The tiger did not have its stripes since the beginning of time. In fact, its beautiful stripes are, to the tiger, merely a sign of imperfection. Every time it dips its face into the river to get its water, it sees its reflection and is reminded of the mistake of its kind.
A long time ago, God lived much closer to humans and the animals were still granted with the power of language. Animals could speak freely to one another as to humans. During that period lived a young farmer who would plow his rice paddy daily with the help of his water buffalo. Only with the assistance of the large and powerful buffalo could the small farmer ever hope of finishing his work. Every noon when the sun was at its worst, the young farmer would retreat under a tree to eat his lunch. One noon as the buffalo grazed, a ferocious tiger jumped before its path. The buffalo readied itself for attack.
The tiger stopped the water buffalo and spoke, "Listen, I do not come to make enemies. I have eaten for the day. I have a question I have never been able to figure out and I come to ask you that one question." The water buffalo relaxed and listened as the tiger continued. "Water buffalo, you are strong and massive. You easily outweigh the frail human tenfold. Your senses are sharper than his. You work harder and have twice the legs. Why are you his slave? Why do you do his work and obey his commands? Tell me water buffalo. I must know."
No one has ever asked the water buffalo this question before. He took a minute to ponder. He soon replied, "The human feeds me and takes care of me."
"This is true, but you can feed and fend for yourself if you were not so worn out by the labor."
"Even if I want to escape, tiger, I cannot. The human possesses something I do not. With it, he controls me entirely."
"What is it? Tell me, water buffalo," the tiger commanded.
"I do not know. It is called 'wisdom,' but I do not know what it is."
"Where can I get this wisdom? Tell me now, water buffalo," roared the tiger.
"I know nothing of it except that it can make the strong obey the weak. It can make the mighty succumb to the less powerful. If you would like to know, you must ask the human."
"I am already fast and strong. If I were to have this human's wisdom, I would be unbeatable," thought the tiger.
The young farmer soon came back to the field from his lunch. Quickly, the tiger ran to the human and asked, "Human, where is your wisdom? I have heard about the wisdom you possess. Show it to me for I would like some wisdom."
The farmer, alarmed and afraid, quickly replied, "I would like to share my wisdom with you but I do not have it with me. Wait here and I will go home to fetch it." The farmer takes a few steps and turns back. "But wait, I cannot leave you here in case you get hungry and eat my buffalo."
"I will not eat him. I have already eaten, human. Go quickly and bring me your wisdom."
"I cannot trust you, tiger. You are powerful and vicious. If I will share you my wisdom, you must not eat my buffalo."
"I will not eat him. I have already eaten, human. Go quickly and bring me your wisdom."
"I will bring you my wisdom, but you cannot eat my buffalo. You must allow me to tie you to a tree. Then I can trust you and go home to get the wisdom."
Impatient, the tiger quickly agreed. "Tie me up and quickly bring the wisdom to me."
The farmer bounded the tiger tightly with the rope. When the tiger was completely tied to the tree, the farmer went to get some straws and wood and placed them around the tiger.
"What are you doing, human? Quickly, bring me your wisdom."
"But I am showing you my wisdom," replied the farmer as he set fire to the tiger.
The fire burned as the beautiful and haughty tiger roared in pain. The powerful tiger could not break loose the rope tied by the human. He threatened and begged, but the human finished his work and left. Eventually the fire burned through the rope and the tiger broke free and ran into the woods. The marks of the rope had burned into his flesh.
The tiger had seen wisdom and from that wisdom the tiger gained his stripes.
Saturday, February 21, 2009
"Wisdom" or "How the Tiger Got His Stripes"
A common folktale in the Vietnamese community, this story was told to me by my mother a long time ago. I insisted on listening to bedtime stories every night when I was young. Since this was the shortest story my mother knew, it was told every night. At some point in my life, I realized that I knew this story much better than my mother had. It is probably about time I retold it. This tale is often referred to as "How the Tiger Got His Stripes," but my mother called it "Trí Khôn" or "Wisdom."
