The winter in Rochester is coming to an end. The lilacs in Highland Park are blooming all over the hill. When my parents have time, they take us to admire the flowers or go to Genesee River to see the waterfall. Sometimes we set up a small tent on the grass by the waterfall or bring a basket of cold meals to have lunch there.
I am gradually starting to like this city. It is not as informal as Taipei. Rochester is a serious city with traces of industry raging through it. Well-organized and spacious streets, a sparse population, and suitable green spaces make it very conventional and beautiful.
However, English is a problem for me. I started first grade in the spring, and subjects like math, language arts, science, and social studies give me a headache. My older brother excels effortlessly, scoring full marks in every subject. Sometimes my mom scolds me, and each time she compares me to my brother. At first, I resented him for it. I would secretly swap the meat in his lunchbox with mine or quietly accuse him of ruining my clothes, taking the opportunity to give him a punch. But I am much shorter than my brother, and I always lose in a fight. My mom scolds me for fighting, and over time, I have become accustomed to this kind of scolding. Each time, I respond with a casual smile and become less concerned about my studies.
Because my English is not clear, my grades are not good, and I don't like to talk, I am much shorter than my classmates in the same class, and I cannot avoid being bullied. Sometimes they would put a toad in my school bag or tear a page from my book to make me more confused during class. I don't really care; I never intended to fit in with them anyway.
One day, while I was on the school bus, a boy tripped me with his foot, and I stumbled and fell to the ground. My newly bought shirt also got dirty. When I got home, my mom thought I had gone crazy somewhere and scolded me. I quickly returned to my room, locked the door, and found some peace.
The next day, a girl from my class handed me a note that read, "Are you okay? I think you should tell the teacher." This was the first time I received complete attention from someone in the United States. When I thought about the note during class, I couldn't help but cry. I didn't understand why I wouldn't cry when my mom scolded me or when my classmates bullied me. It was only when Katherine handed me the note that my tears couldn't be held back.
After class, the teacher came to ask me what happened, whether someone bullied me, but I stubbornly kept quiet. Later, I found that my classmates did not behave improperly towards me anymore; instead, they gradually directed their actions towards Katherine. They often made jokes about her, lifted her school uniform skirt, or threw erasers at her during breaks. One day, they went too far. They blocked Katherine in the hallway, and a few boys surrounded her, not letting her go. I happened to pass by, and without thinking, I rushed in and started hitting them. Naturally, I couldn't beat them; my face got bruised in several places. In the end, they left with the remark, "Yellow Stutter." Fortunately, after this incident, the principal intervened, and they behaved themselves for a while.
I realized the necessity of strength, not for myself, but mainly for Katherine. I practiced long-distance running and cycling every day. My mom praised me, saying I suddenly grew up and finally found something meaningful to do. Therefore, she felt I had come to my senses and started teaching me the violin. I didn't refuse; I wanted to earn some honors to make those people take notice of us weak ones. I began diligently practicing the violin every day, and sometimes I would invite Katherine to my house to watch me perform.
"How do you feel?" I asked her after finishing a practice piece.
"Awesome, you play really well." She sat on the edge of my bed, hands on her waist, legs dangling in a relaxed manner—one in front and one behind, swaying back and forth. She looked very relaxed. "Why did you suddenly start playing the violin? You've always been quite mischievous."
"Nothing, just felt like finding something to do."
"Your English has also improved a lot. Do I no longer have to quietly explain things to you in class?" She tilted her head, smiled, and made a cute, giggling sound.
"No problem, I'm not afraid of those people anymore."
"Ah, they only bully the weak. They won't last long. Dan is about to transfer, and once he's gone, their leadership will change. Those few people are bound to have a showdown; I bet they all want to be the leader." She looked triumphant.
"Some truths, you're right, you're really smart. I thought of an ancient Chinese saying my grandmother taught me: 'Associating for profit, once the profit is exhausted, the association dissolves; associating for power, once the power is defeated, the association collapses; associating for authority, once the authority is lost, it's abandoned; associating for emotion, once the emotion is broken, it hurts. Only by associating with the heart can it last long.' " I recited this proverb in Chinese, and Katherine stared at me, nodding thoughtfully, even though she didn't understand, she was engrossed.
"What does that mean?" I finished, and she asked earnestly, "Hmm, let me guess. Is it about being sincere in friendships?"
"Bingo, Katherine, you're so cute!" I got excited. I'm always happy to explain my thoughts to others, but if they understand without explanation, I consider them kindred spirits. "Let's go downstairs for a late-night snack." I looked at the clock on the wall and pulled her downstairs.
"I don't eat at night."
"Just go with the flow. My mom makes delicious salt and pepper chicken."
"Okay, I'll give it a try."
