林华《我的亲人》

My father, Lin Dengxian, hailed from Duli in Xinyi Village, Taitung County, in Taiwan Province. A veteran of Taiwan's Amis people, his Amis name was Dasang. Due to historical circumstances, he moved to the mainland from Taiwan in 1946 and soon joined a small team in the third squadron of the Yangtze River fleet of the Chinese People's Liberation Army. In 1953, my father was selected to study at the Minzu University of China, where he later worked in the Gaoshan Language Teaching and Research Office of the Department of Minority Languages and Literature. From then on, he settled on the mainland and never returned to his beloved hometown, nor did he see his relatives even in dreams.

When my father left Taiwan, he was just a young, naïve man. As the warship filled with officers and soldiers departed from the west coast of Taiwan towards the mainland, they had no idea why they were crossing the ocean, when they might return, or what awaited them. The war led them onto a path of no return, and since then, they could only gaze across the sea at their hometown—Taiwan, where they were born and raised.

February 4th of the solar calendar marks the anniversary of my father's death. Each year, on this day, my mother places rice wine, sweet dumplings, and fruits in front of his portrait and lights candles. At noon or in the evening, our family gathers for a simple reunion dinner at home. My mother also sets a place for my father, with chopsticks, bowls, and food. A warm, sweet atmosphere envelops us like my father is still with us.

I spent February 4th, 2007, in Taiwan while visiting with the Beijing Municipal Education and Cultural Visiting Group of Taiwan's Minority Ethnic Groups. On February 3rd, I arrived in Duli, Taitung, my hometown. After briefly gathering with my eldest uncle and other relatives and paying respects at family graves, I had to leave quickly to continue our itinerary. Those few precious and hurried hours are etched deeply in my memory, vivid and solemn. Seeing my father's tomb facing the sea, surrounded by green mountains and cypresses, I thanked God for giving him such a picturesque resting place, allowing him to sleep peacefully and enjoy his homeland's warm sunshine and gentle sea breeze. I know this will also be my final resting place, where someday I will reunite with my family, never to be separated again.

I also remember my eldest uncle, an 86-year-old man who endured much pain and suffering. Our first and only reunion was unforgettable. Tall and thin, with grey hair, he wore a thin black cotton coat and sat solemnly on a wooden chair with his indispensable walking stick beside him. He seemed to have so much to say but remained silent. The imagined emotional outburst was replaced by near calmness. Excitement, joy, helplessness, and sadness intertwined and were suppressed in everyone's hearts. My uncle's frail body could not withstand the excitement and burden of our reunion. Just over two months after I returned to the mainland, he passed away, forever longing for his relatives. When I first heard the news of his death, my mind went blank. I had not expected that while immersed in the joy of our reunion, another beloved relative would leave me forever. I was at work when I received a call from my uncle informing me of his passing. After hanging up, I wandered in a trance to the campus lawn. The early spring magnolia flowers bloomed like white clouds. I looked up at that white world, which gradually expanded and enveloped me, making breathing hard. Vivid memories from 37 years ago resurfaced...

In early 1986, just before a breakthrough in cross-strait relations, my father finally received news from his relatives in Taiwan. Holding the letter, my father couldn't hold back his tears. This letter, filled with the breath of his relatives, carried the anticipation and waiting of forty long and ruthless years. It brought news from his hometown and the faces and figures of relatives he had missed for so long. It also bore the sad news of my grandmother's death. I had never met my grandmother and didn't know her voice, but from the weathered face in the photo, I can imagine her gentle beauty when she was young. She raised seven children—three sons and four daughters—despite a hard life, constantly worrying about my father. When she passed away at 93, just a day after her funeral, my father's letter finally arrived in Taitung. She could have rested peacefully if it had come just one day earlier. This letter, forty years late, was placed in front of her tomb, expressing my father's most profound memorial to his mother.

My father accepted this cruel reality, unaware that fate's poisoned arrow was about to strike him. On February 4th, 1987, the seventh day of the first lunar month, amidst the festive atmosphere of the Spring Festival and his dream of family reunion, fate cruelly ended his hopes. That day, my father suddenly passed away without warning or preparation. His shocked soul finally found peace, reuniting with his parents, siblings, and his long-missed homeland in heaven. I remember that my father fell ill just before the Spring Festival that year, vomiting blood with no medicine working. Hospitals were busy with the New Year celebrations, delaying necessary tests. He was temporarily placed in the school hospital for observation. The next day, a school doctor showed me the test results, urging us to go to a significant hospital immediately, suspecting leukaemia but needing a bone marrow test for confirmation. I didn't grasp the seriousness of the situation. My mother and I quickly transferred my father to Haidian Hospital. The doctor insisted on immediate hospitalisation. I went home to fetch his things, but when I returned, my father had already passed away. In the morgue, I saw him, peaceful as if asleep, still warm. I wasn't afraid and couldn't cry, unable to believe life's fragility. Later, before the farewell ceremony, I revisited the morgue. That was the last time I saw my father. When the white cloth was lifted, one of his eyes remained open, unable to be closed. The memory of that moment will never be erased.

In the latter half of 1987, the local Taiwan authorities enacted a policy allowing these veterans to return to their hometowns for visits or permanent settlements. If my father had been able to hold on for just another six months, he could have returned to the hometown he yearned for and reunited with the relatives he missed so profoundly.

Thirty-four years ago, my uncle and cousin travelled to the mainland to bring my father's ashes back to Taiwan for burial. That night in Xiaoma, our hometown, relatives who had been waiting for a long time gathered to pray for his soul's return. The sorrow that had been held back erupted when the candles lit on the spiritual table. The heart-wrenching cries of my second and third aunts echoed for miles, causing everyone present to weep together. During the grand funeral, my uncle and cousin carried my father's portrait at the front, leading a solemn procession of relatives to the cemetery. In respectful silence, they comforted his soul with words in our native language, laid bricks, filled the soil, and took photos, completing the burial rites together. My aunts pointed to the space beside my father's grave, saying it would be their final resting place. Sadly, their words came true sooner than expected. Less than a year after my father's ashes were interred, both aunts passed away, one after the other.

I haven't had the opportunity to spend the Qingming Festival in Taiwan to lay flowers for my relatives and express my deepest longing. Instead, I can only pray silently in my heart, hoping they rest in peace in heaven. My grandmother, father, aunts, and eldest uncle—all my deceased and living relatives—I now understand the true meaning of happiness and cherish it dearly. I've realised that the most valuable things in life are not wealth and pleasure but family's enduring safety and companionship.

I have no idea what my relatives are doing or thinking in Taiwan, my beautiful and fertile homeland. However, I am sure that, like me, they hold infinite love in their hearts, praying and blessing this cherished land for prosperity and peace and wishing eternal happiness and safety for all our loved ones.