On adopting his own nephews, as a last wish of his brother, and, loving the two lads like they were his, own, and now, the men who are grown, returned the kindness that was shown to them, back…translated…
In the park, a group of elderly are debating, “will the adopted child be fitting enough to care for the parents who adopt them?”, they all had their individual, opinions, and I listened quietly close by. This question is reliant on who you ask, after all, the boundaries are hard to, define.
My fourth youngest brother whom I worked with in my work, had been working too hard too long, and became, ill, and, as the medical professionals called us in, to have us sign his DNR, we knew, that it’ll soon be, over. And, before my fourth youngest brother passed, he’d asked of me, “take care of my two children, please”. Watching my two nephews, crying hard for their dad, I’d, held back my tears and, helped them back on their feet, promised them, “uncle will take good care of you from here on out!”
We have a lot of siblings, and our ages are, very, far, apart, plus my fourth youngest brother married late, by the time my two nephews were born, I was, already in my, golden, years. As the days passed, the two of them became grown up, well-rounded, gentle. The eldest, after he’d finished his studies, he’d entered into employment immediately, and, gave me an envelope of $6,666N.T.s, to wish me well in everything that I did; while before my birthday, the second child who’s still in college, Yu-Cheng, saved up all his wages and allowances, bought me a birthday cake, lit the candles, and the song of “Happy Birthday” came, and the heartwarming sentiments touched to beyond, words.
And what touches me the most, wasn’t how they both gave me the red envelopes for the New Year’s or how they bought me the birthday cakes, but their hearts. The beliefs of karma in Buddhism, from my nephews, I’d understood, that “When you sowed the seeds of kindness, kindness will be returned back to you”, and I’d also, found the, correct answer to, “will the adopted children be kind to those who adopted, them?”
So, this uncle had, raised up his two nephews like they were his own, and, surely, these two young lads felt the kindness from their uncle growing up, which is why, as they’d both become, adults, they’re, both, willing to return the kindness shown to them by their, uncle who’d adopted them, as the man promised his dying brother that he was to, take good care of his, sons.
Retirement is here, now, what do I need to do, to have, the needed fulfillment??? Translated…
I’d received the notice of my retirement in effect now, and yet, my biological clock is not yet, adjusted, I’d waken up in a daze at 6:30 in the morn every day still. Without the ringing from my alarm now, like the old friend whom I’d kept for over thirty years, knowing that you’re, alive and well, but never called again.
After the honeymoon phase of my retirement was over, the tempos of my life started, steadying. I wake in the morn, made my own breakfasts, skimmed through the online news, cleaning the house a bit, heading out to the park to stretch, then, I’d, taken up a foreign language on my own. In the afternoon, I’d read, written, settled down, with the light music in the background, enjoying life in the moment. When early evening arrives, I’d taken that stroll into the setting sun, and enjoyed the beauty of nature’s gifts, and introspected, on my way of self-discovery now. And on the weekends, I’d gone to the religious organizations and volunteered, treating myself kind, loving others too, is the best gift of retirement for my own, self.
things to do after retirement…illustration from UDN.com
Looking at the friends around me who are also, retired, they’re all living in fulfillment, traveling, hiking, or looking after their grandchildren. My classmate, A, after he’d stepped down from his position at work, shaved his head, and he’d looked like the movie star, Bruce Willis. He is well-deserved of the nickname too, to fulfill the dreams of challenging himself, he’d flown overseas to Europe, to the America alone on trips for one, everything from booking the airfares, the hotel stays, he’d done on his own. Seeing how he’d shared the incredible journeys abroad: bungee jumping, parachuting, scuba diving, venturing deep into the forest to visit the tribes, watching the sunset by the cliffs, a ton of activities he did were so, breathtaking, so thrilling, and I can’t help but feel awe of his boldness and daring, nature.
Some friends took courses in community college, to find that interest, sharing the products of what they’d produced, entertaining themselves, and making, new friends. A few of my male classmates started a biker gang, riding from north to south, they’d trekked to the northern coastlines, the southern most beach of Kenting, the way they looked, so full of confidence, straddling on their motorcycles, glowing of the confidence that can only be found with the years they’d experienced.