Walking down the stairs, my brother and dad were sitting in the living room reading. Katherine and I walked to the kitchen island, picked up the salt and pepper chicken, and began chewing away. My mom brought over a plate of freshly cut fruits from the stove, and the black sesame marble tabletop gradually filled with a colorful array of foods—pomegranates, watermelon, cantaloupe, grapes—all radiating colorful lights under the pendant lamp directly above the island. My mom invited my brother and dad to join us for a late-night snack. Their bodies were hidden by the sofa, and they simultaneously turned their heads toward Katherine and me, smiling. They then came over and sat opposite us.
I glanced at my brother and dad, then shifted my gaze to the oak plum blossom clock on the wall above my brother's head. It was 10:07 in the evening. From that day on, I considered this number my lucky one.
"Are you Katherine? The young girl is really lovely. I envy you both for having such beautiful blonde hair," my mom said as she put the uneaten fruits in the refrigerator.
"Yes, Miss Yan. Thank you for your praise. Actually, I've always admired Yan Feng's hair—straight and thick. It's really nice-looking."
"The young girl has a sweet mouth. You can call me Aunt Liu."
"Mom, we all just use first names. My mom's name is Liu Hong." I stuffed a piece of chicken into my mouth, laughing. I glanced at my mom and sensed a hint of discomfort on her face.
"Yes, haha, our teachers all go by their first names. It doesn't make things awkward that way," my brother added.
"Oh, really? Ah, that's good. So, Katherine, you can just call me Liu Hong." My mom tried to conceal her awkwardness and said somewhat reluctantly.
"This is YanYan, my and Yan Feng's dad," my brother introduced generously. "He's a neurosurgeon."
"Mr. Yan is so impressive. I admire doctors the most," Katherine stared at my brother and then glanced at my dad.
"Keep it up. Work hard to become doctors or lawyers in the future," my dad patted my brother's head and then looked at both me and Katherine.
"Mr. Yan, to be honest, I'm not very interested in becoming a doctor or a lawyer. My dad is a carpenter, and I might become a carpenter in the future. Although being a doctor is great, I think being a carpenter is cool too," Katherine said earnestly.
"Oh, that's also great. Both carpenters and doctors require careful and skillful hands to excel in their professions. And both deal with things that have life and warmth. The only difference is that a carpenter creates objects, while a doctor supports life. Both are beautiful in their own ways," my dad showed a slight surprise and then softened his gaze, an expression I rarely saw.
"In my opinion, being a doctor or a lawyer is still better," my mom said as she cleaned the empty plates and wiped the table. "Girls don't have as much strength for woodworking. But you're still young, trying different things is a good thing. Look at Yan Feng; he's doing well lately, starting to play the violin. Whatever you do, you have to do it well and persevere."
"Yeah. Okay," I was a bit impatient, deliberately looking at the clock. "It's almost half-past ten. I'll walk Katherine home."
"Okay, thank you for the hospitality, Mr. and Mrs. Yan. Thank you, Yan De," she slowly left the kitchen island, walked to the door to put on her shoes.
"Let's go," I hurriedly caught up with her.
At night, I lay alone in bed, repeatedly thinking about the words my dad said, "Are objects and life the same thing?"
"And what if God, wanting to show his wrath and make his power known, bore with great patience the objects of his wrath—prepared for destruction? What if he did this to make the riches of his glory known to the objects of his mercy, whom he prepared in advance for glory?" I recalled a passage from the book of Romans. Upon careful consideration, perhaps God, like a carpenter, diligently carves each person for his glory. When creating something, humans also play a role similar to God's, but humans are sinful and unforgivable, arrogant enough to think they can be gods themselves.
Then again, if God created us for his glory, does he also have a selfish motive? Thinking about this, I suddenly felt immensely ashamed for blaspheming God, speculating about his intentions, and felt embarrassed. Yet, I couldn't bring myself to blame anyone, including humanity burdened with original sin. With this frame of mind, I gradually lost consciousness.
The next day was Saturday, and my mom woke me up early to practice the violin. Since I started learning the violin, my mom became stricter with me. She made many musical notations, making me familiarize myself with the rhythm of each note, the scales of each melody. I never had natural talent, and even with Katherine's constant encouragement, I still didn't play very well. Many times, I struggled with open string exercises, and sometimes, no matter how I tried, the strings wouldn't produce sound, let alone playing scales. My mom would get frustrated and occasionally use another bow to hit my backside. Fortunately, I was used to her scolding, and I never felt wronged.
Thinking about going to church tomorrow made me happy. Sometimes, I would also meet Katherine at the church, and I enjoyed listening to the choir and violinists perform. I always thought that once I became good at playing the violin, I could also perform on stage and receive applause, so the other classmates would stop bullying us.