I've decided to name this column "There's No Tomorrow", not because I'm a nihilist (because I'm not) but because this poetically describes my world view, which began taking shape at the age of 7.
As a Chinese American raised by immigrant parents, religion fortunately didn't play a large role in my early childhood. As with many first generation Chinese immigrants, their religious/spiritual ideologies are a thick soup of ideas and practices plucked from Cliffs Notes-versions of Confucianism, Buddhism and Taoism, which themselves are seasoned with heavy dashes of provincial superstitions (i.e. ghosts, "good" and "bad" fortune) and ancestor worship. After thousands of years of boiling together in the same cauldron, it's gotten to a point where no one really knows what anything means or their exact purposes; but, nevertheless, folks still pay these customs/beliefs lip service and go through the motions during the holidays or when in need.
This lack of indoctrination has its consequences though. For example, at the age of 7, I had no concept of death and simply assumed that people lived forever or, at least, a very, very, very long time, like grandpa in The Jetsons.
It was during that year when I somehow became acquainted with the idea of death -- I think a classmate's grandfather had died or something along those lines. The whole thing bewildered me. As an healthy and over-hyperactive child, I could not conceive of myself --or those around me-- getting old, deteriorating and then succumbing. It was 1984 and I lived in a household that included my younger sister, my 30 and 40something parents and a 70ish-year-old grandmother who could still climb flights of stairs, squat down to pick things up and make solo pilgrimages to Chinatown from our home in Brooklyn -- all with the greatest of ease.
Eventually, I had to know the truth about this whole death thing. After watching Ghostbusters a million times on VHS, I modified my belief: even if our bodies die, we don't really die. Our souls still live on and get to visit the living on occasion...right!? I wasn't concerned with my own death at the time but I was worried about the idea of my grandmother and my parents someday leaving me...forever.
Somewhere between the summers of 1984 and 1985, I decided to ask my mother for clarification. She was in the basement sewing and I lingered around for a while trying to sum up the courage to raise such an awkward topic. Eventually, I somehow managed to ask the $64,000 question: mommy, do people really die?
My mom, being a science buff and all, told me grimly and bluntly, "yes, that is part of nature". And by the way, when I say "science buff", I obviously don't mean child psychology.
I asked a series of pathetic follow-up questions like, "does everyone die?" and "why do people die?", all the while building up to what I really wanted to know, "will grandma die?", "will daddy die?", "will you die?"
I vaguely remember her face being somewhat morose --maybe not necessarily at the precariousness of the situation, but, perhaps, at realizing her little son was no longer an innocent child who her husband playfully called"ai fai wat", which roughly translates to "happy go lucky" (in a youthful naive sense) and literally translates to "big happy life".
"Yes, we all have to die," she answered.
She might have said a few other things after that to soften the blow but I don't remember. All I can remember is throwing my arms around her and crying hysterically. She tried to comfort me by telling me a few things but, not surprisingly, I don't recall a thing she said. Afterall, what could possibly console a child upon learning the reality of death? However, I specifcally don't remember her spewing any propoganda about life-after-death, heaven, souls, angels, reincarnation or any of that nonsense.
While I was suceptible to number of irrational beliefs (ghosts, werewolves, psychics) throughout my childhood and adolscence and even prayed to "God" a few times --afterall, all the other kids were doing it-- the latter only weakened my belief in an all-powerful and all-loving being. In spite of my graveling, I remained a shitty baseball player, couldn't get a date, wasn't accepted by the high school of my choice and never got to meet Charles Bronson. And without God, I thought, how can there be ghosts, werewolves and psychics?
Perhaps my mother could have delayed such a revelation or let me to find all this out for myself but I'm glad she didn't and will forever be grateful for her honesty. Understanding the endpoint of life allowed me to view things in a better, and more realistic, perspective. I learned the word "transient" before any of my friends, developed a strong appreciation for art and deeply value human compassion. The reality of death and its implications on life would take many more years to calcify into my current worldview but I'm glad the process started early, as it can take a lifetime to comprehend
Nowadays, I live my life moment by moment, trying my best to fully appreciate the love, goodness and beauty that fortunately surrounds my life. I can enjoy the present without thanking the heavens and I can face adversity without self-pity. I can fully exist for today without the deluded conceit of a better tomorrow.
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