Life is strange. Some people consider it God’s plan, while others believe it is a game of fate. Before getting into a philosophical argument about life, I want to tell you about this man’s strange journey.
When the snow covered everything on the ground, all the living creatures went home to sleep. However, this man drove like a maniac through the snow into a dark forest. He seemed determined to do something. After getting out of the car, he walked deeper and deeper into the woods, dragging a rope and a stool on the ground.
Crunch…Crunch…
After walking about a hundred steps, he stumbled upon a giant oak tree. He tied the ropeto a branch, then made his own necklace with the remaining rope and hung it around his neck.
Just as an Olympic diver stood on a long diving board, he stood on the edge of the stool. Then he took a deep breath…
All of a sudden,
A biting wind slashed at his face. WHIP-ISH
A gushing blow whirled all the snow toward him. SWOOSH.
A fierce draft broke the branch. FWOOSH.
He fell on his backside. POW.
The man’s face began to pucker, wailing about his sore behind and cussing at the broken branch.
Behind him, some kind of presence smiled.
****
January 1, 2000
My depression and suicidal thoughts were so severe that I visited a psychologist without my wife knowing. He advised me to write a diary about myself, so I decided to do it.
I saw a boy holding a doll tightly today. He reminded me of my childhood. Unlike ordinary boys, I loved playing with dolls as a child. Although they were not alive, I thought I was taking care of weak and poor creatures. Because of my unusual behaviour, such as playing with dolls, I was shunned by the neighbours, who whispered about me. But my parents loved and supported me, even though I was different from other boys.
When I was twelve, on the way home one rainy day, I found a dirty teddy bear covered with muddy water. Its ears were torn, there was only one eye, and it was soaking wet. Many people ignored the doll because it was considered trash to them. However, I couldn’t take my eyes off it because the teddy bear’s round black eye seemed to cry. I took the bear home, washed it, and dried it in the sun. When the teddy bear was dry and soft, I put a new eye on it and sewed the torn ears together. Even though I had no professional skills then, I worked hard to mend the teddy bear. It looked imperfect, but its eyes sparkled like two blackberries with dew at dawn. The teddy bear’s fur was soft because I brushed it hard. I could see the teddy bear smiling.
After that, I felt sad whenever I saw broken and abandoned toys because they reminded me of my childhood. Like my parents, I wanted to care for them, so I attentively fixed them. My journey all started with the poor teddy bear I fixed. Although I did not study art at school, I continued to practice my skillspassionately. The contempt and coldness I received from the people in my hometown since I was young decreased as I became famous.
At one point, I became one of the most skilled artisans in the country since I dedicated my life to mending dolls, statues, and toys. My story was promoted through word of mouth and was soon published in the newspaper. My outstanding ability to repair even the most delicate objects, consisting of fragile materials, made me a popular figure nationwide. Since I dealt with figures, dolls, statues, puppets and others, people named me differently, such as a doll maker, a doll restoration artist or a doll fixer. Even though I enjoyed my job, I’ve got this desire to make a mark beyond it. I want to be remembered for bringing happiness and love to things people might not usually see as alive or spirited.I’m all about creating a brighter future by spreading my love for things, whether small or insignificant.
January 2, 2000
As my store opened its doors, excitement filled the air. When customers browsed through the store, I greeted them, “Hello and welcome! Thank you for stopping by. Let me know if there’s anything I can do to help you.” The walls were lined with shelves and cabinets, and my various tools and materials werehanging on the wall.Soft music played in the background, creating a calm atmosphere that invited customers to stay and explore.
I was glad to answer my customers’ questions about the store and me.
January 3, 2000
My skills became famous through word of mouth, and people from all over the country began to visit my store. Many brought me dolls that rekindled their happy memories, expensive statues, and inadvertently damaged toys. I had to work around the clock for a month to fix all the items piled up in the store.
February 4, 2000
My life, which I thought would be full of happiness, gradually became unhappy. Strangely enough, there was a time when potential customers couldn’t locate the store. Yesterday, a student said she got lost in the rainwhile heading to my store to fix her favourite doll.
