A boy with a golden heart

We never talk about it. My husband wants to talk about it but we never talked about it because he knows I don’t want to talk about it. I cannot look at a car’s front right now, because that was the last thing I remember. And it was a blackout. When I woke up, my eldest son is nowhere to be seen anymore. I don’t want to talk about it, because when you talk about it, you start healing. When you start to talk about it, you start finding a door to the solution. But I, at least now, do not want to admit and recognize. I always pretend he is still there. I know he’s still somewhere, somewhere in the world. In the car, I will not put my bag besides. I will leave the middle seat free because that’s where he used to sit. In the restaurant, we will order three pieces of bread and we eat three. The last one is supposed to be his. I am a resilient person, always had been. I have been through all of these, my mom’s death, my dad’s heart transplantation, youngest son three surgeries, and I all came through it. But this.. this is just too painful. I tried really hard really hard really hard. He was a boy with a golden heart. I never wanted to admit it, because I don’t want to say he “was”. Never.

太陽般的孩子

本篇故事並不是從一個單親家庭兒女的角度出發，但其意義和語言所給予我的震撼，讓我覺得必須紀錄下來。這是2019香港展覽中，一位參加分享會的媽媽的故事：

我們從來不會提起這件事。我看得出丈夫想要對談，但我們兩人仍維持沈默，因為我還不想提起這件事。我現在沒辦法...沒辦法正視一輛車的正面——那是我那天最後看到的畫面。之後便是黑暗。當我醒來時，我的大兒子已經永久沈睡，不在世上了。我不想要提起這件事情，因為一旦我提起，我的傷口就開始癒合。一旦我們開始對談，人就會自動自發的為你的空虛找到出口。但是我不想去接受，不想接受他已經不在的事實。我假裝他還在。因為整個生活的點點滴滴都透露著我與他的回憶。在車上，我會把後座中間的位置空下，因為那是他最常坐下的地方。在餐廳，我們會買四塊麵包，之後吃三塊，因為他總是搶著要吃最後一塊。

我是一個堅強的人，一直都是。我走過了一個又一個悲傷的歷程：母親的去世，父親的心臟移植手術，小兒子的三個生命手術。但這次他就這樣沒了。完了。這個世界從此變得陌生和詭譎。

他曾經是個像太陽一般的孩子。但我從不提起，因為不想接受，那變成了——「曾經」。

Cinderella

When I was young, I always imagined I was the male version of Cinderella. Everyone’s families have a father and a mother. Yet, why was I different? Dad was more strict. I remember, in middle school, I wanted a smartphone. But, Dad said no, so I went to ask my mom, and she bought it for me, secretly. Situations like this happened many times, maybe because she didn't live with me very often, so she treated me differently and gave me the things I wanted.

Later, my father remarried. In spite of everything, my stepmother was not the one who gave birth to me, but I know she was trying to fill that maternal role. When I was young, I would often get sick. One time, as I was lying on the bed, I had gotten nauseous and vomited all over the bed. Then, my stepmother had helped me clean up the mess, without saying a word. I felt moved, as this was something that only a mother could do.

MK 2019/02/25