This is how her day goes:
The alarm clock starts beeping at five-forty. She ignores it, tries to sleep a little longer, fails. Her mind restless from the noise, she fumbles for the remote, presses a button.
She brushes her teeth and washes her face, blinking at her reflection in the mirror. She puts on her uniform and double-checks the contents of her school bag before returning to the bathroom, this time to comb her hair. There's a curl she's been forever trying to straighten, to no avail; so she sighs, lets it be.
She makes her way downstairs in a daze, a hand trailing the banister to keep from stumbling. Sometimes, when she's stayed up the night before and has yet to recover, she would sink onto one of the steps and lean against the wall, briefly closing her eyes.
When she has finally dragged herself into the dining room, there's still plenty of time to spare. She collapses onto a chair, scowling at the clock as well as Yongzhu, should the latter quote a proverb about sleeping in; which he usually does, with a cheeky grin she'd have done something about if she wasn't so tired…
Both he and Ju-gege are wide awake. They've been sitting there for about an hour, drinking boiled water and tea respectively. Ju has opened his laptop to a news site and is scanning headlines in silence, while the former gets on her nerves by pointing at everything in sight: he's cooked breakfast, he's set the table and did you know everything in this room originated in him? She shuts her eyes, tries to ignore those ludicrous jabs.
After what's seemed like forever, she hears his voice call out to Hui. She re-opens her eyes to see said boy settle beside her, pouring himself some tea. He pays no attention to either Yongzhu or his all-too-cheerful rambling. She wonders how they can stand him, keeping hands clamped firmly over her own ears until her stomach growls.
Breakfast is already served in the form of rice congee and youtiao, with plates of sliced meat and pickled vegetables on the side. She stares at the bowl in front of her, already filled and cooling, and bites her lip.
It is only when Yongzhu has shouted out his name, accompanies this with wild gesturing, that they see Yao-gege by the door. The laptop shut and cups set down, they turn towards him, her and Hui each mumbling zao an. He nods and returns the greeting, his feet padding across the floor. He accepts a cup from Yongzhu; the tea it holds is sloshing, spilling almost in the other's eagerness.
Yao-gege is smiling, as always, and she finds herself returning the gesture. For a while she watches him, strands of dark hair swept over equally dark eyes as his head bends toward the bowl.
He looks the same as when they've first met.
She ducks her head when he glances at her, an eyebrow raised.
And suddenly she feels, knows, that neither of them have changed― she's still the little girl who couldn't hold her eldest brother's gaze but for mere seconds, though she's substituted fingering worn sleeves with gripping onto her chopsticks. And he's still―
He speaks in silences as much as words, not a minute goes by without her wondering: how can she have known him for so long, yet understand him so little? Everything he does, everything he voices, she takes them as givens and yet―
And she tenses as pain darts across her forehead, throbs, and is gone. She takes a while to steady herself before leaning forward, chopsticks in hand, and adds pickles and meat to her bowl. She sits down again, carefully raises the bowl to her lips.
… then again she's been thinking too much about this, hasn't she? It's not like gege is anything less than kind, no; not in the least.
They're all very important to him, he tells them often, his voice soft and level. They would make sure to wrap their arms around him at these words, she and her brothers embracing him as tightly as they could until he asks them (faintly) to let go, he can't breathe anymore. And they do, albeit reluctantly.
They are fortunate to have him as their elder brother.
They are fortunate to be able to live together again.
Their parents are long gone. For too long Yao-gege has lived in this house, then too spacious and quiet, with only Hui by his side. Their mother passed away months after didi was born, and their father left days thereafter; without speaking to Yao, without leaving a note even. Their brother would lapse into silence when asked for more details, his eyes boring into the wall over their heads.
When he speaks again, it would be in a much firmer tone: it's not important, what's the use dwelling on bygones? What matters most is that we're all together again, under the same roof. He'd look at them then and they'd nod, remembering.
Those times, she'd hear the soft rustle of grass in her ears. She'd immediately think of sunlight, could almost feel the warmth on her face and what are you still sitting there for, meimei, you're going to be late!
She starts, blinks a few times; her eyes finally register Yao's slight frown. She shoots up from her chair, her bowl falling onto the table in a clatter― Six-fifteen.
Why didn't you tell me sooner?
She rushes towards the door, snatching her schoolbag on the way, yells a garbled zhi dao le! when a question's flung at her.
(Have you remembered your medicine?)
She walks to the front door in strides, slips her feet into shoes and is outside in no time. She shakes her head as she walks towards the gate, berates herself for lapsing into recollections when she's more important things to worry about. She rubs at her forehead, ruefully feeling the beginnings of another headache. A sudden weight on her shoulder.
She turns.
Her brother is standing beside her with a hand hovering just above her shoulder, another clasped round a handle of his bike. Why are you still here? I thought you'd left already, we don't have much time left― she cuts herself off and glares. Hui is still looking her, his expression unchanged, collected as always; but she could see amusement in his eyes.