An old couple called when I was about to close the store today. According to them, they tried to visit the store but got lost. By the time they found it, it was already closed.
February 9, 2000
When I opened the store today, the smell of rotten eggs poked at the tip of my nose. Even though it was still February, the room was hot like midsummer. All my indoor plants seemed to rot from their roots; the leaves turned red and green, twisted and dead. How baffling! Seeing the rusty condition of all the tools, I realized there was no way around it—I had to head into town to get new ones. It meant pausing any work until I could replace the worn-out tools with fresh ones.
February 14, 2000
When I was about to start working, I found some dolls I fixed last night were broken or chipped off. There was no sign of anyone breaking into the store or a pest like a rat, but this vandalism happened and was so strange.
February 16, 2000
Despite the tight lock and security, someone broke into the store and scribbled black swirling holes, like curse words, on the most expensive statue ever commissioned. Who did this?
February 18, 2000
Minor misfortunes piled up and got out of hand. I was in a tough spot—mentally, physically, and financially. I suffered from extreme stress to the point where I wondered whether I should close my business. Then, one night, I turned off all the lights and stared at the darkness while closing the store. I thought, “If I die here, everything will disappear.”
February 20, 2000
Last night, I couldn’t sleep at all. While lying on the bed, I was just looking at the ceiling.
February 21, 2000
No customers came today, so I am considering closing my store. My wife suggested eating one meal a day to save some money.
February 22, 2000
My wife said our credit card was declined when she was about to buy some food for us. Then, the bank called to pay interest on the mortgage. My wife was devastated and wailed for our lives. Seeing her like this, I have no energy to live anymore.
February 23, 2000
In high school, my teacher explained Maslow’s hierarchy of needs, which states that all human behaviour is motivated by five categories of needs: physiological, safety, love and belonging, esteem, and self-actualization. Since I’m famished every day, I always think about food first. I fully understand why Maslow included food in his physiological needs, the most essential stage according to Maslow’s law.
February 24, 2000
Standing at the train station today, I just wanted to jump into the tracks. But, when the tip of my shoes crossed the platform line, I thought about the tragedy my wife would suffer. Her dad was an airplane pilot who gained the respect and trust of his colleagues, was a supportive father, and was a loving husband to his family. Apparently, there was Thailand on his route, so he stayed in Thailand for a night with a prostitute he met. He got AIDS as a result. At that time, in the early 1990s, patients with AIDS were stigmatized as people from only certain groups or outcasts could get it. I don’t know if it was a shame or fear of the disease. My wife didn’t tell that much. Her dad jumped out of the apartment when she was a high schooler. Fortunately, I did not commit suicide. I did not want to hurt my wife like her dad did. I beat the urge of death.
February 25, 2000
I woke up in the middle of the night but could not move. Then, there was a strange sound, like someone or something scratching under the bed. My wife was sleeping next to me. I got scared when I realized something was off. And the fact that I could not stop the sound drove me crazy. I am not sure whether I was sleeping. Or am I slowly going to lose my marbles?
February 26, 2000
Again, I heard the sound in the middle of the night while my wife and I slept on the bed. But, this time, I could move my head to see what was happening. It was a black shadow scratching the bedsheet right next to it. I closed my eyes as if I did not hear anything. I believed that it was my hallucination.
February 28, 2000
I have not been sleeping properly. As I lay in bed, the unsettling scratching noise began to disturb my silence of the night. At first, it was faint, almost like a distant murmur, but gradually, it grew louder. I tried to dismiss it, attributing the sound to the wind or some small creature outside, but the scratching persisted. It was like an invisible force had occupied the walls, determined to disrupt my tranquillity. I tossed and turned, hoping the noise would disappear, but it only intensified like an unwelcome guest refusing to leave. Will this nightmare end when I die?
March 1, 2000
Today was a sunny day. A Buddhist nun dressed in ratty clothes came by my workshop. She was covered with dust and sweat, but her face looked radiant.
