An Unspoken Love

Love isn’t spoken here, but it surely is, shown!  Translated…

My close friend told me, she’d regretted not having told her father that she loved him, until her father got to the end of his life, on the verge of dying, did she, speak out this “confession” of hers, that’s gotten no replies back.

I do believe, that I’m, blessed.  Every night after work, my eight-year-son would run into me, professed his love to me loudly, “Mom, open your arms, stand steady!”, I’d quickly, dumped my bag, bend at my knees, and caught him, who’d, run into me from over ten meters away, in the speed of a sprint; then, he’d, stayed in my arms, and, told me of the interesting day he’d had at school that day.  Before bedtime, my husband would say goodnight to me the way he’d done, for ten years on end, “Honey, I love you so!”, in my house, love had, opened up this free-flowing two-lane freeway, but, how do I, and my mother, who don’t verbally speak of our love to one another show it?

a mother preparing the foods her loved ones enjoy to show love…NOT my photo.

Every time I’d gone back home to visit, mom would always cook my favorite triangle dumplings I’d loved so much.  Mom would place each and every one of those triangular dumplings into boiling water, waited until they floated back up, the skin became semi-transparent, then, put in the fried onions, chopped celery, and cilantro, and, soon enough, an ordinary but tasty pot of triangular dumpling was served.  Mom used foods, to show how much she loved me.

And, my love for mom was hidden, in the things I’d prepared for her, the sunscreen in the summers, the moisturizers in the winters, along with cosmetic things that makes her feel pretty.  Recently, I’d kept trying to find the cell phone bag that she can carry with her at all times to solve her problems of always searching for her cell phone.  Last week, I’d signed up for my leather course, I’d planned to make a cell phone case for mom, and, the end product made me forget how painful it was, for me, to thread the needles.  And, the instructor told me as a reminder, “You can customize the letters you wanted on your product yourself!”, I’d painted the leather with a layer of water with my paintbrush, then, pressed the metal letter blocks, then, used my hammer, to press them all on, with every letter, I’d read to myself, “L, O, V, E” and “U”, and, I’d, made my own special, one-of-a-kind appreciation for mom using my own unspoken ways.

I’d recalled the poem by June Hong, “Mom”: “Your love is like a full tub of bath water.  Warm, making me float.”  The love I can’t speak aloud, it’s life’s way of proving, that “love is everywhere”!

So, because your family is not so used to saying “I love you” especially in the older generations, they’re NOT used to verbalizing their love for their young, but, they’d, shown it, in making our favorite foods, preparing extra things for when we return home to visit, and, now you’d found your own way, to show your mother that you appreciated and loved her too.

The Princess Syndrome that Has No Cure, on Filial Relations

Being loved, cherished, and well taken care of by her beloved husband, that, is what all of us, women want to have in our separate marriages, translated…

“My mom has a weird illness, I don’t know what to do.”, I’d heard my son talking to his classmates, I was, very, shocked.  “She is, seriously ill, to the point, of not having any cures.”, my son got more and more worked up.  In his classmates’ pressing him for more, he’d stated, “My mother is diagnosed with a serious case of princess syndrome”, I’d chuckled hard, and caused the coffee I was sipping all come out of my mouth.

At age thirty-five, I’d done what my husband asked of me, being pregnant, I’d, given up on my rising career, waved goodbye to the workforce.  Several months later, as an elderly pregnant woman, after three days and three nights of being in labor, because the pain was so unbearable, heaven only knows how many hospital staff members I’d, alerted; my husband was there, right beside me, helping me, there were, multiple scratch marks on his arms too, and, as I’d finally, “unloaded” this heavy “burden” inside of my belly, I’d already, become totally, wiped out, to unconscious.  And, what happened during my delivery, became the most-talked-about-news of that hospital!

man and wife 的圖片結果like this maybe???  Not my photo…

After a week’s worth of hospitalization, my husband filed the paperwork for my discharge, and, drove me back to our apartment.  Without any warnings, he’d, lifted me up in his arms, in one breath, climbed up five flights of stairs, lifted me to our bed.  As I was placed on the bed to rest, I saw how hard my husband was hyperventilating, how his face was turning all red, I’d felt sorry for him.  And, even now, that scene still, stayed in my mind, like it’d, happened, yesterday.

