Preface
Inhaling the smell of the orange trees in the field, I look into the sky. Blue is just pure blue; the white mass is floating. I try to sense the freedom of the kid on the bike, riding along the foot of the hill in a curving and twisting way. The kid is looking up into the sky from his bike, breathing in the orange field scents. This view in the frame offers strong contemplation of different aspects of nature.
As I look at the kid and the surrounding in the painting, I long for a bicycle.
(1)
There was a bicycle outside.
Even though it carried the characteristics of being old, the blue bike had quickly become the favorite of all the children from this house.
Nobody knew how to ride a bike amongst them.
In everyone’s mind, being able to ride a bike was the most important thing in the world. There was enthusiasm in the air around the little bike. Altogether, there were four kids. I was one of them, examining the bike with a great excitement.
“Tonight, we’re going to learn how to ride it, right?
Little Brother said with the gleaming eyes. Everybody nodded their heads all at once.
The evening came so slowly.
However, the evening finally had come. Looking with great expectations at the uncle who was going to teach us how to ride the bike, the kids were so nervous.
First, Big Sister climbed onto the bike. The uncle followed the bike, pushing the back of the seat. The bike disappeared from our view and then reappeared. It disappeared one more time and reappeared again.
Big Sister came down from the bike merrily, and then Little Brother and Little Sister were also disappearing and reappearing with the bicycle over and over.
Finally, it was my turn.
The bike moved each time it was being peddled. The little wheels seemed smooth and rolling. Being like that, the bike and I were moving in the sight of the observers.
Every evening was so beautiful with a bicycle.
(2)
Except the main highway, all the streets and roads in this town were of sand, stones, pebbles and dust. Mother seriously forbade riding on the highway.
Now, all the children had learned to ride the bicycle.
Everybody had their own bikes.
For us just having learned to ride the bike, riding the bicycle all day long was not even enough. Although the town was small and narrow, riding the bike repeatedly through these streets and places seemed not running out of them.
In our daily conversations, “riding-the-market routine”, in which we would ride around the small marketplace at the heart of the town for one appointed cycle, became significant. We spent the summer vacation, by riding down the slanted hill, racing with each other, completing the riding-the-marketplace routine, and the riding-the-town routine.
One morning, as usual, there was a riding routine. At one street corner, I saw the farmer’s cow wagon coming, but could not control the speed; my bicycle swayed and both the bike and I fell down hard on the ground.
The huge cut on my knee recovered only after two weeks. Did riding a bicycle consist of learning through cuts and wounds and injuries?
Every time we saw these small and big wounds and scars, the memories of riding our bikes around the town at sunset, and riding in group on the highway which Mother forbade over and over again would come back to us.
(3)
How long was the lifespan of a bicycle?
The bikes from our childhood days became old and mother gave them away.
With beautiful tassels and the basket on the handle bar, the colorful bicycle had become the companion of a teenager. We no longer raced our bikes and fought for ownership of the bikes; there was also no more habit of riding the bike in the backyard even before cleaning up and brushing our teeth as soon as we got out of the bed in the morning.
All of us had grown up with the bikes, hadn’t we?
Mother was preparing outfits for Big Sister to attend the university. I looked fondly at the blue outfit made with the same fabric for both top and longyi.
Everyone in the family was blissful.
Big Sister looked stunning with the air of becoming a university student. Little Sister and I went in and out of her room again and again. Near the piles of luggage in the living room, Father and Little Brother were playing chess like any other days.
The next day, when Big Sister left home to stay at the dormitory in Rangoon, we were all waving at her, left behind.
The moment when Father’s car left to send her off, the bicycle of Big Sister, leaning against the wall at the front yard, was staring at her.
I was not sure whether the bicycle was also waving to her or not.
All the eyes were moist.
(4)
One year, during summer, our family moved to Rangoon. Packing many of household items and furniture, we forgot about the bicycles.
That summer was a hot summer.
Afternoons were not only fiery, but also brought harsh wayward wind. The sun was so intense that it felt as if it were dangled on the roof.
In the afternoon, Little Brother was riding his bike along the street back and forth under the height of hot season. When the bicycle tire became deflated, he came into the house, looking for the air pump.
“Little Brother, what are you looking for?”
Mother asked Little Brother who was bending his back and searching for it in the garage.
“Where is the air pump for the bicycle, Mother?”
Mother had already given the air pump away to someone. The truth was—she had already arranged to give away his bicycle and all of ours.
“You don’t need the bike in Rangoon, my dear.”
Until the day we moved to Rangoon, Little Brother was riding his bike all the time. When our car crammed full with all kinds of things was leaving, one of the kids from the neighborhood happily rode away the Little Brother’s bicycle which Mother had given to him.
(5)
Mother was right. We didn’t need bicycles in Rangoon.
The apartments in downtown did not have enough space to keep the bicycles.
Little Brother was no longer obsessed with his bicycle like before as well.
