Sunshine, Beaches, Waves, and a, Lifeguard Post

The group of men and women, who’d, dedicated their life to, saving the lives of others, watching over, the most popular beaches in the summertime, translated…

In the summertime weekends in Wanli, the tourist, cramped up the beach.

There were the hotties who were, sunbathing on the sand, children who were, digging up the sand to build those, castles; adolescent girls who were, chasing the waves, the teenage boys, who were, chased by, those, waves.  Close by, the parents, telling their young children in the floaters, to not be afraid of the water, those young lovers who’d, stared, lovingly into, one another’s, eyes, some stood on the canoes, trying to, pedal, some working really hard, not to, fall off that, surf, board, some were, enjoying, just, floating on the oceans, away, from the, huge, crowd.

lifeguard, hard at work, in the summertimes…photo from online

Everybody was having a blast, with ease, immersed in this, weekend frenzy, because, other than the sun, the sand, the waves, there’s that, lifeguard, stations.  For twenty years, the volunteers of the “Taipei Eastern Water Safety Commissions” had never been, absent for one day.  From June to September of every year, in the crowded weekends on these beaches, the skilled, experienced volunteers, with that freshness of spirit of being trained as lifeguards, passing the torch, setting up that first line of, defense, in the summertime, beaches.

By the watchtower, there were the stretchers, with the floating boats that is ready for action at any time.  The volunteers who’d watched over the area close to the oceans, the people who were, swimming there, on the higher up of the watchtower, there was a member who’d, used the binoculars to keep an eye on the situations, and the two-man team with the buoys, skimming the coasts.

the rescues…photo from online

The day of keeping watch over the beaches at Wanli had arrived again, the towers got, set up again, the equipment, set up.  The volunteer lifeguards, all ready for actions, the three-month long term, began, with the tourists who’d, loved the oceans, want to enjoy the sun fully, the beaches, the waves too, and, we keep them, safe.

So, these are the men and women, who are, hard at work, watching over the frontlines for the people who go to the beaches in the summertime, and, because the weather it getting hotter, the beaches will become more and more, crowded, and, these men and women’s work are, sacred, because, without them, watching over the beaches, we can’t feel, safe at all.

Finding the Stories in the Boredom

How our lives can be, enriched, in these, tiny little moments, of, boredom that we are living in in our, lives, how no moments is, wasted…translated…

This was, an Invitation I Couldn’t, Turn, Dwon, So I’d, Nodded, and Waited for the Stories, from the Physician’s, Lips……………

I’d been born, a medicine cabinet, since I was very young, I get easily, infected with illnesses, no matter if it’s during the season changes, or that something is, being, passed along, I’d always, “won that jackpot”.  And so, I’d become, a most frequent customer of the hospitals, I’d become, completely, familiar with the hospitals, I can even understand, some of the professional medical, jargons used by the medical professionals, even, blurt out the common acronyms of the various kinds of the medical equipment, and it’d, entertained the physicians who were, treating me.

One time, as a series of checks were being completed, the physician, while waiting for my test results, asked, “had you studied medicine from before?” I’d shaken my head, and wondered, how I could have, misled, him, and in a panic, I’d, shaken my head no, and apologized repeatedly.

The physician smiled, “no need to apologize, you are excellent in describing, I just noted how you’d not used the words that ordinary persons use is all.  Like most people would say, ‘checks’, but you’d, told me exactly the name of the check you received, like C.T., that was why it’d made me wondered, if you’d, studied, medicine too.”

And, at this time, it’d felt, improper to tell him, that I’d been through a ton of illnesses that I’d come to known it all, so I’d, stuttered, “maybe, I’d been sick too many times, being hospitalized too many times I got bored, that I’d heard the doctors and nurses discussing, so I’d, remembered.”

He’d first laughed a bit, then, started, laughing with his mouth wide open, even choked on his own, saliva while laughing, coughed a few times.  And I’d thought, that he was, making fun of how I pretended to be knowledgeable, I’d felt, ashamed to lower my head.

He seemed to note, that I’d, misunderstood, he’d taken a drink of water, to stop his laughter, explained, “I’m sorry, I’m not making fun of you, it’s just, that I saw me as a child in you.”  He’d walked to the door, looked outside, confirmed that the nurses were still, busying, looked at the clock on the wall, and, time of his treatment sessions are, over, so he’d, hung that “Break” sign on the door, walked back toward me slowly.