My husband wasn’t the least bit romantic, nor would he say the words so sweet.  But, being thoughtful, whenever I’d, sneezed, he’d immediately, taken me to the doctors.  Every time I’d had a scratch on me, he’d applied the healing ointments on my skin, it’d given me that warmth I’d lacked growing up, without my parents.

In our sixties, we have totally different personalities, one of us very active, the other, very quiet.  In the over twenty years we’d married, it’s like, we’d danced our tango, in the dancefloor called life, danced to our own tempos.

My husband’s carefully looking after me, had all be observed by my son.  He’d once told me playfully, “Mom, dad’s responsible for your princess syndrome”, my good friend once inquired, “Do you regret giving up on your studies and career, and just stayed at home as a full-time housewife and mom?”, I’d thought hard for a bit, just like that saying of “you can’t have it both ways”, in this ordinary family of mine, it surely, is a blessing, that I had, “contracted” the princess syndrome.

someone to grow old with…not my photo.

So, this woman was, truly, very cherished by her husband, he’d taken good care of her, and, gave her all that she’d needed from him, looked after her like she was a daughter to him, and, the woman felt spoiled, and blissful, that her husband had treated her so wonderfully, making up for her not having a father growing up.

A Lone Bird, Taking Flight

From being burned OUT!  Translated…

After the noises, I knew, I will never, return, to those days of quiet, of serenity again, every day, I’d, watched that sky that’s, constantly changing colors, the thunder that, came from, nowhere, the flood that started, out of nowhere, how, do I, get back to the days of the past, when I could, feel at ease and just, study?  How do I, go back to the days, when this trail wasn’t, so well traveled?  Right now, my mind felt, like that old shirt that’s been washed and rewashed, over, and over again, no matter how I’d bleached, there are still, age marks, spots, with the memories of the injuries I’d, sustained in life.

A bird returning to the nest flew by the skies, where, is it, returning to?  Where, can it find a nest so settled and stable?  Can’t remember, how many times the feathers changed, with that expectation, of a, brand new life, living among others, but too shamed, to fight for the food, and the only dignity it had remained, in flying solo amongst the buildings.  If name is a symbol of glory, then, distribution becomes, the biggest sort of insult.  That sort of an awful looks from fighting over the food, don’t know how many fell ill by seeing it every single day.  Just like that bird that cut across the skies, allowing, that shade, to vanish, into the distances.

And, in the depth of the night, came the sounds of flute playing, who is it, that played that song of sorrow of the eras?  Is the person, hiding that scent of sorrow in the notes, passing, to someone who can understand, or, like a nightingale, singing its songs of the night?  The notes seemed to have that ancientness to it, man’s pursuits of thousands of years, will NEVER measure up to the purities of the world, and, how can you, mutilate yourself so?  No longer, flipping at the calendars, no longer, seeking out that longitude/latitude on the maps, where to station oneself, it wouldn’t, make a difference.  Sneaking a peek, at others, everything is, so clear now.

exactly what that felt like…not my photograph…

Some sang high, those who followed along, gathered, only that lone bird, continued, flying, all on its own, it doesn’t call on its kind, so, it can only, flight for the reducing amounts of foods, that branch it’d stood on for day already, rotted out, and can no longer, withstand the weights of all the birds.  It’d, flew onward alone, left ALL the noises from the others behind, continued in flight, and, flying on, and on, and on, even as the moon dimmed out, depending on just the dying light of the stars.  It’d, kept, flying onward, become, this small, black dot in the universe.

So, this, is how the writer feels, getting lost in the daily grind, there’s, that sense of burnout, that sense of I don’t know what I’m doing here, that sense, of feeling tired, fatigued, of the same old routines, day in, and day out, and just like that bird, the narrator will, keep treading on in her/his own life, because that, is what we all do, we, carry on, with our lives!

