Hong Kong Young Writers Anthologies Fiction 4 - 7 2018 | Page 47

“He’s come a long way, your father,” my aunt whispered to me with a wistful smile. There was a certain
veneration in her voice that was difficult to pinpoint.
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“He’s more refined now, less brash and more self-assured. The failures and adversities have made
strengthened him,” she explained.
Lying on his deathbed, he seemed tranquil and angelic. His pallid complexion was waxen, almost jade-like.
As I planted a final kiss on his cheek, I couldn’t help but notice how brittle he seemed. I tried to be as gentle
as possible, in fear of breaking him. I winced as his numbing coldness drained the warmth from my lips.
He pressed the piece of jade into my hand and clasped it shut.
“Son, remember that any prized piece of jade is a result of masterful carving and polishing. Without pain,
you will never become who you were destined to be. Goodbye, my magnum opus .”
As his eyelids fluttered shut, I clutched onto his piece of jade and helplessly watched my tears fall. I took one
last look at him, scrutinising the finesse of the craftsmanship on his face like a fine piece of art, molded and
shaped over decades of painstaking work. My eyes traced the contours of his facial features: prominent
eyebrows, a high nose bridge, taut lips. Each of the wrinkles that were etched into his skin held stories of
past experiences and difficulties that he encountered. It was this sustained pain – the grooves where the
chisel had struck, the intricate lattice of veins that ran through him, the smooth undulations created by long
periods of abrasion – that constituted such a strong and whole person. Basked in the last rays of the setting
sun, I couldn’t help but admire how beautiful of a creation my father was.