I’d told dad, to stay right there, at that angle, and don’t move, and so, I’d, taken this shot. Not knowing, that that, was the very last time we will ever have the chance, to travel together.

我叫爸爸站在那個角度不要動,於是我拍下了這張照片。沒想到這會是我跟他最後一次一起...the captions said, “I told dad to stay right there, and don’t move, so, I’d taken, this shot”…

He stood there, at the entrance of the tunnel, wearing his favorite pair of boots, wide-legged pants, he’d always worn that straight face, doesn’t talk a bit, it’s, as though, the only way to communicate with the outside word, was through language in the written form, he can always, write out an essay in the shortest time, but as we’d asked him to speak, he couldn’t, spit out one single word. Dad is like a man who lives near the entrance of a cave, his world is, in the depth, inside the darkness of the cave, he’d, hidden himself quite well, only he can see the world, while the world, can’t see him, behind him was, that deep, dark tunnel, which he’d kept his views of the world hidden in, through his words, he’d, communicated with the world, and us too, his melancholy, his sharpened senses, under his pen, because an entirely different space that his eyes had, perceived; dad is lonely, his world is composed of black and white, and in between the black and white words, he’d, gone to and fro, with that sense of melancholic chic, his sense of free and easy too, and, only in between the black and white, can he be himself freely, he’d found himself in the words he’d written out, he lived inside the words, and created an entire world, just for him, with the words that he’d, written out.

And so, the day came, dad is gone, gone, into that world, that belonged to solely him; he will forever live inside each and every one of us, he lives, in his own writings.

My dad had, walked, into the darkened passages of the tunnel now, never, turning back again.

So, from this, you can see, how lonely this man must’ve been, but, he’d found solace, in his own writings, and, maybe he couldn’t connect with the outside world in spoken form, but, I’m certain, that he’d touched those close to him with his written words…


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