Give Me a Bouquet of Flowers

Making your own days brighter, spending only a little money to make yourself happy, translated…

On the way home from work, I’d brushed shoulders with thousands of people, and couldn’t help, but feel somewhat, agitated, but, turning the corner, into that florist shop, seeing the wide variety of flowers, waving their arms at me, I was able to, saturate my emotions, even, felt, a bit, glad.

it’s, not for anybody else, but herself, not my photograph…

I’d selected a bundle of my favorite flowers, making the rest of my way home easier, even if I was, cramped inside the MRT trains, there was, a separate world, belonging to, just me there.  And, if there were, a couple of days that I couldn’t make my way to the florist’s, I’d lost that center in my own life, felt, that there’s, NO light in the house, that I’d, not felt safe and secure anymore.  Give me a bouquet of flowers, then, I’m, fully, recharged; a woman with a bouquet of flowers, carries herself, most beautifully in the world.

A child who’d brushed by my side said enviously, “Mommy, look, she has a bouquet of flowers!”, I’d felt, delighted, somewhat, proud, I’d, pulled a rose from my bundle, handed it to that cute child, said, “Now, you have your own flower too!”

So, this, is passing around the happiness you’d found, in your ordinary day-to-day living, because life can become a total DRAG, and, if you don’t find some way, to cheer yourself up like this woman had found the ways to, then, you will always, be carrying that soured face to and from work every single day, from nine to five, or even longer.

making the floral arrangements oneself, photo from online…

Save Some Face, for One’s Daughter-in-Law

If you want to do it, then, don’t complaint, and if you want to complain, then, don’t do it, simple as that!  Translated…

“My bad fortune came in the elderly years, I’m already eighty, and still had to cook for my daughter-in-law!”, Auntie Man started complaining to Auntie Rong again.  Auntie Man’s husband died when she was younger, leaving behind, a pair of young children, and she’d worked as a maid, to raise them up into adulthood years.

Since her son married, Auntie Man started carrying the household chores upon herself, so her son, her daughter-in-law can go to work, and, after her grandchild was born, she’d helped out in raising him up too.  Many years later, she’s still responsible, for cooking for her family of five.  She said, that she was, cooking for the sake of her grandson, because her daughter-in-law wouldn’t set foot into the kitchens.  And, Auntie Man would complain to ALL who will listen to her, and in the end, the words got back to the daughter-in-law’s ears, and, she’d treated her mother-in-law even more coldly, the two of them don’t interact at all.

“So, why don’t you just, stop cooking, and let the family take care of their own meals; if you still want to cook, then, don’t complain.  You must think, of how your daughter-in-law would feel, as she’d heard these gossips about her too, that would, make her lose face, right?  You need to be glad, that you’re still, very able-bodied, how many friends of yours had, passed away and died?  You’re more than blessed, to be able to, take care of your own daily living, you are, very blessed!”

After Auntie Rong got through to her, Auntie Man’s moods finally, lifted up, and no longer complained to the neighbors about, how she was, taking care of all the meals of her family, and, the relationship of her and her daughter-in-law improved as well.

So, in this case, the problem rests in the mother-in-law, she doesn’t want to cook for her entire family, and yet, she still did it, and complained about it, and, her complaints got into her own daughter-in-law’s ears, and that, was why her daughter-in-law got on bad terms with her, but, since the friend/neighbor helped the woman see things a different way, she’d stopped complaining, and, as she’d stopped complaining, her relationship with her daughter-in-law improve, and, what do you think that showed?  Exactly!

I Just Want One Red Bean Pastry

How this love came to be ours…finding each other here, translated…

My son lifted up his head and asked, “Mommy, how did you and dad meet?”, I’m not afraid that this generation of children don’t know what “internet” is, but that they’re, making friends online, and, it’s, not quite easy, to explain this to a ten-year-old.

I sat, in front of the BBS’s black screen, keyed out my very first friend-making letter, the title being, “Seeking a Big Bear”. I’d counted over a dozen replies <RE: Seeking a Big Bear>, all of these “big bears” that replied, what sort of a girl are they, hoping for? Out of my expectations, Big Bear #1 was an older high schoolmate, because of my harmonica playing skills, I’d, sparked his interests; Big Bear #2 was in the physics department in N.T.U., he’d explained the theory of relativity to me in Da-An Forest Park; Big Bear #3, was in the National Developments major of N.T.U., he’d discussed the party politics, and pried on my political tendencies, at the same time, dating all of these men had, made me gain that bitter taste of love.

sharing desserts with her boyfriend…photo from online…

As the writing frenzies lost heat, a little over ten days later, another letter with the subject: “Found Your Bear Yet?”, from P, we’d became penpals for a year, and, decided, that after taking turns, writing out ninety-nine letters to each other, we shall then, meet up.

