Waiting on Someday…

The thing ‘bout that is, someday, it, never comes!!!

Waiting, on someday, and, I’m so excited, over what will happen, someday, I’d, dreamed up this big dream, with EVERYTHING I wanted for myself in life, someday, it’ll, happen, I know it, and all I gotta do, is to, hold on to that false hope a little tighter, and then, voila, that false hope will, eventually, become real (feel free to call ME delusional here!!!).

Waiting, on someday, uh, are you, STUPID or something?  You KNOW that someday doesn’t come, as in E-V-E-R, and yet, you still come outside, wait by the curbside for it, why?  Because you fear, that one the day you’re not there, someday will show???

Waiting, on someday, that’ll NEVER happen, ‘cuz, someday will NEVER be here, and in the end, it’s, all just, this big FAT ugly LIE, that you’d, waited on, and, look at how much time, you’d, already wasted, on that false promise of “Someday”………

 

 

 

 

 

 

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I Don’t Have the Time to Age, the Growth of a Woman

On positive aging, how to age actively, and gracefully, the experience of a woman, translated…

I’d, hired my friends whom I hadn’t seen a long time to teach my students to write, as they saw me, she kept feeding me the juices, “You don’t look a year older than we remembered!”  They’d not seen me older, instead, they’d, given me that boost, and so, I’d, played along, and replied back, “I don’t have the time to age”, and, it’d, become the motto the elderly generations used, to encourage one another.

Anyone would love getting commented on how young one appeared, especially the women, we’d get uncomfortable being referred to as “big sister”, “auntie”, and, knowing how to “take the years off” when you see someone, it’d become, a must-know of interaction.  And yet, not knowing how to use the “language makeup methods”, as I’d received a compliment like that, I’d always said, “Stop it, the age can’t and won’t lie, who doesn’t age!”, without knowing, that the moment that these truths popped out, it’d, caused that awkwardness.

The above scenario kept replaying repeatedly in my life, and I’d thought, “isn’t there a line, that can, please everybody, that will, offer everybody who hears the encouragements one needed?”

In the Olympic in Rio in 2016, the gymnast, Oksana from Uzbekistan had competed for the seventh time, she’d started as a teenager, to now, she’s in her menopause years, she’d lost her flair now, the years found a place to stay on her skins, and her face too, in the group of younger competitors, she’d, seemed, out of place.  The reporters asked why she kept on, competing, she’d only smiled and replied, “My son still hadn’t recovered from his illness yet, how can I grow old now?”  such a classic, her words!  Turned out, that when her son was three, he was diagnosed with leukemia, in order to get the money needed for his treatments, she can only compete and win the medals, to get the money she’d needed, to help her own son recover.

illustration from UDN.com圖/陳佳蕙

Other than feeling moved by her words, I’d felt, “isn’t my beliefs about life exactly like hers too?”  Retirement should NOT be a cadence of life, instead, I can, work on what I loved, writing, to help this garden I’d, started planting, thirty, forty years ago to keep on growing.  And so, I’d, taken along a group of my students, to start working on their skills at home, after a year and a half, they’re finally, soaring high, going toward, that endless sky now; at the same time, I’d also, shouldered up the literature camps that I took on when I was a teacher, spent time to grade their weird and wacky thoughts, to guide the students on the way to writing, I’d, immersed myself in proofreading, revising, not knowing how fast the time passes, and, the days turned into nights, and nights, into the days too quickly for me.

The mindset of Confucius to which he took to doing research had caused him to “forget to eat, to forget about worrying, because he’s enjoying what he was, doing”, I can’t even tell, that I’d, grown old.  From this, you can see, that when you are enjoying what you’re doing, you will, find endless fun, to NOT get bogged down by those miniscule matters, and so, how would I find the time to worry about aging?  In my belief, there’s NO issue of growing older in the bottom half of life, but, whether or not, you’re, willing to, take out all the treasures you’d, already acquired from life.  I hope, that “I don’t have the time to grow older” will become, a brand new door that opens up a whole new world for the elderly out in the world today.

And so, this, is how you can, slow down the effects of the process of aging, by doing what you love, by keeping your minds active, engaged, and, giving back to the community and the world, and find something you enjoy doing, and just, do it, live every day actively, to its, fullest potentials, that, is how you will, stay young forever!