“Seemed that the report is taking a little longer, I’m off my shift, let’s chat, okay?”, he looked, very, expectant, like there are, a ton of stories he’d wanted to, share with me, just not posted the words, “hear me out” on his face is all.

And how, can I, the only audience, be so cruel, to turn his offer to tell me all his stories, I’d, nodded, and waited for the tales.

illustration from UDN.com

“Thinking back, I too, was ill a lot as a child, back in the times when they’d used the stamps for the treatment sessions, I’d, changed to several new owns, while the other kids were collecting the gaming cards, I’d collected, the fully stamped, health insurance cards”.

As I’d heard him telling me, I’d felt that I could, connect, although everything is now, digitized, but, as my medical records were pulled out, it’d, lasted over hundreds of, pages on end.

“From before, staying in the hospital was a huge bore, no cell phones, no T.V., other than waiting for the medications all day long, it’s waiting for the meals to get, served, and, when I got too bored, I’d had to, find something to do for myself, to keep me, entertained.”

Wow, that’s exactly what happened in the schemata of my life too!  Up to hear, my eyes glowed, and, I’d, looked at him, enthusiastically.

He saw how I got into the tales, he’d gotten, more and more animated, and, started rummaging through his desk drawers, found a notebook that looked, very aged, placed it in my hand.  I’d flipped the few pages into the notebook, I saw the illegible handwriting, the handwriting of a young child in pencil, with the English names of the medications, and what the medications were used to, treat, like a medical record of sorts, but, with the means of, an untrained, professional.

He’d told me, gloating, “while I’d stayed in the hospitals from childhood, I got too bored, looking at the packets of meds one by one, and so, I’d started asking the nurses, what this pill was, what that capsule was, and the nurses got too annoyed, and in the end, she’d, printed out the list of my medications for me, to keep me, quiet.”  He’d pointed at the notebook, continued, “then, I’d, written all the names of the medications, and what tests they did on me, all in this, notebook.  It was out of boredom back then, and I wasn’t really into, medicine, and my mom laughed at me, saying that I’d been quite agile in documenting, asked if I wanted to become, a physician when I grew up.”

As I’d heard, I’d, snuck in a few, laughter too, his mother, is, quite accurate in predicting his, future.

“I think because what my mother told me, I’d started, developing this, interest in medicine, and, accidentally, became, a physician.”  He’d made fun of himself, and how hard it is to get into the medical department, how hard it is, to take the exit exams, all became, like the gentle breezes as he’d, described it.

“Sometimes, we get, too, bored, that’s why we do things that we never imagine that we are, capable, of, but the key here, is to do something when you’re, bored, anything, flipping through the magazines, playing the games, who’s to say, that you won’t, become, a professional gamer some day?  I admire you, for making my work easier, for keeping track of the medical terms you’d heard from before, you are, amazing!”

Seeing how he got really into, reminiscing his childhood, I’d suddenly realized that this whole conversation got started, because we were both, too, bored, so, the next time you stay at the hospitals, don’t treat it like a time of boredom, that you’re, wasting your life in the hospitals, as these times that bored you to the bones, can also, become, moments that inspired you to gain more, wisdoms too.

And so, this is on, how much we are, learning, even WHEN we’re, unaware of that we were, learning.  We come across everything that’s, new to us, and we never, really, take a note of them, and, if we only, pay more attention to these things that seemed, too unimportant in our lives, it may become, something bigger to us in our lives, later, on.

An Elderly Flight Attendant

Differences of how the eastern culture and western culture would, interpret this, minor, “incident”, of the, forgetful, elderly, female, flight, attendant…translated…

The American-European airlines’ demands for the flight attendants aren’t like the Asian ones, needing them to be young and pretty.  Once, a flight attendant, with a coke in one hand, an empty paper cup in the other, weaved around the aisle close to my seat, constantly, mumbling to herself, “who ordered the drinks?” she’d walked a couple of times up and down the aisles, nobody responded to her.  And so, she’d, made fun of herself, “maybe, you are, elderly like me, forgotten what you’d, just ordered, and I’d, forgotten which customer had, asked for the coke”.

what you won’t see, in the, airlines of the eastern, cultures…photo from online

This elderly flight attendant, with her reading glass on the beaded strings before her chest, and her wrinkles told of the rich work experiences she’d had.  Her humor showed how high her emotional quotient was, and, helped to reduce her own upset of not remembering who’d asked for the can of, coke.  Finally, a young lad, took the coke from the woman’s hand, and, nobody knew if he’d been the one who’d, asked for it or not, but everything still, ended well

So this is on the difference of how the American/European workplaces are, friendlier toward the elderly workers, and, had this happened in an eastern airline, then, those in their seats may have already, started, complaining, and, the airline would get a bad review, that, is the difference of respecting those aging workers, between the eastern, and western, cultures, and, don’t forget, that we all, grow, old!