We went to school in our car most of the times. Sometimes, we would walk to school.
Now, I had become a high school senior.
Almost nobody went to school by bike. Our school which was located in downtown Rangoon was lined with Indian Medlar trees. Little Sister and I would sometimes pick up the star-flowers fell off from the trees on the ground. We told each other that it would be great to have a bicycle of our own.
Some mornings, an elderly man delivering newspaper on the bike would be seen. Watching those papers which were tossed into the apartment windows flying round and round slowly, we heard the rickety and squeaky sound from his old bike.
With the whirl of breezes, leaves and star-flowers were falling one by one, floating, and the air was infused with the scent of both old and fresh flowers.
(6)
I, who had always wanted to become a university student and have a university life, was offered another chance when I was betwixt and between being one.
Mother had signed up for me to sit for an examination. I had to attend many classes unceasingly and come down from one sets of stairs and climb up the other. Our house was being more alive with a teeming crowd. Did the preparation of a trip start even before that trip not yet became visibly?
During that period, everyday was spent with a hope and anticipation that whether to see a new journey.
At silent nights, I had many dreams.
The marketplace from the small town where I used to ride my bike over and over again in my childhood became alive and fresh in the dream. I was riding my bike twisting and turning among the bazaar sellers and customers, drifting continuously among shouts and bawls. The streets became narrower and some of them wider. Figures in the surrounding and atmosphere were floating in all kinds of color. Just the once, I didn’t hear any sound and rode my bike forcibly.
The highway had never been that beautiful.
The bicycle in the dream become farther and farther gradually.
(7)
The airplane was ready to set off and the passengers were settling in with their seats and luggage.
I passed the exam.
For that reason, I was going to a country across the sea to pursue my education.
I was just concentrating my eyes on the roof of the airport where my family was sending me off—the bright-colored umbrella of Mother and the fluttering scarf of Big Sister were among the crowd. The first thing that I remembered when the plane took off was the evening when I tried to learn riding the bike on the blue bicycle.
The orangey sunshine and warm and soft clouds from that evening were hanging next to my plane window. The warmth and gentleness of the sun rays had created one exciting evening after another.
The red tassels that Mother knitted for my bike was now old and tattered and left behind.
I tried to close my eyes.
Flying through thick clouds, the plane flied over the sea in a vibrating and trembling movements at times.
(8)
There were only a few populations in the big city located in the west of the world where I was now. Since the school was quite far from the house, I had to commute by bus. People who biked for health would be seen in the mornings and evenings. People wearing sporting gears rode their bicycles on the lane designated for bikers. At times, there were some who carried their bikes and attached them to the bus while riding the bus.
One day, my classmate invited me to go to the beach.
The beach was twenty miles away. There weren’t many visitors because it was still spring. The air carried coldness and the water in the sea was freezing.
The loose sand was hard and white. The mellow music from the person who was singing a country song was dancing and bouncing with the guitar sound.
When reaching the front of a bike shop, we rented bikes for each of us.
The bike lane along the beach was about an-hour ride. There were joggers, runners… and skaters.
The wind was blowing noisily and furiously on the old and long pier. The faint shade of the moon could be seen in the sky.
Gazing beyond the sea and far, I inquired the moon and clouds to go back home through this wide deep ocean. All the way through the sea, the waves and the broad sky, I believed I could reach to my front door riding the bike.
A soul going back home, riding on a bicycle, in the company of the wind from the seaside would be spotted over this ocean.
I remembered little E.T. who wanted to go home by bike from the movie “E.T.”
Once we completed the bike route along the shoreline, we returned the bicycles to the shop. Now, I longed for the “riding-the-town-routine” with my siblings.
Was the bike I just rode expecting for a new customer to take it?
(9)
Seasons sometimes seemed so slow but at times they just shifted on the blink of an eye.
A letter arrived with the news of Big Sister getting married. She wrote the letter in a cheerful and stable tone.
The image of Big Sister on the bike disappearing and reappearing from my sight on the first day of riding the bike became alive in my mind.
Just then, we were waiting anxiously for our turns, weren't we?
The launch of the journey of a bicycle had to go through either smooth high way or roads of pebbles, sand, dust and rocks.
(10)
Listening to the phone ringing, I waited for the answer from the other side.
After the little voice with a pleasing lisp greeting "Hello?” there followed the voice of Big Sister saying, "Honey, who's that?"
She sounded so happy over the phone. In the lovability of the little voice, my heart itself became gentle as well.
"Hey, Big Sister, your son's become so smart now, huh?"
The laughter with contentment and enjoyment of hers came through the phone line and echoed in all levels of air.
"Now my son asks for a bike and I need to buy him one!"
At the end of her voice, I felt my whole heart became aged and ripened and the old became fresh instantly. My mind became closer and closer to the old sights and images from the past and at the same time it tried to grasp the new images heartily.
"Please buy a blue bike for him, Big Sister, okay?"
Epilogue
Bicycling is an art for the human souls.
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