An Old House, a Treasure Map of Memories

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 Sights in My Mind

On how to balance the preservation of these, army retirement villages, but still attracting enough visitors to these places, but not getting too many people, moving in, that they will, DESTROY the subculture, this is, too, difficult to do, to find that, delicate, balance, and so, these army retirement villages are on their ways to becoming, extinct on this, island…translated…

Last year, I’d gone to a exhibition of army retirement village in Beitou, and a lot who’d heard me told, the in-time response was, “there’s an army retirement village in Beitou!”, then, as they’d heard that the name of the village was “Zhong-Hsin New Village”, they’d immediately inquired, “isn’t the Zhong-Xing Village in Nantou?”, I’d started telling them, in the past Beitou was under Yangming Mountain district jurisdiction, there’s the tactic schools, the military hospital here, of course, the army retirement village too!  and yet, the Zhong-Hsin Village isn’t as well set up as the Zhong-Xing Village, with a different plans of the village………but, to tell the truth, the first time I’d heard about this place, growing up in Beitou, was after I’d entered university.

First time I walked in, was right after I’d started getting involved in the research of the White Terror Period.  A lot of people would view the army retirement villages and the justices reforms as opposites of the spectrum (there’s no basis for this), but strangely, it’s not really difficult, to fall in love with the Zhong-Hsin New Village at all—the history here is, way too colorful, the bricks, are full of the historical life from before, like, if I touched the bricks, I get to, time travel back.

a major part of the history of Taiwan, and it looks like it too! Photo from online

Forwarding in time a bit, once, this was a dormitory of the Japanese hospital, the morgue, and a stable, with the changes in time, the switch of governing powers, the village started, building into form, after the medical professionals moved in, the village came to being, the Japanese military hospital became a National Military Hospital, and that’s how this village is set, after the medics support moved in.  At the time, the military still hoped to take China back from the Communists, only treated the village as a temporary, stay, everything is simple, the rooms were separated by the wooden boards, the fences were used to separating the residences, three families moved in; no bathrooms inside the homes, and they go to a public restroom.  And yet, nobody would’ve guessed that the stay would be fore decades, the new residents, the kids started, filling up the village, the spaces became, not enough.  And so, the village expanded outward, the Women’s Union built a neighborhood, and the residents started, rolling up their sleeves, and build more homes too, to expand their old residence…and, at this time, the National Military Hospital next door to the village, started, treating massive numbers of servicemen with PTSD, which was the very first, psychiatric department of the military hospital branches.

Every village who lived here, all had the long trip they’d traveled to get here, and the never-ending sentiments of missing home, of  these, an elderly man’s story touched me the most, on the way to the grocery shop, he was snatched into enlistment, his families originally wanted to get enough money rounded up to get him back, but he’d turned them down, he’d much rather that his family used the money to live off of.  “It’s just for a few years”, he’d console with his, loved ones, and yet, he was gone for, fifty, whole, years.

And came to Taiwan, after moving to Beitou, although, life was stabler than the warzones, it wasn’t, much easier.  The wages for servicemen were not too high, his wife had to make the handicrafts to help them household get by, there’s even, an alternative way to make the cash: selling blood.  The surgeries of the military hospitals needed a lot of blood, 500c.c.s can get the donor $2,000N.T.s, compared to the three-to-five hundred dollars N.T. monthly pay for the servicemen, this is, much, much higher, and, as the families were due for the high costs of things like tuition for school, then, they would sell their blood, to live on easily for a short period of, time.

Thankfully, in the hard days, there are still, the lights: the residents would greet each other using their accents, and, the locals stood with the wash basins, at the public bath, set up the screens for movie showing on the plaza, and around the New Year’s, the families would bring out the foods they were agile in cooking up, and shared it at the gathering at the plaza.

what’s been done, to preserve these, places of history…with the renovations, becoming, historical, sights…photo from online

After the exhibition was set up, I’d taken my friends to check it out, and, introduced the location like I was introducing my friends to my, hometown.  There’s, a steep slope upward to the village, and, this was said to be all the women’s nightmares, and now, as I’d hiked up the slopes with friends to see the exhibitions, we’d both, panted like dogs, sweated like, crazy too.  Thankful, that we all felt it was, more than, worth it, the descendants of these families, shared excitedly the stories of their families pasts; and the friends who worked in the renovating of the old village sighed, “this is, a totally, different, world!”

Truly, so totally, different!  These past few years, I’d not heard the villagers complained, “people don’t know enough about the histories of the army retirement villages enough.”  I’d always, contemplated, why didn’t I become aware of this place sooner?  I’d once heard, that the army retirement villages in order to protect the retired servicemen and their families, they’d cast the outside world, away—after all, in a village where everybody knows everybody well, it’s hard, for the outsiders to get on the inside of things, nor would they have the chance, to know what goes on in here.