The Zen of Minnie

How this woman’s means of, never needing to compete, never needing that spotlight, made her, so much better adapted, to the pandemic, that’s affecting her, business…translated…

Minnie, of all the hair stylist I’d encountered, was the one who’d held that straight face as always.

Compared to the other hair stylists, trying to please the customers, or are, chatterboxes, she always, steadily and calmly, trim the hair, sometimes, not even a single word of exchange is had, including, “What sort of a trim would you like to give me today”, because we’re all, frequent customers to her, we’d not needed to, describe it to her.  Although she’s called “Minnie”, she does NOT have the childlike, lively, bubbly, personality, what’s in place of that, is the self-confident flair, that’s there, with her, focus, to the point of, Zenlike.

First time I went to her, without the communications of back and forth repeatedly, she’d, knew what I wanted, and, I’d become, her frequently returning, customer.  Later, as I’d gone to her again, there’s that surprise of being, affirmed that came out of her eyes, but not too proud, she’d still, calmly, trimmed me down, and, no need to pretend we’d known one another like best friends, and chit chatted.

I’d enjoyed this mode of, interactions with her, I’d much rather be in silence, instead of being forced to carry a conversation.  Being focused on what you’re doing in the moment is Zen, purely, experiencing the intricacies of, life, there’s Zen in working too.  As we parted ways, she’d always told me, “if you have any more problems, come back to me.”, instead of “see you next time”.

I’d, followed her around the various salons she’d worked in and out of, and I’d, observed how she’d, interacted with others, and wondered, how can a person who’s too set survive in this, everchanging, world?  Before the designated time for work, she’d always, sat and listened to her coworkers in conversation at the counter, and waited for me; as I arrived, she’d, gotten into, work mode, not wasting a single minute.  Unlike how other hair designers had, solicited help from their, assistants, from getting the water for the guests, to the final touches, she’d done herself.  She’d always, listen quietly to the needs of her coworkers, and when she can’t help them, she’d, kept silent, and when she could help them out, she’d stated, “I have it in my car, go and get it.”, she’d not fought for attention, she’s, completely, down-to-earth.

this is what the woman had…a small, hair studio, photo from online

The year that the pandemic started, she’d started her own hair studio, without any advertising, it wasn’t until I saw that she had her own business card, then I’d asked her about it.  That tiny hair studio had everything, but, just like her character, it was, not eye catching at all, hidden in the alleys, to the point of being without a sign.  I’d asked her why she’d, given up the clientele from the salon she worked in from before, that isn’t it tough on her, to have to, reestablish her reputation, again?  She’d responded, that she was only, borrowing the space of the shop, that she’d, worked independently, from her own, clientele, that it was always her dream to have her own tiny salon, and finally, she’s, living that, dream, and she got to work in manicure, that was what she’d, always, wanted to, do.  I’d gazed over at the potted flower from her former place of work as a grand opening gift, and understood, why she’d set up her own salon in the next alley to her former workplace, and, there’s no discomfort of her and her former boss.

That was the Zen that belonged solely to Minnie, the not fighting, uncompetitive means she choose, to work, to live her, life.

As the pandemic hit hard, I’d gone to her for a trim, and asked if her business was affected out of chit-chat, she’d told me, “Yeah, I had all cancellations”, with no facial expressions on her, not an ounce of upset, and worry about her; I’d started, wondering, how to console her, to make her feel, better, and I can only tell her, “it’ll get better next month, I hope.”

And she’d still, carried her usual means, “will it?”, not much else, but I could feel, that she was, smiling, underneath, that, mask she was, wearing.

So, this is how this woman, worked by her own means, started living her dream, and it’s because of her attitude of uncompetitiveness with the rest of the world, just doing her own job, to the best that she knew how, that’s allowed her to be, comfortable, even WHEN the business is down, during the pandemic.