The Buddhist nun greeted me by putting her hands together. She asked, “Could you fix this Buddha?” She brought a broken Buddha statue from her ragged backpack. The figure was chipped on one of its ears, and its sitting posture was off-center. Besides, all the colours faded out. At a glance, no one could fix the Buddha.
So, I explained, “I am so sorry. Unfortunately, it is impossible to fix your Buddha. I would recommend buying a new one.”
She sighed and sadly smiled at the statue. I could see tears in her eyes. Then, she put her hands together in prayer to the figure, like saying farewell to her mother.
The Buddhist nun made a request of me. “I know I ask too much of you. I would appreciate it if you cared for Buddha instead of me.”
I said, “I cannot promise anything, but I will do my best.” But they were empty words just to assure her.
After she left, I put the broken statue in the corner of the workshop.
April 2, 2000
While eating dinner at home with my wife, she mentioned seeing a young postulant asking for food at the market today. So, she gave him some raw rice she had bought at the market.
April 3, 2000
Last night, a Christian nun came by the store. The sparkling cross necklace that adorned her neck caught my eye in the veil of darkness that enveloped the nun.
She took a statue of the Virgin Mary out of her bag and said, “The paint of the Virgin Mary’s face is coming off, so I came to ask for coloration again.”
As the nun conversed with me, she acted strangely, as if she had noticed something. Her expression shifted to a frown. As if there was a stink, she covered her nose with her hand and hastily wrote down her contact information on a note. When she looked around the store, her eyes widened as if she had found something. Then, suddenly, her face turned pale.
Before the nun left the store, she asked me to call when the work was done. Her voice trembled as if she were terrified. Even I sniffed around my store to determine whether there might be some rotten food I had forgotten to throw out. There was nothing.
April 4, 2000
Today, while colouring the Mary statue, my eyes were drawn to the Buddha sitting in the corner of the room. Even though there would be no compensation like fame or money, after fixing the Buddha, I could not resist the desire to improve it. It was in horrible shape.
After much thought, I decided to fix it. I grabbed my toolbox and walked over to it. I drew the shape of the Buddha’s ear on a hard wooden board and carved it. Finally, the ear was delicately attached to the statue. Then, I removed my brushes from the box and thoughtfully painted various colours on the figure. I was so proud of my work!
April 6, 2000
Today, my wife told me about last night. She said she came to the workshop as the evening approached to eat dinner with me. Since there was no reaction to the sound of knocking, she slowly opened the door. She found the Buddha shining with light in a pitch-dark room without a single light. I was sleeping, lying face down on the desk beside the Buddha.
Actually, last night, I had a dream. Opening my eyes, I could hear a lively conversation with laughter. At that moment, I couldn’t tell whether it was a dream or reality because two people, the Virgin Mary and the Buddha, sat beside me. Even if Buddha’s clothes faded like a hundred-year-old tree, his warm smile shone like the sun. The Virgin Mary’s lovely smile was reminiscent of the moon in full bloom, and her clothes were the same colour as the clear sky. She looked like the sky hugged the moon.
When Mary and the Buddha noticed I was fully awake, they smiled at me. Then, the Buddha approached me, saying, “I am grateful for your kindness without expecting anything in return. I would like to offer my support as an expression of my appreciation.” Then, the Buddha went to the corner of the room and pulled on a devil’s ear. I glanced at them. Soon, the devil, looking like a crocodile, came out of the corner of the room. The Buddha flicked him on the forehead when the devil stared at me with sharp eyes. After that, the devil burst into tears.
I was trying to understand what was happening. Then, The Virgin Mary explained, “That devil, Leviathan, was jealous of your wealth, fame, and happiness, so he came into this store playing a lot of pranks and chasing off potential customers.”
The Buddha smiled brightly at me and greeted Mary. Then, he left the store, pulling the devil’s ear hard.
At that moment, my eyes closed as I became distraught.
