The origami

My earliest memory is of a time when I cried as a child. On that occasion, no matter how much my mom and dad tried to coax me, I just didn't care and kept on crying.

My dad couldn't do anything about it, so he let me cry in the bedroom. But my mom carried me into the kitchen and sat me down at the dining room table. She pulled a piece of colored wrapping paper from the refrigerator and tried to get my attention, "Look, what is this?"

Every year after Christmas, my mom would carefully cut out wrapping paper from various Christmas boxes and stack them neatly on top of the refrigerator. Over the years, a thick pile of wrapping paper had accumulated.

She took out one of them, front side down and back side up, and spread it flat on the table to fold my knickknacks. Fold, press, blow, roll, pinch ...... In no time, the paper disappeared from her fingertips. She blew gently, a flattened and flattened paper model instantly turned into a flesh and blood creature.

"Look! Little tiger!" She said as she put the paper tiger in her hand on the table. It was small, about the size of my two fists combined, with a white tiger skin dotted with red candies and green Christmas pines.

I took the tiger from my mother. It looked like a cat, but not a cat, with its tail high, scurrying from side to side at my fingertips, its "ow ......" roar interspersed with the rustling of paper.

I was both surprised and delighted, using my index finger to touch the back, the little thing jumped and let out a low growl.

"It's called origami." My mother told me in Chinese.

I didn't know anything about origami at the time, but I knew that my mother's origami skills were magical. With a single blow, these paper things would spring to life with her breath. She was the only one who could do such amazing origami.

Dad picked Mom from a booklet.

I remember once, when I was in high school, I asked my dad about the process. He looked very reluctant.

It was the spring of 1973, and Dad wanted to find a match through a marriage agency. So he carelessly flipped through the introduction book, glancing at each page until the moment he saw a picture of Mom.

"I've never seen a picture like that before." Dad said. In the photo, a woman sat sideways on a wicker chair, dressed in a tight green cheongsam of silk, her eyes looking into the mirror, her hair hanging gracefully over her chest and resting on her shoulder, her childlike eyes staring at Dad through the photo.

"Ever since I saw her picture, I don't want to look at anyone else's." Dad said.

The brochure said the woman was 18 years old, a hobby dancer, from Hong Kong, and fluent in English. But none of the personal information was true.

Then Dad started writing to Mom. With the help of that matchmaking company, they kept in touch. Finally, he decided to go to Hong Kong to see her in person.

"She didn't speak English at all. All the letters I received were also written by the marriage agency in her tone of voice. Her English was completely stuck at the level of 'hello' and 'goodbye'."

What kind of woman actually puts herself in a brochure like a commodity and expects someone to buy them? I was a high school student at the time, and contempt and disdain were in the air.

Dad didn't barge into the marriage agency and demand a refund for being cheated. Instead, he took Mom to the restaurant and got a waiter to translate for them.

"She looked at me timidly, with a few moments of fear and expectation in her eyes. As the waiter began to translate my words, a smile slowly appeared on her face."

Dad returned to Connecticut and checked Mom into the country.

A year later, I was born. That year was the year of the tiger.

Whenever I wanted, my mom would fold all kinds of little animals for me out of colored wrapping paper - goats, deer, buffalo, etc. In my living room, these little animals were everywhere. The tiger growls and chases them around, and once he catches up, he paws them down and squeezes the air out of their bodies, turning them back into a flat piece of origami. Whenever this happens, I have to blow into the body of small animals to make them alive again.

From time to time, critters get into trouble. Once, the buffalo fell into the bowl of soy sauce while we were eating lunch, and it seemed like it really wanted to roll around and frolic in the mud like a water buffalo. I rushed to pinch it out, but its limbs had been softened by the pitch-black soy sauce that it couldn't continue to support its torso and had to lie limply on the table.

I put it in the sun to dry, but its limbs were so twisted that it could no longer run and walk around as steadily as before. Finally, Mom wrapped his limbs in Sharon paper and fixed them. This way, he could roll around as he pleased again (but not in the soy sauce bowl).

When I was playing with the tiger in the yard, it always liked to catch sparrows. Once, a cornered bird bit its ear in a fit of rage and it whimpered in pain for a long time. With me by its side, it endured the pain and received a tape stitching operation from its mother. From then on, when it saw those birds, it hid away from them.

One day, I watched a documentary about sharks on TV and asked my mom to make me a shark. When the shark was ready, I saw it lying on the dining table moping, so I filled the sink with water and put it in. In the wide open water, the shark swam happily, and before long, its body became wet, soft and transparent, and slowly sank to the bottom of the pool, and the folded part slowly unfolded in the water. When I looked back to save it, it was too late, and all that was left lying in my hands was a wet piece of paper.

My little tiger crawled towards the pool with his front paws and found a good position to lean his head gently on his paws. After seeing the tragedy that just happened, his ears drooped and his throat let out a whimper of anger that made me feel guilty.