As I gathered with friends, they’d mentioned, that she saw on FB, that after people retired, they’d traveled all over the places, had a lot of fun, that her life was too ordinary in comparison, that she’d felt, ashamed. Actually, as I just retired, I’d felt, a bit, lost too, tried an assortment of outdoors activities, expanded my new social circle, learned the skills out of my comfort zone, at first, I was full of zest, purchased all the equipment, and yet, all the activities don’t fit my personality, I can’t find anything to enjoy, and in the end, I’d, gotten, defeated.
I’d told my friend, that after retirement, he should follow his own heart, be one’s own master. If he has the dreams, chase them; no plans, then, just work hard, living every day to the fullest. Pursuing of happiness, of health, is actually a very, realistic, goal, do what you’re good at, live life to the way you like it, the ordinary days, will become, fuller and more, colorful for you.
things we can do…travel…photo from online
The paths after retirement, there seemed to be too many choices to select from, the roads that you followed others to go down, may not be fitting for you. At our age, the most important lesson is, looking back to find the mistakes that we’d learned from, having that new thought for the times up ahead, see what’s best fitting to you, defining life based off of your own, self.
Retirement is the point of origin for the self-discoveries, no matter which way you choose, in the end, you will, return back to your, comfort zone. The people with varied personalities have the different choices, there’s no one-size-fit all. The changes of quality of life that comes with retirement, may be colorful like the rainbow, or it may be serene, peaceful like that lake. The rainbow will, eventually, vanish, while the lake will always, reflect the peaceful blue, skies. Don’t be afraid, that life is going to be too boring, using your hearts to pass the days, although you may not have the adventures, you will, shine through, just the, same.
So unfortunately, there’s still, NO one-size-fit-all for what qualifies as a fulfilled life after retirement, because we all have different personality traits, and what works for me, may not, work for you, the important thing is find that hobby, and just, pursue it, whether it be learning new things, reading, or whatever, just find something to do, keep on being, productive that’s the key to stay happy and healthy even after we, retired.
One final, walk through, before we say goodbye to the home we were, raised, in…translated…
That Small Desk, After Wen-Hsiu Left Home for Her Studies, Became a Desk of Her Mother’s Patchwork Craft Table, and that Photo of the Idol, Became Another Witness to Her Daughter’s, Coming of Age, Staying by Mom’s, Side…………
Everything is Stationary, Other than the Memories that Keep on Moving, Forward
The door opens, that familiar feel came, that old couch in the living room, waited, silently, the tea tray had the watercolor that Wen-Hsiu painted in her high school years, her dad once joked, about how real the plate of fruits were, that it’d safe the family the money on purchasing the real fruits, and later, he did, take the painting to get it, framed.
Although it was a joke, but, the painting took her an entire semester to finish, and her father commended her so, it’d certainly, made her feel good, that her hard work had, paid, off.
The time passes in the afternoon, the old house had the, serene feel to it, and, the sound of drilling to fix something in the walls, from the neighbors that came and disturbed the silent, other than that, everything was, stationary, other than the memories, that keeps on, moving onward.
illustration from UDN.com
There’s still the cassette tapes of the famous singers from back when inside the cabinets of the living room, Andy Lau, Jacky Cheung Hok Yau, and the pop group of The Little Tigers………and, on the tiny desk adjacent, there’s the sticker that’s, lost colors on the upper left of the desk that’s stayed with Wen-Hsiu through her test preparation, with her, needing to resist in watching the primetime soaps, that sticker that’s, lost it’s, original, colors.
That was the sticker of the famous idol of her youth, she’d collected a whole bunch of them, and selected the best looking one, stuck it on her desk, felt that she was, watched over by the idol, that it’d, motivated her to study even, harder.
Mom however, disagreed, believed that it would, distract her, and, Wen-Hsiu betted her sectional exam’s placement with her mother on that, and she’d, forgotten what she’d made on that sectional exam, but the idols, changed for sure, it’s just that this very first sticker, stayed on.
