It was when my family still lived in a tiny half-dilapidated apartment. One Summer morning, I was exploring our tiny apartment, and found my father still sleeping in one of the rooms. We didn’t have a designated bedroom, and the room we spent to sleep in the night turned into me and my brother’s playroom in the daytime.
The window was open, and a pleasant wind came in through the curtains. My mother had already cleared all the beddings, and my nocturnal father was sleeping on the floor, with a thin blanket rolled around his stomach.
I carefully observed my father. It was quite remarkable how he was spread in the middle of the room completely undisturbed by anything that was happening around him. I sat down next to him and continued my observation when I noticed something extraordinary. One of his hands was sticking out behind his back, and when I looked closer, I saw his fingers intersecting each other in a most intricate manner.
I started to intersect my own fingers in the same way that I saw in my father’s hand. But no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t bring my fingers into the same position as my father’s even though my fingers were usually much more flexible than his.
After trying for several more times, I finally gave up. As I stood up to resume my morning exploration, I was so impressed by my father’s intricately intersected fingers that the scene has stayed in my memory since.