Mom redid a shark for me out of waterproof paper, and it swam happily in the wide goldfish bowl. I love to sit with my little tiger by the tank and watch the waterproof shark chase the goldfish in the water. But the tiger cub would usually stand on the other side of the tank, head held high, looking at me through the tank, eyes dilated as big as coffee cups.

When I was ten years old, my family moved to the other side of town. Two female neighbors came to visit, and my dad rushed to bring out drinks to serve the guests, but he also had to go to the utility department because the previous head of the household's utility bill had not been settled. Before he left, Dad apologized to the two neighbors, "Make yourselves comfortable. My wife doesn't speak English, so I can't keep you company, so don't be shy."

At that moment I was studying in the dining room and my mom was in the kitchen cleaning up.

I heard my neighbors talking in the living room, and they weren't trying to keep their voices down.

"He seems like a normal guy, why would he do something like that?"

"Mixed-race kids are weird, like they're underdeveloped. Look at his white face with his yellow slanted eyes, he's a little monster."

"Do you think he speaks English?"

The two did not speak anymore. After a while, they came to the restaurant.

"Hey, little guy! What's your name?"

"Jack."

"It doesn't look like a Chinese name."

Mom also came into the kitchen and greeted the two guests with a smile. Then I was in the triangle they formed, watching them stare at each other without saying a word until Dad came home.

Mark is the neighbor's kid. One day, he came to our house to play with the "Star Wars" Obi-Wan Kenobi doll. The lightsaber in the doll's hand not only glows, but also makes a shrill sound: "Use the Force!" However, I really don't see how this doll looks like the Obi-Wan from the movie.

Mark and I watched the doll on the coffee table and flipped it over and over five times. "Can it change its action?"

Mark was irritated by my words, "Look closer, boy!"

But I could see it clearly enough. I didn't know what else to say.

When Mark saw that I did not say anything, he became anxious, "What toys do you have, show me!"

But I didn't have any toys except for the origami. So, I took the paper tiger out of the bedroom. It was worn out and covered with tape, all of which my mom and I had taped on in the past few years when we were fixing it. Time has passed, and now it has lost its robustness in its old age. I put it on the coffee table. At the same time, I could hear the soft footsteps of other small animals, all seeming to be straining their necks to see.

"Little tiger!" I said in Chinese, and then I stopped and said it again in English.

The tiger cub was very cautious and didn't move, but just took a prostrate and guarded stance, looking at Mark with angry eyes and sniffing his hand with his nose.

Mark looked up and down at the paper tiger made of Christmas gift box wrapping paper, "What kind of tiger is this? Your mother made a toy out of garbage?"

I never thought my paper tiger was trash. But really, it is just a piece of paper.

Mark touched Obi-Wan's head with his hand and his lightsaber danced again, his arm bobbing up and down, "Use the Force!"

The tiger turned around and lunged at Obi-Wan, pushing the plastic villain off the dining room table, breaking bones and moving his head. "Ow ......" the tiger was pleased. I laughed too.

Mark pushed me aside hard, "This toy is expensive! You can't even buy it now! Maybe your dad didn't even spend this much when he bought your mom!"

I froze and collapsed to the ground. The paper tiger snarled and lunged straight at Mark's face.

Mark yelped. Not because he was hurt by the tiger, but because the sight before him made him both scared and surprised. After all, the tiger was made of paper.

He grabbed my paper tiger and ravaged it with all his might, tearing and biting it. My paper tiger was instantly dismembered in half, with its head in different places. He threw the two crumpled balls of paper at me, "Take it! Stupid piece of crap!"

After Mark left, I cried alone for a long time. I tried to flatten it out and restore it to its original shape along the original folds, but no matter what I tried, it just wouldn't come back. After a while, the other critters came over, but what they saw was no longer the tiger they once knew, but a pile of shredded paper.

My feud with Mark didn't end there. Mark was very well liked at school. I couldn't even imagine what the next two weeks of school were going to be like.

Two weeks later, on Friday, I came home from school and as soon as I walked in the door my mom asked, "How was school?" I stifled my voice and didn't want to talk to her. I locked myself in the washroom and stared at myself in the mirror - I didn't look like her, not at all!

At dinner, I asked my dad, "Do I look like a Chink?"

Dad stopped his chopsticks in his hand. Although I had never mentioned school to him, he seemed to have guessed what had happened. He squeezed his eyes shut and rubbed the bridge of his nose, "No, you don't."

Mom looked at Dad in confusion, then at me, "What do you mean, Chink?"

"English! Speak English!" I exploded.

She struggled to find the English words she could speak, "What's wrong with you?"

I slammed down my chopsticks, pushed the bowl of rice away from me, looked at the "stir-fried beef with green peppers" on the table, and said in a commanding tone, "No more Chinese food!"