At this time, she’d started, laughing at her self, of how fanatic she was once, in chasing after the, stars, but compared to the younger generations right now, she’d paled by, comparison for sure!
The tiny desk, after Wen-Hsiu left home to study, it’d turned into a craft’s table for her mother, and that sticker of the idol became, an alternative form of a witness to her daughter’s coming of age, that continued to stay with her, mother.
Entering into the kitchen, the rack with the dishes originally, is now, vacant, there was the old newspaper that covered up the supper tables, to avoid the dusts, totally her mother’s, style.
Wen-Hsiu glanced at the date on the paper, November 25, 2017. That was the year, after her father had, passed.
Her father originally went in for a minor surgery, and yet, the complications came, within two months’ time, he’d, passed, and the family friends and the relatives told, that that was a blessing her father gave to the families, not wanting to drag his life on, causing panic in his loved one’s, lives.
And that reason seemed to have, turned into, a sort of a console for the loss of the family, what connected them as a family. After her father passed, her older brother and her felt ill-at-ease, leaving her mother to live on her own, in the end, her older brother persuaded her mother, to come and stay with him, while the “home” got turned, back into, a “house”, and only on special occasions, would it offer a space to gather for the whole, family.
The Houses Find Their Owners, Giving Blessing to Those, Inhabitants
The memories stopped right here, Wen-Hsiu looked around the house, the walls with the spots, the traditional lighting, and the gravel stone floors, truly, it is, an old, house, there came a sigh from her heart. Before she’d left, she’d, taken that watercolor of the fruits that’s left on the tea trays, the years came and went, and the fruits lost its radiance from before, but it’d taken Wen-Hsiu into that crystal ball of, memories, she saw not just how focused she was once, and her father’s love for her, along with the times she’d shared with her, families.
“I’d gone back home to check today, it is, truly, old, I’d felt unwilling, when I think about, selling it”, Wen-Hsiu told at the gathering.
“An uninhabited house, the conditions will grow worse, it’s just, taking up the space, and, let’s go take a few pictures of the place before we sell it off,” her older brother said with ease, and he’d inherited that trait from mom, while Wen-Hsiu’s temperament was closer to her father’s, delicate, and more, nostalgic.
“This couple who wanted to purchase is very gentle, with the children in high school, and college, if we hand the house over, the house would be left under proper care,” mom told of her own decision, to allow the deal to go through, not just the offering, but also, the family that will be, inhabiting there, there’s only the precise research into the family’s background done.
Before the New Year’s, Wen-Hsiu took a leave of absence from work, made it back to her old home to buy the sausage, the taste can’t be, duplicated.
On the other hand, she’d wanted to, drive around, to see her home for the last, time, it’s a place she’d, lived in, although, it now has a brand new, owner, but she’d still, hung on to it.
the property is sold…photo from online
She’d made her way into the alley, Wen-Hsiu parked the car, walked close to her home, saw that the original door got switched to a brand new one, with a wooden mailbox hung outside, lifted her head, she saw the orchids in the pots, hanging down, she’d noted how the new owner, took care of her, old, home, and this, wiped all the worries of leaving her home in the hands of ill-fitted.
Aunty Chue who’s ninety years old just made it back from her stroll, she caught Wen-Hsiu, and pulled on her to sit down, and asked her if her families are okay.
Aunty Chue guessed that Wen-Hsiu worries about her home that was why she’d, returned, and talked of how the new owner started, renovating the place, which caused a trend for the entire neighborhood to do the same as well! As they carried on in conversation, she’d also, commended on how amicable the new family is, and told her, that the houses find their owners, and would watch over those who inhabit inside.
Before she’d left, Wen-Hsiu turned around for one last, look, and, she’d felt grateful, for this old house, watching over her for years on end, grateful for its carrying everything that the family weathered through, it is, a good, house, and she’d felt grateful, that the new owners, are taking good care of it……………..on her drive home, she’d started, humming that tune of childhood, “My Sweet Family”.
