RuneScape Forum Archive | ~~English's Forgotten Tales~~

Englishkid62

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I looked nothing like my dad, not even remotely similar. We were at a completely different level – that was why there were frequent questions thrown at me concerning whether I was actually adopted. Of course, I wasn’t adopted. He was my biological dad and we were tied by blood. Designer baby, they called me. My dad always told me how loving and caring my mum was, but when I asked him why she left he dismissed it as if her departure was a must. In fact, I couldn’t understand why my mum bothered with someone like my dad in the first place – he was Asian and he couldn’t even speak proper English. Sometimes I wanted to say ‘You are not my dad’ right in his face and leave this house forever. But where could I go? I guess I could find an accommodative host quite easily – everybody liked me. One more thing, he makes motherly-noises ‘Awww…’ to me every so often like other people would to a five-year-old’s painting – but his was different. Whenever he made this noise he smiled with a sadness I could never fully understand.

Sometimes I caught him staring at me for a very long time – his face was as blank as a dead man. He gazed at me as if some parts of me were hypnotising him. This usually happens once or twice a week and it doesn’t feel nice, I mean, whenever he gives me that look I can guess what is going on in his mind: the skin! The skin that glows with such royal purity; the eyes! The eyes that make sapphires seem so worthless and vile, and the blond hair…something on the lines of that anyway, he was always thinking about how I look and how he looks. That has always been an obsession for him.

Once I heard him crying in his bedroom. It wasn’t exactly crying with all the tears and that, just sobbing a little too loudly. So I came up to him warily to see if he’s fine. Usually he just needed to hold me tight for a while and squeeze the comfort out of me – then he’d stop sobbing.

12-Feb-2011 16:35:05 - Last edited on 05-Mar-2011 13:19:32 by Englishkid62

Englishkid62

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When I entered the room he glanced up at me from his bed and cried even louder, then he returned to his original position, lying face-down on his bed again. Beside him were some hair dyes, some blue contact lenses and sun-creams that would not work on him. He had evidently blown a fortune on them. I left after ten seconds because he was making me sad.

Yet there were more things I hated about him. Ever since I was six I have heard him speaking to others in a different language – it sounded like gibberish, but it was very interesting nonetheless. I was really fascinated by it but all he told me was that he was talking to my aunty on the phone. I had never seen my aunty or my grandparents in my life – dad never cared to mention them, not that much anyway, or what nationality he was – he claimed he had white skin, blond hair, blue eyes and that he’s pure English like me, and what he was didn't matter at all. I am not stupid.

Up until I was nine this language was so fascinating for me that I looked out for any materials with non-English written on them – dad hid them well, and I did this when he was doing cooking in the kitchen or shopping in the local grocer. When he found out about my collection he was wordless, but I could imagine he was furious about it. He never showed any signs of frustration in front of me. I asked him what those symbols meant, but he gave no reply. He said, ‘Don’t look out for them, they’re not worth learning.’

My dad never disappointed me before and that was his first time, he never told me which country he came from, how many cousins, siblings he had, and whether my great grandma was still alive. It was as if a part of me was stolen – forever lost.

* * * * *

‘Dad, can I play out with my friend?’

‘Ooooooh!’ he said excitedly with a smile, not that it was rare. ‘What is he, or she called?’

‘Her name is TingTing Chan.’

‘Er…’ His face darkened as his voice trailed off. ‘Chan, you say?’

‘Yeah.’

Pause.

12-Feb-2011 16:35:05 - Last edited on 05-Mar-2011 13:23:27 by Englishkid62

Englishkid62

Posts: 9,782 Rune Posts by user Forum Profile RuneMetrics Profile

‘Oh? Who is she?’ He tried not to show disappointment.

‘She is the new girl from Hong Kong – I think she wants to be my girlfriend.’

‘Oh…’ he mumbled in recognition, and we lost eye-contact.

‘Can I, Dad?’ I pursued with passion.

