The Eternal Sunny Place
On a spring afternoon, I came home from work for lunch. Seeing my mother was airing her quilts, I was inspired to air my own.
I carried my quilts out in my arms, and aired them at the ends of the clothesline. After lunch, I went to work directly.
When I came back in the late afternoon and stepped into the doorway, I was greeted by my quilts still hanging there. However, they were in a different place than they were at noon— they had been moved to the sunniest place. The snowwhite linings of the quilts were gently gilded by the setting sun while my mother’s quilts were hanging dully and solitarily at the ends of the clothesline. On them, the shadows of the house were drawing their tedious and inerratic geometric patterns.
Walking in front of my quilts, I stroked them. They felt warm.
They were warm indeed, as warm as mother’s palms.
I also touched my mother’s quilts. They felt cool.
They were cool indeed, as cool as the back of Mother’s hand.
All of a sudden, a stream of bygone scenes floated before my eyes: the bed-sheet with the finest quality in my home, the room in the best position, the potted flower in its lovely bloom, the most delicious dishes, and even the bowl printed with the most delicate patterns— all these were mine, just as the sunny spot where I stood.
I know that all these scenes were prepared intentionally by my mother, not just a coincidence.
In one’s short yet long life, it might be your friends who can give you joy; it might be your lover who can make you happy; and it might be your career that can enrich you. However, it must be your mother who makes you warm and cozy. With the backs of her hands, she shelters you from hardships as much as possible; with her warm palms, she keeps shining on you.
Mother is the eternal sunny place. (Translation: Qing Run)