nature. Typhoons and torrential rain would wash away in a matter of minutes the paddies and fields that Mom and Father planted, and heavy snows would easily crack and break the imposing trees in the mountains. Human capacity instantly turned powerless. The vicious rotting smell flowing through nature’s triumphant spirit. The fear that remains within me, unable to completely free my heart in the face of nature’s solemn scenery, pulls me down as I strive to soar onlyupward. Nature reminds me that I am human. Nature reminds me that I am a weak being, standing with my feet, upon this perilous Earth.
Nevertheless, I love to walk through the paths toward the cornfields and valleys, through the slivers between rocks. I’ll never know when I might run into a venomous snake, but my arm remembers the refreshing sensation on my skin when the wind passes through the sesame fields.
I offer my back to Little Brother, whose feet are still small, but he shakes his head. He refuses, however, to let go of my hand. He seems to think that if only he follows me everywhere, he will never part with his sister again.
There stands Mom, beyond the wind. Mom is planting pepper seedlings in the fields at the foot of the steep mountain. Nature must be afraid of Mom. Even when a storm leaves the roots of young rice plants exposed overnight, once the rain clears, Mom pulls and lifts and ties them up one by one to get them upright and balanced again. No matter what awful rotting stench they might emit, Mom hacks and breaks them up with a pitchfork, then dries them in the sun to use as fertilizer. No matter how strong the sun might pour down on her, Mom endures the glare, picking the peppers that have ripened red.
The day I set out to go back to the city, Mom takes Little Brother, adamant not to part with me, to Aunt’s house.
“Stay here a bit. Mommy will go bring Sister.” Mom leaves Little Brother behind at Aunt’s and comes to see me off. “Hurry and go on now.” And I head back to the city, carrying the luggage that Mom has packed for me. I glance once toward where Chang lives, the air now awkward between us.
Perhaps the reason for this awkwardnesswas not because I had suddenly moved out to the city but because of my status in the city. In the country, our household had so many memorial rites to host and thus had plenty of food around, more than any other. Our house was in the center of the village and had the largest yard in the neighborhood, the largest number of chickens, bikes, ducks, and sauce jars out on the terrace. But out here in the city, I am the lower class. Placed within this contradiction is Oldest Brother, and now I will step inside this contradiction as well.
The company is vast. There seems to be more than a thousand employees. Viewed from the main gate of the grounds, the buildings stand in the shape of the vowel. The three-story structure that resembles a school houses the TV Division and the single-story structure houses the Stereo Division. The new workers from the Job Training Center are grouped into the two divisions as well. Cousin and I are lined up one behind the other to prevent being separated. Before our positions are designated, the operations chief announces that the head of the administration department will offer an official greeting. The administration head, a man with a large build, adds at the end of his greeting that we must not join the union. He also says that we should report it to him if one of our colleagues joins a union.
Union? I have never heard this word before but, perhaps because of his tone, this word brings me fear. What is it that they do there that makes him say we must not join and that we should report it if someone joins?
As we hoped, Cousin and I stay together, both of us sent to the Stereo Division. There are three production lines at the Stereo Division: A line, B line, C line. And there is also the prep line. Cousin and I, determined not to be separated to different lines,
Nevertheless, I love to walk through the paths toward the cornfields and valleys, through the slivers between rocks. I’ll never know when I might run into a venomous snake, but my arm remembers the refreshing sensation on my skin when the wind passes through the sesame fields.
I offer my back to Little Brother, whose feet are still small, but he shakes his head. He refuses, however, to let go of my hand. He seems to think that if only he follows me everywhere, he will never part with his sister again.
There stands Mom, beyond the wind. Mom is planting pepper seedlings in the fields at the foot of the steep mountain. Nature must be afraid of Mom. Even when a storm leaves the roots of young rice plants exposed overnight, once the rain clears, Mom pulls and lifts and ties them up one by one to get them upright and balanced again. No matter what awful rotting stench they might emit, Mom hacks and breaks them up with a pitchfork, then dries them in the sun to use as fertilizer. No matter how strong the sun might pour down on her, Mom endures the glare, picking the peppers that have ripened red.
The day I set out to go back to the city, Mom takes Little Brother, adamant not to part with me, to Aunt’s house.
“Stay here a bit. Mommy will go bring Sister.” Mom leaves Little Brother behind at Aunt’s and comes to see me off. “Hurry and go on now.” And I head back to the city, carrying the luggage that Mom has packed for me. I glance once toward where Chang lives, the air now awkward between us.
Perhaps the reason for this awkwardnesswas not because I had suddenly moved out to the city but because of my status in the city. In the country, our household had so many memorial rites to host and thus had plenty of food around, more than any other. Our house was in the center of the village and had the largest yard in the neighborhood, the largest number of chickens, bikes, ducks, and sauce jars out on the terrace. But out here in the city, I am the lower class. Placed within this contradiction is Oldest Brother, and now I will step inside this contradiction as well.
The company is vast. There seems to be more than a thousand employees. Viewed from the main gate of the grounds, the buildings stand in the shape of the vowel. The three-story structure that resembles a school houses the TV Division and the single-story structure houses the Stereo Division. The new workers from the Job Training Center are grouped into the two divisions as well. Cousin and I are lined up one behind the other to prevent being separated. Before our positions are designated, the operations chief announces that the head of the administration department will offer an official greeting. The administration head, a man with a large build, adds at the end of his greeting that we must not join the union. He also says that we should report it to him if one of our colleagues joins a union.
Union? I have never heard this word before but, perhaps because of his tone, this word brings me fear. What is it that they do there that makes him say we must not join and that we should report it if someone joins?
As we hoped, Cousin and I stay together, both of us sent to the Stereo Division. There are three production lines at the Stereo Division: A line, B line, C line. And there is also the prep line. Cousin and I, determined not to be separated to different lines,
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