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| my personal hobbies are reading, listening to music, and silence. ~ Edith Sitwell ~ 1877 - 1964 |
When I was about 6 years old, I had to read books, to watch the moving
clouds, the singing birds, to climb trees and to observe the everything
happening around me behind a pair of thick, heavy and ugly dark rim
glasses.
When people made comments about my glasses, saying: “You must be
doing very well at school and studying hard, you’re a good girl!” My mother
answered: “Not at all, she has to repeat her grade again this year.” I felt so
guilty and wanted to dig a hole in the ground to hide.
My parents had no ideas why my eye sights were so bad and why I did
so poorly at school. Well, I spent most of my time day dreaming in classes,
often lost in many imagination worlds acting as the characters of the stories
in books that I read the night before.
My parents seldom bought me books other than textbooks because they
insisted that I had to do well with my school work of recites and dictations
before reading other non-school subjects and books. But at school I found
textbooks and dictations were very dull, had no interests in reciting and
memorizing subjects that I had no interests in. I love listening to music,
drawing, and reading everything that my parents forbidden me to read, that
I could afford to buy and find.
Occasionally when I scored high marks of subjects, my parents then
allowed me to choose books in a stationery store in the neighborhood; but
these rare luck never satisfy my thirst in reading because my school reports
contained a lot of failed items most of the time.
My mother gave me 50 cents per day as breakfast money to buy drinks and
bread; so I skipped breakfasts and saved the money up to buy books that I
like and read them secretly. I no longer remember at what age that I
started to wait till everyone were asleep before I uncovered a torch that I
hide under the mattress, went under my duvet, tucked the edges of the
duvet under pillows, turned on the torch to read till small hours.
I was an attractive, pretty, polite and quiet little girl, thus my father loved to
take me out to show me off. One day, he took me to Central to have lunch
with his business contacts in a basement restaurant, the menu was in
English, a subject I did worst in school. My father ordered for me and told
me to watch and imitate how he and his friends used the cutleries and
glasses. After this first western restaurant outing, I went to a book store in
the neighborhood to buy a book on western table manner in Chinese to
learn from it; on Sundays when my father took us out to have dim sum
breakfast, sometimes I asked him to take us out to English breakfast so I
could practiced what I have learnt in that book.
I often tried to convince my siblings, class mates and little friends to read or
I read to them. They didn’t like reading as much as I did. When they were
busy running around, playing card games, Mahjong and having fun, I read
my books in my room with the door closed. My brother-in-law strongly
believed that I had autism.
I didn’t have enough money to buy books when I was a teenage girl (I still
don’t), and there was no library in the neighborhood unless I took Star
Ferry to go to the one in City Hall in Central, so I often just tried to read as
much as I could in The Zhong Wah Book Stores in the neighborhood after
school or dinner. Sometimes, in the middle of reading a book, an unfriendly
male voice would say: “Get out of here if you are not buying, here’s not a
library. You are blocking the traffic of my customers.” I looked up to meet a
pair of mean looking eyes, after I returned the same expression to the shop
attendant, put the book back on the shelf, I walked slowly out of the shop.
When I had money, I went back to the same shop, read till I heard the same
demand, then I ignored the instruction, eye-dirked the shop attendant but
continual reading till I felt like to go to the cashier and paid my books
proudly with my chin up in the air. I still have some of the books that I
bought in those days, here is one of them: short stories by 柏楊 Bo Yang.
One day I read from 明報月刊 (Ming Pao Monthly) that a limited facsimile
edition of a rare 1760 editor’s 4th edition of “The Story of a Stone" was
available in 榮寶齋 (Rong Bao Zhai). I knew I couldn’t afford it but couldn’t
resist the temptation of it, so I went across the harbour to visit Rong Bao
Zhai to admire it. The book shop owner unlocked the glass door of the
book shelve, took the books out and shown me the contents of the books
and pointed out the editor’s writings on the margins of the pages. I touched
the cloth cover, smile and watched him put it back in the locked shelf. It
occupied one of the compartments in my heart, I went to visiting it often.
Twice a month in average I took the Star Ferry across the harbour, walked
to Rong Bao Zhai, stood admiring its cloth covers behind the locked glass
shelf. Imagined that it was on my book shelf for a while.