The Healing Salon

This local salon doesn’t just serve the purpose of getting the hairs trimmed, dyed, treated or whatever it has, an alternative purpose, as that place where the weary comes to, get their, needed, rest…translated…

I’d been a customer of this salon for almost two decades, even as I’d moved away for over a decade, I’d still, cross the districts to get here.  The three older women were the partners of this business, washing the hairs, dyeing, perms, trims, they’re all, quick and agile, and the looks are, amazing.  More importantly, they knew how to listen to the customers, to help every guest feel, accepted and understood, to heal us all.

like this, with the professionals, lending that helpful, ear to the, customers…photo from online

A man in his sixties, would come in regularly by the week to get the scalp massages, and he’d gloated on how he’d taken his siblings all around to enjoy the grand gourmet dining, like the seventh Michelin restaurant, or like that hard to book restaurant in Guguan, etc., etc., etc.  And I’d wondered, why he’d not taken his wife and children to dine?  Turned out he was, divorced already, his wife and him fought hard, and she wouldn’t allow him to visit his children.  And, under the influence of their mother, the children started, hating their father too.  Being alone, and depressed, he’d used food to treat the bad moods.  The weekly scalp massages to help him reduce his stresses, in the agile hands of the stylist, it’d, helped him find that outlet for stress, and gloating about the dining experiences he’d never had, it’d made him the envy of everybody who was there, it’d, helped soothed his loneliness, and hurt.

That seventy-six year old elderly woman, from the moment she’d walked in, ranted on with her full volume of voice, about her son and daughter-in-law’s careers, how they were kind, but, in the voice that sounded proud, you can detect the traces of loneliness.  It seemed, that being quite able-bodied, she’d had her nurse’s aide to help her back into her wheelchair again, turned out she had asthma, and is also, immobilized, her son hired her a caretaker, but, due to busying in his own career, failed to visit her regularly, and the elderly was no longer in control of her own life.  For instance, she’d wanted a caramel macchiato at Starbucks, but the store was a bit, far off, and the nurse’s aide was only willing to wheel her downstairs for that medium latte at Seven Eleven; during the pandemic, the nurse’s aide wouldn’t allow her to got to the salons to get her hair washed, and stripped her of the joys of “lecturing” to those who will listen in the shop, and it’d made her, gloomy.

And, there was that bald man who’d worn the toupee half his life, who’d come to get his toupee cleaned up, then, carefully, put it back on his bald head.  The lady who works, only comes at sundown, and her long black, smooth, silky hair was what’s most attractive of her.  The saleslady for the realtor’s office is very articulate, but, couldn’t persuade her own daughter who’d talked back to her a whole lot………….in this salon, everybody got the needed ear, and empathy, as well as a place to pour her/his hearts, out.

and this is how we feel, after the visits to the salons…trimmed to shorter, and simpler, not weighed donw! Photo from online

Then, what is the attraction to me?  Because the stylists are able to, get my hair completely fluffy and full volume, they’d provided that rich stage, to allow me to observe the many facets of life.  I’d told my stylist, in a heartfelt manner, “please, please, don’t retire!”

And so, this is a sort of a therapist’s office this local salon, where everybody goes in, to relax, to pour their hearts out, to find that outlet that they normally can’t get, to dump all their feelings, emotions out, sharing their life experiences with others, and, on top of that, it’s way cheaper than therapy, with the added advantage of getting your hair done, so you can walk out of the shop, with the uplifted moods, and, a clean head of hair, or a perfect new do!

The Mastery of Those Who Work “Behind the Scenes”

These are the, people who make the works that aren’t in the languages we speak, available to us, and they deserve to be, commended, for the amazing works they translate, translated…

It was an afternoon, filled with, magic, it still felt amazing to me.  You may be confused?  Let me pull back the times then.  I kept believing, that language is powerful.  The times I’d read, the scripts were too interesting, but the readers would get, sidetracked, “Who is this translator?  Is it Jing-Tien?  Ruined the joys of reading completely!” most of times, I’d, given up on the book I was reading, soon enough.  Why?  Is it because I can’t understand it?  It took me a long, long time, to finally know, how to describe this, feeling, until once I saw the punishment of a reality show on T.V. from the U.S.: putting everybody’s favorite foods in front of them (for instance, a girl selected burger and fries), and as the participants won, they get to eat, and when they’d lost, they’d had to, put all the food items into the blender, and blended it all together, and drunk the blended down foods up.  And, perhaps, reading the horrifying words of description was, how that’d, felt?  You could’ve mixed the things well, and yet, it’d become, meshed together, into, that huge, mess.  Although these instants come once in a long, long while, but, after a few short encounters, I’d, feared it so.  Being as timid as I, later, as I’d read the translated works—especially those that are, literary—I’d first, checked to see who the translator, is.

