The Bravest Thing I Have Ever Done

            It was an ordinary night.  Warm and humid, like any other typical September night in Taiwan.  My wife Sandy had just had surgery for her melanoma and needed absolute peace and quiet, so I slept with our almost two-year-old son Mike in the next room.  Our six-month-old boy Ben was at a friend’s house.  She volunteered to babysit for us so both Sandy and I could get a bit more rest.

            It was a difficult time for us.  Just coming back from Hawaii, we were planning to go right back to America for graduate school, but Sandy’s sudden sickness halted the plan.  I had no job, and we had no place to live.  Finally my mother agreed to let us stay in an apartment of hers.  It was on the 13^th floor.  Long vacant, we washed and scrubbed and mopped to make it inhabitable for a family with little babies.  Sometimes, however, some roaches as big as Komodo dragons would come out from nowhere to try to reclaim their territories.  We had to be constantly on guard. 

            That night we had a little debate with our friend about Ben.  Sandy wanted to take him home: “I feel much better now, I can take care of him.  He can sleep on the floor next to me.” But our kind friend and her family liked our boy and pleaded to let him stay one more night: “Really, that’s no problem.  He’s so cute and we love him.  You should get more rest anyway.”  Finally we gave in.  “One more night only,” Sandy emphasized.

            We were all tired, and quickly we fell asleep.

            I woke up to a constant violent shake.  It was like I was a puppet being put in a big chest, and a giant was shaking that chest to see if he can break me.  I opened my eyes, it was pitch-dark.  I wanted to fight, but soon realized it was something I had no chance of winning.  Earthquake!  I was horrified.  The whole building was squealing like it was about to fall apart. 

            Before I had time to react, Mike started screaming with terror.  He was so little, couldn’t even utter a complete sentence, yet he knew right away that we were in an extremely dangerous situation.     

            I don’t know if I was brave or simply naïve, but in that split second I rolled over and totally covered him with my body. 

            I wish I could tell you that I did that because I was very courageous, that I was ready to sacrifice my life for my own son because I loved him so much.  But if I tell you that, I would not be telling the whole truth.  The fact is: strangely, the idea of death didn’t occur to me at all.  My simple mind at that particular moment reasoned that if the building did collapse, my body could be a shield to him from the concrete, rocks, steel bars, or anything falling on us.  I might get hurt, but I should be ok, that was the only thought that had crossed my mind.  Well, maybe I also begged for the shaking to stop, I’m not exactly sure.  I wasn’t even sure if I was totally rational at that moment, emotionally I didn’t feel a thing.  I know it’s strange: how could I be horrified and feel no emotion at the same time?  I guess I was too horrified to feel.  My mind quickly went completely blank.

          I held Mike tightly and tried my best to calm him down: “It’s ok, it’s ok, dad’s here.” I guess that was to calm myself down as well.  He right away stopped screaming. 

            The shaking continued for about another 30 seconds or one minute, I couldn’t tell how long it was exactly.  It felt like eternity. 

            Finally, it stopped.  Silence.  Mike and I almost could hear our own breathing.  Paralyzed, we didn’t moved a muscle. 

            Another century had passed.  I looked at my watch: 1: 49am.  I managed to get up, got out of bed, and hurriedly went to check Sandy.  “Sandy?  Sandy?  You ok?”

            “Yes, I’m fine.” She sat straight up on the bed.  I sighed with relief.  Then I saw our closet made of heavy wood had fallen on the floor next to her, broken.  “I was going to put Ben over there,” Sandy was shaking, “thank God we didn’t take him home.” I hastily checked the phone, thank goodness it still worked.  Our friend assured us they were alright, and our little Ben had not even a scratch on him.

            I went around examining the damage.  All I saw was a ceiling fan with light on the floor, glass everywhere.  I was amazed and happy at such little loss.

            But then suddenly it shook again.  It wasn’t as violent as the first one, but enough to make the building squeak and moan like it could give up any second.  I quickly ran to carry Mike to the main bedroom with Sandy, and we held each other in our arms.  Now I realized how scared I was: I closed my eyes, my heart pounded like crazy, I sweated and quivered.  We were trapped: we were too poor to own any big furniture for us to hide under.  Sandy couldn’t move, and even if she could, we were on the 13^th floor.  If the building crumpled we surely would perish with it.  All we could do was pray for the building to be strong enough to sustain the attack.  Or if the building did crumple, the pain would be quick.  It would be a horrible death, but at least we were together.

