When I was in kindergarten, there was a stuffed pig that I really, really wanted. I desired this toy so intensely that every night before sleeping, I would imagine holding it and dancing around the room, singing the nursery rhyme “The Doll and Teddy Bear Dance”— one, two, one; one, two, one. We had deep conversations, made jokes and even shared secrets. That's when my romance with Piglet must have begun.
On one of our many trips from Xiamen to Yinchuan, my mom would have taken me to visit her relatives in her ancestral home. (In fact, it was a long time before I started thinking of Yinchuan as my hometown and not my mother’s.) Anyway, we would have taken a long train ride, leaving me exhausted when we arrived. In a daze, I would have spotted a soft little piglet sitting on the sofa. It would have tilted its head, its bright eyes staring in my direction, with a cute little nose and, most endearing of all, a curly little tail; so adorable! Today, even if that pig never existed, I still remember gripping its soft paw as sleepiness overcame me.
I would have loved the piglet so much that even my mom would have been jealous. She would have pretended to be angry, asking if her hand was warmer or if Piglet’s hoof was softer. I would have giggled and exclaimed, “It's Mom!” On the trip back, I would have obsessed over my piglet. I may have even told my mom that I wanted one.
My mom would have been reserved at our relatives' house, not paying attention to other people's decorations, and not remembering if there were any cushions or toys on the sofa. Naturally, she would not have known what Piglet looked like. So, she would have asked me if I remembered its appearance, wanting to make one just like it for me. I would have remembered its little tail, “bouncing and bouncing,” and despite flipping it over and over again, I would have only been able to describe that feature.
My mom would have patiently listened to me describe it over and over again. She would have then ripped apart an old quilt, dyed it pink, and used the fabric and cotton to sew a little pink piglet for me. The stuffed animal's tail would have been made from the elastic band of her pants.
What actually happened wasn’t as romantic as my piggy dreams. My mom bought me a piglet from Jelly Cat. And when the Jelly Cat pig’s tale fell off, my mom did fix it. That piglet brought warmth into my life, touching the softest corner of my soul. Piglet had a clear, innocent, newborn appearance, untouched by the world. I smiled at her mischievousness, gently stroking her plush fur, touching her little piggy nose with my nose. What I liked most was her little tail, so elastic, sometimes straight, sometimes swaying lightly, stretching back and forth.
She accompanied me. In those cherished days, she was like a ray of sunshine, always silently listening to my heart. Occasionally, she would nudge her head gently, as if to say, “Don't worry, everything will be okay.” Then she would lie quietly on the bed, indicating that I could rest my head next to her, making her my most reliable pillow. She was a good friend.
So passed countless days, traveling back and forth, experiencing all seasons. She followed me from Xiamen to Shenzhen, witnessing my growth. Wherever I went, she was there.
Another spring came, and I wasn't as melancholy as before, but rather able to calmly face my struggles. That year for our annual trip home, I would have excitedly packed my bags, eager to return to Xiamen Island and taste the sea breeze again. I would have folded the washed clothes carefully, arranging my books neatly in the suitcase, leaving as much space as possible for my Piglet and her stuffed animal friends. I would have packed them carefully, one by one. I would not have overlooked Piglet. But I noticed that one of the bags seemed empty. I counted my stuffed animals—Shelly, May, Ellie, Elephant, and Rabbit. But.
I should have known.
I joked with Piglet, pretending she was hiding under the covers and waiting to surprise me by popping out, “Look, I'm right here!” At first, I would have thought it was a game. However, by the third round, I would have already shaken all the blankets and pillows. I would have realized something was wrong.
When I asked my grandmother where Piglet was, my grandmother who was fond of shaking things and nicknamed “Shake Shake” exclaimed, “Oh dear, when I was shaking out the quilts, I must have knocked Piglet off the balcony.” She spoke in a relaxed tone, as if Piglet going missing was a joke and not a tragedy.
My eyes immediately filled with tears; tears as big as beans rolling down pale cheeks.
“Why didn't you tell me?”
“I thought you were busy with your final exams,” my grandmother would have murmured.
In memory, that brave and fearless northerner seemed particularly small. Did I frighten her?
I would have yelled, “Hurry up and help me look for her!” I will never know how much control I lost at that moment, but I would have covered my face with my hands, crying out loud. I would have realized; Piglet was never coming back.
That year, Spring Festival had arrived quietly, sneaking up on me unexpectedly. Previously, I had never spent a New’s Years in Shenzhen, returning home to Xiamen where my heart still lives. However, as I took the elevator down to look for Piglet, I suddenly noticed a seasonal couplet in that small space.
                  Reunion
 Spring                             Breeze
 Gently                           Murmurs
Brushes                            Softly
   The                                  Of
 Garden                             Feast
 
In the housing estate courtyard, willow catkins fluttered, and laughter filled the air, piercing my eyes, ears, and heart. My grandmother only realized how important Piglet was after I yelled at her. She was the partner I would have my emotions into for an entire lifetime, giving me endless love. If I had loved her more, maybe she would have remained safe. Is this how parents feel? My grandmother destroyed her in an instant—shake, shake, gone. No matter how much I have tried to remedy it, my efforts were in vain. My phone rang suddenly, breaking the silence. It was time to take the train back to Xiamen. And this time I made the trip without Piglet. Hurt and feeling misunderstood, I refused to forgive my grandmother.
The train moved forward, while I sat motionless, being taken further and further away from Piglet. The trip remains a blur, but when I arrived in Xiamen, for the first time I wasn’t happy to be home, but instead was missing Shenzhen immensely.
I threw myself into my mom's arms: “Piglet... Piglet...” Mom stroked my cheek, holding me, just like she had on those nights I imagined being with Piglet. This time, her voice was soft as a lullaby.
“She must have gone to be repaired! Next time, she'll come back to you with a completely new look.”
My consciousness gradually blurred, and I began to dream. Piglet returned to my side. My mom told me how sorry she was that she hadn’t paid more attention to Piglet. She told me that she wanted me to have the stuffed animal I truly wanted. I would have told her the truth then. I would have said, “There was no Piglet. I was holding your hand when I fell asleep.”
But maybe the story came to me by way of SpongeBob. I remember watching that show and dreaming about a stuffed animal. So, maybe I watched “SpongePig.” Maybe not. But the scene is quite vivid:
“SpongePig: What do you mean?
Hanna: We used to be happy together, but now we can't coexist. We should part ways, that's life, you know?
SpongePig: But you're my best friend.
Hanna: I know it's hard, facing reality.
SpongePig: Okay.
Hanna: Maybe we'll meet again in the future. Please don't forget me.”
As I have tried to figure out what did and did not happen to Piglet, the memories become more and more confused. I recreate the scene like an emotional detective…is this what it means to grow up? Today, most memorable scene from that time is my grandmother. But now, her actions seem whimsical (not indifferent) and her grin is playful (not confused). She says, “Shake, shake, shake away all worries,” but still, Piglet continues to hover in the air.