"Son, many American families eat Chinese food too." Dad tried to defend Mom.

"The problem is that we are not an American family!" I said, looking my dad angrily in the eye. There wouldn't even be a mom like me in an American family!

Dad didn't say anything back, he just put his hand on Mom's shoulder and said, "I'll go back and buy you some cooking books."

Mom turned to me and asked, "Not good?"

"Speak English! Say English!" I got anxious and yelled at the top of my lungs.

Mom reached out her hand to touch my forehead, "Do you have a fever?" I pushed her hand away, "I'm fine! I don't want you to care! I just want you to speak English to me!"

"Speak English to him more often from now on," Dad said to Mom, "You knew this day would come sooner or later. Didn't you?"

Mom sat there dejectedly, looking at Dad and then at me, her lips opening and closing, wanting to say something.

"It's time for you to learn English," Dad said, "I only blame myself for not asking for much in the past, but Jack still has to fit in."

Mom looked at Dad, ran her finger over her lips and said, "When I say the word 'love' in English, what I feel is sound, but when I say the word 'love' in Chinese, what I feel is true. " She said, covering her chest with her hand.

When I was ten years old, I was orphaned. I heard that I still had an uncle in Hong Kong. One night, I ran away and climbed into a van heading south.

A few days later, I arrived at the beach and was caught for stealing something to eat. I told the people who caught me that I wanted to go to Hong Kong, and they all laughed and said, "You're so lucky, we happen to be sending some girls to Hong Kong."

The other girls and I hid in the bilge of the cargo ship and sneaked out of the country. We were put in the basement and they told us to stand up straight and instructed us to behave and be smart in front of the guests.

Families who wanted children paid them a referral fee and were allowed to come over and pick them out. Once we were chosen, we could be "adopted".

One family named Jin picked me to take care of their two boys. I had to get up every morning at four o'clock to make breakfast, and after that I had to feed and bathe the children, as well as buy groceries, do laundry and clean the house. I was so busy around these two boys that I had to do whatever they wanted me to do. At night, I was locked in the kitchen cupboard to sleep. If I was a little slow or did something wrong, I would be beaten; if their children did something wrong, I would be beaten; if they caught me stealing to learn English, I would be beaten.

"Why do you want to learn English?" Mr. King's family asked, "Do you want to call the police? If you dare to call the police, we'll say you're a boat person illegally staying in Hong Kong. They can't wait to put you in jail."

And so it was, after six years. One morning, an old woman selling fish pulled me aside and said, "I've seen a lot of girls like you. How old are you? Sixteen years old, right? Maybe one day the man who buys you will get drunk and make a move on you, and you can't even resist. If his wife finds out, you don't even know how you died. You have to think of a way out. I know someone who can help you."

She told me that some American men like to marry Asian girls as wives. If I could cook, do housework, and serve my American husband well, he would give me a happy life. That was my only way out. That's how my picture appeared in the brochure along with the false information, and then your father met me. Although the storyline is not at all romantic, this is my story.

In the suburbs of America, I was alone. Your dad was kind and considerate to me, and I was grateful to him. But no one could really understand me, and I certainly didn't understand what was going on around me.

Then you were born. I looked at your little face that looked so much like my mom and dad and me, and I was overjoyed. I had no more family, no more four wheels, no more everything I loved. But I have you, and your face tells me that my memories of my hometown are real, not hallucinations.

Now, I have someone to talk to. I can teach you my language and still do some of the things I loved as a child together. The first time you spoke Chinese, with my mother's and my native accent, I cried all day about it. The first time I made origami for you, you were so amused that I felt there was no more trouble in the world.

You are growing up day by day, and now you can help me communicate with your father, which really makes me feel at home. I have finally found my happy life. I wish my mom and dad were with me so I could do their laundry and cook their meals and let them enjoy their happiness, but they are no longer here. Do you know what is the most painful thing for Chinese people? It is when a child wants to be filial to his parents and they are no longer alive.

Son, I know you don't like to have Chinese eyes, but they are full of my expectation for you; I know you don't like to have Chinese black hair, but it is full of my prayers for you. Can you imagine how wonderful you have made my life? Can you imagine how much my heart hurt when you stopped talking to me and wouldn't let me speak Chinese with you? I was scared, I was scared that I was about to lose all the good things in my life again.

Son, why don't you talk to mommy? Mom's heart really hurts.

The letter was read. The Chinese lady handed me the letter and I was too ashamed to look up at her face. I bowed my head and asked her to do me one more favor, so she could teach me how to write the Chinese word for "love. I clumsily imitated the word "love" she had written at the bottom of her letter and wrote it over and over again. She gently patted my shoulder and got up to leave. At this moment, the only person with me was my mother.

I followed the crease, folded it back to its original shape, and nestled it in my arms. With a growl from it, I took it on the road home ......