Afterword 01
After our beach treasure hunt, Uncle, Auntie, and I went to a seaside café to relax and chat.
And no, it wasn’t just because I didn’t want to use the beach restroom. 🙄
I ordered a cola, and as we talked, I told them how, here, I’d never felt my soul so light. The food didn’t rely on heavy oils, salts, and sugar to spike my dopamine; both my body and mind felt so much more agile. Even sneaking a bowl of instant noodles one day left me feeling salty and sluggish all day. Uncle and Auntie laughed, delighted to hear me say this.
We talked about so many things. I told them that this was the happiest vacation of my life. I paint, I sing, and I’m with people I love—it’s too good to be true. They said it’s rare to meet someone who loves both science and art, and I laughed, saying I never really loved science or programming. As a kid, I won roomfuls of art awards, only to be forced to give it up in favor of math competitions. Music, too, was dismissed as a frivolous distraction. I told them how, in Asian families, parents always say that chasing your passion will only leave you homeless.
They looked at me as if I were from another planet.
I laughed and held out my right hand, showing them one of my finger. They asked about the thick callus there. I said it was from all the homework I used to do as a kid.
They looked at me like I was an alien again.
I shrugged. “It’s normal—every Asian kid has one.” We had to memorize countless classical poems, formulas and English words. Each day, teachers and class leaders would randomly quiz us, and during exams, we’d have to write it all out. If we couldn’t, we’d be punished with standing, extra assignments, or even a slap on the wrist.
It’s so different from Western education, with its emphasis on critical thinking, on valuing the individual. They looked at me as though I’d been mistreated, but I assured them, “It’s like that for everyone. Without comparison, there’s no pain.”
Had I never left to see the world beyond, I might have rationalized that rigid system and imposed it on my own children.
I looked out over the distant ocean. Suddenly, I understood why monks and poets like Tao Yuanming withdrew from society to create their own peaceful refuges.
The human world is hardly a place for life’s true joys. More and more, it’s turning everyone to masters and servants.
To seek true love in this world, you have to escape its clutches, flee as far as you can.
I spent my life twisting and contorting myself into the image my parents once dreamed of, only to realize I had never truly lived for myself.
This wild European sea is my own Peach Blossom Spring, my refuge.
Finally, I can stop being who others want me to be—I will do what I love, love who I choose, rebel against every voice that denies true love, and shout my own truths by the sea with every bit of strength I have.
Even if to others, I’m young, foolish, and tragic.
Even if they want to cover my mouth and drag me down into their dreamless sleep.
Because I know, in my life’s brightest and darkest moments, countless words and songs of love have poured into my soul. They planted a seed of courage, guiding me forward, waiting for me to become someone who helps others chase their dreams.
That day, Miss Lin looked over at me in bed and said, “I think I’ve realized something.”
I asked her what she’d discovered.
Miss Lin said, “When my dad was pursuing my mom, he went after her, wholeheartedly, time and time again.”
She paused, then added, “Maybe that’s why, when I invited you to do that public talk about the Apple vulnerability, I somehow knew you would eventually believe yourself and say yes, even after you turned it down again and again. I carried my father’s courage with me, hoping you’d see my sincerity. That courage brought us here—to this happy future we’re living.”
I laughed. I realized that this was Miss Lin’s own gift to me, her own apple of fate, passed down through her parents’ love.
And an apple—that’s the reward for those who commit themselves to love.