest thing I can imagine.

20 years have gone by. How are they doing now? Is everyone still around? The boys and girls must be in their mid-twenties. Did they manage to finish their primary and secondary school education? Are they still living in the poor villages in the mountains or in the modern flats of the high-rise buildings? Are they still trying to make a living from the unpromising land or having a decent job in the cities? Has the boy whose parents ran away found some solace in the lonely nights? Is the little boy still living with his mentally ill father and elderly grandma in their shabby mud hut? Is the teenage girl still working in a factory to support her family? I don’t think any of these questions can be answered, but I tend to believe they are all doing well, or at least better than then. 

The confusion, fear, despair and sadness on their faces will be forever in my mind.