Just an hour had slipped by when I opened my eyes, returning to reality and glancing at the clock. My wife admired the Buddha statue beside me.
May 1, 2000
Today, the nun who had asked me to make the Virgin Mary figure a better shape came to the workshop. She was puzzled, looking around every nook of the store. I wondered why she acted like she was looking for something at the store.
The nun said, “There was a cunning demonic creature crawling around here. I saw it, so I fully prepared this time.”
While searching for the devil, she found the Buddha and the Virgin Mary statues in a glass cabinet. She laughed and said, “Oh, you got blessed and helped by two great ones. I envy you.”
She took the Virgin Mary out of the cabinet and packed it with her scarf.
May 5, 2002
After the nun left the store, my store became famous. I got busy working every day. My wife used to dream about being a pilot like her dad. However, after his suicide, she could not get on board the airplane, struggling with depression and anxiety. She said she could see his face whenever she was on an airplane. Now, she wanted to be on land with me instead of flying in the sky. Now, she has been working with me in the store. Perhaps because I let my wife overdo her work, she has had a nosebleed and frequent headaches lately. She often got sick and told her to see a doctor.
I remember three years ago when we got married. Although we were neither rich nor poor, we were happy and healthy. On the wedding day, I swore to protect and make her happy for the rest of her life. But because of me, it was painful to see her helping me at all costs.
Toward the end of the day, she eventually went to the hospital. The doctor said my wife should take a month off.
My first meeting with my wife was at the library in my early 20s. She liked to stop by the library to read books, and we had similar tastes in mystery novels. When I tried to borrow the book I wanted to read from the library, she had already borrowed it, so I had to wait two weeks and then read it.
One day, I wanted to meet her in person, so I went to the library every day for a week. When I saw her picking up my favourite book, The Little Prince, in the library, I immediately knew she was my life’s love.
May 10, 2002
Today, my mom called me to say that my father had died in a car accident. I asked my mom to move into my town to live near my house. My mom gave a flat refusal, explaining that her house was full of happy memories with her husband, and she couldn’t leave them behind. Then, on the contrary, my mom asked me if I wanted to come home. I answered, “No, the old days I spent with my dad in that house will haunt me and remind me of my present life without him.”
Why does it feel like all the difficult things are happening to me?
My father was a great man to me. He generously supported and loved me even though I was peculiar. He was my mentor and shelter whenever my neighbours made fun of me for being strange. My childhood was not full of happiness. I was from a poor household. Without the government’s help, we could not eat and live like decent humans. Yet, despite the challenging family situation, my parents and I were happy.
I would spend the whole day playing with dolls and making up stories with girls. I especially loved hanging out at my house for an afternoon tea party like the Mad Hatter from Alice in Wonderland. My parents loved and accepted me as who I was. I thought the others would do too. But when I started school, I quickly learned that not everyone liked my passion. A poor weirdo like me was an easy target for kids.
A group of boys in my class would relentlessly tease me for playing with dolls and not joining their sports teams. I tried to ignore them and play with the girls instead, but the boys would still taunt me and call my names. As a kid, I didn’t know what to do, so I started to withdraw and became quiet and isolated. My parents noticed the change in me and asked me what was wrong. I didn’t want to tell them at first, but I broke down and told my father everything one day.
My dad listened without words and hugged me. “I want you to know that there is nothing wrong with playing with dolls. You should never feel ashamed of doing something that makes you happy.”
My father suggested ditching school and going to museums and art galleries. I was overjoyed to spend time with my always-busy father and eagerly agreed.
While touring the museums downtown, I noticed things about Leonardo da Vinci in a small corner of one of the museums. The area I lived in was a small city, so of course, they weren’t da Vinci’s famous illustrations but copies of his childhood stories and scribbles about machines.
When I couldn’t take my eyes off them, my father approached me and explained about Leonardo da Vinci. He said Da Vinci had been peculiarsince he was a kid, so his only true friend was his uncle. My father told me that Da Vinci differed from others, so he developed inventions that no one thought of and created famous paintings.