‘Well, I don’t think you should,’ he said decisively.

‘Why, Dad? Tell me.’

‘You shouldn’t…I mean,’ he spoke as it he was trying to explain something really hard, ‘you don’t understand, you’re too young for this. You need to keep to yourself, you know? Especially around THEM…’

‘Plee-eease…’ My dad loved the way I say ‘please’ in a genuine way, and I knew if I insisted, no matter what it was, whether it was the toy I’ve wanted or a DVD, he’d give in eventually. He loved me. He couldn’t say no.

'Anyway, playing out is bad for you, sunlight burns, doesn’t it?’ He concluded with a smile. ‘Don’t you like home anymore?’

* * * * *

I’m much older now, and there is no way the sunlight can burn you as bad as he had claimed. Since then, he let me play out with people that have the same eye and hair colour as me as well as those with a ‘decent’ background. I don’t know why he bothers about where a person comes from. That is what I don’t understand about him. It wasn’t like anyone else had bothered about where he came from in the first place…

‘Dad?’ I was very careful with this, wording here was very important. ‘Can I ask you something?’

‘Of course!’ he said happily.

‘Umm, what is so good about having blond hair and blue eyes?’ For I didn't know what, I thought it was the best way of putting it. He was struck – he tried to figure out how to explain and he obviously struggled to put his ideas into words.

12-Feb-2011 16:35:06 - Last edited on 05-Mar-2011 13:23:09 by Englishkid62

Englishkid62

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‘You know…it’s just one of those things…’ He stared distantly into the wall beside him, searching for some long lost memories. Then, without warning, he looked back at me as if something on the wall had pained him. ‘Look, what I’ve done for you is good for you, okay? I made you lovable. I made you so that you inherit everything from your mother and not a single pair of my wretched gene. I know you’ll probably hate me forever for this because you don’t understand me, but I want you to know that it is all for your own good. You think I don’t know you? I know you well enough! I love you because you are my own son. I want you to be liked by people, and I want you to be a delight in another’s eyes. I want only the best for you. I don’t want you to be picked last in anything. I want everyone in your class to enjoy sitting next to you in lessons without having to moan about it. I want everyone to be your friends – I want you to succeed in where I failed. I want you to be happy, to live a life without ever having to worry that people might throw books at you and call you a foreigner…’

* * * * *

Future me, you should know very well how I feel. My dad is very hard to live with. He needs me but I don’t need him – I’m emotionally independent. I want to fly. I want to go to a place where I can learn whatever that language is on the corner of our calendar. I want to know who I am. I want to see my real family.

12-Feb-2011 16:35:07 - Last edited on 05-Mar-2011 13:21:52 by Englishkid62

Englishkid62

Posts: 9,782 Rune Posts by user Forum Profile RuneMetrics Profile

I wish I could do something to help my dad, though – it can’t do him any good in the end. There are times when he wakes me up in midnight asking me to forgive him, and what he did to me. There are times when he just sits in a room alone staring at nothing, focusing in the past. I feel…helpless, I wanted to tell him that I do love him, and I love him because he is a father that loves me. Something I never did, of course. It feels as if it would take more than my forgiveness to release him from his own torments. He did horrible things, both to me and his own family, and yet there is something in me, wanting to help him, a need to comfort and to talk to him in his own language, to know him, and to experience together side by side whatever the world might say about our hair colour. This isn’t so much to ask, is it?

~~End~~

12-Feb-2011 16:35:08 - Last edited on 05-Mar-2011 13:22:43 by Englishkid62

Englishkid62

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Notes on Understanding

It is in Understanding that the most extreme image of the future was presented to me, through the introduction of designer babies. Obsessed with being English and able to fit in, this story steps back from that frenzy and viewed my own convictions with incredulity, in the eyes of a normal English child.

What did I seek to gain in it? A dream I could live with? To cast aside my own identity for once, my family ties, and start a new life living as a different person. It is worth noting that at the time of writing this, the race that I belonged to is causing me a great deal of problems, and somehow I just wished it didn't have to be.