Wash Board, Thoughts of a Daughter

Memories she carried, of her mother, translated…

That dark brown wooden washboard, because of its, long-term being exposed in high moisture, it’d become, cracked at the bottom, moldy.  While the wavy of the surfaces, still, breathed, but barely, begging for that special corner inside the bathrooms.

The mot relaxing time of my high school boarding career was, after the nightly self-study sessions, everybody hollered out at one another, then, we’d, carried the washboards, the wash basins, to the laundry room to clean.  The wash basins were set up in a row, and, we’d become, like a group of young laundry ladies, connecting with each other, comparing the brands of soaps we were using, we all had separate tricks up our sleeves, and carried our separate preferences of soaps that we used.  The classmates who were most environmentally friendly hollered, “All-Natural is for the Best!”, the brown Crystal Soap became the champions, and on the weekends, we’d all, rushed to the wholesales mart at the back of the school to stock up.

and here’s a photo of what the writer was describing here…

The four years I’d gone up north to study, there were, the self-service washing machines at every floor, and I was still used to, doing my laundry by hand daily.  My roommates started wondering why I’d, saved those ten measly dollars.  And, the memories floated back into my mind on those nights—my mother had, always rushed us to go take our baths, and get our dirty laundry to her, so she could, clean up all of our dirty clothes sooner, and be finished with her household labors.  In the bathrooms with the small blue tiles, allowing the faucet to run, to wash out the dirtied water from the round wash basin.  My mother, curled up her back, “Scrub-a-dub-dub……splish-splash!”, giving off that rhythmic tone to the act of doing the laundry, while I stood, outside the bathroom doors, carried on in conversation, with her back to me.

And I’d gone home every now and then, I’d gone out to stroll early in the morn, there were, the elderly women who’d, carried out a huge bucket of clothes, cleaning it by the river, and there were those, who’d, brought along, a wooden bat, beating the clothes, and in each and every move, ridding all the dirt, the stains, from the clothes.  Other than standing by the riverside watching, it’d become, enigmatic to me: at this day and age, doesn’t every household have a washing machine already?

I’d, inherited my tall frame from my father, but my arms and legs, they were, shortened, out of proportion with my body.  I’d always been, envious of my classmates, with the longer fingers, in the music classes, I’d watched their fingers, danced like butterflies, on the recorders, but my mother always laughed and told me, “Don’t worry, you will be blessed later on in life!  Unlike how I had to, work out in the heated sun, in those fields, you will be, a pencil pusher later on in life, in an air-conditioned office………”

And, my mother’s words actually worked.

illustration from the papers online…圖/蛋妹

I am, holding on to the chalks, red, blue, yellow, and white.  My shortened fingers, couldn’t play the keys of a piano, but, I’d, had the blessings.  And, as I became a mother, I’d, become tried by the household chores, I’d, looked close, at patted my own hands, the folds of my knuckles fiercely, refused that wedding band from when I was just wed to tie them up.

As I’d told my mother about how good the washing machines are, that she’d needed to, catch up to the times, and, I’d, consoled with her to use the time she could save from doing the laundry by hand, to spend more time with her grandchildren, and in truth, I’d, felt bad over how she’d had to, bend over, and freezing her hand up, in the dead of winter.  And, perhaps, she’d gotten tired of me nagging her, she’d replied once, “What would you know!  Doing laundry like this, it makes me feel, more alive!”, and, if she wasn’t willing to get back up from squatting on the bathroom floors, then, I shall, sit in a stool next to her, hear the faucet tell their secrets of the running water to her.  Seeing how my mother’s hands had, scrubbed-a-dubbed for over half a century, comparing to my own hands, I got, nothing to complain about!

That wash board that lay slanted against my bathroom walls was my dowry, and, it’d been, twelve whole years, there was, nothing I kept, to remind me of my own mother, save for this, piece of, rotten, moldy wash board.

And so, the reason why you would, keep something that’s, so out-of-date, so obsolete around, is because of how it’d, reminded you of your own mother, and, that board had, weathered through its, share of life, just like how your mother had, cleaned your and your family members’ clothes by her two bare hands too.