What’s interesting was, most of the translators, are those who don’t want to get noted, without the YouTube channels, no Instagram accounts, they don’t even, put their emails in.  Once I’d read a novel, I was so moved, and loved it so, and, I needed to voice my joys of reading that volume somewhere, and found the publisher, left a message on the fans pages, “I want to write a thank you note to the translator, can you help me express my thanks?  I’m truly grateful for you, for publishing such a wonderful, volume!”, then, surely, that was, all, then, my tiny little passion, got, swallowed whole, by the vast, digital, universe.

The second time I’d tried to search for that translator was through the country: as my book sold to Korea, I can’t find who the Korean translator was no matter how I’d searched.  At a chance encounter, I’d met a diplomat of Korea, he’d passionately searched for the name using Korean, and, he’d found the translator for me, I now have a way, to voice out my gratitude.

That day too, one of my favorite translator was in Taiwan, he had a FB page, and I’d, found the courage to ask him, “Can I send you my book for you to sign it?”, he’d told me, “we’re both in Taipei, we can, meet up!”, and just like that, I’d, gotten the face-to-face interactions, with this, man behind the, books.

a master at work! Photo from online

That was a dry and cold winter afternoon, hearing the translator talked of a scene in the novel, suddenly, I was, transported to the heat of summer in midwestern U.S. in the eighties, the image of a grandfather and a grandson, the grandfather with a beer, the grandson, with a coke, sitting side by side, in the heat of the sunset, listening to the radio broadcasting of a baseball game.  This sort of a power to transmit the words is, magical, but the Korean translator told me that a good translator should be behind the, scenes, the best work is the translators’, anonymity.  He’d described himself as a hermit in his invisible, village.  It’s just, that he’d, loved the work that he’d read, and wanted more to gain access to the volume like he had, and he’d gone on the social media, to introduce the book to others.

“Isn’t that good?  Other than the author and editor, who knows the books, better than the, translators?  My Japanese translator, Kozaki is way more active on Twitter than I, I’m truly grateful to her, for publicizing our book.”  But, my mind does NOT work like that as it does online, the writer sighed, “there would be the trolls who called me out for needing to get known, and some believed that I couldn’t translate so well, and checked word-for-word, to see if I’d, overdone it!”

I don’t know how to console him, after all, I’d gotten, criticized like that too (should I be proud that I was!).  I took out a novel with the pages all turned yellow, it was his translations, I’d told him, “look, I’d labeled every sentence you’d translated that I loved, pick one at random, and I’ll tell you why I love it.”  This is my way, of countering the trolls that he’d faced.  There was the light that shone from his eyes then, a bit, surprised, said, that he’d been in the translating business over two decades, and had never encountered a reader like me.  I’m think so too, because, I’d normally, not taken out a book with all the post-it notes on the pages to show it to someone.  All the books I’d read were like diaries, the records of every emotion, my thoughts, and I’d only wanted to share them, with someone who can, understand it.  We’d talked about the days of him being a translator, along with how I got, caught up in the vastness of this world, the sea of, space, we were both surprised, that we’d been connected this much, due to this book.

Working their best, to stay, invisible, for me, the nameless translators, are existing in such an, amazing, way.  Thankful for all the translator, using the words, to create the beauties, the understandings.  Oh, that day, I’d, gone to the publishers to have them express my gratitude to the translator, the translator of that book is the one who’s, sat right in front of me, right now.  My miniscule gratitude, only took, ten short years, to finally, get to, him.

And so, this showed, how deeply someone is, touched by the work that someone else, translated, and, translation is, not easy, because, so many things are getting lost in the translations, and, unless you can get into the mindset of the writer of the book as s/he is, writing it, there would be, the, disparities, which is what makes translation that much more, difficult to do right!

