For the remembrance of uncle Chik

I found this article from my old files. I wrote it when I heard the news of uncle Chik's death. Until now, whenever thinking of him, my heart still feels the ache which is hard to name. So, I paste this little article here, to his spirit, as I believe that he can see.

Go well, uncle Chik
The impression that uncle Chik gave me was that he was a witty, funny, lovely old-man who was standing aloof from the worldly successes and remained his innocence like a child. When I met him for the first time, he brought me a bunch of yellow roses, which made the eyes of the lady officers at Guangzhou custom sparkling with unfolded appetite. He pointed to his cheek with his finger and demanded a kiss from me.

To life, he was nearly like a blind lover who could not help to love with his entire heart without sorting the different contents into different categories. This love was embodied from his nostalgic complex, from his obsession toward old days, old things, old people, old values and old rules of behavior. This obsession was also embodied from his stubbornly persistent endeavor toward the arts of photography and painting, and, from his stubbornness on certain angle for observing and understanding human life and human existence. He was fascinated with all kinds of bustling atmosphere. He loved to make friends with people surround him and wherever he met. He loved his friends, and, especially, he loved children. But someday, in all a sudden, he sadly found that the bustling occasions did not suit him any more; he had become an obstacle in the crowd of the noisy street where with traffic jams of activities. He had to carry an umbrella whenever he went out, as an assistant supporting point that was merely acceptable to his self-esteem, to help his two legs that did not cooperate with the demand from his mind any more. Old friends were getting unbearably old, and older, and gone eventually. Following the change and development of the society, the main elements and paths for maintaining friendship had become unspeakably intricate to him. He could not even carry on the experience of zero distance with children. In the park, or narrow lanes, the loving hand, that he had stretched out and intended to touch the head of passing by children, had normally turned hesitant under the cautious and questioning eyesight from the parents of the children……

I guess, probably since then, he started to think about the question concerning the end of human life. However, he had never officially or unofficially mentioned about the result of what he had thought through. Perhaps that was because death is always an untouchable taboo in Chinese traditional thinking. Or, perhaps it was because he had been too much relying on his camera and his painting brush, therefore neglected and unlearnt the skill of using the most basic tool of communication, language, to express his thought with inner depth. Nevertheless, we all realized that there were too many things in life he could not let go, there were too many beautiful memories for the old days he could not let go……But, all human are mortal. Since we could not control the matter of being given a birth or called by the death, human life is just like a parabola with two determined ends, constructing its unique perfection with the distance between the top of the curve and the imperfect starting and ending points. And people are differed from each other with the variation of the shape of the parabola and the distance between the highest point of the curve and the two unchangeable ends.

With his obsession and stubbornness, Uncle Chik had “thrown” the parabola of his life with elegant strength dwelled in his humble tenderness. He could go now gracefully, without regret. Here, I am contributing a garland to him, plus a fragrant kiss.