 

 

Considerations, a Poem

Found off of a carton of a drink I have here, translated, by me…

What Nostalgia Means, is This:

From the Fields, the Teas Grew,

Plucking that Perfect Leaf,

Placing it into the Pot,

查看來源圖片like, this???  illustration from online

And Then, Slowly, with You

I’d, Roasted Out Those, Sweetest, & Most

Secretive Things We will, Ever Come, to Share

And so, this, is

And so, the thought of, that certain someone, is what gets you going, isn’t it?  And, it surely, IS nice, to have someone who can, put a smile on your faces, when you think about her/him.

 

 

 

 

 

The Words Bloomed, So Sweetly

The art, of communicating, with each other, to avoid an altercation, translated…

Back when we were younger, we’d, deemed ourselves brave, when we spoken aloud our feelings; then we’d, come to discover, that holding back what we actually want to say is, an act of “maturity”; and now, it becomes, “wisdom”, knowing what to say, when to say, and how to say.

My husband works across the striats, we are a little bit better than the star-crossed deity lovers, we get to meet up once a little bit more than a month.  As my husband who’d not seen me for a while, when he saw me, he’d opened up, “How long has it been, since you stood on a scale?  You………gained, a lot of weight!”

like this???查看來源圖片with everything becoming, a HUGE mess, picture found online

I’d continued the household chores, with the air around us, freezing solid, then, I’d, put what I was sorting through down, stead, “I think I’m, becoming, more and more mature, I’d learned, NOT to blurt out certain things that I want o say.”

My husband looked at me, confused.

I’d continued, “Did you not say that I’d, gained weight?”

He’d, nodded.

I’d told him, “I’d, stopped myself from telling you: ‘didn’t your hair get whiter, did you not become, balder, with more wrinkles, and that pot belly too?  I’d held all of that, in.”

He’d become, stumped for a bit, “Haha………thanks, hon, for holding it all in, and not saying all of that to me!”

查看來源圖片where do you think this is headed, huh???  Photo from online

That’s, the interesting about words, love?  Or damage?  Both, comes from the expressions.  Perhaps, by burying those words we wanted to scream out at one another, and then, speaking them aloud, when the timing becomes better, there would be, a sweetened flower that bloomed, from them.

illustration from the papers online圖/朱靜容

And so, this, is the way you’d, learned to get along with one another, and this still didn’t come overnight, because, it takes, a VERY long time, to finally, get used to how each other worked, and, knowing what can make each other crack, which buttons you should, and/or shouldn’t push, in your loved ones, it’s something that takes, a lot of time to finally understand about one another.

Another Kind of Nostalgia

The legacy of love here, translated…

In the hospital, my eldest brother handed me a bag of butterfly pea, “Perhaps, this, is, the very last pack of butterfly peas that mom can ever give you now.”

Last year, my eldest brother started planting a few branches of butterfly peas, or maybe, it was how the sun always hangs high up in the skies in the south, in just a few short months, the vines from the plant had, climbed all over the arch, and in the morning, there were, those, blue flowers, it was, a sort of an extraordinary kind of beauty, the blue flowers.  I’d started, following the trends, and made the teas from the butterfly peas too, although it didn’t have any special tastes, but, that blue that started dispersing in the water was, too beautiful to resist; and maybe, it’s, how tasteless the teas are, that it’d, added to my own serenity, and the colors that changed the water, made me realized, how nothing is, ever the same in life.  In the afternoons, no matter if I was in the midst of the chaos of my workspace, or if it was from the solitary moments I’d stolen away, there was, always, that scent of calm, that was, instilled, into my chaotic life.

In the winters and the summers, I got more time to spend back at home, early one morn, my mother and I sat, and watched the beautiful flowers, and I’d, mentioned to her, how much, I loved the plant, “How come you didn’t tell me earlier?” she’d asked.

Then, the trips I’d made back home, my eldest brother would always, hand me the dried up bags of flowers for me, to take back to Taipei.  “This was hand-picked by mom, and sundried by her too”, he’d always, added.

what the flowers look like, photo from online查看來源圖片

Another morning, I’d tilted my head outside, saw my mother, with her hunch, bent, slowly, picking down the flowers, and, if she’d, accidentally, dropped them, she’d, had an even harder time, bending toward the ground, to pick them back up.  I went downstairs, to help my mother get a container for the flowers, she’d placed the flowers she’d picked into the corner of the bamboo basket, and there were, a few piles there already.

