Memories of our youths, translated…
We lived in the Songshan District, back when it wasn’t quite developed yet, at the edge of the city.
One day, my younger brother returned home, pulled out a metal thing, covered with mud, slammed it onto the tables, making a loud clink. He’d excited talked on, “All of these, are bullets made with copper, I’d picked up the used bullets at the shooting range and sold them for money with the neighbors, you can pick out the unbent ones, I’ll make a necklace for you!”
As I heard the word “bullet”, I was afraid and curious at the same time, I’d stayed faraway and asked him, “Would it, explode?”, he said that they’d all, been shot out of guns, that they’re not, dangerous. He’d used the toothbrush, cleaned off the mud, then, polished the outside to a spotless shine, then, clamped onto the head, burned it with candles, melted out the lead from the tail, my younger brother skillfully, bent the wires and turned the wires into a pendant, then, tied a nylon string on, a pretty bullet necklace appeared, right before me.
not my photo…
During that period, on one side of his pants, there’s the clinking from the cash he’d made from the sales of the recycled metals, on the other, the used bullets he’d picked up, he’d walked, like he owned the world. And, because of the trends, I’d, joined him in his bullet digging excavation trips too.
The bigger guy who led the way took us, a group of his troops, to the shooting range, the roads are narrow, and only allowed one car to pass at a time, most of the times, we’d needed to fight for the right of way with the army vehicles. As we took the turns, our troupe is easily cut off by the army vehicles, we’d needed to run fast, in front of the speeding by army vehicles, and the drivers would start honking at all of us angrily, and from time to time, they’d, stuck their heads out the windows and start cussing us out, but, none of it had, deterred us, from digging up the treasures.
As the shooting range was at use, the servicemen held up the red flags outside the range, as we’d, waited like we’re supposed to. The shooting range was close to the mountains, the explosions from the bullets caused our ears to ring, I’d started contemplating, would the bullets fly off the range, and hit us? Then, looking over at the servicemen with the red flags, with that look of discipline and seriousness, I’d realized, that I’d put my own life in danger.
not my photo still…
As the red flags were taken aback, the group of us, kids, rushed in, started rummaging through the mud, to find the close-to-perfect bullets. But, the army ranges’ bullets were almost all broken, we couldn’t find anything good.
Later on, one of our companions realized, that next door was the shooting range for the police, that the bullets were usually, still complete, that we’d gotten handfuls without even trying hard, we’d gotten in, and started rummaging through the bullet piles excitedly, as the older gun range attendant found us, he’d chased us down. The bigger of us would quickly, flip over the walls, and yet, the walls were, a bit too high, and, my brother and I could manage our ways in, but not our ways out, we’d gotten caught, and, gotten grilled, and, our collected used bullets, confiscated.
As we got older, that prohibited area of our childhood years, became the Xinyi Planning District, we can no longer find a gun range like we could in our childhood years in the urbanized Taipei anymore, but, the life we’d weathered already, became, the embodiment of, these shooting ranges of our younger years. The guns fired, with the bullets flying, but, it was, filled with this fun from the treasure hunts, sometimes, we’d stayed in places we’re familiar with, and from time to time, we’d needed to, venture out, of our comfort zones, to find the best kind of treasures.
treasures of our childhood…
And that, was when I realized, that the outside world, doesn’t always have the servicemen who would raise that flag to warn us, or the kind-hearted and gentler mangers. And no, my gutsiness, became diminished by the day, and, that made me missed my braver, childhood years even more.
So, this, is on what’s lost as one grows up, and, the writer is right, we’d lost, a lot, becoming adults that we are today, back when we were younger, we’d, ventured out, unafraid, and, look at us now, we’d needed to, think again, again, and again, before we cross the streets, and, as we get older, the number of fears increased in us, and, we can’t, ever find back, that childhood when we were once, the rulers of our separate worlds, and, gone, are the innocence of our childhoods.
Life, the Obstacle Course 