Wang Yue | When Parents Are Sick

Written during the darkest moment of an only child - when parents fall ill.

I am 36 years old this year, in my zodiac year of the Snake. As I start writing, it happens to be my birthday, spent amidst the beeping of instruments. Lying beside me is my mother, who has just undergone an 8-hour surgery — very dangerous. Am I spending the darkest moment of my life on my birthday in my zodiac year? Oh, thinking that way makes me feel a bit better.

I love Iran, and I love Iranian movies. Iran has many slice-of-life films, which, like life itself, reveal their fangs unexpectedly, while you are still in love with life.

Half a month ago, I was basking in the sun and drinking coffee in Dali when I suddenly received a call from my mother. She told me she was in the hospital with a high fever that wouldn't go down. My first reaction wasn't to rush home immediately — as if I was reluctant to break away from this carefree life and face the coldness of reality. My mother lives alone, was hospitalized alone, and I stayed in Dali drinking coffee for two more days before returning home. When I came to her side, she was still alone, receiving an IV drip.

Not long after, my uncle and aunt came back to accompany my mother. Thinking about families like ours, scattered in different places as society undergoes drastic changes, we only reunite for major events. Perhaps as I grow older, I find myself understanding them more and more. Sometimes I realize how similar our fates are, how alike we truly are.

Seeking medical treatment is a cruel and cold-hearted affair. In hospitals, you can see middle-aged people crying everywhere — in corridors, outside operating rooms, on hospital beds, in restrooms. You can also see numb people everywhere. A young woman in her twenties is suddenly told she has a terminal illness. Her boyfriend sits on a chair watching her cry, expressionless, playing with his phone the whole time. After a while, she stops crying and picks up her phone too. They sit face to face, just like they would in a restaurant eating together.

My mother spoils me a lot. When my father was seriously ill, she didn't let me get involved. Now she has fallen ill too. My uncle cried, stepped outside to compose himself, then returned to my mother's bedside. She held his hand and said, "Little brother, big sister loves you." At that moment, I cried too. I realized I can never experience that kind of love.

Iranian movie: My Favorite Cake

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