Journey Westward

Homecoming Pt. 1

What stories did you grow up with? The inspirational folk tales of Early America with the likes of Paul Bunyan and Babe the Blue Ox who would literally tower above you? Perhaps the whimsical worlds spun out of post-industrialization Britain fantasizing of other worlds such as Alice's Adventures in Wonderland. Maybe you grew up on the fairytale movies of Disney - Cinderella, Sleeping Beauty, Pinocchio and the like. Or perhaps your parents had a particularly grim sense of humor and decided to skip Disney altogether in order to present to you the fairy tales in all of their unadulterated, dark, and disturbing original glory.

You probably don't think of these stories much now barring the occasional rebooted movie that reawakens the pubic consciousness. But they still sit there in the back of your mind. Even now, your life and actions have been ever so subtly influenced by them. A direct line drawn from those stories to the morals and grim truths of life that you think true of this world.

For Evan Chen, those stories were the wonderous tales of heroes and monsters that his yéyé (paternal grandfather) would tell him. His parents - newly immigrated to the United States - had their hands full with the maze that was their post doctorate degrees, advancing their careers, and establishing roots all while trying to navigate their way around a strange language and foreign customs. So Evan, who was just four years old at the time, found himself left behind in Xianyang, China to be looked after by his grandparents .

Every night, his yéyé would sit down next to his bed and recount from memory stories about mythical heroes overcoming evil yāoguài (monsters and demons). There was a cruel nine-tailed fox who took the form of a beautiful woman and seduced an Emperor to perform cruel tortures and gluttonous indulgences. One tale recounted how she saw a peasant walking barefoot across ice and had his feet cut off so she could examine how his feet were immune to the cold. There was Nezha, a boy impudent but just in equal measures, who dared to face the Dragon King of the East Sea when the greedy dragon sought to feast upon children instead of the usual sacrifices offered to him. There was the prideful giant Kuafu who decided to chase and catch the sun. His unquenchable thirst caused him to drink the Yellow River dry. However, even this was not enough and his foolhardy ambition would mean his end.

However, the most captivating of these tales were certainly those of Sun Wukong, the Monkey King. The Monkey King was a monkey demon born from a stone egg. His ability and cunning saw him achieve immortality five-times over, obtain the legendary Jingu Bang (Golden Cudgel), and single-handedly challenge all of the armies of Heaven.

Although his ability was unparalleled, his impulsiveness and pride proved to be his downfall, and he found himself trapped under a mountain by the Buddha for five hundred years. He was only freed when a monk by the name of Tang Seng was sent to retrieve Buddhist scriptures from India. Monkey became one of Tang Seng's disciples and protectors. Through the trials and tribulations Sun Wukong's impulsiveness was (somewhat) tempered, and as a reward, he was granted Buddhahood at the end of their journey.

These stories were what Evan remembered as he looked down at his yéyé laying in the hospital bed. Yéyé's eyes weakly fluttered open and he called out Evan's Chinese name, Chen YuZe, the only name that Evan ever knew for the first four years of his life. Yet, Evan could only nod in response - the combination of his own deteriorating mandarin and yéyé's thick Hubei dialect resulting in him only catching a few words. Frail hands reached out to gently grasp Evan's. Evan let him. It was the least he could do right now. To at least put on a front of grief and care.

His grandfather was dying. Laying in the hospital bed for the better part of a year, he had battled a combination of throat cancer, rheumatoid arthritis and the steady march of old age. His retained awareness, considered by most people a blessing at his age, turned into a curse and made him all the more sensitive to the pain that he was facing. Still, ninety-two years old and being able to decide to go on his own terms was better than what many could hope for. That didn't stop Evan from feeling incredible guilt. Guilt - not sadness. Truth be told, Evan didn't remember much about his yéyé. Those early years were hidden behind a foggy haze. He was appreciative of his yéyé and Evan was as emphatic as any person would be in a situation of impending death. But any sorrow he had didn't go beyond what any stranger may have for another stranger. He didn't mourn the impending death of this man as a grandson should, and his heart dragged him down with guilt because of it.

As more friends and family trickled into the room, Evan slipped out to make way for those waiting to express their more genuine goodbyes and last words. He wandered down the hospital hallways looking for a place to smoke. A more recent habit. However, this was the San Francisco Bay Area. You could probably find half a dozen places to smoke weed in the immediate vicinity around the hospital, but damnation unto you if you just need a cigarette break. He wandered away from the hospital for a while before settling for a small parking lot tucked away in an alley.

It wasn't long before his mother found him. Of course she found him - she always found him. Mixed emotions swirled in her eyes as she saw him: Happiness, hope, disappointment, judgment. The two of them looked wildly incongruent together. Her, in a beautiful yet respectful black dress, her hair in a wavy perm. Him, in his hoodie and sweatpants which were perhaps half a size larger than necessary, his hair flowed down in frazzled curls as he couldn't be bothered to deal with them. "Evan, you should stay the night at home today." 

"I have some business in the city. I'm staying with Ronnie. He lives down in SOMA," Evan replied, looking away and grounding down his cigarette on the parking lot pavement.

"Evan - it's been three years. And now your yéyé is dying. You should make up with your father before it's too late." She was only met with silence as Evan took another long drag. A vibrate from his phone interrupted the tension. He took a glance at the incoming message before grounding down the rest of his cigarette and flicking it away.

"I have to step away for a moment," he said ignoring his mother's plea.

"At least come back to the hospital and talk to your father."

"Sure, sure. This will only take an hour or two. I'll be back later in the afternoon," he said as he started walking away.

"I love you!" His mother had grown more open to showing her affection in recent years. The chasm in Evan's relationship with his father made her all the more desperate to serve as an ever more strained bridge between the two.

"Love you too Mom." For his credit, Evan tried not to let his stubbornness towards his father impact his relationship with his mother. For all of the typical Asian stereotypes about parents being cold or distant - and she definitely was for a period of his life - he appreciated her recent efforts.

His mom watched him walk away and cupped her hands together. "Oh dear God, please look after my dear Evan. Give him your guidance and let him know that he is loved." A prayer she had repeated everyday without fail for the last three years.