            The aftershock lasted for about a minute.  Several more followed.  Luckily, we survived them all. 

            Then we heard ambulances.  The sirens blasted all day.  Sometimes it was whistles shrieking, because there were not enough ambulances, they had to carry the wounded with any vehicles they could find. 

            We were so glad to see the dawn of the next day.  More than 2,400 people weren’t so fortunate.  Till today I still appreciate the second chance.  We are so lucky. 

 ***

            Since the incident, I’ve asked myself more than once: was that courage?  Would I do it again in a similar situation?

            In an event like this, everything happens so fast, you have to make a decision in less than a second.  I wasn’t given time to carefully analyze the possible cost I have to pay for my action.  To be honest, I’m glad, as well as a bit surprised, that I made that decision in that split second without a trace of doubt.

            It perhaps is simply a co-incidence, but Mike was born on Thanksgiving at 4:22pm.  At the moment he came into the world, I had this unspeakable emotion: a life was created!  This is my first child.  The doctor handed me the scissors: “You want to cut it?” I didn’t hesitate.  The umbilical cord was tougher than I thought.  “You’re brave, some fathers pass out at the sight of blood.” The doctor said.  I smiled and shrugged.  Why would I?  This baby is part of my life, my flesh and blood.  I don’t need bravery, it’s just something that needed to be done.

            But Mike wasn’t the easiest baby.  He could cry from 10pm to 4am non-stop.  He would puke all the milk he just took in.  After the first year, his smartness as well as stubbornness manifested.  I often caught myself yelling at him for his “wants” and “nos:” “Want cookies!” (and whining) “Want walkie!” (at 10pm) “no fish!” “no carrot!” He wouldn’t budge, he knew exactly how to get on my nerves, and he constantly tested the limits.  Sometimes I was so angry I really wanted to spank him good.  Wait, I did spank him sometimes.

            Several months after the earthquake, one day we recalled that experience.  To my surprise, Mike immediately burst into tears.  I thought he was too young to keep that memory.  He remembered.  I hugged and comforted him, and again he calmed down right away.  Thanksgiving boy, you’re special; you’re here to teach us to appreciate what we have, aren’t you?  Even when what we have is really annoying us sometimes?

            My attempt to protect Mike from harm might be described as one of the bravest things I’ve ever done.  But I guess I don’t really need bravery.  It’s just something that needed to be done.

Super Beeu's Inc. 05

Super Beeu's Inc. 04

Working with boss from hell, there's no job security...

Change

(Pen drawing)
by Sunchaser

 

 

Super Beeu's Inc. 03

Have you ever had a boss from hell?  They come in different sizes, shapes, and characteristics.  One common theme I've seen though is unpredictability--there's no rule to follow.  They do whatever as they please or whatever benefit them.  Some of them are neurotic, some just want to exercise their power.

Super Beeu's Inc. 02

From now on, my pen name is Sunchaser...

Super Beeu's Inc. - comic strip

Several years ago, as I became a victim of someone who had poor management skills and high desire for power and control, I created this comic strip to cope with it.  You might have similar experience to share.

By Mark Chu

A daring adventure

(Click to enlarge)
Pen drawing by Mark Chu

Years ago in one particular summer, my friends and I went together to a lake for a day.

That was when I met Judie.

She was 14.  My friends Woody, Harold, Steve, and I were all 15.  I was attracted to her, and I knew all my friends were, too.  Her short dark hair had a pleasant fragrance, the few freckles on her face made her smile cuter.  She came with her family: her parents, a little brother, and a big dog.  Her father was a big man with a mean-looking face, and a long thick beard to intimidate people.  Overcoming by love, however, we found chance to talk to her.

She loved swimming, along with many other things a typical adventurous girl liked to do, such as canoeing, camping, exploring the woods, traveling.  Though interesting, these things weren't unique for a fun-loving 14-year-old girl.

Except she was almost blind.