After a few months I gathered my courage to tell the shop owner that I was
a student, I could not afford to buy this book now but could he put a little
red dot to reserve it for me. He didn't accept my proposal of paying him
HK$200.00 per month. I withdrew more than 3/4 of my saving from the
bank to pay the required down payment and then HK$200.00 per month.
For how many months? I no longer remember but it was more than 6
months before I took it home; and I dared not told my family members
about this expenditure.
One of the books I used my breakfast money to buy and read under the
duvet by a torch light was a Chinese translation of “Tales from
Shakespeare” by Charles and Mary Lamb. The stories and storms in The
Tempest and the fairies in The Mid-Summer Night Dream became parts of
my day dreams materials in classes. So, when I met the 1st edition of
“Tales from Shakespeare” by Charles and Mary Lamb published in 1918
by War, Lock & Co., Limited, I again couldn’t resisted not buying it although
I didn’t have a full time job.
My brother introduced the Chinese translation of “Robinson Cruse.” I and
my siblings loved the story, we went on to read the translations other
adventure stories and named our first dog Friday. I bought a rare edition of
“Robinson Cruse” published in late 19th century, but it was not an unhappy
experience because the first quote of the book was less than HK$500 to
HK$700, My brother introduced the Chinese translation of “Robinson
Cruse.” I and my siblings loved the story, we went on to read the
translations other adventure stories and named our first dog Friday.
Books are my silent and most patient of teachers, I've learnt many skills and
knowledge from books. My heart was broken to find out my mother had
sold my books by weight after I returned home from first overseas living for
a number of years. Ever since then, whenever I stationed overseas to
work, I moved my books with me.
After I’v found my spiritual teacher, I slowly realise that no matter how much
I love my books and other attachments, one day in the future I will have to
continue my journey without them. In order to avoid my books being taken
to a paper shredder machine or sell by weight again, why don’t I share
them with other book lovers. When a book lover pick a book that I'd
enjoyed reading years ago, a bird sings in my heart because my beloved
book is going to be read, enjoyed and cared for by another book lover, the
life of this out of print book will be extended.
I hope you'll support me as I truly believe what I am doing now can arouse
environmental and heritage awareness, as well as interest in reading
among us.
clouds, the singing birds, to climb trees and to observe the everything
happening around me behind a pair of thick, heavy and ugly dark rim
glasses.
When people made comments about my glasses, saying: “You must be
doing very well at school and studying hard, you’re a good girl!” My mother
answered: “Not at all, she has to repeat her grade again this year.” I felt so
guilty and wanted to dig a hole in the ground to hide.
My parents had no ideas why my eye sights were so bad and why I did
so poorly at school. Well, I spent most of my time day dreaming in classes,
often lost in many imagination worlds acting as the characters of the stories
in books that I read the night before.
My parents seldom bought me books other than textbooks because they
insisted that I had to do well with my school work of recites and dictations
before reading other non-school subjects and books. But at school I found
textbooks and dictations were very dull, had no interests in reciting and
memorizing subjects that I had no interests in. I love listening to music,
drawing, and reading everything that my parents forbidden me to read, that
I could afford to buy and find.
Occasionally when I scored high marks of subjects, my parents then
allowed me to choose books in a stationery store in the neighborhood; but
these rare luck never satisfy my thirst in reading because my school reports
contained a lot of failed items most of the time.
My mother gave me 50 cents per day as breakfast money to buy drinks and
bread; so I skipped breakfasts and saved the money up to buy books that I
like and read them secretly. I no longer remember at what age that I
started to wait till everyone were asleep before I uncovered a torch that I
hide under the mattress, went under my duvet, tucked the edges of the
duvet under pillows, turned on the torch to read till small hours.
I was an attractive, pretty, polite and quiet little girl, thus my father loved to
take me out to show me off. One day, he took me to Central to have lunch
with his business contacts in a basement restaurant, the menu was in
English, a subject I did worst in school. My father ordered for me and told
me to watch and imitate how he and his friends used the cutleries and
glasses. After this first western restaurant outing, I went to a book store in
the neighborhood to buy a book on western table manner in Chinese to
learn from it; on Sundays when my father took us out to have dim sum
breakfast, sometimes I asked him to take us out to English breakfast so I
could practiced what I have learnt in that book.