But, the Zhong-Hsin New Village, like its, name, maybe, it’s the resolve of how when a location became a center of memories and interactions, the scenes will, eventually, get beyond the fences, to attract more people here!

So, this is on the history of a place, of how this village is set up, of how it’s a sort of a, microcosm of the larger world, how it’d, existed on its own, self-sufficed, without any intrusions from the outside, and this sort of a community is, dying, and we must have enough minds to, preserve these places, but not to, invade the modernity into these places, that are, from a, different era of time, and that’s, the difficulty in preserving these, old military retirement villages.

Authors from a, Different, Plane of, Reality

On how some of the authors, creators of things, asked too much perfection from themselves, as well as others, that’s made those who worked with and for them, have a, really, difficult, time…translated…

Many a year ago, when I’d worked in the publishing company, I had polarized beliefs about the writers.  On the surfaces, I’d treated everybody equally, tried not to have anyone detect that I have the differential, preferences of treatments toward, someone.  But in actually, just like every parent has a favorite, child, I would treat those writers I liked as friends, and, treated the ones that I disliked, as, bad customers.

Some of the writers I disliked were really, awful too, held the perfectionistic standards for everything, from the number of the very first printing, to the type of paper used for their covers, the prestigiousness of the cover designers, the number of their book promotions, where the promotions should be held, to requesting the editors to be available for casual conversations with them, to go to the hot springs for the soaks, to watch their children for them, to how in the middle of the nights, they’d had the spurs of their inspirations, and texted like crazy to discuss what’s in their, thoughts, to the end of having heart to heart.  Although when I get high, I really get, high, but sometimes, it’d felt, a bit, weird.  Especially when that time my cat got sick, I’d, turned down the writer’s offer, he’d told me in his upset, “what does your cat have to offer you, why don’t you come and have a meal with me!”, I’d, imagined his face into a soccer ball instinctively, then, KICKED it all the way, to Uranus.  And, ever since, this had been my escape, and, when this was at its, worse, I’d, kicked all the writers’ heads, into all nine, planets, to how they’re all, afloat in space!

But that’s, only in my, imaginations, reality is too, cramped up.  One time that’s, most memorable, was when I was about to cross to the other side of the roads, I saw a familiar form, coming towards me from the opposite of the street, before my mind sorted through to tell me who that was, my body, instinctively, dodged behind, that pole.  I’d pinched my thighs really hard, hated how despite how long I’d been working, is still have, so much, growing up, to do, and I can, only, recite that chant that turned me, invisible, prayed that I won’t, get, discovered by the person.  I just got off work, and, my social interaction skills had been, drained to, next to, nil, I just wanted to rush home, and, stuff my nose in my, cats.

After these past few years, I’d finally become, charged to full.  Turned back, to see everybody, and, each and every one had something that’s, cute about her/him.  The excellent writers are mostly, really, highly sensitive, with a ton of demands on themselves, and would, be at difficulties with the outside, actually, it is, truly hard for these persons, after all, what accompanied every one of them, is this, enormous self that demands, nothing but, perfection of the, self.

if we can, be like this guy on the desk, whenever we encounter difficult people at work…then, work will be, a JOY! Photo from online

The author of the volume, “The Condition Called ‘Editor-in-Chief’” said that every writer’s emotions, is stuck in between their highest and lowest, constantly, in a love and hate relationship with their, editors.  Even in the latest book I’d recently, finished of the famed producer from Japan, Toshio Suzuki’s “The Thought Processes of Geniuses: Takahata & Miyazaki”, on how he’d collaborated with both directors for thirty years on end, it was shocking to me.  The two director with the outstanding works, had awful personalities, noted for being the WORST customers EVER, and, all of the employees under them either quit, or, were on the verge of melting down at work, and, the emotional blackmail from both came by the meals toward their, employees.

But, even after there’s a huge altercation to the point of engaging one another physically, that would be all right I guess.  I mean, everybody DIES in the end, and, all that will, survive, are the, best of the works, the worst of works, and, the works that are, somewhere, in the, middle.  The writers of great creativity, can keep on being, great, as for their, individually, hard-to-get-along characters, then, we shall, select whom we will, associate with, if we get along, we get, along, and if we don’t, we, don’t.

So, this showed, how flexible these, editors-in-chief have to be, to be able to, work well with those who are, difficult customers, and, everybody has that “difficult customer” mind inside of them to some, extent, it’s  just, that when these, difficult versions of our own selves, come out to play, if we keep them, suppressed, because we have to, deal with the outside world, because we don’t want to appear too difficult in other people’s, minds, and some of us, we show our truest selves, to the outside, and that’s fine as well too!