He also mentioned, “Everyone was different and that it was okay to be interested in things that were not considered normal.”
By the end of the day, when we looked around all the museums and art galleries, I had regained my confidence and felt proud of who I was.
From that day on, my father made sure to spend quality time with me and encouraged me to pursue my interests. I learned that I could always count on my father to be there for me and be true to myself without fear of being bullied or judged. Ultimately, the experience brought my father and me closer together and created an intimate, lasting lifetime bond.
I didn’t know such a father would suddenly leave me. The moment when I heard the news, my whole life fell apart momentarily, and I was trapped in deep darkness.
June 12, 2002
I heard from my wife that it was sunny today, but I was so busy that I didn’t even have time to go outside and feel the sunshine. Sometimes, my hands trembled for no reason, maybe because I had too much work and little sleep.
At two o’clock, a chubby woman visited the store. She looked middle-aged and dressed in a dark blue skirt, a white blouse, and a simple pearl necklace. Her necklace added a touch of personality to her outfit. To be honest, I wanted to touch the fabrics she wore. Her clothes fascinated me so much that I forgot to say hello to her.
She ordered her servant to bring her luggage, which looked like 1920s-1930s Louis Vuitton. From the luggage came the statue of a Buddha dressed in vibrant and elaborate garments, with the most benevolent smile ever seen, wearing sunglasses. When she handed me the Buddha, I was surprised because it looked like a pop star on stage.
I managed to hold back my confusion and respond to her with a professional expression. “How may I help you?”
Rather than responding, she removed her sunglasses from the Buddha’s face. I could see what problem she had come to me at a glance.
The Buddha’s expression was disjointed, which struck me as bizarre since his eyes were teary while his lips were curved upward in a smile.
“Well, I’m just dyin’ to know, how much longer it’s gonna take y’all to fix that face? I just can’t bear to see like this any longer. Bless my heart! I need it fixed up real quick, ya hear?” She asked in a demanding tone.
I honestly answered, “You have to wait about a month for the repair to be completed because my work is now behind schedule.”
Then she called the servant again, and he handed me a heavy trunk. When I opened it, it was full of money. As a human being, I was honestly greedy for money. But when I declined the offer, she left the store, leaving only her statue and business card. I ran out of the store to chase her, but she had already disappeared. Should I have taken her offer?
June 14, 2002
Fortunately, I had time last night and worked on the Buddha statue owned by the Southern belle. I don’t know who repaired this statue, but an amateur seemed to have made a mistake. Looking more closely at the statue’s face, the colour of its eyes was a little too bright for its face. Tomorrow, I’m going downtown, where there are many professional art galleries, to find eye paint suitable for this statue.
June 16, 2002
Yesterday, I was so tired when I returned home afterbuying the paint. However, I led my heavy body to the workshop last night because I had tons ofwork. I carefully painted the Buddha’s face one stroke at a time, relying only on a desk lamp. I didn’t know why my hands kept shaking. Maybe I was so tired? I blinked my eyes because I was sleepy, and I accidentally flicked a brush on his face. I was so surprised that there was a significant black brush mark when I looked at the Buddha’s face again. It was bad. I was so sorry that I apologized to the Buddha statue.
“Buddha, I’m so sorry. I’m so busy and tired these days and having a hard time. I tried to make my wife happy because I had a lot of money when there were more customers. But my wife got sick while working with me to help me. My strength and wrist are not like before, so it hurts and is hard to work. Is life normally this difficult?”
I started to cry like a baby in front of the statue, which could not talk to me. After crying on the floor for a long time, I fell asleep.
In my dream, I felt someone stroking my hair like my mother. Then, when I opened my eyes, the kind Buddha stroked my hair. As soon as I saw the Buddha, I broke down in tears. He just gently stroked my head without saying a word. I felt so relieved.
