Love for one’s father, translated…
When my father was younger and was attending medical school, he’d once lived in the northeast for almost a decade, back then, the former director of the legislative office, Yun-Shuen Sun was going to Harbin for college, and because of this, my father said, that, they’re, of the same origins, seeing anything report on Director Sun, he’d proudly exclaimed, that being born in the Northeast is what sets you apart. And he’d often exclaimed how he’d gone from a student, to running the legislative branch of the country, that he’s very righteous and very able-bodied too, so, when I was younger, I’d gotten to known Director Sun very well.
I’d learned, that the late home of Director Sun was opened, I’d found a weekend, and gone, to see it myself. The moment I walked in, I saw Director Sun’s photograph, with him, sitting up straight at the patch of grass in the yard, it’d attracted my attention for quite a long time, that, was an all-too-familiar look, too personable, it’s, as if, he were actually, really there.
There was the notes of Director Sun, detailing everything, with Russian side notes. Back then, as I just got into the university, my father took out his cherished notes from years ago, taught me how to take down the key points of the lectures. The same notes were, written very well, with the German annotations, he and Director Sun’s hard working mannerisms in school is comparable all right. The huge briefcase that Director Sun used, it’d reminded me of the black medical supply case that my father carried with him everywhere he went, with the entire set of medical equipments, and whenever someone needed a house call, he’d gone out with it. My father treated all his patients as if they were his family members, during his mealtime, his afternoon resting hours, even in the middle of the nights, if someone needed his services, he’d gone to answer their calls, worked hard at his post, until he fell ill.
There was a photograph of the director’s mother’s portrait in his suite, he fulfilled his filial piety toward her, after his mother passed, he’d still gone to say good morning and good evening to the photograph of his own mother, this made me remember how much care went into my father, taking care of my own grandmother. My grandmother had a total of three strokes, and my father took care of her on his own, without the assistance from anybody else. As my grandmother passed, I still couldn’t forget how my father looked so sorrowful, as he held on to her body. The two of them were both, fitting sons.
As I’d walked out of the last place that former Director Sun lived, I’d stared at the photograph hung outside, with him, smiling, with a persistence, and, in a blur, I started seeing my own father, smiling, in the icy winds, the fragments of memories I had of my father came one by one.
And so, visiting this place had triggered this person’s memories of her own father, because, there were so many similarities between the director and the narrator’s father, and, that, is how going some place that you least expect, can rouse up the memories of someone for you.