“This wasn’t from the same days, the farthest pile, after today, I can, bag it up, for you, to take back to Taipei………”, she’d pointed to the flowers that had become, withered away, and reminded me, that the more dried they were, the less easy mold would grow on them.  Seeing my mother’s face, I saw how blessed I was, and hoped, that this bliss can last, forever.

That day as I got the news of my mother being sent to the E.R. for hospitalization, I’d, rushed home overnight, and everything on the outside, flashed quickly by, and by the time I’d arrived in the hospital, it was already, in the depth of the night, my eldest brother told me, that my mother’s second stroke may impact her physical ability, as well as her language too.

The following day as I fed my mother the meals, she’d, pushed my hand away, wanted to use her own hand to get the food, but she’d, failed time and time again, I’d whispers light into her years, “Allow your son, to take care of you now.”  That was when she’d, finally, opened up her mouth to eat.  Both our lips were, trembling, it’s just, that the tears had, flowed from my eyes, while my mother, she couldn’t, even find it in her, to cry anymore………

illustration from UDN.com圖/老川

My eldest brother hurried me back to Taipei, to take care of work first, that he shall, handle everything regarding our mother.  Before I headed back home, my eldest brother handed me a bag of dried butterfly pea.

“This is probably, the very final bag that mom can ever, give to you.”, he’d told me.

I’d taken that bag, felt a ton of emotions, rumbling inside of me, I hoped, that my mother could, pick a few more flowers, so I can, continue to feel cherished by her still.

After my return home, I’d, placed this bag of flower on the tables, there was, that scent of the sun, also, the love of my mother that’s, steady, and persistent, it’s also, a sort of, a forever kind of, nostalgia I felt toward her.

I’d wanted to, dry it even more.

And so, this last bag of dried flower, may well be, the thingi that this man’s mother left behind for him, and, this just showed, how much care this mother took, to take care of her children, just like how she’d, tended to the flowers in the garden too.

Eternal

From a blog in Chinese I’m subscribed to, on embracing the uncertainties of one’s own, future, translated by me…

I had, sent in my resignation, and, there weren’t, that many coworkers who’d, told me not to go, because my leaving work, is a blessed thing, so, there wasn’t, any awkwardness at all.  The company quickly, started looking for someone, to fill my position, and, there wasn’t, that scent of “don’t go” from my coworkers either, and yet, I was, filled with, a mixture of, emotions.  But as I later thought back on this, it seemed, that I can, smile on the matter now, that I can finally, ditch this place I wanted to, leave behind now.  Was I, replaced?  This wasn’t a job that would last forever, so, why was I, afraid to, lose it?

Awhile ago, I was, just telling a client, that the reason you stay at a job is for your sake, not anybody else’s.  All the perks, all the personnel, all of the entanglements of one’s emotions, unnecessary.  If you loved this place, you will, surely, find a way, to stay.  But, I’m, going now, because this place is, how it used to be, the way I’d, loved it, nor did it, need to, keep itself, as the way, I’d, loved it as.

Everybody moves on.  There were, moments of glory, but the happier times, had come, to pass already, and, it’s time, that we parted ways, it’s time, that I grow in a different direction.

After I’d finished that last episode of the Japanese soap, “Hooray for Cuteness!”, the main character worked toward the goals, of returning to the department of arts and culture, and now, the time had finally come, there’s, no reason why he shouldn’t, grab a hold onto it.  The cowrokers needed one another’s emotional supports, and we would all, come across these moments when, decisions must be made.  And, if the timing is right, you’d put your futures in jeopardy if you don’t take it.  But if it weren’t for the main character’s coworkers supporting her decision emotionally, there wouldn’t be, a happy ending to the story.

So, what’s, keeping us in our workplaces?  The coworkers who are now, our friends?  Or, the strengths we’d, accumulated on our own?  It’s different for everybody. 

We all age, so do the machines, and that sense of liking, grows old too, and, I believe, that eternity is finding that liking that never grows old, that never makes you tired of doing it.

Do give me the blessings, as I’m, about to, face my forever now!

So, this woman is facing the unknowns of her future, and even though she isn’t quite sure what’s to happen next, she’d, taken the very first step, to embrace her own future, wherever it may lead her, and that takes bravery.