Island Hopping, a Dream, Fulfilled

Something memorable of your, army service, terms…translated…

Over thirty years ago, I’d worked at the military at Magong as a psychological counselor, and needed to administer the questionnaires to the entry level servicemen, to not affect the scheduling, I’d often used the time after supper and before bedtime to administer these questionnaires.  I’d, gone to all the army bases that I can travel to by foot, but, those small islets that are, sporadically located in the midst of the seas, I can’t, get to, without any boats available at night, and, it’d, bothered me continually.

what you were given the oppotunity to do! Photo from online

Before I was discharged, the superior who knew of this regret of mine, wanted me to propose a plan that used island hopping to get to all the places, using the entire afternoon, to transport by boat to the various locations, and if there’s no boats available on the way back, then, to request the locally based military units to give me a lift, to help me fulfill my work, and, it’s, a sort of a, farewell tour of my service term.

I’d immediately drafted up the plans, and started, setting it up.  Of them, the most unique was the one to Hujing, it’s not a most popular tourist sight, but, it had the world renowned aquatic biology, soon as I was done working there, the man who was locally based took me snorkeling.  In the colorful coral world, the countless species of beautiful fishes surrounded us, the anemones like flowers in full bloom, fought for our, attention, and, although I’d gone diving in the Great Barrier Reef after this, it’s not as impressive as this first time was.

The night was filled with stars, the platoon leader who owned a certificate to operate a speed boat drove me back himself.  He’d known the way like the back of his hands, and, could tell which direction to go in the dark of night, and, he’d, allowed that speed boat to bump up and down in the huge waves, it was quite thrilling like the rides in the amusement parks I’d gone on.

Although this island hopping psychological plan was only for a few days, it was the most memorable time in my entire military, career.

So this was something memorable to you, a farewell tour, I suppose, and, you had a great tour guide who’d, shown you around, the local leader of the army camp you went to.

Memories of Mountain View

The simple life of these folks that live in a neighborhood, close to the Silicon Valley, and they’re all, professionals in high-tech, working in schools, as professors and what-nots, and, this is, how the town looks on the “average”, day-to-day, basis…translated…

My youngest daughter followed my son-in-law who works for Yahoo!, moved to Mountain View from San Francisco, which is located southwest of the San Francisco Bay area, the location was originally mostly farmland, after World War II, the district got developed into the major areas of the Silicon Valley, the headquarters of Google, Microsoft Subsidiary are all, located there, those who walked down the streets are either the high-tech employees, the technicians, or the families of these, employees of the high-tech industries.

My daughter lives near to the city hall, the library, the arts center, and there were also, two, small parks.  The park that is right in front of the library would have the scheduled story time for children, a lot of parents would push the strollers to the events, with the snacks packed, found a shaded are, sitting on the blanket they brought, the children and adult would interact, play together.  I who’d flown here from Taipei to help my youngest in her month-long recovery after birth, quickly, immersed into the life of the locals.

what the “small town” looks like…found online

My daughter’s neighbors are all younger generation couples, David and Liz from opposite of the streets, moved back home from Vienna too.  David works in conservation, is an elite in the special research; before Liz was married to him, she is a school instructor, as she became a mother, she’d, left the workforce, and became, a full-time mother.  The four-year-old Carrie is, very intelligent and well-behaved, the two-year-old Harold is still on his mother’s milk, but is quite, articulate, played with his older sister, and is, very, autonomous.

Mr. Clifton on the left, is a business owner, operated and sold his own scientific toys that he’d designed himself; his wife, Nettie works in the Aerospace Research Center, is a rocket scientist.  Their eldest daughter is only three years old, and younger son is three-months, we often saw the dad carried the baby that cried endlessly, trying to calm him down.

On the right, is the professor of Santa Clara University, Louis, young and well-manners, when we see him, he’d greeted us; his beautiful wife, Julia works in Google, in the managerial.  The two bought their home three years back, with an independent suite out back in the backyard, a student studying Stanford is renting the independent space, as a companion for their three-year-old young daughter.

Mr. George who lives at the entrance of the street is an older gent, a C.F.O. of a tech company, hair all gray, easy to talk with.  Just so happened, she was my daughter’s friend’s uncle, because of that, my daughter and her family often got invited over to his home, to pick some apples he had in his, backyard.  Mr. George’s wife is an agile, intelligent, attorney, these past few years, she became very active in the school board meetings, and the city council, and would go for the elected position once every four years, it is truly eye opening, hearing her talk about the meetings, as well as the elections.