You should be used to it by now, he tells her, shows her the watch on his wrist: six o'clock. The clock's fifteen minutes faster, remember?
Of course. She huffs and turns away, hands tucked in the pocket of her coat.
She sits behind him, carefully smoothing out creases in her skirt, keeping a tight grip on the sides of her seat as he pedals. The neighbours' houses and trees slowly give way to high-rise buildings and streetlamps, she's looking at the squares of grass that lined the pavements when he asks: what are you thinking about?
Nothing, she answers. Pauses, then sneaks a glance at the back of his head, a thought nagging from the back of her mind.
What was he like? she suddenly blurts out, flushing an instant after. Presses her lips together, frowns as she tries to will the flush from her cheeks. Gege, I mean. You've been with him from the start, haven't you? I know it's been ages, but―
What do you want to know? He continues to stare ahead.
You know: what's he like, what kind of person he is.
Though he doesn't move, she can see him raising an eyebrow. He's okay, Hui finally murmurs: he never raises his voice, he's always polite. He hasn't changed really. She feels a smile coming, shakes her head at herself with an inward sigh.
See, she's been making problems out of nothing! Hui seldom speaks, but, whenever he does, says nothing but the truth.
Though it seems to run in the family, this tendency for silence: she speaks little, often stammers when she does; and Ju-gege speaks more out of formality than anything else. Yongzhu seems to be an exception, yet even he's kept to himself at times. She spends the rest of the ride staring at the scooters and bikes that sweep past them, as well as the occasional car.
Her classes pass in a daze. She's a model student, but then again, so is everyone else. The subject she truly excels at, though, is History; after all, she's been taught by the best.
Yao-gege has bookshelves and a minor degree devoted to the field. He's fond of taking them to museums and ancient monuments, of telling the stories behind them. He talks so well they always attract a crowd and they've wondered, asked: why he doesn't make a living out of it then, if he adores history so much?
But he merely smiles.
There's a map of the country occupying an entire wall of their living room. It's Yao's pride and joy, and they can only imagine how much trouble he's gone through to obtain such an item; everyone goes for digital frames and projectors nowadays. They often find him standing in front of the map, his head bent forward, tracing rivers and borders with a pensive finger.
He should've been a professor really, he recounts historic events as though he's actually lived them: he's one of the soldiers marching off to battle behind general Liu Bei; he's a subject standing at the court of the mighty Kangxi; he's not listening to a word I've said, are you?
And she's in the classroom with Zhang-laoshi towering over her desk, his mouth in a firm line. How much times have you let your mind wander now, Wang Chomei? Just because you got a perfect score on last week's exam doesn't mean you don't have to pay attention.
She mumbles a sorry, sets her jaw as her head begins to ache. He gives a stiff nod, strides back to the front of the room; his droning voice fills the class once more. Her classmates return to their readers. She presses a casual hand against her brow, again plagued by a dull pain she's almost forgotten; she reaches into her desk with another.
You've forgotten to take your medicine, haven't you? demands a voice, almost accusingly.
She shrugs. She's remembered all the same, a few minutes later makes no difference. Her head's been cleared in any case, has been so seconds after downing the pill. She mutters something under he breath, stares into a tanned face. Her stomach churns.
It's lunch-time. Many of her classmates are reaching into their desks, their bags, the pocket of their jackets. They swallow their medicine and she pulls a face along with them.
She should have gotten used to it by now. She's been on the same prescription for who knows how long, and she's still put off by the bitter aftertaste.
She's not ill.
Not so much that she needs to stay at the hospital, at least. But it's not as though she could do without the medicine either; her headaches make sure of that.
And yet it's not a lie to say she's healthy either; she's no more ill than everyone else really.
But it irks her all the same. She looks forward to the day her prescription ends, when she doesn't have to brace herself every time she swallows a pill. She lets out a fustrated breath. It's partly because of her that Yao-gege has to work twice as hard, to pay all those pharmacy bills. She shoves this particular train thought to the back of her mind, but the damage has been done.
It's only when the house is in sight, when she's at the front gate, that her moods lift considerably. She swings the door open and enters smiling.
I'm home!
Her voice is met with silence, but that's nothing unusual. Yao-gege is still at work, Hui the library, and Ju-gege and Yongzhu are usually in their rooms. She takes off her coat, hangs it in the closet and heads upstairs. For a while she lounges in her chair, fiddles with the apps on her reader until the silence begins to bother her, as it always does. And so she shuts it down.
She visits Ju-gege first, he's closer and lets her in every time. She would sit by him and watch his fingers fly across the keyboard, neither speaking but comfortable nevertheless. But he doesn't answer her knock today, his room's empty when she peers inside.
She goes to Yongzhu instead. He cheerfully lets her in and so she pokes her head through the opening, a hand on the doorknob. Have you seen Ju-gege?
He's seated with his back to her, bent over his desk. Haven't. Have you tried the garden though? You know how much he likes it there. She nods and, after a pause, says: I will. What are you doing?
Writing, he answers distractedly. She walks over to him, peers over his shoulder.