Being penpals online, saved the waiting period for the mails, we can always share what we’re experiencing in the moments, the ordinariness of life, the books we’d read………sadness, happiness, doubts, unsettlements, we’d told one another, without any reserves, like I’m, talking, to another me. In no more than three months’ time, P wrote that he’d slowly, fallen for me, and I was stuck, in the messiness of my relationship with Mr. Bear #3; P helped me along, this stumbling love, until I’d gone to Mongolia for fifteen days, with the ashes of all of my previous passing love into the desert in Tengri.

“You’ve Got Mail”, with Tom Hanks, and Meg Ryan from back in 1999, had come to life in 2000, with me, playing Meg Ryan’s role. I’d waited anxiously for the blinking notices of new mail on my BBS. On the date we’d made when we started, we’d met up at MRT Guting Station’s fourth exit, and since then, we’d fallen, into love’s “net”.

Every Tuesday, P would come up north, to wait for me to get out of class, the icy cold winds had, made our love feel even warmer, he’d placed my hand inside his pockets, with the freshly baked red bean pastries in it.

Afterwards, we’d always walk together to Longchaun Street, bought a red bean pastry together. I’d told the lady, “I’m sorry, I only want one!”, the woman didn’t press me to buy more, said, “that’s fine, it’ll, last longer!”, and that, was the very first time, I’d heard, that longer-lasting being used to describe the relationship of vendor and customers, it was, very heartwarming. Don’t know if, the love I shared with P had turned into, this long-lasting stream, because of our words of exchange? If you can, spend the rest of your lives, with someone whom you can talk about anything with, after the passions subsided, the love is still based on the firm and stable foundation of friendship, that, is what I believed.

On this night, the moon glowed softly, the four of us strolled along the streets of Xinyi District, as my son’s questions just settled, I’d gazed over to my husband, and, without a thought, he’d replied, “Your mom and I were, penpals!”, and, the sidewalk that’s paved with the broken specks of glass, twinkled on, celebrating this love we’d, come to share!

here’s the red bean pastry that this woman was talking about…photo from online…

So, this, is how you and your husband met, you’d established that connection online, talked about things, and, that would be, a strong basis for your marriage, because the two of you started interacting as friends, and, in order for love to last, you must, establish that sense of connection, before any sort of intimacy can take place, and that, is what had happened here!

Alligator Soup

This, is how this couple related to one another! Translated…

As the alligator soup was served at the banquet, everybody has nothing but good things to say about it, but she’d not taken a bite from the bowl. Because as she arrived, she saw that slaughtered alligator. Back then, she saw the legs, the muzzle getting tied up, its body couldn’t even move, only the eyes still rolled on. It kept looking all around, with that look of fear. She was wondering, how come this place has an alligator? Until the soups were, served. Had she not seen how panicky the alligator looked, she’d probably, savored the soup like everybody else was doing. But she did see, so, she’s not, moving her chopsticks.

Lost her appetite, she can only, go home early. As her husband saw her, he was displeased and inquired “What? Home early, so you can, check on me, is it?”, she’d told him about the alligator.

an alligator being killed to get made into soup, it’s quite cruel, really!  Photo from online…

“If you have suspicions, just say them aloud, don’t make up stories!”

Seeing how that look of distrust came from his gazes, she’d recalled why it was, she’d, arrived early, to the banquet today.

So, there surely, are problems, in this marriage, for starters, the man and the woman are annoying one another, probably on a daily basis, and now, the wife has the opportunity to get away for a short bit, and, she’d come back home early, because she saw something that upsets her, and that upset her husband, because he thought she was, checking up on him, and, in the process, the woman became that alligator that was, served at the banquet, in her state of mind!

and here’s, the finished product…photo from online…