The Parellel to Our, Silent Treatment

On making an almost-broken (but still salvageable) marriage, work…translated…

The Storms, Raged all the, Way, and, Only From Walking through the Inclement Weather Conditions, will You Understand, Firsthand, WHAT, Goes on in the, Storm, Clouds………………

My husband and I had not talked to one another for as long as SIX whole, months to date.

This time, is totally, different from all the, previous, times, his eyes of staring at nothing, on that, expressionless, face of his.  Don’t know if it’s with the coming of our years, the understanding of how no number of verbal exchanges, the understandings I’d shown to him from my end, he’d still, stayed as he was, unchanged, completely, stubborn.  Understanding one another too much, turned us both, numb in the day-to-day interactions, and so, we’d, slowly, lost that tolerance we used to have for one another, and that became, the sole cause of how our relationship, turned, sour.

illustration from UDN.com

Ten years of marriage, was made up of endless number of moments of good, the bad, the happy, the sorrow, stumbling around, the adverse weathers we’d endured all the way here, can only be known, and understood, by someone who’d, weathered through it, all.

I’m old, I’m, tired, don’t want to fight with this sort of horrible weather conditions any, more.

And so, I’d, booked a fare out of our home, wanted to escape, far as I can get my feet to go, even if it’d meant, that our marriage will, go, bust, I couldn’t care anymore.

I’d decided to take my two children back home for the New Years, as I’d recalled all of those matters that the daughters-in-law needed to do, all of it got turned into, “What’s that got to do with me!”, I’d felt, elated; or maybe, I would bring the kids back, after the New Year’s holidays are, over, it’s just, that this marriage I’d, worked too hard in for a full decade, will have that, cadence, this, year.

And yet, as I’d, pulled out the suitcase, to prepare for the leaving, time seemed to have, halted, and, I fell into, that, parallel, plane.  My kids and I, dragged those luggage, walked, with our heads held high, riding on the southbound trains; but there was, another, me, who’d stayed, because I couldn’t, sever the ties completely with him, still worked as a mother, continued taking my kids to their cram sessions, cooked his meals as his, wife, getting ready for the New Years as a daughter-in-law would, preparing the foods, and the year-end cleaning.

That strong cold front, almost froze up the eve before New Year’s Eve.  After he’d gotten home, assumed I’d, already, left, home, he’d started, turning the kitchen upside down, cleaning everything in it.  He’d, quietly, taken his coat off, rolled up his, sleeves, his rough hand, took the rag I’d, wiped the counter down with, and, kept, rinsing the rag inside that, icy cold, bucket, and, the accumulated dirt and dust, left, as the running water into the bucket became, cleared up.

I’d, felt heartache over him, tossed him a pair of gloves, he’d, quietly, put on those gloves with the residual heat of my hands still in there, and, what came out of his darken pupils, was that softer glow that I’d not seen, a long, long, long time, that took me back, to a home that’s, with, him in it.

The year, finally, came to the end, but I still pondered…….…..the other me, who’d, purchased the train fare, that got on the trains, how is she faring now?  After this huge, almost breaking up in the marriage, certainly, she would’ve, metamorphosed, who must be, living her life, not the same as I am now?

So, this is you, deciding that you wasn’t willing to, throw this marriage that you shared with your husband, away, that the two of you, had fought on hard, over who’s doing what in the home, and, everything that’s, accumulated to this particular point that was, about to, break you, and yet, something in you, made you decided, that you want to, save your, marriage, and so, you’d, gone back home, and, saw your husband, slowly, changing too.

The Man Being Served & Cinderella, on the Changes in a Man

Household chores are, W-H-O-S-E businesses again???  Exactly, now, to do the dishes, vacuum the floors, the laundry too, don’t forget those as well!  How this man went from a KING, to learning and understanding, that he too, is responsible for doing the chores around the house too…translated…

The title here, it’s not how my wife and I differed in the economic levels in our, upbringing, but of the beliefs of cleaning the house: I’m like a man being served hand and foot, while she’d lived on like Cinderella, maybe, it has to do with how we’d been, raised.  From when I was younger, my mother kept the house perfect and orderly, and the edict of “man works out of the house, woman works in” was the rule, and, in my schooling years, I’d been socialized to believe, “everything is unimportant, save for making the higher grades”, so basically, I’m, mentally retarded when it came to the household chores; while my wife, being the eldest daughter, took care of her younger sister, handled all the household chores, plus she has Virgo in one of the positions influencing her, she could not, withstand a speck of, dust around.  Being so, opposite, and yet, we were, met, and got, married.

what he once was…like this…photo from online

With getting involved deeper and deeper, the level of tolerance, declined, finally, it’d turned into, this huge igniting point when we’d, moved in together—I’d often drunk with friends until I’d, blacked, out, tossed my clothes, all over the floors, and, I’d, used my dress shirt for work, to wipe the red wine I’d, spilled, causing me to have nothing to wear the following morn, so I’d, skipped work, and ordered in another shirt from online, while my wife got so crazy because of how I’d, left a huge mess, to the point of her, trailing behind me with that vacuum, sucking up everything behind me.