You would never guess at first sight, her eyes looked beautiful and lively.  Her left eye could only tell light and dark; her right eye was better, it could tell some shapes.  It was an accident when she was two, she said. 

But that didn't stop her from experiencing life.

She told us a story about a big cave on the deep end of the lake.  Rumor had it that there were strange creatures and plants that people had never seen.  She wanted to go there.  We thought she was joking, until she brought a huge inner tube almost as big as her.  “What, are you going there right now?” My eyes grew wide.

“You bet I am.” Her almost blind eyes were locked on the other side of the lake.

“You’re crazy!” Steve shouted.

“Maybe I am.”

“That’s just a rumor!  You won’t find anything.” Woody said.  “How can you see where you’re going?” Harold shook his head.  “That’s too dangerous!” I tried to grasp her arms. 

“I won’t find out until I get there, will I?” She quickly took off her shoes.  Before we could stop her, she jumped into the lake with the tube.  My friends stood there in awe.  I ran to find her father.  He shook his head, smiled, said nothing.

She came back almost three hours later.  She did get to the deep end of the lake, but she didn’t find the cave.  No strange creatures or plants.  But she managed to bring back some beautiful stones.  So beautiful I’d never seen in my life.  She gave each of us one.

Till today I have no idea how she did it.  How could she tell the direction, find her way to the shore, tell the different colors of stones.  I’ve never seen Judie since, but I still keep that stone.  It always reminds me of a young girl’s daring act. 

Life is either a daring adventure, or nothing.

Aliens Are Real

* If you are a parent of more than one, you know exactly what I'm talking about.

You hear rumors say that aliens helped build the pyramids, Ester Island’s stone statues, or England’s Stonehenge.  Smart people claim that those silly tall tales are solid proofs of human’s needs for certainty—we can’t tolerate mystery without an explanation.  If we can’t find an explanation, we invent one.

            Well, maybe; but I wouldn’t be so quick to dismiss the alien theory.  In fact, as a parent of three, I firmly believe the existence of aliens.  They are real; they must be.  If the government wants me to testify I’ll show them all the evidence I’ve documented around my house. 

            For example, who can explain why the kitchen light always mysteriously turns itself on?  Whenever I step into the kitchen, the damn light would always be on, and there would be cookie crumbs on the floor.  I would call everyone in the house to the kitchen.  “I didn’t do it,” the oldest boy would always be the first one to deny any wrongdoing.

            I’ll then look at his brother, and he would look back at me with his particular blank face.  “Well?”  

            “Not me.” He finally says.

            “So it’s you?” I would turn to my daughter.

            “Uh-uh.”

            “Ok, there’s got to be someone!”

            “I don’t know.” They would say.

            Einstein might have said that insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expect different results, but I can’t resist that temptation.  “Let me ask again: who did this?”

            “I didn’t do it.”

            “Not me.”

            “Uh-uh.”

            “Well, there’s got to be someone!”

            “I don’t know.”

            To this point I would be jumping up and down like a clown with foams at the corners of my mouth.  “If nobody did it, then what did it?  Aliens?”

            I remotely remember the first time I brought out the possibility of aliens, my daughter, less than three at that time, promptly protested: “Well I’m not an alien!” But the little aliens all have learned the lesson since.  Now, there is absolutely nobody doing anything in the house.  The light and cookie crumbs become mystery of the century, as do the pyramids, stone statues, and Stonehenge.  Sherlock Holmes once says: “When you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth.” If nobody in our house turns on the light and steals the cookies, then it must be the aliens.  It’s that simple.

           

            I’m really worried about those aliens.  They not only steal cookies.  I suspect they’re secretly training my kids their language and forsaking humans’.  Or worse: they might have inserted electrodes into their brains to control their moves.  I swear there are several nights I see sparks behind their ears.  I don’t know why those aliens do what they do.  It leads to dire consequences: my children are getting less and less able to understand our language. 

            For instance, I have to repeat myself a thousand times: “Go to bed!” “Take a shower!” “Get off from that damn computer/TV!” or “Pick up your hair in the bathroom sink!” But they won’t understand a word.  It doesn’t matter whatever I scream, twenty minutes later they would still be in the living room, watching cartoons and laughing like hyenas.  “What are you doing?” I question, and I would see 3 pairs of empty eyes staring at me.  They definitely have been brainwashed. 

