By Xuanyu Zhou
...................................................................................
"You'll see. I like to do everything fast. I work fast, raise children fast, and die fast," Grandmother smiled. It was a smile that came from the heart. It doesn't look so hard. I never knew people could smile like that after undergoing the suffrages of life. It brought bitterness and heart-felt love.
Grandmother cried the night she had to leave for Changsha.
She cried so often and so helplessly but one knew how her resilience beamed back when they think of the times she had gone through.
Grandmother has two children, daughters that married to become part of someone else's family; her grandchildren named after their fathers, leaving her alone at last. Now they all want her back when they have to raise their children. Her youngest child is unemployed, living off rent. Grandmother left her for Nanjing a week ago before the youngest started screaming for her return.
Grandmother is 80 years old. One would imagine her 10 years younger when he sees how briskly she starts off to the market each morning. Only the white roots that outgrew the black dye in her hair betray her. Grandmother loves taking care of others and hates having to be taken care of. To me silvery hair was pretty, to her it made her seem useless and old. Her stubbornness against submission to old age is astonishing.
During a visit to a friend's house, we were asked to climb two flights of steep stairs. Grandmother climbed faster when my mother told her to slow down and did housework faster when we suggested that she take a rest. Our care was a mutual stimulant that switched on her determination to disprove us.
Grandmother was wise and stubborn, resilient and fragile. She took on the burdens of life all by herself. Losing her father at the age of five, she lost all sources of finance. This was a time where the educated young university students were sent back to villages in China to farm. Her family was rich and traditional, and nobody supported a girl's education, knowing well the costs. She learned to read and write while looking after the stoves and sitting behind the walls of classrooms.
Deliberate and self-motivated, she had the opportunity to study at the best secondary schools in town. The best school was forty miles from her house without public transport but the second best was only one block away. Unquestionably, she chose the prior.
A servant girl and a large copper case that won't lock was everything her family gave her to go to school. The servant helped her lift the case and together, they walked forty miles on foot.
That year, she was twelve.
When she remembered this, she pronounced how she chose the better, further school because she knew it would take her further in life as well.
The servant dropped her off at the school's entrance and she was left alone to manage the rest of the affairs. "I remember how I used to miss home…I admired students who lived near, who could go home on the weekends and come back, clean-clothed and well fed." "Why didn't you go home?" I asked. It hadn't occurred to me then that at the time, my great grandmother had left home to become a caretaker. And often, Grandmother wouldn't know where she was. She had no father before, and now, she had no real home.
Grandmother finally formed a home when she married in the 1900s. But the second most important man in her life was also taken away from her after she worked the majority of her life as a doctor, ironing and feeding three children and looking after the house. Grandfather passed away from stroke two years ago, and for the second time in her life, Grandmother lost her home.
Her youngest child refused to go to work but wants her child Cissy to be well taken care of. Although her mother often bickered with Grandmother, giving her a hard time, Grandmother cannot bear to see her grandchild unbathed, unfed and drop out of school. She was so forgiving to the fate that deprived her of a supported education and home, returning it's harsh favor with kindness that made sure her children and grandchildren's paths were not like hers.
But she was also reluctant to return to Changsha. "Ever since he (Grandfather) died," she often said, "I am a ghost, a blown leaf that settles everywhere unsettled." "Death", "euthanasia", and "grave" crept into her store of vocabulary. It scared all of us when she said those words like a joke, smiling tearfully. And since then, she stared into space more often, her glance thoughtful and distant, her eyes losing their light. Sometimes I wondered if she saw anything at all. But she saw Grandfather's shadow everywhere. The family of doctors that couldn't even save themselves.
Now her youngest child left her with no choice but to return to the place that had left her heartbroken.
She yielded at last. Packing her bags for the journey.
Grandmother had always been tough towards herself but weak towards her children. She couldn't be more torn by their willfulness. Her tears are the choices they forced her to make between her happiness and theirs.
She did not struggle with the chains of old age and death, but fought with every ounce of energy to uphold her last duties for her children.
I love Grandmother. I love her dearly for her nimble fingers, for her wisdom, for her courage in life, but also for her suffering, fragility and tears.
Critique
Hi Xuanyu,
Short but earnestly written, you did a great job of writing a piece filled with authenticity and forged from genuine emotion. While it could have benefited from putting more emphasis on the visual element, it breathed life into a figure and made her feel truly three-dimensional. Above all, this piece succeeds in making the character of Grandmother human. Her determination and strength is balanced by her vulnerability and grief, and this unique balance is also what elevates the piece from mere description to actual story, as it introduces a source of conflict. The conflict here is internal and nuanced; it might be spurred on by external reasons (the youngest child demanding that she come back home), but ultimately it exists within Grandmother.
The writing is clear and avoids the trap of getting bogged down by purple prose or unnecessary details. I appreciate that each piece of information that is fed to the audience is there for a reason—Grandmother’s choice to climb two flights of stairs, the distance that she had to walk to school, etc. However, as mentioned before, this story could benefit from the inclusion of more imagery and action. One of the basic principles of creative writing is to show, not tell, and this story falls under “telling” territory at certain points.
It’s important to remember that this is more of a general guideline than a strict rule, meaning that ‘telling’ is not always a bad thing, but it’s up to as an author to judge where ‘showing’ could be more effective. One instance of this is in the line “Grandmother had always been tough towards herself but weak towards her children”. Could this be improved by showing the reader how she is weak when it comes to her children? Also, at some points, you do both—you tell us that Grandmother is “deliberate and self-motivated”, but the audience can already infer this from her actions. Immediately before, you said that “she learned to read and write while looking after the stoves and sitting behind the walls of classrooms”. This act of showing tells us more about Grandmother’s temperament than what comes after it.
A final recommendation would be to change the concluding two lines. It’s rather jarring because it switches the focus to the narrator and his/her love of Grandmother, while I feel it would be more impactful to remain solely on Grandmother herself. All in all, beautiful piece, and thank you for submitting!