And, the first year of our, “union”, we’d fought, every single, day, and over ninety-percent of what we’d fought about, WAS on the cleaning up of our shared residence, and what’s weird was, we’d not, broken up, instead, we’d come, all this, way.  Later, she’d, selected to, ignore what she saw, whoever couldn’t stand it, who, cleans it up, mostly, she’d, compromised, and, being unkempt as I, also, started, changing because of, her, I’d started, taking out the garbage, and seeing how it wasn’t easy for her, to hang up the clothes, as petite as she, I’d, added that to my, household chores list, and, our arguments, reduced, by a hell of a, lot.

The moment of awakening came, was after my daughter was, born.  One late night after I’d made it home from my overtime at the office, I’d seen her, completely, wiped out, finished putting our young to sleep, still, dragged her body to do the chores around the, house, and, from that day forward, she only had to, care for our daughter, I’d, shouldered, everything, else, and my mindset switched to, “I’m helping you around the house”, to finally understand, “household chores is the business of EVERYBODY who lives here”, and from my not knowing the skills to tackle the tasks, to nothing can trouble me with the passing of, time.  As my daughter entered into elementary, we’d, taken her along, to do the, chores too, to set up this, correct sort of a, belief, system: that household chores are NOT just mom’s business, but everybody else’s too!

this was what he’d become, after some, “re-education”…this is still NOT, “helping” us out! He’s only doing WHAT he was, supposed to in the first place…photo from online

So, this is how this man got, REFORMED, from seeing how tired and wiped out his own wife was, and he’d been, driven by his own guilt, to start helping out around the house, and, he’d, changed his ways, and, this was, a needed, wakeup call that he’d been given, and he’d become, a perfect (maybe there’s still a long ways to go???), husband, understanding to his own wife, and, when you do the household chores, you’re NOT helping us out, because it’s your home too, and you should put in equal shares of hard work, to keep it, kempt…

Not Retired Yet

Retirement, and working still, but not for the sake of money, but for, interest, as we grow older, the mindset of what drives us to work, changes too…translated…

Read a report of a ninety-three-year-old elderly woman in Japan that won the Guiness World Book of Record’s “Oldest manager of the world”, she still had no plans to retire to date, at the interview, she’d told, “work is what keeps me happy, why would I, retire?”, she’d started, telling the interviewer how the joys she got from working, was what keep her living for all these, years.  Another elderly woman of ninety, had worked for McDonald’s for twenty-three years, never taken a day off, and enjoyed working, she’d made a promise, that she will work until she’s a centurion, then, she would, retire.  In this day and age, it would be, relative easy, for people to live to one hundred, but at the age of a hundred, and still at work, that, is, truly, amazing.

The group of us, former classmates who’d, stepped over the legal age of elderly adults, we all, lived on, leisurely, and, played with the grandchildren every now and then, take the recreational courses at elderly community college, or go out traveling with a group, but there were still a couple who’d, stayed firmly on their, work posts, not talked of, retirement, still wanted to, make their lives count.  Of course, we all had, dreams we had not, chased, yet.

still working after the retirement, but in a more, relaxed, manner…photo from online

Take A for instance, he’d moved to Taoyuan, to be closer to his grandson, and found a part-time job that didn’t take him too much energies, and could pick up his grandchild after school on time, take him to school, and he’d, earned some extra cash to spend too.  B, after retired from the head flight attendant of China Airline, had properties for rent, he could, sit still at home, but loving to move around a lot, he’d, recommended himself as a tour guide with a travel agency to take the tours around the island, and when he wasn’t on tour, he’d gone to the wholesales marts to work the hourly jobs, his life, colorful after the retirement.  C works as a building attendant close to his home, and when he has the leisure time, he’d written, and read, to increase his own knowledge base, most of times, he’d enjoyed chatting with others, to gain the knowledge.  D, with his unique voice, after he’d retired from the post of reporting the news, he’d worked in voice-over.

The group of us, former classmates, had been heading out together for a long, long time on end, and yet, finding a perfect day, when we all can make the time, it’s, truly, quite, difficult, leaving those in charge of setting up the itinerary problems, and, all of us who are retired, can be at the location on the word, but, for those who are still working, they’d had to turn into their shift schedule for the months ahead of times, and then, moving the days of work around, and, it’d become, next to, impossible to find a date, that we’re all, available to gather out.

