CHAPTER 73

Original: 2008-09-02

Rewritten: 2026-06-30

Whenever Lun feels anxious or tense, he sings hymns or Christmas carols, and the more anxious he becomes, the faster he sings.

Lun has a beautiful singing voice. His teachers and classmates have all said so, and I couldn't agree more.

Since childhood, he has loved humming and singing for his own enjoyment. Blessed with a lovely voice, he entertained not only himself but also those around him. No matter where he was or what time it was—during class, at recess, at home, or even when we were trying to fall asleep—if he felt like singing, he simply sang.

He never sang loudly. Instead, he sang softly, with a gentle, crystal-clear voice. Although he often sang with his head lowered, whenever we asked him to lower his volume, he would always comply.

He sang throughout the year—every single day. Many of his classmates recognized him mainly because of his singing. After hearing his voice day after day for years, it was hardly surprising, especially since he spent three years in Grade 12.

Canadians are remarkably kind and compassionate. Although Lun was a student with special needs and was unable to succeed academically, his teachers and classmates were accepting, caring, and appreciative of his beautiful voice and his natural musical gift.

While receiving care and education himself, Lun also brought something positive to the people around him. That is one of the most endearing and precious qualities of both Lun and the society he lives in.

Of course, Lun was not always so lovable. For example, while everyone else was busy concentrating on examinations, he might be out in the hallway happily singing by himself. At other times, he would lose his temper.

When that happened, it was no small matter. He would become noisy, cry out, and repeatedly make sounds like, "Ohoo! Ohoo!" Whenever he was under stress, he would sing hymns or Christmas carols at an increasingly rapid pace. Even our family doctor knew this well.

From an early age, Lun was terrified of seeing doctors. The moment he stepped into a clinic, his anxiety would cause him to start singing, and the faster his anxiety grew, the faster he sang. In those days, my wife and I sometimes took advantage of Dr. Shih's authority. Whenever we needed to distract or redirect Lun's attention, we would warn him that we were taking him to see the doctor.

After entering high school, Lun gradually came to understand that doctors were there to help him. He no longer sang nearly as much while visiting the clinic.

Although Lun has a beautiful voice, his speech is unclear, so he rarely sings complete lyrics correctly. As a result, his singing has a style all its own. He also has his favorite tunes, which he repeats over and over again—like the needle of an old record player stuck in a scratch on a vinyl record, replaying the same short passage dozens of times.

The same habit appeared when he listened to cassette tapes. The tapes would repeatedly click as they stopped and replayed the same section. From the songs he chose, their tempo, and the volume of his singing, we could understand and judge how he was feeling.

Lun has been unable to speak since childhood, and despite years of growth, his ability to express himself has remained limited. His singing has therefore become one of the most important ways for us to know and understand him. Through his songs, we have been able to enter his world and share his emotions.

That said, singing is apparently his exclusive privilege. Whenever I felt relaxed enough to sing or whistle for my own enjoyment, he would protest and refuse to let me exercise that same freedom in front of him.