Re:试着接受那个叫鹏鹏的```想他的时候别想他演过什么````
单影乌鸦
#7
亚鹏随笔之〈父亲〉英译版
FATHER
It was June, season of the plum rain, in the city of Wuxi.
Sitting up lightly on my bed at 4am, I heard nothing but the sound of dripping rain outside the window. With my eyes closed and slightly trembling, I was painstakingly trying to search for a dream I had just had. Again and again, I recalled the dream in my mind.
The raindrops were still dripping, and the bedside alarm clock was still ticking. Sitting on my bed, I remained motionless - my head drooping slightly, one hand placed on each leg. Occasionally, a singing bird flew past the window.
The world outside woke up already, and the entire building was getting boisterous; our film crew was about to set off. I must get going for work, having no choice but to bid farewell to my dream... Tears finally rolled down my cheeks and my eyes became misty. I got dressed, washed my face and brushed my teeth. After taking a look at myself in the mirror, I wiped away the tears once again and opened the door, headed out for a day of filming.
Please forgive my sensitiveness - I had seen my father in my dream. This is the only way for me to see him now.
Last year, on December 6th, I was filming
- a family comedy series made for the Chinese New Year. Early that morning, I received a phone call from my brother, who told me that my father, at the age of 57, had just died from a sudden heart attack.
Despite my personal grief, I pulled myself together and continued with my last two days‘ work - saying those cheerful lines and making those jubilant facial expressions, in front of the camera. During the final hour of filming, before my departure for the airport, every time after finishing an acting scene, I would run to the washroom to be alone. Once there, I would rub my face and bite my tongue strenuously, releasing my sadness... On my trip back home on the plane, tears started to flow without restraint under the cover of my sunglasses... At my father‘s funeral, I made an eulogy, "Lying here quietly, in great stature, is my father." Right after this very first sentence, I collapsed.
Once again, please forgive my sensitiveness. I have lost a truly great father.
Back in my childhood, I was my father‘s little helper in assembling radio and television. During those days, I would assist him inserting individual components onto the electric circuit board, then watch him working under the dim light, without much words exchanged between us. Night after night, we devoted ourselves to this project. When my father delivered the finished product - a small black and white television - to his neighbors, they were so delighted. Seeing the excitement on their faces, my father smiled. Quietly, I smiled too. I was very proud, and started to appreciate how one‘s work could gain respect from other people.
My parents, both at the age of 15, had come to Xinjiang Uigur Autonomous Region on their own from inland cities of China. They made that decision, not in response to the call of the country to develop the frontier, but rather as an escape from their ill-fated misfortunes. Coming from the wrong class origin, they were discriminated against by society. Unable to handle the pressure, they simply packed up their luggage and left, looking for a new life far away from home. Later, they happened to meet each other in Xinjiang. Mutually feeling a strong affinity, they became husband and wife. Always encouraging each other to pursue higher knowledge, my father eventually became an electrical engineer and my mother, a pediatrician. For the same reason, when my brother and I graduated from junior high, we were sent away by my father to study in inland China, where educational facilities were better. Off we went, carrying my father‘s words with us, "One shouldn‘t adopt an air of arrogance, yet one should have a great strength of character."
14 years have gone by since I parted from my family. Every Chinese New Year, I would return home and tell my father about my personal experiences. On New Year‘s Eve, my father, my brother and I would have a bit of wine and a long conversation together. Like three good friends, we would talk about problems encountered by our family; my father would also share with us his own troubles and concerns. This sense of trust made me realize that, as a man, one must undertake responsibilities of family and friends. Those memories are truly wonderful. My father - he is my pride.
Events of the past are hard to be retold, for they are just too many.
Probably what disappointed my father the most, was that I did not attend Harbin Engineering University, but rather China Central Drama Academy. For this reason, for a long time he rarely spoke to me; nevertheless, he was an open-minded person. Later on, he did urge me, "Since you‘ve chosen this profession, then you should excel at it." It‘s just that for all these years, he hardly ever asked me about my job. Perhaps, he was indeed not interested in performing arts.
What my father was proud of the most, would be the rock-n‘-roll concert that I had organized in 1993, right in the capital city of Xinjiang - Urumqi. Bands such as Tang Dynasty, Female Cobra, and Wang Yong were all invited. It was a spectacular event, with many "first-time" experiences being created. Back then, I had no money and not much of a social network. After 3 months of hard work, I tasted the fruits of success. That year, I turned 22. I remember very clearly that my father also attended the concert. By the end of the performances, while I was still busily helping others, my father came over and told me that he would go home early. I said to him, "Hey, I know." Then, my father reached out his hand and shook mine. I was astonished. That was our first handshake as adults. I would never forget that.
What I regret the most, is that when I owned my very first home in Beijing, my parents came to visit me, and before they left, my father said, "Since your mother and I have plenty of time on our hands, we will ride the train back to Xinjiang." I agreed without much thinking. When I saw my parents off at the train station, the train they were taking was crowded with people. Realizing it would be a long three-day ride for them, I felt truly sorry and told them that, it would be better for them to take the plane next time. Two weeks after they had returned home, my father passed away. I would never have the opportunity to make up to him. Later, when I returned home to see my family, I purchased an airplane ticket and placed it inside my father‘s chest pocket. It was a gesture of making amends for my unwitting mistake.
I insisted on burying my father with my own hands. I knew that I needed a ritual like this to pay him my last respects. Standing in front of his tombstone for a long time, my tears dried by the wind, I had a sudden sensation: a part of my father‘s spirit had entered my body - not an illusory depiction, but in that instant, I really felt it. I am willing, very willingly to accept it. 28 years ago, I owed my life to my father. Today, I have carried on his spirit. This is a sort of heredity, reincarnation and inheritance of tradition. I don‘t know exactly what it is. Hopefully, one day I will also become a good father.
Love you forever, my dear father.
生活就是浪费一切可见资源!
生活就是浪费一切可见资源!