And, the sponsor of our “program”, couldn’t sit still at all, she’d took care of her own household, and had to, set aside the time to make the schedules of our outings, set up the transportation, and needed to watch out for the dates, that they don’t, coincide with her business trips, and, she’d made fun of herself, that “needing to be perfect on everything, I’d, lost all my hair.”, and, we are all, impressed by her passion, and tried to squeeze out the time to gather as a group, and we’d, cherished the gatherings we shared every single, time.

illustration from UDN.com

The writer, Lee stated, “the gift of an enriching life for the second encore of life, of staying active is the gift of the super elderly society to us.”  Things to do, money to make, life won’t get, too, bored, meaning, that at least, you’re still, able-bodied, and agile enough, or maybe, there are the, aches and pains, but, they don’t, matter.  The talented Tang in the Ming Dynasty stated, “I will NOT die in work, but I will die, in leisure.”  When we were young, we’d worked too hard, and then, retired, and, everyone wants to live on free and happy, would rather, die in doing what we enjoyed, no more following orders.  The third life that’s begun in the elderly years, no longer are we worrying over the money, or maybe, switching to a totally, different, track, we can, expand our, fields of, vision more, no matter what though, happy in work, that’s, the most, important thing.

So, there’s the, end goal of work that’s, different from before, from before, we were all, working too hard, to make the mortgages, car payments, living from day to day, barely making ends, meet, and now, as we retired, we are still working, but, with a much, relaxed heart, because there’s not much of the responsibilities, children we need to raise, families to care for, we can start, living for our own, selves, finally, doing WHAT we enjoy, for the rest of our, years to come!

As We Became Addicted to Gaming

Realizations that they’re getting addicted, and, stopping the addictions before they get any, farther, and now, they’d become, a family of, weekend gamers, and on the weekdays, they are still, focused on work and their schools…translated…

It was, originally, quite simple, our family’s interactions, going with the schedules, our days passed without much trouble, but it’s, a bit, boring.  And one day, due to a chance encounter, the whole family got in touch with the video games, and this, opened our vision to a, brand new, life…………

gaming addiction like this…nothing else is, registering…photo from online

We have a game console at home, pressing the buttons, we get to take control over the actions of our individual characters; the wide varieties of games, every one gave us the intrigues.  Our favorites are the role-playing games, first, we’d selected a role for ourselves individually, then, we’d, started, getting into the levels, with a different challenge in each levels, to pass, we must all, think of ways, to resolve the obstacles we come across, and we’d had to, beat the time, not getting caught by the monsters.  At first, because we weren’t, familiar enough with the operations of the game consoles, we’d, failed a ton of times, but, as we practiced playing the game, we’d, started, advancing.

Because the game is a cooperative effort, we’d taken the roles in the games, based off of our personality traits; I as the protagonist, with the defense state of mind, guarding over everybody; my husband as the main attacker, steadily, won the fights, my son, the second to the main attackers, this needed agility, and quick reaction, time; while my daughter was the general, going straight all the way, never backed, down.

Every evening, after we’d finished our suppers quickly, we’d, immediately, gathered before the T.V., and in the sound of the music, started, gaming, enjoying the fun of working together, to tackle all the obstacles in the games.  Every time we’d beaten the main master of the levels, we’d all, hoorayed.

Since we’d begun gaming, in the spare time, we’d discuss the skills, the techniques to get through the levels, and how to beat the master of the levels, the family is getting along better, and the atmosphere at my houses, more harmonious than, ever, before.  My husband who’s, by-the-book originally, became softer; I, who’d originally gotten too agitated too easily, became more, relaxed; my son who’s, normally too quiet, would not stop talking as we engaged in discussions of the game; my daughter who used to feel defeated too easily, after the training of the gaming, slowly built up her, self-confidence.

While my biggest gain was from the racing games, from before, when I drove, I couldn’t slam on the brakes, push down the gas when I was supposed to, driven the car like it was, an unsteady, boat, with all my passengers, fearing for their, lives, holding tight to the handlebars.  And yet, since I’d started playing the racing games, in my real-time life, I was able to, operate the car smoother now, and switching from gas to brake, brake to gas, like it’d become, second nature to me, such an, unexpected, gain.  I’d, recommend that those of you with troubles driving, to try the racing games on, no need to worry about wrecking your cars, and it will, help you, better your, driving, skills too.

illustration from UDN.com

We’d all lived in the joys of gaming for a couple of, months on end.  I’d found that I’d become, an insomniac, because I’d stayed up to play the games, to pass one more level; and my husband also told me, that when at work, he could hear the tunes from the game, chiming in his, ears too, that it’d made him hard to focus on work; and my son’s homework became, subpar in standards, his grades took that, dive; my daughter started, caring too much about losing, and started throwing her temper tantrums when she didn’t get to place.  Our lives started, derailing, and clearly, we can’t, keep this addiction of ours, going!  My husband and I believe, that playing the games is a great way to relax, but, we must, do the tasks we are supposed to finish up first, then play, and we’d, told our children, that we’re, putting the games on ice for a bit.  And, although my children complained about it, in the end, they’d, accepted that this, was, for the, best.

