It is like snowflakes longing to meet spring blossoms: there is indeed sorrow in every season and generation, yet within a hundred paces, love always lingers. No tree ever grows without the whispers of a breeze, no seed flourishes without fertile soil. The world’s beauty persists - even when we cannot see it.
That is the absolute doctrine of Tony’s life. He carries it so far that he refuses to let a negative thought take control. For the same reason, he tries not to dwell on his mother’s state of mind. After her divorce, sorrow and vigilance began to ambush her from behind the curtains and seep through the keyholes. At night he hardly dared move around the apartment: the slightest creak of a floorboard left her agitated and sleepless. By day, she could not keep quiet. Resentment pulled them into arguments as she lamented their former family life and warned of the troubles that might await them. Conversations that were supposed to be ordinary moments between mother and son left them both angry. Yet in the suffocating silence afterward, Tony would notice the furrows time had plowed into her face, the fine webs hardship had etched into her skin. Neither of them had meant to end up here. Her bitterness did not come from malice, he knew, but from wounds too old to name and too deep to dress. They were two people trying to find their way without a map, and hurting each other in the collisions.
Tony grew quiet around his mother. Silence was a defense, but also a kind of medicine for injuries that would not heal—a way to preserve the affection in the memories they had gathered over almost two decades. Leaving one another alone seemed to work. If it meant fewer fights between people who loved each other, then that was how he would behave.
Over the years, his naturally quiet manner hardened into silence. Then something changes on an apparently ordinary morning. Tony wakes a little later than usual. The smell of breakfast drifts in from the hallway on air slightly cooler than yesterday’s. In his short pajamas, he flexes his calves without thinking and wonders why the apartment is so quiet. Then a call cuts through his drowsiness.
It is his mother. “Morning. Have you had breakfast? I’m at the hospital and I might need your help. Don’t worry. Just come over… Thank you.” “Oh—why? Okay. I’ll be there soon.”
On the way to the hospital, Tony keeps flashing back to moments with his family, with his mother. Uncertainty draws him into every possible thing that might be wrong. He tries to summon her smile, but its brightness no longer warms him; each memory brings another wave of grief. Her constant anxiety, the unexplained headaches—there had been signs. Something was wrong, and he had spent so long looking away.
Tony stands rigid in the subway car. Thirty-two people. Seventeen men. Fifteen women. Four stops to go. His thoughts race, but his actions remain precise. Each number is a fragile defense against the unknown. He catalogs the gaps between shoulders, the rhythm of the brakes, as if enough detail might hold off the news waiting at his destination. Beneath his calm face, panic pulses like a siren, louder with every station. Three overhead ads have been flashing for minutes. Time keeps passing, just as all those other moments passed and will never return. Only now does he feel how completely the past is woven into him. Remorse cannot change it. Pleading cannot call it back.
“Don’t worry. I just need a CT scan,” his mother says, sounding relieved. After a long sigh, she adds, “These past few days have made me feel that what happened before doesn’t matter so much anymore.”
“Maybe that’s what life feels like,” Tony says. “Hardship. Missed chances.”
“Cheer up. Don’t look so serious. Just sign here. The procedure needs consent from an immediate family member.” She smiles and gestures casually, but Tony recognizes the tension underneath—and the even greater effort she is making to conceal it.
“Oh. Sure.”
“Go do your own thing… And don’t tell your dad.”
The last class is nearly over by the time Tony gets back to school.
“Hey, man. Why are you so late today? Not that that’s unusual,” Green teases. Tony nods to a few friends and quietly takes a nearby seat. For reasons he has never quite understood, he has a lot of friends and few enemies.
“Come on, that’s no way to say hello. Pay attention.” Tony never passes his bad feelings on to other people. He knows he should not. The morning hangs over his mind like fog, but he has to keep going, find a direction, pull himself out of the swamp. He cannot quite name it yet, but he thinks he has found a reason to value every moment with the people around him. Those connections are too precious, and too fragile, to brush aside. Time will not stop; life can change without warning. He makes a determined choice: he will try to enjoy his world.
“Tony! Pay attention. You haven’t even finished the homework.” Biology. Just as he expects, his teacher asks him to repeat what she has been explaining. “What determines an animal’s traits?”
He has not been listening, so he guesses. “Genes.”
“Not enough. It’s not your lucky day, Tony. Tell me something everyone doesn’t already know.” She smiles; he has always got along well with his teachers. “You can do better. As I said, there’s a penalty for missing homework. Clean the board before you leave. Now—anyone else? What determines traits, and why?”
“I can.” A girl sitting diagonally in front of him answers confidently. Tony knows her name is Rolla. Her eyes brighten as she speaks: “Environmental factors also play a significant role in phenotypic expression because phenotypes are plastic.”
She does not hesitate. She is not showing off; she is simply interested. The clarity of that interest surprises Tony. As he watches her, Green whispers, “A lot of people thought she was just an average student until they had biology with her.”
“So did I.”
“By the way, how’s school going? I heard about a cool writing contest—an international one. Got a minute?” said Green.
“Sure, if I have time.”
“Okay, I’ll find our partners.”
By the time Rolla finishes, class is almost over. Tony heads for the board. Rolla has not packed up; she seems to be polishing her notes, or waiting for something. He cannot be sure. They barely know each other’s names. To avoid an unnecessary mistake—and partly to acknowledge her effort—he leaves the biology notes on the board.
“All done.” Tony walks back to his desk and reaches for his bag.
“Wait. You know you were supposed to do more than that, right?” Rolla stops him before he can leave. Tony has no idea why.
“Come on. I thought you still needed it for your notes.” He shrugs reluctantly, sets his bag down again, and returns to the board. “But I’m right, aren’t I? You’re into biology. You want to major in it.”
“No. I’m applying for economics in Hong Kong. That’s what my family expects.”
Tony is confused. Applying to college should not mean simply following a family’s plans; students should have a say in the lives they will lead. When one side makes the decision and the other can only complain, love and goodwill slowly crumble like gravel in the wind. Nobody wins. A student has a whole life to explore through their own interests, and parents cannot direct or shelter their children forever. At some point they have to accept that and let go. Tony believes that students who choose their own path usually have more motivation and resilience when difficulties come. In the end, each person has to live that life for themselves.
“That doesn’t count. I mean, it shouldn’t be your reason.” He picks up the eraser, then pauses.
“So you do like biology. Then that’s what you should study, instead of… Sorry, what does your sugar daddy want again?” He snickers and turns to erase the board. He remembers perfectly well what she said a few seconds ago. He reaches for a joke because he does not want to sound like a self-important lecturer. He does not know the whole story, after all. He is new to life too.
“Your memory is shit, and you shouldn’t joke about this,” said Rolla.
“Okay, fine. I’m sorry. But you should choose for yourself. I think you want biology. It’s your thing. You’re good at it. You like it, and you remember everything you’ve ever read about it, right down to the details.”
“But…” Rolla sounds ready to begin a long explanation. Tony is already at the end of his patience, his worry about his mother drawing him home.
“You know what I mean. Let’s leave it there.” Tony finishes his task and adds, “I want to get back home. Bye.”
The journey home feels longer. Tony follows the smell from the kitchen, then stops a few steps short of his mother. He still cannot quite close the distance.
“How are you?”
“Not bad.”
To be continued…