So, this is, the connections we all have, to that place called, home, and even though, we may not live in that same place we grew up in or we’d felt that strong connection to anymore, but we’re, always going to be, connected to the home we grew up in in one way or another.
The tastes in the memories that we savor, so very, much…translated…
Traveled all over Taiwan, my tiny stomach turned into, a large, beer belly, and I’d become, pickier with food yet, the foods that weren’t made, with care and attention, sliced to nothing, used my saliva, to wash it all, down, like how the memories of taste became, naught.
And yet, this knife, kept the tastes that don’t taste that wonderful, intact for some reasons.
Like in my elementary school years, my grandmother would take me out for breakfasts, and I’d, always had the noodles with milk tea, with the sunny side up smelling, too, oily, along with the burnt-on-the-edges noodles, with the black pepper sauce, drizzled atop, salty, greasy. The milk tea tasted, too, artificially, flavored. But I’d always, down the foods in large, gulps, yum, so very, delicious, when grandma’s buying, everything tasted, amazing! After I was fed, grandma would take me to school, on the back of her scooter, faced to the sun, saw the glow of her dyed hair, stuffed, my heart was, glistening.
In the summers, I’d gone back to my maternal grandmother’s to stay. My maternal grandmother lives in the sunburnt regions of southern Taiwan, and we’d always, taken the early evening strolls to the nearby elementary school. My maternal grandmother had a totally different taste compared to my paternal grandmother, she’d loved the foods in their, original, states, and so, my afternoon tea session had total makeover, from the puff pastries to the hand-squeezed lemon juice, and every time I was done, strolling with grandma by the park, with the sweat rolling off my forehead, my skin glowed red, she would take my hand, too the roadside stand she knew well, to purchase a cup of freshly squeeze lemon, juice. The original lemon juice too sour, caused me to squint, my throat burned, the light taste of plum was mixed in the juice, made the lemon juice gain that extra, taste. As the juice came into my stomach, grandma told the female vendor thanks, took my hand, and we’d, headed back home. Stepped on the glow of the sunset orange, without a word of exchange, as the wind cooled down, my body felt, cooled.
Compared to the organic, high-quality labels, I’d still enjoyed these, less-than-perfect tastes. They’re too greasy, too salty, too sour, and for the picky, they may spit it back out on a first, taste. But I’d still, kept these, tastes in a precious corner of my mind, and taking them out every now and then to lick them down, to chew on, the sweet, the salty, the sour, the bitter, all at once.
The time passes, as I’d chewed, tasted, or, with the experiences of my life, growing, the salty started, taking, over, became the primary tastes. I’d, carefully cut the tastes open, and carefully, tasted, savored the tastes, and, hold the tastes tightly, collected them up, hoping, that one day, when I’d, opened up the taste again, I get to, taste the original taste of the foods, as I’d, remembered, them.
So, this is how these sensory memories that we kept stayed with us, through our lives, and it’s something we will, NEVER experience again, and the only place where these tastes can be found, is in our, memories, because we’re no longer young children, and the world’s, changed completely from when we’d first had that, specific, taste.