And our lives, returned back to, normal again, the adults, working hard in the office, the kids, studying hard at school; after the baptism by the games, we’d understood about how too much of a fun thing can be, bad for us, all.  After a family discussion, we’d decided, to amend the times we played, and ever since, on weekdays, we’d worked hard to study, to do the work in our, jobs, and once the weekends come around, we’d, switched back to, gaming mode, going into the gaming world, as, adventurers.

So, this is on how the adults are the ones to first notice how gaming is, affecting the entire family’s schedules, and, thankfully these parents made the adjustments as they realized that they’d become, addicted to gaming, and, then, these parents, changed the rules of only playing the gaming consoles on the weekends, and discussed it with their children, to let them know that this was, for the best, and now, they’d become, a family of, weekend gamers, and still managed their weekday lives as office workers, housewife, and students well.

How I Mentored My Students

Lessons learned, as, a homeroom instructor, from an incident with her/his coworker with a student in the class who was caught cheating…translated…

Reading on the news of the third-year middle school student, stabbing a fellow student to death, I’d empathized on how the homeroom instructor of the student who’d murdered the other student would feel, it’d, made me feel, awful, having worked as a homeroom instructor for a class of boys, what is wrong with our, education?

In my years as a homeroom instructor, the classrooms are run by the means of responsibilities, as we entered into the school to begin working, the school handed the class to you, for three years that followed.  And, the good thing about this, is that for the next three years, you will be connected with every one of the students, know them all well, as their homeroom, and, whenever a student has an issue “go talk to the homeroom instructor”, and, when they didn’t have anything up, they’d tilted their heads into the office, “what you doing, homeroom instructor?”, and, the bad part is, when we’d been assigned the naughty, misbehaving students, who smoked, cheated, gotten into fights, talked back to the school instructors, challenged our authorities, stealing the vehicles outside of the schools, it’d, busied you to the point you can’t even make time for lunch, and you’d, had to, wreck your brains to find ways to resolve these, matters, and, the thought of, quitting surfaces to, mind.

One year, I was in charge of the info-tech department, the student is intelligent, but didn’t want to study hard, always told, “I got no goals in life, but to get the minimum grades of sixty to get by”, at a final exam, a student who’d done well regularly was caught cheating, my colleague who was overseeing the testing process gave him a zero right away, as the student walked out of the class, he’d started cussing back at my coworker.   As my coworker turned the exams into the teacher’s lounge, he’d gotten the student who’d cussed him out into the empty classroom, asked him if he’d admitted to cheating, the student cussed again, then, ran, my coworker blocked him in his way, and slapped him across his face.

As I was called and ran to the class, the student and my coworker were, brawling, I’d called out to my student to stop, attempted to get between them, my coworker got furious, and SHOVED at me, and I was bleeding from the corner of my lips, because he’d, scratched me, but I’d still, tried and protected my student who’d lost control, and was crying and screaming, asked my coworker to calm back down, called out, “you don’t need to have the reputation of losing control and beating the student up”, and then, he’d, stopped.

And the one who’d started it all, was my student who was caught cheating, and cussed my coworker out, I’d, analyzed to him what he’d done wrong, and, consoled with him to admit to it, so he can improve himself for the better, and called up his parents, and told them what had happened.  His father believed, that the son was beaten, received a grade of zero on the exams, that was, punishment enough for his son, that the instructor should not write him up the records.  I’d insisted that the cheating and the physical assault were separately counted.  The parents told me to “eat shit”, but I’d stayed, unwavered.

what the homeroom instructor tried to prevent…photo from online

After the incident, I’d called that student to me often, reminded him, that using his hard work to study, and earning the grades that he had, that’s, what’s, right.  Thankfully, he’d, taken my words, and, he’d not offended again, until he graduated, he successfully got out of high school, and gotten into a two-year-college, continued his studies.

And, ever since, whenever a new class came to me, I’d, set the rules for them straight, written the dos and don’ts into the classroom rules, rewards and punishments are, clear, and I never go easy on those who’d broken the rules of my classrooms.  In the career path of the homeroom instructors, we need to, overcome an assortment of obstacles, to mature, this, incident with my student, beating up my coworker, I suppose, was a, blessing in disguise!