            Once after I told them to take a shower, my younger boy reluctantly went into the bathroom.  For 15 minutes I didn’t hear a sound.  I went to check him out and found the door ajar.  The kid was still standing in the bathtub; for 15 minutes he stood there doing nothing.  “Aren’t you supposed to shower?”

            “Yeah,” he nodded. 

            “Then don’t you have to close the door, take off your clothes, get into the tub, turn on the water, and use soap to wash your body?”

            Now that was too complicated.  They’ve lost the ability to understand sentences that long. 

            “Take off your clothes first, please.  Then wash yourself.”

            Ten minutes later the kid was still standing there, looking at the mirror, talking and laughing to himself.    

            “What did I just say?” I shouted.  “You don’t understand what I’m saying?  Am I speaking Martian?  What language should I speak for you to understand?  Take that damn shower now!”

            Though he couldn’t comprehend such long sentences, from my body language he knew what I wanted him to do.  The kid grudgingly closed the door: “I know.” I’m so glad the aliens didn’t take this “I know” away.  But what he was doing behind the door I have no idea.  I hope the aliens didn’t take away the ability of cleaning one’s own body. 

            How long are they gonna stay?  When are they gonna take over The Earth?  What would happen to me then?  I don’t feel safe.  I’m scared.

            That’s why when they went to my mother’s house and stayed for a month, my wife and I felt like birds being released from a cage.  Freedom at last!  When I woke up in the morning, everything was in place.  No mysterious light being turned on.  Cookies never disappeared.  No garbage ejected from the trashcan, toys ran away from the bins, or dirty little socks expelled from the laundry.  All the cups were standing in the cupboard in line.  Every day was quiet and peaceful.  I couldn’t ask for more.  The aliens are finally gone, I can rest in peace, I smiled to myself.  And I slept very well for three days.

            On day fourth, however, I couldn’t help but started to feel a bit lonely.  I caught myself thinking: isn’t it a bit too quiet here?  I looked at my wife, she was sitting on the sofa staring at the window.  The clock on the wall said 9:32 am.  It was Saturday.  Usually at this point the aliens would make the kids running around screaming with laughter.  The oldest boy might attack me with his tons of nonsense questions starting with “why:” “Why is the sky blue?” “Why does water boil?” “Why do we breathe air?” “Why is a ball called ‘ball?’” “Why is your hair curly?” “Why are you rolling your eyes?” The younger boy might be singing songs while pushing his toy car as big as him around.  My daughter might be creating her own music by hitting pot lids with a spatula.  When they were sleeping, those faces would remind me of little angels in heaven…

            Wait, what am I doing?  I can’t believe that I would miss those aliens!

            For the rest of the month, every five minutes I uttered something about those little aliens.  “I’m surprised that you miss them more than I do,” my wife said. 

            “Nonsense.  I’m enjoying my freedom.” I sniffed.  “By the way, I’ll get some Kit-Kat tonight.  They always love it.”

            “They won’t be back for another three weeks, hon.”

            I couldn’t believe how difficult that month was for me.  By the end of that month, I was count downing by seconds.  I was afraid they would prefer staying with my mother to coming back, but when we got there to pick them up, they were ready to go.  I hugged them tight.  At that point I realized: guess I don’t mind those little aliens taking over The Earth.  I can handle those mysterious lights and disappearing cookies.  Or kids not taking showers.

            So I thought.

            The first three days were alright.  The aliens, probably being shy, did not show up as often.  Or maybe I overlooked.  On day fourth, however, they all came back alright.  The mysterious light, the cookie crumbs, the difficulties in communication, the garbage, toys, cups, dishes, books that running all over the places.  It finally got on my nerves.  I found myself talking louder and louder.  My face distorted, smoke came out from my nostrils.  I caught myself googling “how to cast out aliens.”

            Why do you torture me like this, aliens?  Why me? 

            No matter how hard I pray, those aliens seem to determine to stay.  There’s no sign of them leaving.  This mixed feeling of love and hostility is to stay with me till the day The Earth surrenders.

            Guess I just have to learn to live with that.