When I slowly stopped weeping, he said, “Nothing is perfect. It is okay to make mistakes. Do you think that true merit can be achieved without difficulty? Just let your body and mind rest. When you find true peace, everything will start to respond to you. Do you know that there is beauty in imperfection? That is why we are all imperfect. And do not be sorry for your mistake on my face. I like it. It looks like a mustache.”
I could not stop laughing when the Buddha made a funny face with a black mustache. Of course, I did not expect him to do that. When he saw my hands covered with all kinds of scars, he caressed both my hands. Through his hands, I no longer felt the pain in my hands but warmth.
I held his hands and kneeled on the floor. He said, “Believe your strength inside you. I am always with you.” And he kissed my forehead.
At that moment, I woke up. I was lying on the floor, and my face was wet.
I was not devastated anymore. My hands were no longer hurt and shaken. I held my brush once more to finish what I had started.
June 19, 2002
This morning, I called the woman to pick up the statue. On the phone, she seemed so happy that I called her. And she was surprised that the Buddha was ready.
June 20, 2002
When she appeared at the store, I showed her Buddha. His face was smiling brighter than the sunshine, and his face seemed to embrace everyone with that kind smile.
She began to shed tears as soon as she saw the Buddha statue.
She explained in her strong Southern American accent,”Well, my sweet baby girl got me a Buddha statue for my birthday before she got taken from us by a car. And now, bless its heart, the statue’s face got all twisted up like it’s crying its eyes out. I thought it might just be old and worn out. But them other folks I asked to fix it up couldn’t do nothin’ right and made it even worse. So, I just wanna say how grateful I am for y’all helpin’ me out with it. Thank you so much, darling.” She held my hands tightly while weeping.
I thought she was a rude, wealthy wife because of her appearance alone. However, she was a mother who wanted to protect the gift left by her daughter. She was like me. The son who lost his father and the mother who lost her daughter. I could feel her pain. I clasped her rough hand as if she had done much hard work.
****
One early morning, the craftsman went into the nearby forest, where he tried to commit suicide, taking his journal. He gathered rocks to create a fire pit and collected dried branches and leaves. The sunlight shone upon him when he took the lighter out of his pocket. He threw his journal into the pit and lit the fire. While seeing the journal burning, he could hear weeping. After he stepped on the fire with his feet to put out the fire, he entered the bushes and stumbled upon a gloomy puppy doll. The poor creature was worn and tattered, and its seams frayed. It had clearly been loved and cherished but had somehow found it was abandoned in this lonely forest. He gently picked it up and returned to his shop with it. And he decided to restore it to its former glory.
Once inside his workshop, he set to work, his nimble fingers skillfully repairing the doll. First, he stitched the torn seams with expert precision, replacing crumbling button eyes with glistening glass eyes. Next, he changed from the puppy doll’s old, matted fur to a warm, plush material. He even gave the doll a bright red bow tie to make it dapper. When he had finished, the once raggedy doll was transformed into a cute, huggable friend. Proud of his handiwork, he placed the newly restored cutie on the front showcase of his store, confident that it would find an eternal loving home.
A few days later, a young boy entered the store with his mother. His eyes sparkled as he saw the adorable puppy doll perched on display. He couldn’t help falling in love at first sight. He pulled his mother’s sleeve and asked if he could bring the doll home. She had no choice but to buy it when she saw her son’s eyes filled with joy.
The young boy’s heart was happy as he cradled the doll. He hugged it tight, feeling its soft fur against his cheek. The craftsman could already tell that they would be best friends. Then, as the boy and his mother stepped on the exit to leave the store, the craftsman could not help smiling, knowing that he had brought joy to the little boy.
Just before the door closed behind them, the puppy doll seemed to come to life for a moment. It turned its head with a nod of thanks to the man who gave it a second chance. At that moment, the craftsman had already seen the vision that the doll and the little boy would go through numerous adventures, helping each other as their bond grew stronger daily.
The craftsman continued to help with beautiful creations, knowing that, occasionally, even the most unassuming and neglected things could be transformed into something miraculous.
To bring happiness to everyone. A miracle.
The End.