I often tried to convince my siblings, class mates and little friends to read or
I read to them. They didn’t like reading as much as I did. When they were
busy running around, playing card games, Mahjong and having fun, I read
my books in my room with the door closed. My brother-in-law strongly
believed that I had autism.
I didn’t have enough money to buy books when I was a teenage girl (I still
don’t), and there was no library in the neighborhood unless I took Star
Ferry to go to the one in City Hall in Central, so I often just tried to read as
much as I could in The Zhong Wah Book Stores in the neighborhood after
school or dinner. Sometimes, in the middle of reading a book, an unfriendly
male voice would say: “Get out of here if you are not buying, here’s not a
library. You are blocking the traffic of my customers.” I looked up to meet a
pair of mean looking eyes, after I returned the same expression to the shop
attendant, put the book back on the shelf, I walked slowly out of the shop.
When I had money, I went back to the same shop, read till I heard the same
demand, then I ignored the instruction, eye-dirked the shop attendant but
continual reading till I felt like to go to the cashier and paid my books
proudly with my chin up in the air. I still have some of the books that I
bought in those days, here is one of them: short stories by 柏楊 Bo Yang.
One day I read from 明報月刊 (Ming Pao Monthly) that a limited facsimile
edition of a rare 1760 editor’s 4th edition of “The Story of a Stone" was
available in 榮寶齋 (Rong Bao Zhai). I knew I couldn’t afford it but couldn’t
resist the temptation of it, so I went across the harbour to visit Rong Bao
Zhai to admire it. The book shop owner unlocked the glass door of the
book shelve, took the books out and shown me the contents of the books
and pointed out the editor’s writings on the margins of the pages. I touched
the cloth cover, smile and watched him put it back in the locked shelf. It
occupied one of the compartments in my heart, I went to visiting it often.
Twice a month in average I took the Star Ferry across the harbour, walked
to Rong Bao Zhai, stood admiring its cloth covers behind the locked glass
shelf. Imagined that it was on my book shelf for a while.
After a few months I gathered my courage to tell the shop owner that I was
a student, I could not afford to buy this book now but could he put a little
red dot to reserve it for me. He didn't accept my proposal of paying him
HK$200.00 per month. I withdrew more than 3/4 of my saving from the
bank to pay the required down payment and then HK$200.00 per month.
For how many months? I no longer remember but it was more than 6
months before I took it home; and I dared not told my family members
about this expenditure.
One of the books I used my breakfast money to buy and read under the
duvet by a torch light was a Chinese translation of “Tales from
Shakespeare” by Charles and Mary Lamb. The stories and storms in The
Tempest and the fairies in The Mid-Summer Night Dream became parts of
my day dreams materials in classes. So, when I met the 1st edition of
“Tales from Shakespeare” by Charles and Mary Lamb published in 1918
by War, Lock & Co., Limited, I again couldn’t resisted not buying it although
I didn’t have a full time job.
My brother introduced the Chinese translation of “Robinson Cruse.” I and
my siblings loved the story, we went on to read the translations other
adventure stories and named our first dog Friday. I bought a rare edition of
“Robinson Cruse” published in late 19th century, but it was not an unhappy
experience because the first quote of the book was less than HK$500 to
HK$700, My brother introduced the Chinese translation of “Robinson
Cruse.” I and my siblings loved the story, we went on to read the
translations other adventure stories and named our first dog Friday.
Books are my silent and most patient of teachers, I've learnt many skills and
knowledge from books. My heart was broken to find out my mother had
sold my books by weight after I returned home from first overseas living for
a number of years. Ever since then, whenever I stationed overseas to
work, I moved my books with me.
After I’v found my spiritual teacher, I slowly realise that no matter how much
I love my books and other attachments, one day in the future I will have to
continue my journey without them. In order to avoid my books being taken
to a paper shredder machine or sell by weight again, why don’t I share
them with other book lovers. When a book lover pick a book that I'd
enjoyed reading years ago, a bird sings in my heart because my beloved
book is going to be read, enjoyed and cared for by another book lover, the
life of this out of print book will be extended.
I hope you'll support me as I truly believe what I am doing now can arouse
environmental and heritage awareness, as well as interest in reading
among us.
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