In many ways this story simply combines the good old narrative style with information released in a coherent manner. It also introduced the idea that I can view and judge myself from the eyes of another, and criticise and reflect on the extent of misery I am inflicting on others.

This new direction in thinking about writing not only as an expressive tool, but a reflective one, made way for the next two stories, and indeed The Priceless, much later.

12-Feb-2011 16:35:08 - Last edited on 13-Mar-2011 18:11:21 by Englishkid62

Englishkid62

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~~Sold!~~

(July 2007)

Pete was rather looking forward to the appointment this afternoon. After many months of his endless, tedious search for the perfect house, this was the best candidate so far: 16 Brook Lane – five bedrooms, three receptions and a kitchen that makes two meals for the price of one. Furthermore, the overall price for the house was a bargain; normally, a house at that price would be sold as soon as three days, if not less.

'What’s the hurry?’ Pete thought to himself. ‘What’s wrong with the house?’ If it wasn’t for the free cookies that the house owner promised to bake, he would’ve arranged this appointment for tomorrow, after all he was a busy man. Since he forgot his packed lunch for work today, he felt it necessary to exploit their promised hospitality – at least he wouldn’t return to work in the afternoon with an empty stomach, after all, like all animals Pete also had a primal obsession with his most beloved stomach.

It was strange: Pete was the thirteenth person that was interested in buying this house, yet no offers were made, or so the estate agents told him. None of the first twelve before him even managed to spare the time to re-visit the house or at least bothered to try and keep in contact. There was no better house for sale in the local area and he wondered why, despite its price, no one had yet made their mind up.

He was but given an hour of leave from work. He was expected to return to his office by 2 pm – some paperwork had miraculously found their way onto his desk and arranged themselves neatly into a pile overnight. He was to finish them by the end of the day, if he wanted to go home on time.

The beautiful front-garden didn't impress him at all; he wasn’t a fan of gardening and he believed that weeding was too much of an effort to keep up its current appearance. After all, he could, technically, have the whole garden replaced with red, pretty bricks.

12-Feb-2011 16:35:09 - Last edited on 13-Mar-2011 18:11:50 by Englishkid62

Englishkid62

Posts: 9,782 Rune Posts by user Forum Profile RuneMetrics Profile

He rung the bell twice and it was quickly answered by an older man, who smiled as he shook hands with Pete. He was welcomed heartily into this stranger’s house and for a while Pete was even impressed with their manners. It wasn’t long before the fresh smell of homemade cookies filled his nose and switched on his digestive system. Taking little notice of the house owner introducing his wife and his son, Pete had promptly defeated three bowls of cookies in succession.

The house owner didn't seem to mind Pete’s unruly appetite as long as he was a potential customer, he described the house in great length like a bard and he wore a smile that never seemed to waver. While the wife added on some corrections and helpful comments from time to time, the boy had run off in a sulk and was nowhere to be seen.

'This house was perfect,’ Pete thought to himself as he failed yet again to spot any flaws or imperfections in the corridor as they toured the first floor. ‘But why...?’

A mournful sound, a sour tune began to creep its way into Pete’s ears. It was the evil violin; Pete never liked violins and he believed that this foul tune was played rather deliberately – and badly. The vile noises of high pitched screeches sent shivers down his spine as it echoed in the corridor – it was the music from hell. It was intolerable.

‘Sorry,’ the house owner smiled apologetically as if he was expecting this to happen. Then, he gestured his wife and who immediately set off and entered the boy’s bedroom to put him off the violin.

‘Honey, how many times have we asked you not to practice the violin when we have guests around?’ Pete heard her saying, though removed from view.

‘He’s not MY guest,’ was the reply.

The small boy stormed out of the room, and gave Pete a cold glance before he marched heavily down the stairs without looking back.

