It Leaves Traces

Rachel Ma

The youngest of five siblings, my Dad was also born at the beginning of a three-year long famine in rural China. His mother  barely had a job, making cents from embroidery and sewing projects that took hours each. I don’t know the details, and it’s not because I’m too ashamed to ask, but rather too afraid. I choose comfort over knowledge because I know the stories will bring deep pain and sadness. I’m working on that.

Some years later, his family migrated to Shanghai and lived slightly more comfortable lifestyles because of the city’s job market. He later moved to Tokyo himself and was nearly starved to death by the city’s demanding living costs.

Forty years later, his mindset remains consumed by the days of his impoverished youth. The trauma reflects so clearly in his behaviour. He has a habit of hoarding. His room is an absolute cluttered mess, piles upon piles of trivial things strewn about. He wasn’t raised to prioritize cleanliness and coming from a youth with little to no possessions, he is still fascinated by having so many things of his own. It hurts me.

His closet, full of untouched, brand new clothes, used to reek of that cheap, factory smell. But after years of his refusal to wear them to “save” them, they instead smell of his room and regret. He is aging and starting to outgrow them; I don’t know what he is still saving for. He wears all his clothing to shreds and even then, it’s still a fight to get him to part with the item. My mom has long given up on him, but I haven’t. Sometimes, after another slew of dead ends, I wonder what the point is. I always quickly regain my hope, remembering everything he’s done for me and all that he’s been through.

In recent years, he’s taken up a passion for golf, but he restricts himself to buying cheaper clubs and playing the same cheap courses. He won’t be able to play for much longer, though his passion is genuine. He plays several times a week, every week. I swear, every sunny day he looks for a round.

Poverty may have taught him that good things don’t come easy, but it didn’t tell him what to do with all of it.

He escaped poverty, but considering his tendencies today, did he really? Will he ever? 

While his lifestyle remains shackled, he is the reason mine is not. He has taught me the personal hygiene he never learned, offered me the self-care he never experienced, and given me the comfort he never knew.

The only thing that he loves and is willing to spend money on… is me. It warms my heart but also breaks it. I wish he would see that he has the money now but loses time everyday. I wish he would stop chasing the pennies and pursue the happiness instead.