Wednesday, March 26, 2008
zidane's version
Fanfiction//Football Slash//Zidane and Materazzi//World Cup 2006
My ball would not have been intercepted if not for Materazzi. He stayed close to me, not giving me any movement. Being this uncomfortably close, I could feel the heat of his body against mine.
He grabbed my shirt, holding onto it and me at once. There was no chance I could have made a move with his sweaty paws all over me.
"If you want my jersey so badly, I will give it to you after the match," I mocked. Did he think no one would notice? How could this be a professional footballer?
Furious and frustrated, I stalked away from the cheat. This was my last game before retirement and I was not going to let it be ruined.
"I prefer the whore that is your sister," he shouted after me.
The minute my head slammed into his chest, I knew it was all over. I didn't care. I was not going to tolerate such stupidity and mockery from an amateur.
Materazzi's version.
My ball would not have been intercepted if not for Materazzi. He stayed close to me, not giving me any movement. Being this uncomfortably close, I could feel the heat of his body against mine.
He grabbed my shirt, holding onto it and me at once. There was no chance I could have made a move with his sweaty paws all over me.
"If you want my jersey so badly, I will give it to you after the match," I mocked. Did he think no one would notice? How could this be a professional footballer?
Furious and frustrated, I stalked away from the cheat. This was my last game before retirement and I was not going to let it be ruined.
"I prefer the whore that is your sister," he shouted after me.
The minute my head slammed into his chest, I knew it was all over. I didn't care. I was not going to tolerate such stupidity and mockery from an amateur.
Materazzi's version.
materazzi's realization
Fanfiction//Football Slash//Zidane and Materazzi//World Cup 2006
Knowing that Zidane was the greatest threat on the field, I tried to block his way. My body, sultry from the heat of the players, shielded him and allowed my teammates to securely kick the ball towards the opponent's goal. Lost in my enthusiasm, I found myself tugging at Zidane's shirt. When I came to realize this, I've already lost track of the ball and game itself. Zidane was frustrated, his jaded face scowling as usual.
His serious expression deepened into anger. Not looking me straight in the face, he mumbled in his deep and heavy voice, "If you want my jersey so badly, I will give it to you after the match."
I was taken aback by his aggression. For some reason, the sarcasm in his voice made me angry. As he walked away, I replied to his disheartening statement with one of my own, "I prefer the whore that is your sister."
I didn't mean a bit of what I had said. The words spilled from my mouth. It was a natural reflex, the same way I would kick a ball that comes my way. Zidane must have taken my comment to heart because he quickly devoted his attention to me.
He gathered a great deal of momentum and slammed his head heavily into my chest. I saw it happening in slow motion, but could not stop him. I was on the ground before I knew it, worried and pained. Something had happened and he would hate me for it.
Knowing that Zidane was the greatest threat on the field, I tried to block his way. My body, sultry from the heat of the players, shielded him and allowed my teammates to securely kick the ball towards the opponent's goal. Lost in my enthusiasm, I found myself tugging at Zidane's shirt. When I came to realize this, I've already lost track of the ball and game itself. Zidane was frustrated, his jaded face scowling as usual.
His serious expression deepened into anger. Not looking me straight in the face, he mumbled in his deep and heavy voice, "If you want my jersey so badly, I will give it to you after the match."
I was taken aback by his aggression. For some reason, the sarcasm in his voice made me angry. As he walked away, I replied to his disheartening statement with one of my own, "I prefer the whore that is your sister."
I didn't mean a bit of what I had said. The words spilled from my mouth. It was a natural reflex, the same way I would kick a ball that comes my way. Zidane must have taken my comment to heart because he quickly devoted his attention to me.
He gathered a great deal of momentum and slammed his head heavily into my chest. I saw it happening in slow motion, but could not stop him. I was on the ground before I knew it, worried and pained. Something had happened and he would hate me for it.