Repost from Friendster Blog: Dust


Three years, I wrote this piece few days after visiting my father’s grave at a local cemetery...
The day before yesterday, that was Sunday, November 2, my family visited my father’s grave at a local cemetery. It was All Saint’s Day, and all around the cemetery, there seemed to be a feast. Flowers everywhere. Candles dangling in children’s hands. Dusts in the air. People atop the tombs, chatting or eating, if not playing some card games. Well, my family is different and we simply stayed beside my father’s grave for many quiet minutes, though from time to time, the silence was momentarily broken by my nephew’s cry or people’s loud shouting from other graves. Nonetheless, it was peaceful.
The peace was nostalgic that my eyes roamed around, watching people around me. Sometimes, I want to see things beyond what my eyes can see -to see the heart and mind of people. One woman passed in front of me. She was old, the lines in her forehead and her graying hair told me so. What was she feeling? Long years of living in this world. 
Witnessing children being born, other people die. Was she happy with her life? From a distance, there was a tall man, dressed in light green, a gold watch in one wrist, with a pair of black leather shoes. Does he cry? How many coins did he have in his pocket? Can he give? Then, there was also a child - a sad sight. Dressed in soiled clothes. Parched skin and hungry eyes. A torn slipper. Does he smile? He was holding some candles. How many had been sold? Enough for a day’s food?
The wind blew and dusts swirled. The sight and the dust and the grief watered my eyes. I faced my father’s grave. How many people did he make laugh? How many did he touch? It is complicated - the human is. We don’t really know people, even ourselves. We could only reach out and feel them, but not really understand. We could laugh and cry with others, but in the quiet of our own room, we laugh our own laughs and cry our own tears. We are like dusts, floating around the universe, touching each other from time to time, but never be as one. Countless dusts…
Th swirl ceased and the dusts settled. Still, the sight remained. People busy with their errands. Others just come and go. As the afternoon waned, the sky shed colors, and slowly, my family went home.

0 comments:

Post a Comment