Funny how some things pop into your life. The other day, someone mentioned she read Pearl Buck’s The Good Earth. I am reminded that I do have it on my bookshelf and I have read it. But I cannot remember any of it. Then this morning, there’s an article about Pearl S. Buck on my Facebook feed. It was very interesting. It prompted me to search for the book. And I did find it, a little paperback costing $.95 published in 1973. It’s still in very good condition though the pages are yellow and the print small. It is a book that I had borrowed from a friend while I was visiting her in Vancouver many years ago. I’ve not returned it nor have read it, as I now discovered.

I don’t know why I hadn’t read it. It is quite good. I’ve read 5 chapters this morning. It reminded me of the China I knew. I am surprised that I remembered so much, having left when I was 6 years old. I felt quite at home in the story of the poor farmer, his wife and his father. I felt I was there with them, though we were not the poor farmers. I guess we were considered well off if not rich. We had this big house that my grandfather had built. It had 2 stories with a copula on top. It housed our family on one side and the other half was occupied by my grandfather’s brother’s family. The windows had metal shutters. The front door was also of metal. Our house had a courtyard surrounded by a wall.

Looking at the photo and the memories, it feel like it was someone else’s life. It also made me feel nostalgic and lonesome for that Chinese part of me that was left behind. Anyways, it is too late in the day to ponder and wander through the past. Perhaps I will have more time tomorrow. I feel very busy at this end of life. Time seems to tick slower when I was young. Now it’s speeding faster and faster like the end of a toilet roll.