With every single part, ready to move on, save for the heart, and you get, STUCK!!! Translated…
Hanging up the Phones, I Was Suddenly Reminded of the North Pole, Thought of
The Ghosts of the Northern Lights in the
Twenty-Four Hour Darkness
Breaking Up was Like Losing that Umbrella, that’s Weathered through the Sun & the Rain
Knew That I’d, Misplaced it at the Fruit Stand, and as
I’d Passed the Stand Again, I’d Not Want to Retrieve it Back
Just Let it Be, Lost, Learned to, Forget
Irresolute———that Elderly Poet
Stated to the Black Bear Up on that Apple Tree
Teach Me How to Have Your Strength
what’s left behind in the breakup, not just the person, but also, both your, hearts too…photo from online
The Means of Not Backing Down, Unafraid, Ungentle and Not Soft———
Oh Blackbear I’d Longed to be Like You
Extending that Pink Tongue Out
Bitten the Sour Apples One by One, Tossing Them All, Away
Learning the Art of Losing &
Forgetting, a Post-Modernism
Sort of Not Persisting
Like How You’d, Erased the Northern Light
Then Erased it with, Chalk
So, this is on, how your heart’s hanging on, but your mind’s ready to, move on but you can’t, because your heart won’t let you move beyond what you’d, lost, because you only THOUGHT you’d, grieved long enough, when in reality, you still, hadn’t, not yet anyways…
The society expects this group of men and women to be supermen and superwomen, but they’re not, they’re only, humans just like you and I, and they DESERVE that job well done commend, which they still, aren’t receiving, because the people take their work as matter-of-fact, the underappreciation of the job of social work, it’s a wonder, the number of personnel in this field is declining, because who wants to work in a job, where there’s a ton of work, and ZERO appreciation? Translated…
It’d moved me, after I’d read the news of how more than three hundred social workers went to the Department of Sanitation & Social Welfares to protest after the news of the young child getting abused to death.
As a caretaker of my own demented mother, I’d bumped into a ton of things I didn’t know whether to laugh or to cry over, like when I’d taken to visit the zoo, I’d gone to restroom, in no more than five short minutes that I was, gone, she had a drumstick, and ice cream in her hands, and, I was more than certain, that she’d cried out to the stranger she was hungry. Although, I’m more than grateful to the fellow visitors to the zoo, but, with diabetes, she needed to be on a restricted, diet.
this is just one of their “job descriptions”…photo from online
One time, my mother complained to the neighbors that she’d gone hungry too many, times, the neighbors kindly reported me to the social services that I’d been, abusing her. First came, the police officers to my home, then the social workers, and, when they’d visited, it was usually during the time when I was bathing my mother, or while I was, preparing her meals, and, bathing and feeding the demented elderly, these are, energy draining things. And I’d felt, upset, because I got interrupted, to the point of feeling that I was being, surveilled, that I wasn’t trusted to give my mother the care she’d, needed, I was, under high levels of, stress.
But after awhile, the social workers still came visiting with great zest, disregarded how I’d treated their visits too coldly. And thinking back, how could the social workers know, the trials of the primary caretakers? Until a social worker recommended I go and take courses on elderly care provision, the elderly demented classes, health seminars, meal plans with the other elderly with dementia in the community……..along with the helpful resources, that was when I’d let my guards down, and feel, that the social workers just wanted to create a safe and amicable environment, to not miss out on any members of the public in need, how much passion must they have, to work like this?
Social workers are like silent warriors, fighting with all they have on the frontlines, and, carried the fragile cases on themselves, plus the families’ refusing to get the help, all of these factors, made the home visits, difficult to happen, while in the actual visits, there would be the onset of what isn’t predicted, hard to use the standard operating procedures to handle. The net of social security needed to be weaved into form thread by thread, really difficult to find that one-does cure all, after all, social workers aren’t gods, they may have the misses too, if we rely solely on the social workers, it would be, delusional.
and, many are, buried in the paperwork too…photo from online
As we hurried to blame the social workers when tragedies happen, it will, put the passions of many hard working social workers out, the incidents of child abuses is eye catching, I’m certain, that nobody will forget, that the cases will continue to affect the society; I hope, that the words that were spoken won’t hurt the compassions of those who are actually, trying to help, to make a difference, because I was once in the dark too, and I’m more than grateful, for the social workers to light that path for me, to watch over my mother and I, as we, keep on, going down this, road.
So, this is how social workers get scapegoated, as the work on the frontlines of these things, but, we don’t realize, that these hard working men and women already got one too many cases that they’re all assigned to, and they’re, only, humans, and CAN’T keep an eye out for everybody, and yet, the society and the people EXPECT that they will, because that’s within their, work responsibilities, and, had this person NOT encountered the hardships of caring for her own demented mother, she would’ve, not gained enough empathy toward the social workers, because she’d been, on the receiving end for the assistance needed.