Another younger Asian woman, Amy, she also works in Google, she and her American husband bought their brand new home on this street, and, remodeled their homes so beautifully, several times I’d bumped into her with the strollers.  This woman who works in Google is perfectly built, gone to the gym often, perhaps, an excellent student back in the days too.

a residential neighborhood of Mountain View, California, found online

There’s another neighbor, Carol, moved here from Chicago after she was retired.  She’d become quite agile in her garden of homegrown vegetables and fruits, the oranges, the persimmons, the lemon, the pomegranate, were grown and plucked, and she couldn’t consume it all, so she would, give it away to the neighbors to share.  Carol had invited us to her backyard to pick the oranges off the trees, and, it was amazing, and it’d felt blessed, to be able to savor the oranges we plucked off of the fruit trees.

These past two years, due to the pandemic, the neighbors kept to themselves, locked in, the groceries, the daily necessities, most of them ordered from online, with the automatic scooters, with the flags, making the deliveries from home to home, this was, a unique sight to this town.

I’d been blessed to be able to bear witness to the delicate sights of this high-tech delicate small town, and, being immersed with the local’s ways of living here.

So, this, is how the pandemic changes the world, not by that much, it’s just, that we’d, all, reduced our interactions with one another face-to-face, but, other than that, life still, goes, on, and we still work in our, separate realms, just as we had, we just don’t interact with the neighbors face-to-face that much anymore.

Passion Has More to Do with Age Than Time

What made it long lasting, is their love, their, passions for what they do at work…translated…

Toward the right, about three hundred meters on this path that’s right in front of my home, there’s a road that’s in the shape of a “T”, the traffic is awful during the rush hours, it’s a central route in our small, village.  There were the shops that were on this road, the couture, the bakery, the vegetarian restaurant, the items, the paper offerings for the deceased, the wedding invitations, computer/laptop repair, grocery, hardware store, and also, a pediatrician’s office.

Although the couture shop is also a chain breakfast shop, and not on the corner, but it’d done quite, well in business, the traffic comes and goes often, the shop had history to it. Before the breakfast shop, it was a drink shop, before that, a clinic, the physician was an elderly, with a wig.

After it was the drink shop, it’d, stayed, vacant for years, then came this, breakfast shop, to current day.

“This is a breakfast shop owned and operated by a boy and a girl.”  The owners are a married couple.  The husband is brute, straightforward, with the drives, shortsighted, too focused on the fryer, made the errors more easily; the wife is slender, agile and paid attention to details, good memory, straight-faced, clearly, in charge.

“Welcome!”

At the breakfast shop’s grand opening, there were, those who are interested in what the shop offered, other than the married couple, there were also, two student employees, they both looked, green.  The four with eight hands, rummaging arou9nd, not really, effective nor efficient enough.  Thankful the customers were all quite patient, willing to wait for them to get the hang of things.

I was one of the customers, looked a while, and quickly, found an opening in time, and I’d inquired, what’s in the “American Club Combo”?

The student employee, probably never doubted life, turned to ask the man in charge, he was standing in front of the fryer, working on the bacons and the eggs, and, responded, “that…” then, halted, even his hands, stopped working, and those sunny side ups on the fryer looked like they were getting, overcooked.

“What did the customer ask?”, the female owner seemed to have noticed, as she was, assembling the burgers, her voice became high pitched, and, directed the other part-time student employee, “young lady, you need to cut the crusts off the toasts!”

The worker was, timid.

“What was that?”, the owner and his wife inquired in synchrony.  There was that moment, that the air in the shop became, that burning fuse, leading to some, explosion.

“I’m asking for that”, before the student employee responded, I’d started, pointed to the item on the menu, “what’s in the combo?”

This is such a new shop, the customers needed to point to the items on the menus we wanted to, order.

“Thank you for coming by!”

a place like this one! Photo from online

The couple restricted that passionate greeting of theirs, as the customers came in, they’d called, “Welcome”, as the customers went, they’d stated, “thank you, do come back again!”, there’s no change in the greetings, but, you can feel, that zest of energy in their, voices.