And so, this is how the instructor, also, learns in school, and from this incident, the instructor learned to set up the classroom rules up front, and that, is how learning occurred, through the experiences of life we gained, and we become, wiser than, before.

The Entrance of the MRT, Where Love is, Exchanged

The children’s thoughtfulness is warranted, but, it’s, taken away the man’s joys of, seeing the glow on his daughter’s face, as she saw him there, outside the station, ready to hand off the packed foods to her over the gates…translated…

My daughter started up a yoga studio, and because by the time she finished teaching her courses, it’s usually past ten in the night, for the convenience, she’d started, staying at the breakroom behind her yoga studio, and not come home to bed.  And surely, she’d eaten her meals out too.

Her mother always worried that the foods served out is high in salt, fat, without the freshness of the items prepared, and so, she’d made a pact with our child, that she would cook the dishes weekly, and, had me delivered the foods to her.

the location where this exchange of love took place…photo from online

We live less than a hundred meters from an MRT station, and, my daughter’s studio was, located at the last station of the route, so every Wednesday afternoon, my wife packed the foods she’d made inside the heat-insulated bags, and, when my daughter passes through the station, I’d, handed the foods over the gates to her.

Surely, I’d carried on in conversations with my daughter when I saw her every single time too, and every time, it’s anywhere from five, six minutes to ten minutes of catching up with her, and, the topics were about her attire that day, the students she had, and, she’d given the snacks from her students to me, or that I’d, poured my heart out to her, of how hard a time her mom gave to me.

Normally, the time we met up was at the rush hours, and, there were, many like us, couples, parents and children, and friends who’d exchanged our love through the gates, and, we all looked, happy, at this time, the MRT, it’d gotten, that feel of, bliss to it.

Several years, after I’d aged, because my knees weren’t that agile anymore, and we live on the third floor of an old apartment, climbing up and down became, a bit, harsh; my son saw, and told me that he would deliver the foods, and I’d, turned him down persistently, and he couldn’t understand me, worried, that I’d had to, carry all those boxes of hot foods, up and down the steps, that weren’t, light in weight, what if, I’d, lost my balance, and fallen down?  We’d, almost, had a, fallen out on this.

I’d told my son, I only got to see his older sister once a week, that, it’s, this feel of bliss as a father, to hand off the packed meals to her.  But he still couldn’t, understand my thought, and believed, that my words were, out of, my not having a, better argument for what I was doing.

running to catch the trains, and love was, what’s, there at the station, waiting for the daughter…illustration from online

Later, my son secretly dealt with his older sister, to come home and pick up the packed meals from me, which, ended my, happiness, bonus.  That very first day my daughter came to pick up the boxed meals, I’d felt, loss, and every Wednesday afternoon, I’d, started, missing how we shared the sweet moments, just me and her, at the MRT stations.

Although my daughter made it home, but, rushed off too quickly, and, the feel of, sweetness, just, never was, the same, it’d not, tagged along my daughter, as she’d, come back to the house to pick up the packed, meals.

The sweeter exchanges at the MRT station, only stayed there, wouldn’t get out of the station, it’s just, that, my kids, didn’t know it.

So, this is, how thoughtful the kids are of their parents, thinking that it would be awful, for their father to go all the way, to the MRT station, to climb up and down those, staircases, which wouldn’t be good for the joints, that they’d, made the, alternative arrangements for the daughter to come pick up the meals the mother made and packed for the father to deliver to her, and, this takes away the father’s looking forward to seeing the daughter’s face as she sees him, out of the MRT station, with the packed foods, ready, to hand them off to her.

As the Nephrologist Became a Family of the Patient

When the shoe’s now, on the, other, “foot”, you’d, gained an understanding of what your patients are in need of, and you are going to take what you’d learned as a family of the patient, to help treat your patients, and explain things to their, loved ones…translated…

Back Then, I’d Taken a Team of Medical Professionals, Explained the Conditions to Every Patient Bed-by-Bed, and Yet, at This Moment of Time, I’d, Become the One, Sitting in Company, Listening to the Medical Professionals, Explaining the Things We Need to be Tentative Over in the Hospitalizations

The responsibilities of a medical physician is treating the patients, keep that objectivity, and rationalism.  And if one day, the physicians became the families of the patients, how would the difference of role cause the different understandings of the situations?