‘Sorry about that,’ the house owner explained. ‘He gets nervous around strangers. You know kids…’

12-Feb-2011 16:35:09 - Last edited on 13-Mar-2011 18:20:38 by Englishkid62

Englishkid62

Posts: 9,782 Rune Posts by user Forum Profile RuneMetrics Profile

The master bedroom was luxurious. Its laid out was so similar to that last hotel he’d visited, a year ago. Pete could imagine lying on that bed all day...all night...with no intention of ever leaving this house again. The room was almost romantic, a perfect place to propose –

And the revolution began. Pete didn't like the piano either when it was played this loud – a piece of pure rage almost knocked him off his feet as the floor began to tremble at its volume. It was deafening – deliberately played so loud to irritate all those who heard it. Perhaps furious, the house owner apologised again and indicated to his wife to put the boy off the piano. She went downstairs without a word.

‘Honey, I’ve asked you nicely before – do not practice when we have guests,’ she said distantly.

‘Why can't I practice the piano?’

‘I’ve asked you nicely.’

‘Would it make a difference?’ He banged a chord on the piano and left the scene abruptly, apparently still sulking. Then it was all peaceful again. No noises, nothing unpleasant to ears.

‘Ha! Boys…’ Pete chuckled. ‘You don’t happen to have a toilet here I could use, do you?’

‘Oh, yes, of course!’ the house owner waved as his wife rejoined him. ‘Just down stairs, on your right.’

‘Thanks,’ Pete left the group, and as he turned around the corner at the bottom of the stairs a small figure of a phantom blocked his path menacingly with his disfigured mask covered in fake blood with a fake eyeball popped out from one of the sockets.

‘Boo!’ the boy said in his own defiant way. The parents upstairs were getting really annoyed, and they immediately sent the boy to the ‘naughty room’.

‘Sorry about that,’ the wife smiled and shrugged at Pete as he went into the toilet.

12-Feb-2011 16:35:17 - Last edited on 13-Mar-2011 18:12:29 by Englishkid62

Englishkid62

Posts: 9,782 Rune Posts by user Forum Profile RuneMetrics Profile

‘That’s not funny, because there is nothing worth smiling for!’ The boy continued to argue in his ‘naughty room’. Not that Pete was there to catch the whole scene (it would make a great film) – for he was rather engaged with certain bowel issues in the toilet while the converse began to develop overhead.

‘Honey, we’ve been planning about this ever since I was pregnant,’ was the woman’s voice. ‘And we’re only doing this because of you, you know.’

‘Do you think there are no sacrifices on our parts, too?’ boomed the man’s voice. ‘We’re giving up our families and friends because of you!’

‘You made me! I didn't ask for it! I didn't have a choice!’

‘Ungrateful brat!’ the house owner yelled.

‘Honey – we have a guest…he could hear us.’ It was as if the wife was desperately holding the man back from committing a certain impetuous, horrible deed.

A while later, the tour around the house resumed as Pete rejoined the couple. Their smiles unchanged – the same smiles he had known since he entered the house.

‘They made us. They made us! They made us leave our world and language!’ the contents of the boy’s mumble echoed hauntingly around the house. ‘Oh, my country! Are you proud of me?’

‘So, where will you be going?’ Pete asked the couple, as he made his way towards the exit he took a glimpse at the boy who was still in the ‘naughty room’, now quiet, now composed, now touching the wall longingly with his fingers, stroking it with a certain intimacy and regret.

‘A country far, far away,’ the house owner smiled as he showed the way out politely.

‘This really is a great house,’ Pete thought to himself as he returned to the office that afternoon, and his visit was not proved to be entirely unpleasant. Yet the boy continued to haunt him as he drove. Those passionate eyes. His wild manners. That defiant voice of his was most animal-like – it seemed to say, 'It’s my home, my country – my true home, and you had no right to deprive me of it!’

12-Feb-2011 16:35:17 - Last edited on 13-Mar-2011 18:13:00 by Englishkid62

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~~English's Forgotten Tales~~

English's Forgotten Tales