It's neither the rice paper nor calligraphy brush that surprises her, though she spends a moment wondering where they've came from, whether he's taken them from Yao-gege without asking; they look authentic enough. No, it's the lines and circles he's making that draws her attention. He's painting― no, writing, she corrects herself; he looks sure of what he's doing, makes every stroke with a firm hand― and his face is for once serious with concentration. She glances at the…words. They're beautiful, she says, in spite of herself.
He beams. Isn't it! Calligraphy originated in―
China, you know.
And so it did.
But she's noticed the pause in his words, how his face went blank, the subdued note he finished on. He's still, frowning at the paper. She edges closer. Are you alright?
He raises an arm, presses fingers against his brow. Closes his eyes. I am, he replies, after a moment's thinking. She puts a hand on his shoulder.
Have you eaten your medicine yet? she asks softly.
He tenses and pulls away from her, grips the edges of his seat. She looks at him for a while, her face in what she hopes to be sympathetic and he sighs. His back slackens. Turning aside, he opens a drawer and fumbles inside; he takes out a small plastic case. She waits until he's swallowed a pill, gulped down some water, before she leaves.
Yongzhu's singsong voice declares I told you so!as she closes the door behind her, but for once she isn't annoyed. Ju-gege has brought a picnic blanket, he's spread it out some distance from the fence where the mumian trees grow. She walks across the lawn, the grass made stubby from having been mown days ago, and slows as she nears him.
He also sits with his back to her, though he's far from slouching. He's kneeling, his back completely upright, holding a porcelain cup close as he stares at the flowers in midst of blooming. The very sight of him, alone with the garden as backdrop, makes her swallow. It's only then she realises how dry her throat is, feels in her chest a heaviness she doesn't understand.
She covers the last few steps, kneels awkwardly by his side. He gives her a nod and, with careful fingers, pours the tea. She accepts the proffered cup, murmuring her thanks. He nods again, sets the teapot on a small wooden table. They drink in silence.
Dinner is quiet, as always. It's not until everyone's reached the table and sat down that the meal starts, Yao-gege refuses to have it any other way, not when he's finally found them all. They have fish and chicken and an assortment of steamed vegetables, set out on the rotating wheel at the centre of the table. They eat in a silence briefly disrupted with mild scolding directed at Yongzhu (eat slower, for heaven's sake, the food's not about to disappear), with pleas for Ju and Hui to eat more (you're both still growing, you know). They get up one after the other, placing their chopsticks and bowls in the kitchen sink.
She, too, retires to her room. The many hours before sleep are spent studying. Sometimes she'd catch her mind wandering off, and it'd take a vigorous shake of the head to bring herself around.
…and then there are times she's unable to do so. More often than not, her mind drifts back to the memory of the first meeting with Yao-gege, and take root.
That time, they were staring at each other across a grassy field. She is sure of this, she's played and re-played the scene in her head: the grass was a youthful green that swayed in the wind, a gentle breeze tickled her skin, and above them the sun was warm and radiant against a crisp blue sky―
The memory is there, clear as day, and she can't help but smile as she reminisce; yet there are times, and it's happening increasingly often, where she doesn't feel a thing. She finds herself examine every little detail: who said the grass was green, and not yellow and dried-up? And were they really standing in a field? Why not by a farmyard?
(She's lived in the countryside with an old couple in those days of yore, both Yao-gege and her memories say so.)
Was the wind blowing as softly as she remembers?
It must have been. She wouldn't be wearing frayed clothes otherwise, would she? And it was sunny that day...
The sun burned white, she recalls blinking at it. But what about the surrounding sky? Was it really as blue and clear as her mind insists? Who's to say there weren't any clouds in sight?
Just as clear she can see the sun bleeding, mixing colours with the sky until there was nothing but white―
―and the pain lacing her forehead brings her back to the present, back into her chair. Back to facing her reader. She's breathing heavily, now, the only sound aside being the device's steady electric hum. She stares at the blackened screen for the longest time, not quite seeing it, all her thoughts out of reach.
When a single thought makes itself known she seizes, grabs onto it eagerly. Her hand reaches out and, with a deftness that came from repetition, takes hold of her medicine case and flicks open a compartment.
She takes out a pill and, almost absently, pops it into her mouth.
Yongzhu(勇洙): Yong-soo's name in chinese
Ju(菊): Kiku's name in chinese
gege: older brother
youtiao: deep-fried strip of dough
zao an: good morning
Hui(辉): working name for Hong Kong; the character means 'lustre' and 'brilliance'
didi: younger brother
meimei: younger sister
zhidao le!: I know!
digital [picture] frames
[hologram] projectors
Liu Bei: general, warlord and founding emperor of the state of Shu Han during the Three Kingdoms era
Kangxi: third emperor of Qing dynasty, had a peaceful and prosperous reign
laoshi: teacher
Chomei (秋梅): working name for Taiwan; the characters mean 'autumn' and 'plum'
[e-book] reader
mumian (Bombax ceiba): a kind of cotton tree with red flowers, blooms between February and March of every year