Taking Off of the Physician’s Robe, I’m Just, the Family of a Patient

Last month, my mother tripped and started experiencing pains in her right thigh, and every single movement became, too trying for her; and, the condition, “fracture” came to my mind.  Five years ago, she’d fallen, and caused her left femur to fracture, and the symptoms then were exact identical as she is experiencing them right now, thankful, that she had a good surgery, made a complete recovery.  And yet, back then, she was still, quite healthy and agile, and now, it’s, five years later, there are now the huge risks of the surgeries, the anesthesia, a whole lot higher than before, and the rehabilitation after the surgery will surely be more, arduous for her.  Seeing how she’d kept complaining of pains, couldn’t walk right, to the point that it’d caused her to lose her appetite, her quality of life dropped sharply, and I was struggling, that if I’d prescribed her the painkillers, she would still have to face up to the side effects of her being bedridden long time right now.  And, all of these, conflicting ideas stayed in my mind for a couple of minutes, then, I’d, taken her to the E.R.  In the E.R., as the doctor told that her x-ray showed a fracture on her right hip, and, it didn’t matter if I wanted to accept it or not, I can only, quickly, adjust my own mind, and start thinking about how to get my mother better.

While we were waiting for a bed, the patients came in and out, and, that familiar scene took me back to when I was working in the E.R. from before: those with the fevers, the unconscious, seemingly to have had a stroke, the appendicitis with the acute stomach pains, and there were the patients who’d suffered from the burns, those with the gunshot injuries, the assortments of situations, were all around, me then.

In the past, I, in my white robe, demanded that I give the correct diagnoses, the correct meds to treat all of my patients.  But at this very moment in time, I’m a family of a patient, sitting by my mother’s bed, nothing I can do for he, and suddenly, I’d carried, a complete, different, mindset.

Because my mother was slightly feverish as we got her into the E.R., she had to get the cause of her fever confirmed, she was scanned quickly to see if she’d contracted the CoVid virus and for the flu too, then, the possibility of having a urinary duct infection was also checked.  My mother couldn’t go to the restrooms due to her hip fracture, and, there was no way to get enough urine sample for the tests, the doctor suggested that a catheter be used for her.  As I’d heard, immediately, the assortments of complications that comes with having a catheter came to mind, and I’d started, worrying.  But thankfully, after the catheter was placed in, they’d ruled out the possibility of an infection, and, started giving her the fever reducers.  And this coming and going, it’d taken, three whole hours.  As I’d taken off my doctor’s robe, I’d become, a family member of the patient’s, and it’d made me realized, how difficult it was, to wait for the results.

My Elderly Mother Turned the Working Means of the Nursing Staff Upside Down

In this hospital, which I’d worked for forty whole years, the ward and the nurse’s station was still, fresh to me, back then, I’d led my team of medical professional, made the rounds, and explained every patient’s conditions to them, and at this very moment, I’d become, a family of the patient, listening to the medical staff members, explaining the details of hospitalization.  Seeing the anxiousness, and lost in my mother’s eyes, kept trying to pull off the catheter, the drip, other than consoling with her, there’s, that sense of something bad happening too.

And surely enough, due to my mother being elderly, and her being in an unfamiliar environment, she’d started having delusions, staying awake in the middle of the nights, pulling off the needle in her arm, pulling out her catheter repeatedly, she’d even, ripped all of the gauzes covering up all of her surgical wounds, started screaming loudly in the nights, it’d turned the staff of the graveyard shift upside down.  And, it took three young nursing staff members, to deal with my mother who’s elderly, to get her into the treatment room in her bed, settling this.

illustration from UDN.com

the role switch…

The following morn, I saw my mother’s hand in the mittens, and yet, she’d still, attempted to pull out the catheter with her feet, and then, the nurses came and restrained her feet as well.  She’d used a begging tone, pleaded with me to untie her, and yet, no matter how I wasn’t willing that she was suffering, had I been the attending physician, I would’ve made the exact same decisions.  This was a fitting rule, it’s just, that now, I’m the patient’s family, there was, that difference of situation.

During the time of my mother’s stay, I kept apologizing on my mother’s behalf, that she’d burdened everybody.  Thankfully, the stay that followed, wasn’t that hard, the older school mate of mine who treated my mother in surgical means, helped my mother make her full recovery, and, with her primary surgeon’s consent, we’d filed for discharge.  And surely, the rehabilitation after she was out of the hospital is another, major, challenge, but at least, she would be in a familiar environment, and her acute delusions, slowly, fazed, off.

The medical professionals need to uphold the professional attitudes, to make the correct decisions medically, and it’d made people feel that they were, too, cold and aloof.  But, as the medical professionals became the families of the patients, the professionalism is still there, but, there’s, the obstructions of subjectivity that’s there; in a white robe, or out of one, what’s unchanged, perhaps, it’s that, heart of, gentleness.  I expect myself, to be able to empathize more with the worries of the families of the patients, and the patients themselves, as I continued treating my own, patients.

So, being the families of the patients, it’d, helped you gained the understanding of what the patients and their families are in need of when you treat them, and with this experience, you will surely, be more empathetic toward the patients and the families of the patients whom you are, taking care of from now on.