Photographs and Memories

Photos are nothing special nowadays. Downloading, sharing and printing photos are so easy ever since digital camera was introduced. I now use camera excessively to a degree that it is almost as if I rely on my camera to remember things for me. Guess I’m not alone in that aspect. Has anyone travelled without a camera lately? But just several decades ago, a camera is a thing of luxury. Back then I didn’t have a camera, without camera, a photographic memory was developed.

When I was in China, as a selected few from my school after graduating from junior high, I attended a boarding senior high away from the town where I grew up. I came home visiting my family on weekends. Traveling between home and school required one ferry ride, two bus rides and a lot of walks on foot. There were several hundreds of steps in the bank connecting the top of the hill where the ticket booth was located, to the bottom where we took the ferry across the Yangtze River. In today's standard, it's even unimaginable hassle and bastle to the young and healthy. Back then it was the typical transportation we grew up using, old or young. Although the distance was only 15 miles or so, the travel time was at least 3 hours long. I usually left home for school early in the morning on Monday. My mom or dad would wake me up and we got ready in a hurry. My sisters were still sound asleep. Without exception my dad succeeded in insisting walking me to the dock and seeing me off there. It was so early; The city streets were still empty. The early mornings in Chongqing were always misty and foggy. My dad and I walked in silence. We stopped at the booth. He bought me the ticket and handled it to me. After a quick good bye to him and I walked down the steps. No hugs. No turning backs. I counted the steps in my mind. Every time it was a different number so until now I still didn't know exactly how many steps they were. I walked on the dock towards the ship. After getting on board, I found myself a seat by the window. Looking out, I saw my dad still there, above all the hundreds of steps in the same spot by the booth where I left him. At a loud sound of the whistle, the ship slowly pulled away from the dock. As the ship moved, the dark spot where my dad was standing became smaller and smaller until it finally disappeared in the fog. I didn't know whether he was still standing there. At that moment, I felt like crying, but I always managed to force the tears back because of the crowd. It was my first experience with parting. For years, I had the urge of putting that dishearten parting moments into a painting. I never did. The white fog, gray ship and the black spot size dad above the countless steps have made their way into an unforgettable photograph in my memory.

After graduation from college, I was assigned to work in a design institute in another city, about 10 hours train ride distance from my parents' house. I usually went back to visit my parents during the holidays several times a year. Besides holiday travels, I also travelled often on business and leisure to many different cities, which usually meant several days' train ride. At that time, very few people could afford plane tickets so trains became the main transportation for long distance travels. Trains were always overloaded with people, especially during the holidays. Sometimes you could not even get a hard seat for part or entire of your train journey. If you got on a train during the holidays, didn't bother about using the bathroom in the train. Even if you pushed the crowds through your way there, the bathroom door was open but the space was occupied - by the people using the bathroom floor as a standing platform. It was a common scene in which people made beds out of the floor, overhead luggage compartments or the space underneath the seats. I've been there, done them all, at one time or another. The sanitation conditions in the trains were so bad, especially before the Chinese New Year holiday. One time we were not allowed to open the windows at some stops. The train was already full at the beginning station so no tickets were sold to those people at those stops. Poor people. I felt sad for them because they would miss spending the holidays with their families if they couldn't get on the train. At that moment I realized how lucky I was to be in the train, a lucky pig after all. Some of the people outside even tried to throw themselves inside through the open window cracks. It was dangerous because no one knew when the train was going to start moving. We were not even dared to open the windows for the next train stops on. It was unfortunate because we needed to buy food and water from the vendors outside the window at the train stops. Every time I got on the train, I told myself to transform my body temporarily to an animal, a pig for instance. I learned to shut off all my senses. Pigs didn't know the difference why should I if I were a pig. That was how I went through with the rides in ease. I told myself it was ok Ping because as soon as I got off the train, I’d be a human again. Each time when I stood on the station, waiting to catch my next train ride, I always imagined how nice it would be if the train was an archery arrow and I was the arrow tip. With one pull I was shot to the target - my destination. On those long train rides, to kill the boredom, people usually talked to the passengers around them. I often ended up engaging in open dialogues with the strangers next to me. Because we were all the same strangers under such a train condition, we forgot about our prides and our differences. Uninhibited from confiding to each other, we shared food and we also shared our life stories. It was that kind of candid and rare bonding I occasionally find later in life only on the roads of travels. For the remaining few hours or few days of a train ride, I felt for the first time so related to another human being. Time passed fast from there on until it was either my station or their stations to get off. Without saying goodbyes, they left me or I left them. The train started moving again. I suddenly realized we never exchanged names, or addresses, or phone numbers. Strangers remained strangers forever. From there on, I tried to stay awake. I told myself to remember this, to open my eyes, to look hard and deep at every face and every place flashing inside and outside the train windows because these people and these places were only there once. It was the first time and last time in my life I knew I would ever encounter them. Memory is like a glass wall: You can see through it but you can not get to it, so close yet so distant.

Photographs and memories, staying with me are those moments in time.