Every day, got eaten away, sometimes, it’d gone smoothly, sometimes, it’d become, chaotic, the breakfasts were born, then, died, like the karmic cycles, goes into the stomachs of those who’d ordered them, then came back out.  Several years had gone, their sign started getting dirtied, the back of the chairs, dirtied, the combos had been improved a bit, but the American Club Sandwich Combo had, stayed.  And, there’s no student part-time worker anymore, it’s just, the two of them now.  For a while, the woman’s belly got bigger, and after awhile, her belly, got small. The husband still, very focused in working, not good at multitasking, and would from time to time, make, the wrong change; the woman, while busying, still kept an eye on her husband, to help him watch everything.

Two days ago, I’d gone to get breakfast there, as I’d entered, it’d, felt, weird, as I walked out, weird still, thought about it, oh, the “Welcome” and “Come Back Again” went, “missing.”

I’d looked back at the couple, they were, quite perfect in their pas de deux, inside the counters, quiet, and busy, the breakfasts were born, from both their, hands, they looked, in a wedded, bliss.

where the man works behind…photo from online

The female owner’s stomach, a bit bigger, and they still, looked very, young, but, it’d, grown, older.

This is, a place, a breakfast shop, once, owned, by a boy, and a, girl.

And so, this, is the ins and outs of the world, a microcosm of a world, inside, a breakfast shop, and, this showed, how if you have the passions for something, then, that passion for whatever it is you’re into, will be enough, to drive you onward.  Despite how everything in the shop is growing older, the furniture, no longer, brand new, the signs, lost that illumination, the couple is still, dancing together.

The Death of the Moral Conscience of a Sale Agent

Not the least similar to the play by A. Miller, I’m afraid…translated

Can’t fall asleep easily these past couple of days for some reason, so I turn on the lights, and watching the soaps!  And, after I grew tired of the soaps, then I’d, fallen, asleep.  My cell phone started vibrating, one in the morn, who would that be?  I’ll pick it up then, on the other end came a very low voice, “Ms. Lin, it’s me.  Sorry to call you up so late, the U.S. stock market had dropped to too low, I’d lost too much money in the stock markets, I don’t know what to do?  I can’t sleep…………”, I’d immediately started to get alerted to try and comfort this unknown caller, hung up the phones, and that thought of, why don’t I just, kill myself came surfacing back up again.

When did this thought started implanting in my mind?  Is it because, I feel, sorry for my, customers?  This is way too fake of me, but, it isn’t, that I’m completely, apathetic, some of the clients were mine for thirty three whole years, they’d become, like my old friends.  Then, is it because I love my job so much?  But I know, I’m not at the level of, a work-a-holic.  But, working in a career for a whole of thirty-three-years, there’s that, reason for it?  I’d asked myself, oh, then, it must be, my passion of the, stock markets then!  And yet, my passions got, threatened.

The manager who’d come to work brought along the new ventures, from bonds to connecting the American stocks, the FCB, and the clients jumped ship, especially when the American stocks, can drop from three-digit down to only one, there’d been, a ton of these.  It’s in AMERICAN DOLLARS!  And, every time I’d sold a product, I’d felt, that I may not be, honest anymore.

The first thing in the morn was the 7:35 trends analysis conferences, the roll calls of the salespersons across the island, the sales reports; followed by the brainwashing of the products by the managers, until eight thirty, it still hadn’t, ended yet.  If the products can’t get sold, then, our superiors would threaten to fire us, that if we don’t sell half a million in the time given, we would be put on probation.  And surely enough, the employees started taking money out of their own pockets then, and what’s more, the manager assigned the sales staff to purchase the stocks too.  And, we, as employees would start wondering, “why, as the leader of this, did he NOT purchase the stocks himself?”

being gnawed by her own conscience, whether or not she should sell the product to her clients or not…illustration from online

Recalling back, there was an senior employee who’d come before me told, “we must, follow the trends of the markets, and when the lows hit, we can’t kill off the hens to get the eggs for the sale quotas, we must, protect the investments of our clients, that, is what can help us, have the credentials, as agents”.  And, we’d, surpassed the hardest times, and now, we can’t, feel at ease, in our own, conscience, for advising the clients, to purchase the stocks we know that won’t bring in the money.

And yet, that, is the job of a, salesperson, you must sell, sell, sell, disregard what your better senses tells you, to throw that particular stock that’s, heading downward, we don’t care, because, we only CARE about, that line that keeps on, going up, our sales quota, and that, is how this individual battled, with her/himself, knowing, that s/he is not doing right by her clients, but her/his company, and managers told her/him to, keep pushing that god damn investment product onto the clients to, purchase.