Student Translation Project
HKBU TIIS 2022
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Ten Years
'What do 10 years of friendship mean to you?'
I was sitting in front of your black piano, pressing the keys unskillfully. Shouldn’t there be some music at dusk? The terrace facing the sea was filled with gentle sunlight and the fragrance of the neighbour’s rice.
You were vegging out on the sofa and reading a book. I peeked at you. You said the book was a martial arts novel, and I said it must be written by Gu Long. You laughed out loud and skimmed a few pages, wondering why I guessed it correctly, and you said, ‘you glimpsed the words, didn’t you?’
Suddenly, we realized that we should cherish the present in our limited life. Then you said, ‘isn’t friendship amazing? Ten years ago, when we first met in Loke Yew Hall, we could never imagine what we would become in the future.’
If it wasn’t you who were saying it, I would have sneered at the person saying such a thing. The serious tone would make me feel uncomfortable. But it was you who said it, making this sentence valuable. We were born and grew up in the same generation. Although we might not be able to meet each other that frequently these days, we still cherish all the moments we spend together. We will always share all the important events in our lives.
I might not know all the details, but at least I know the ups and downs in your life. We were like the white wine we drank last night: transparent, but at the same time, have its colour.
Do you have the feeling that our conversations were never-ending? I bet you do. Life is like waves crashing on the reef, and we always know the shape of waves. Although we all have our loved ones, we tend to leave our home, just like birds leaving their nests at a certain age and flying back every now and then to have a glimpse of their tiny but warming home.
Although both of us have learned to accept the teachings over time, we love to be literary critics and keep analysing our hypocritical, selfish, honourable, and sincere behaviours and thoughts. Like many other so-called intimate friends, we don’t need to treat each other with overflowing care. We allow ourselves to forget and overlook each other because we know true forgetfulness will never happen in this fantastic friendship. Our friendship makes us free and easy, asking for nothing. We both enjoy it. Our friendship is full of loyalty without pressure. We were like fish swimming freely in a lake. If one of us was in trouble, we would swim close to each other to give support.
‘Friend’ is a warm word that should not be sentimental. But who knows the meaning behind it? Your look always makes me feel a little lonely. When my family was gathering at your house, you saw the three children crawling up on your expensive piano, banging the keys with their little fat and dirty fingertips—your eyes betrayed you.
Loneliness, like an awakening venomous snake, was waiting for an opportunity to ruin your well-organized life. You lost your usual direction and order, like a child abandoned in the wilderness by his mother. You shouted, ‘Wah, my piano is done!’ as if you were a shabby guy haggling over things. I—the only person—knew that behind the shouting was a profound silence. When your friends had to kneel on the grass to blow their children's noses, you were crossing the empty lawn alone at dusk and walking up the empty stairs.
I played your piano at random again. ‘It’s out of tune,’ I complained. ‘It’s been a long time since the last tuning,’ you answered casually. I love this kind of tedious conversion. It's the only way we can read each other's meaning behind the words. Words are just a sound. You took a picture. ‘Is it her?’ I asked. You smiled and nodded. I was surprised the person I had conceived through your words resembles this girl in the picture. Unfortunately, it did not make your journey any easier. The love you have received from us can never be a substitute for what you need, but I am still happy, even eager, to hear you brutally describe your failures, which may be painful experiences.
When the phone rang, I suddenly understood something.
‘It’s for you,’ you handed over the handle to me, smiling mischievously. My palm felt its warmth. This was, no doubt, because you held it for a while.