How your mother used an alternative form of “silent treatment” to deal with you and your siblings, who’d fought…lost in her own, songs…translated…
Watching My Mother Onstage, Focused, I’d Suddenly Felt that She Wasn’t, Just, Performing the Songs, but, a Dream in Melody
She’s a, Star that Got, Held Back by the, Families………….
That Slip of Paper with a Five-Digit Number
The elderly I.D. covers got stuffed, inside were the tiny slips of paper, I’d pulled them out a bit, harder, then, everything came, scattering, loose.
These were slips of paper with five-digit codes, my mother’s song list at the elderly club. The titles of the songs were listed under the digits, slanted, and illegible, all hers, these were records of my mother with the mic in hand, singing the songs.
She’d won quite a few trophies in the competitions. Her voice was nostalgic, it’d reminded me of the old singer, Pai. Once, she wore a silky red gown at the competitions, with the shiny beads and pieces around the collars, that was the dress she’d purchased for my younger sister’s wedding, that she’d only worn on rare occasions, and she’d gotten dressed up that time, and made an, entrance.
That day, she was, perfect in form, don’t know if it was the clothes that’d given her the flair, or because we were all there, cheering her on. She looked focusses, and suddenly, it’d felt like she wasn’t, just singing that song, but a dream of hers, her dreams of stardom was, delayed because of her starting a, family.
illustration from UDN.com
When we were younger, she’d sung us to sleep, other than “The Little Lambs” coming home, were there, others? And, I’d become, uncertain of this, as I’d, watched her performed. Only one, I’m certain, that my mother had sung, since from, before.
Yes, the “Song of Water & Her”.
My mother busied about the house, rarely, restricted us from doing things, and allowed us to act on our personality traits, and so, my mother has no weight in the regular living days. But every time her birthday came around, us sisters became, totally different, we’d, become, more courteous than ever toward one another, and fought to do the household chores, and, talked with her, gently. In that special day of hers, we’d, put her on a, high, pedestal.
The Mess that, NOBODY is Able to, Clean Up
Don’t know if it’s the day being, way too long, or that we’d gone on the wrong scripts. By night, we’d all, shown our true selves then. And my mother, turned back into Cinderella too. And all we’d recalled, was whose turn to do the dishes, and the fires got started, then, spread. We’d, evaded responsibilities then, “I did it this afternoon, your turn for the night.” “I’d helped with cooking, you were playing.” “I’d swept the floors”, “You’d made a mess of the floors!”, “Yeah, right, you’d tattled wrong every time!”, those words turned into, bullets, and we’d, shot them toward one another, then suddenly, found that mom was the only one who got, shot, she’d carried the bowls, the plates, the chopsticks quietly into the kitchen to the sink, that was when, the bullets stopped, flying around.
At that moment of time, I’d longed for time to halt itself, then, rewind backwards. Because what came after that, none of us, could clean.
First, it was the sound of my mother, dropping the bowls, the plates, the chopsticks down into the sink in the kitchen, then the flow of water from the faucets, then, the songs. At first, we’d glanced at one another, “it’s your fault.” “No it’s yours!” “You come up with a solution then!”
With the timid voice, we’d approached mom at the sink, told her, “mom, I’ll do it!”, but nobody can, pry those dishes away from her hands. We can only, stand, dumbfounded to the side, watched her do the dishes one by one, with that especially slow tempo, like she was, making me, suffer. Oh, and there was, something else that’s added to my trials, the song she’d, sung from, before.
The words, started rolling in the sobbing voice, “When will you return to me! Mom! When will you, return to your hometown again……….”, standing close by, I’d felt remorse rising up, and even if we’d apologized profusely, my mother was not going to let us have our ways. And those nights dragged on too long, my mother stayed silent, cried in her quiet. Then day’s worth of good moods, finally, raised its flag in defeat.
the song her mother, sang…
I’m curious of the digits for that song, looking at the slips of paper on the table, the over fifty slips, had been read through by me like I was, reading someone’s, secrets. And yet, the song my mother sung wasn’t there, was it because, she’d no longer, needed the slips, to help her, remember?
