Chapter 9 Chapter 8 "I'm not going to write a story about me," 1998.

Du Huijia The woman took out the cake from the refrigerator that had been prepared all afternoon. She baked it herself. It contained imported cherries picked from the market and sprinkled almond flakes on top. According to the steps in the cookbook, Stir the flour, add a few spoonfuls of sugar, how long to bake, how much fresh cream to apply, and how long to store in the refrigerator. She repeatedly checked whether she missed any link. No. She is very satisfied with the work in front of her, which she gave herself as a gift for her eighteenth birthday.She lit eighteen candles, and the whole cake was filled with tiny candles.She turned off the light in the room and watched the countdown on the bedside alarm clock. She used to keep imagining her future when she was 20 years old, and when she was 18 years old, she was inexplicably excited because she could finally be called a "woman". Woman, what a woman represents What she didn't know, but she thought carefully about how to reorganize the wardrobe?Which friends are deleted from the phone book and no longer contacted?Flipping through magazines to find out which salon to go to for a makeover?

But now she is staring at the cake, and when the hour hand crosses twelve, she closes her eyes and sings slowly, happy birthday to me, happy birthday to me, happy birthday to me. Suddenly she was stunned for a while, opened her eyes, then picked up three or four candles on the top of the cake, counted the numbers on her head, then continued to close her eyes, smiled slightly, and finished singing the song "Happy Birthday". This beginning is a bit hypocritical, but I think it can be modified. Arrived at the airport too early, didn't sleep all night, today's weather is clear, there are a few clouds floating, I think my father should be calling my friends everywhere by now to ask where I am, no, he will never find me early I took a taxi with my luggage, and now I am sitting in the waiting room of Narita Airport, taking out a pen and writing something that I can't even understand myself.

I thought, I'm going to write a novel, or a story, but about what?about?I think it's about a seventeen-year-old girl who left her home in Tokyo and her biological father and wanted to go back to Taiwan. What was she looking for?The new mother, yes, she lives in a small town in the east, and we haven't seen each other in five years. Three years ago, the girl's father brought her from Taiwan to a strange Japan, where she lived in a strange place, and even turned on the TV in a strange language.And, of course, a strange new mother. No, this is not my story, and I am not going to write a story about me.

Standing by the boarding gate, I tore off the beginning I just wrote and threw it in the trash. It suddenly occurred to me that I forgot to bring a gift to my strange old mother. Forget it, I haven’t seen her in five years anyway. Anyway, I never received anything from her, except I received a birthday card from her in the first year with a few words of congratulations written on it. I put it in an iron box and hid it under the bed.I thought I would fill the tin box with all the memories of my mother, or any memory I have of Taiwan. The result is not. Nothing but that card. I tried to reply two or three letters according to the address on the card, but there was no response to the first one. I thought it was a wrong address, so I immediately rewrote another letter according to the address on the card. Trace it on the ground, correct it several times, put it in the mailbox, and then go home and continue to wait.

Wait until the iron box is rusted, and wait until the handwriting on the card is blurred. Just at the end of last year, I took an iron box, walked to the river, stuffed it with stones, threw it hard, and watched it sink to the bottom of the river. Then why should I go back to Taiwan?I'm not sure, I just want to go back anyway. It's not because I don't have much contact with my dad, because our strangeness is not a matter of a day or two.And it's not because I have anything to do with my new mom, we'll always be just strangers anyway.Of course it is not because I am not used to the school life in Tokyo, because I just skip classes more than attend classes.

So why should I go back to Taiwan?I really do not know. So what I write is not my story, because I don't even know what I'm thinking. Maybe the only part I know about myself is that my name is Du Huijia, the comet of the comet, and I am about to turn 18 years old. I am currently planning to go back to Taiwan alone to finish my last year of high school. I am planning to write a book that is not about me. Fiction.