Zi Xinyu's Short Stories Translated by: timebun

Mum, I Used to Hate You

I once asked myself whether I had ever experienced anything... so unforgettable that it was carved deeply into my bones.

Then I thought carefully about it.

Actually, my life was pretty average and rather peaceful.

It was probably because I was still young.

But upon thinking even more seriously, it seems like I've ever really hated one person.

My mum.

I was four years old back then.

Blame it on my age and my fuzzy memory; I didn't even manage to remember what my dad looked like even after he passed away.

I could only remember some bits and pieces.

The dad in my memories was a very, very fierce man.

He would use something like a bamboo stick and beat me until I was rolling on the floor in agony.

When I was being disobedient, he would tie me to a stool and wouldn't let anyone let me go.

He would always buy those cheap books that cost 20 cents for me, and order me to write on it from cover to cover.

All he did was make me cry and act out; I really didn't know what to think of him.

I just thought that other dads would beat their children as well.

However, their mums would surely help to deflect some of it.

While my mum was always watching from afar.

Thus, I started to hate her.

The year I turned seven.

Three years after my dad passed away, she still remained a widow.

All alone, she raised me and my brother, who was two years younger.

She always said that I failed to live up to expectations.

I would fall sick often and would take very long to recover, so she had to run all over the place looking for a doctor.

She probably ran out of money then.

Thus, she almost kneeled in front of my grandfather, my dad's father.

My grandfather gave her a hundred dollars and told her to repay it later on.

Friends and relatives hid from us, not caring if we lived or not.

I was young and ignorant back then.

I always felt that other people's mums had a lot of money.

But my mum was so poor that she had to borrow money from everywhere.

Thus, I hated her.

Perhaps it was when I was ten.

The new teacher at school was recording something.

The teacher just had to ask about our dads' names.