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墨書 Inktalez
I took out my phone, my fingers sliding across the screen as I hesitated several times to call Mother, only to put it down again. Fear gripped my heart at the thought of the outcome, yet deep down, I felt it was inevitable.
What should I say? How should I ask? If I truly was adopted, then what did all my experiences over the years mean?
I took a deep breath, trying to calm my racing thoughts. Perhaps this was just my cousin's perspective; maybe there was some misunderstanding involved.
Yes, I needed to stay calm. I couldn't just rush into asking. I had to uncover the truth first.
I looked at the phone number for Cousin on my screen and dialed it. She had once told me, "You’re not your parents' biological child; you were adopted from a village behind ours." I relayed my cousin's words and everything I knew to her. After listening, she replied, "Why are you asking about this now? Whether you're biological or not, can you really just disregard them?"
I hung up the phone, tears finally streaming down my face. I felt lost, unsure of how to face everything unfolding around me.
I picked up my phone again and stared at Mother’s number on the screen. After a long hesitation, I finally dialed it.
On the other end, Mother's voice sounded somewhat cheerful. Taking a deep breath, I gathered my courage and shared my cousin's words along with all the suspicions I'd harbored over the years. Mother fell silent for a long time, and in that silence, I ended the call.
I traced the scar on my pinky finger; it was an indelible mark. The smoke from memories of igniting the charcoal for barbecues finally stung my eyes.
I couldn’t expect my timid mother to suddenly become brave and strong, nor could I hope that she would acknowledge the truth when she had never loved me in the first place. After all, in her eyes, I still held some value, didn’t I?
Recently, while picking up children from school, I felt as though someone was always watching me; there seemed to be a pair of eyes observing me from every direction. Finally, a stranger approached me and struck up a conversation. There was something familiar about her; looking into her eyes made me suddenly realize—she could very well be my sister.
“You're Jing Jing, right? I'm your sister—your biological sister.”
“Sister?”
“Yes, I'm your sister. I hadn’t planned on finding you. But... I've been diagnosed with a terminal illness and don’t have much time left, so I wanted to see you.”
“Are you... really my sister? What about my parents? Why didn’t they want me?” I trembled as I voiced my deepest questions.
She was my sister—connected by blood. Looking at her tear-streaked face made me want to shout out all my uncertainties.
“Mom passed away when you were born due to severe bleeding during childbirth; they couldn’t save her. After Dad sent you away, he remarried but soon fell off a mountain path and was paralyzed for six months before he died too. My stepmother ran off afterward; I grew up at Uncle’s house where there were many children,” she said in a low voice.
“I was still young back then; Mom always wanted a son and would tell me while touching her belly that when my brother was born, I should take good care of him. But in the end, she never got to see you before she left,” she continued.
“What about Dad? Did he send me away because I wasn’t a boy?” I pressed on.
“Yes. In fact, you should be grateful that you were sent away.”
Should I be grateful? Looking at my pale sister, I could no longer hold back and embraced her tightly. We wept together in each other's arms as if trying to make up for all those lost years.
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