Every Tomb Sweeping day, there are two men in my mind that I have never thought of without getting sentimental -- my father and grandpa.
I used to regard myself as the most filial child in the family, but not any more. Ever since I went to visit Grandpa's tombs, my childhood memory came back little by little, with complicated emotion.
Everyone in the family knows that I was Grandpa's favorite grand child and I was the most cherished. When I was little, he spared no effort in spoiling me. Mom used to mention how he adored me with the incident of his using all the money for chores over a full basket of expensive Japanese (imported) apples which were my favorite. Vividly can I still recall sitting on his laps and listening to his chuckle. And scarcely will the memory of seeing him suffer from all the pain and hearing his weakened groan be washed away from my brain. Every now and then, I dreamed of him smiling and waving at me, silently and vaguely, with his red lips, which were colored due to long-time addiction to betel nut, and his swollen complexion, a result of chronic poisoning by his use of alcohol. Additionally, my sight would be blurred though I could still see him grin and greet me with his stainned and yellowish teeth that are resulted from his old habits of smoking like a chimney.
I have long tried to avoid visiting his grave, for I am aware of my losing grip with a flood of tears. Growing up in a very loving and protected environment, I have the reputation of inclining to be emotional and sentimental. Since my adulthood, however, I endeavored to be keep calm and cool of all time so that I would be deemed and trusted as an adult. As a result, I took being mushy a weakness, as I know Grandpa would want me to be strong and impregnable.
April Fifth is also Dad's birthday. People always say that I resemble to Dad in many ways: being kind, honest, loyal and truthful in everything. I guess they are modest in describing me as such a wonderful person because I am aware that I will never be as honest and filial to the family as Dad is. Ever since his first child, my elder sister, was borned, he was commited to work and family and nothing more than that. For a better financial situation, he was forced to quit the best schooling and attend a more hustle and bustle life, struggling as a teacher and student at the same time. He sacrificed his interests in raising birds, in sports and in many other things; instead, he raised us and his whole big family including the elderly, four brothers and two sisters.
Stubburn and unintelligent as he may be, at times, when I see him in the eye, I do see a reflection of myself: dim-witted, homely, common and mediocre. We are never bright and shiny, but we are known for our diligence and perserverance. Unlike others' sparten and severe fathers, he wlways speak softly with good intention and good words. As for others, he praises people and look into the goodness of people with scarce complaint or little critique. This nature is owing to his politeness or lack of confidence, I do not know; yet I respect this genuine sincerity and inclination of forgiveness if there is any wrong or conflict against him. I admire for his generocity which is something that I have been learning.
I look up to this old man of mine, and I always will be. And I know that it is this affection and respect to him that makes me closely attached to him. The psychological attachment clinging to him is so much that little do I dare imagine leaving him and stepping into another stage of life when my wedding day comes, for I am never sure of the man that I am to spend my whole life with would ever be as adorable as he is to all of us, his children and all of his family.