And now, my mother returned back home, thankfully, her voice singing her song stayed here…
So, this, is how a woman, keeps her self, SANE, in the grinding down of her life as a housewife, taking care of a house full of rowdy kids, she’d found her song, and, the mother’s ignoring the writer and her siblings was, way harder for her to bear, and the mother still kept on, singing, on…
Keeping that habit to help you get healthier, and it surely, isn’t, easy to, persist in our, exercise routines for sure, but persist we MUST! Translated…
I Had the Thoughts of, Giving Up from Before, but Seeing How My Daughter Shared with Me, Gleefully about What She’d Gained from Running, Truly, it’s Not Hard to Give Up, but Persisting is Awesome, I Shall, Continue to……….
“I’d HATED running the MOST, like a foolish person, just, keep on, running, non-stop………”, this was the comment I’d made toward running from before. I’m sorry, I’ll, take that back now! I’d gone out for my morning jogs for an hour, and, who doesn’t love that need to keep on, moving, on?
The story became, in July, 2023.
Several nights I’d waken up, after I’d fallen asleep, experiencing the, pains in my heart, and thought, that my daughters are still quite young, if something were to, happen to me, it’s best, that I go and get my cardiology, exam. And, just like that, I was, routed, rerouted between the various departments, and, had an all-time record of going to the hospitals four days out of the week. In the end, in the cardiologist’s office, I’d had the diagnosis of mitral insufficiency, arrhythmia from anoxia of my heart muscles.
Every night, I’d, taken out that huge bag of medication, carefully, taken out the worth of meds for the day, “am I, really going to get, kidnapped by the medications from here on out?”, I’d asked my cardiologist, the cardiologists flipped thoroughly through my records that I’d kept of my blood pressures, “of course, if you’re, willing to change your lifestyle, exercise regularly, and change your diet, we can, try and reduce your, medication that way.”
illustration from UDN.com
As I’d, received the go-ahead of meds reduction that day, I’d started, chowing down on the vegetables. Yep, I was, a pure, carnivore, with the greens, missing from my, original, diets, but to get rid of my reliance on the medications, to keep on living, I’d, had to, get really, acquainted with the, veggies.
My husband suggested that I try out the 180 beat-per-minute slow jogging, 180 steps per minute, and selected the videos for me, and I’d, followed the instructions from the coach, and kept with the rhythms, started, jogging, and to help me out, my husband and daughter too, started, the slow-jog plans too.
At the start, after half a day’s worth of jogging, I’d turned my head to the clock, “what, only six minutes?” truly, every second felt like a year……….and the persistent of thirty-minutes per day of this, super slow jogging, and when it was wet and cold, or when I just, couldn’t make another step, I’d wanted to, quit, but seeing how happy my daughter shared with me what she’d gained from the exercises, yeah, it’s easy to, give up, but, persistence is, way much, cooler, I shall, continue then.
In behavioral psychology, it’s said, that a new habit gets formed in twenty-one days, surely, after three short weeks, I got that feel of, the need to, run, that when there’s nothing for me to do, I’d, wanted to, run on. Every morn, I’d gone to the track to run early, a few of my fellow joggers I’d become, acquainted to, we’d said hi with our gazes. As I’d gotten used to the exercises, I’d no longer needed the beats, nor the timer, and when it’d rained, I’d still gone to the gymnasium to do it, I’d run to the point that I’m, smiling now. How, did I go from, I HATE running, to this?
Slowly, under the permissions of my cardiologist, my perfect blood pressure records got me off the medications.
But, there’s, the downside to continue running! “Your waistline’s starting to show……”, my daughter reminded me, “nothing I can do, the shorts are, way too, short now!”, I’d worn my daughter’s P.E. shorts from her elementary school years, because I’d, dropped down a whole size now. The shoes, the shirts, the sports bras, all needed to get, replaced, like I said, there’s, a DOWNSIDE!
a video of this trending form of, exercise, off of YouTube
The WHO recommends that adults work out for twenty-one to forty-five minutes a day, this is the frequency to keep our bodies healthy and fit. The sweat all coming out, and seeing how my muscles are, all working together, it’d felt, amazing, are you, moved yet, start the slow jogs too!
