Technically I’m late; it’s late enough in the evening to be the “next” day already, so I “missed” “yesterday.” Is that enough quotes for you? I suppose such things are bound to happen given the odd schedule I keep some times. And I’m leaving for Hong Kong this coming Sunday, so I may be “late” a couple of times yet again. I think in these instances, because my primary concern is actually lack of internet, I will just write my entries offline and upload them later. I’m also realizing that my initial number of 1000 words a day might be overly generous. Obviously some of my memories may be more meaty later, when I remember more, but my earliest ones are quite fragmented and often short, and may not add up to the requisite count. I will do my best to fill them in, however appropriately, though the point is, forgive me my sometimes lack of words. I’m also not changing the name of the project as “1000 a Day (on Average)” doesn’t quite have the same ring to it. On to more pressing matters then.
I have a very small scar on the right side of my forehead, just above the temple. It looks like a small triangle or a crater and has been there most my life. Out of habit, sometimes I’ll run my fingers over the small divet, feeling where the flesh caves in just that tiny bit.
I have a cousin, my father’s sister’s son, whom I’ve known most of my life and with whom I spent much time when I was young. When not at school, which was only Wednesday nights and Sundays, I remember being either at my grandparent’s home with my grandparents or more likely their housekeeper, or theirs. I’m decently acquainted with him even today, despite the many years since I’ve last interacted with him. It’s convenient that I live in the same city as he does now, and I’ve been trying to get to know him better. He’s quite bright, though a little unmotivated, has a lovely wife, and multiple cats. I intend, if possible, to one day borrow a cat or two from him to test out just how allergic Maria is nowadays.
In China, and even today, most of the heat is provided through radiators installed in every room. Even the fanciest and newest of luxury high rises, may still use radiators. Some people prefer them actually, when providing heat, something about them giving a more even distribution as opposed to central air, but I’ve never liked them. I still prefer central air as the idea of heating up water close to boiling and running it through metal pipes all over the place was never that appealing.
If you add one, two, and three together, you will know why I have a scar on my forehead.
My cousin was chasing me around an apartment at the time, I don’t remember which, though it would have been either his or my grandparents. We were playing, fooling around, he was chasing me through the living room in circles, as young, related boys will, and in the throes of laughter and looking back to see how far behind me he was, I ran head first into a radiator. This was the older type of radiator, made of shiny silver metal pipes, the modern ones have far less character, intricately cast together, and I just happened to smash my head into one of the corners where the welds had created an edge.
I remember being in lots of pain, crying, and blood. I don’t remember much else. I was taken to the hospital where they cleaned me up and closed the wound. It took six stitches, and I remember, when I got home, looking in the mirror at them and gently touching them with my fingers in fascination. This will actually be the worst injury I’ll ever incur in my entire life so far.
To clarify, for the moments, points to be touched on later:
My parents left for the United States when I was very young; I remember meeting them for the first time when I was six and first arrived in the US myself. Before that time, I lived with my grandparents in Beijing, who, being very old indeed, sent me to one of the best boarding schools in the city, where students lived on campus every day except Wednesday nights and Sundays. When I was at my grandparent’s home, which is incidentally the same home they live in even today, I spent most of my time with their live-in housekeeper. My great grandmother was alive at the time as well, but was even older. I never got to go home on Wednesdays, as it was optional and only if the family was able. I did go home on Sundays though as it was mandatory.
Edit: I realize that currently I am being neither brilliant, profound, or riveting. I look forward as well to when I write of some of my more substantive memories.
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