So, this is, the psychological and biological benefits to exercising, because this person had the health conditions, that’s why she’d, changed her living habits, dieting, eating healthy, and keeping up with exercise, and she’d found something she could do for long term, and that’s the key to this, finding something you can do for a long time, that way you don’t get too fatigued that you want to, stop exercising altogether.
Like that song by John Michael Montgomery??? The meanings of the father’s words, that transcended beyond the space and time, that continued to stay in the writer’s, heart, translated…
The very first letter from my father, was during my time in the service when I just got drafted, and in training. There were the restrictions of our holiday leaves of absences back then, the mandatory servicemen in their rookie years, weren’t allowed to leave the base, let alone, heading home to visit the families, my father couldn’t know how I was, faring in the armed services, and had, written many a letters to me to ask.
It was when my mother recently passed away, my older siblings were both working in their jobs, and were married, couldn’t be by my father’s, side. As my father retired, he’d, stayed alone in the old residence, and I can only, imagine how lonely he must’ve, felt, and so, he could only, ease his own, loneliness, by writing to his, youngest, son, me.
and here’s that song, off of YouTube
It was March as I’d, remembered it, my father’s letter told me that the cold days were still on, reminded me to dress warm, to not get a, cold. In the letter, he’d told me, the cold of spring is harsh, with the warmth from the sun, but still cold, the sharp differences of the temperatures in the morning and in the nighttime, although, there’s the sun that comes out, the cold wind still, attacked.
As I received the note, I saw the words he wrote, felt really, close to him then. The training site was on the east side of Hsinchu, the “Guandong Bridge”, and now, it’d become a part of the scientific park in Hsinchu, not to be, sighted, again. There was nothing but vacant field in this location then, and the sun would shine down not everyday, there’s still, the chills, and as I’d read my father’s words, I’d, felt it.
After I’d served my two years’ term, I’d, immediately gone abroad to continue my studies. Lived abroad for a full decade, and, every once in a while, I’d received the handwritten letters from my father, mostly arriving in the blue airmail envelopes, I’d had over hundreds of these. As I’d, moved back to Taiwan, I’d, packed up all these letters to bring them with me, and, every time I’d reread them, it’d, felt, like he was here with me.
My father’s been gone a long, long time, but, when the cold winds of March still came, I’d, recalled the meaning of the “chilly winds of springtime”, and it’d, become, this good companion that’s right beside me, as I’d, remembered my father.
So, this is the love a father has for his own son, no matter how old we get, we are, always our parents’, children, and the letters are not just a form of communication from the father to the son, it’s the man’s way of expressing his love, his care and concerns for his own young.
On truth, on the expressions of our own selves as, artists…translated…
66.
Everyone is an, artist. Some go against the flows, rebelled against their, times, and felt a ton of trials, being born in the era that s/he was, born, in. Some artists are milder tempered, and, compromised themselves with the times that they’d been, born, into.
Or maybe, these two kinds of artists are needed in the world, for the giant wheels of time, are pushed forward by both kinds of artists.
And, some of the creators are old school, trained in the fundamentals first, then, go off on their own to create, while others didn’t have the formal trainings as artists, and they’d still, gone with what moved them, and created, amazing work, and if we can, merge the ways these two different types of artists created, then, we will have, perfect pieces.
67.
Beauty never, lasts, but thankfully, the disgusting don’t last either, beauty and what’s atrocious, they’re all, mirages.
You must learn to understand all of this. The understanding which exceeds the understanding. Only the understandings of these, isn’t, a, mirage.
So, this is, when the bubbles first burst, and we’re, still, in a daze, not wanting to accept the truth yet, but we must, force ourselves to accept the truth, after there’s no more, mirages of things that we want to believe (because they’re lies!), and then, we can, finally, move forward in our own, separate, lives…
JUST the Unwinding of Thoughts 