Mr. Fried Shrimp Seals on Hide-and-Seek

Stepping out of one’s own comfort zones, you might discover something about yourselves, translated…

From when I was younger, I’d loved playing hide-and-seek, I’d especially enjoyed hiding in that spot but not get found by those who’d passed me by, with that mixture of sense of achievement of not being caught, and with the sense of lost, of not being found. The hiding place for me was, the weirder, the better.

White is my protective color, and so, I’d hidden in cream and butter the most, but because I got so good at hiding, every time I’d played the games, I’d needed to, wait a very long time to get found, and so, I’d stopped, hiding out in the pile of butter.

like this???  查看來源圖片image from online…

Recently, because I wore my knitted orange striped socks, I was mistaken for fried shrimp, and started getting out of the comfort zone of white, and attempted to mask myself as a burger with fried shrimp.

At first, that was quite exciting, after all, it was, a semi-open hiding space, and it’d worked out quite well too, half of the people just thought that I was drizzled in white sauce, which allowed me a better angle, to observe everybody’s expressions, so very interesting.

I blame myself for getting comfortable, hiding in white from before.

This is on the importance of stepping out of our comfort zones, yeah, it would feel a bit dangerous, sure, but, if we don’t venture out of those zones of comfort we are staying in, how the HECK can we know what sort of wonderful things await us out there?






Forgotten, in Three

How goodbye, gets, “finalized”, bit by bit, and eventually, you will, let go! Translated…


Like a Fallen Teardrop

Wandering Between the Distance of Longings

查看來源圖片like this???  Photo found online…


Being Used to the Pains

Counting Down the Moments I’d Missed You on the Path Toward Goodbye


All that’s Left, is the Shadows of Your Nonexistence

Pretending to be Loud

or this???查看來源圖片photo also found online…

And so, despite how much you don’t want it to end, it still had, because, it just, wasn’t mean to be, and now, you just, have to wait for your hearts to know that too, so you can, move on, with the rest of your lives…

Pour Me that Cup of Your Solitude…

Pour me that cup of your solitude, why don’t you? You KNOW you want to share that with someone, might as well be me, ‘cuz I’m the only one available, who’ll, lend you, my helping ear!

You’d, poured me that cup of your solitude, and I’d, taken a sip, and immediately, I’d, spat it back out, it’d tasted so awful, so bitter, and acidic that it’d, burned my esophagus, as it trickled down my throat.

查看來源圖片like this???  Photo from online…

Pour me that cup of your solitude, share with me, those lonely dreams of yours, and you will, still feel just as, if not more so, lonely compared to when you’d, come in…

Pour me that cup of your solitude if you will, but, don’t expect me, that I’ll, allow you, to force feed it down into my throat! I won’t take it, I don’t want your solitude, it’s something that’s, B-A-D, I’d much rather, taste that bitter cup of my own solitude, all alone, without you there.

Pour me that cup of your solitude, that, is what you want to do, to SHARE with me, your loneliness, but, I don’t want NONE of that, I don’t want YOUR solitude, I have my own, and my solitude, is WAY, WAY, W-A-Y better than yours!!!

Mom’s Book of Stories

The legacy you’re, leaving for your children, the most priceless of all possessions, and it still wasn’t measured by those dollars or cents! Translated…

As I learned that I could go to Taipei to attend the Mobile Creations Awards ceremonies, I’d invited my youngest son who is studying in Chiayi to come along. My youngest also took his leave of absence from his work in the cram schools to accompany me. Other than being proud as his mother, mostly, he’d wanted to see who the judges are. Seeing how excited I was, he’d asked, “Did you sort through your articles? If you’re gone, then, the articles would be gone too!”

I’m already used to my son’s insulting ways, and hearing how he was concerned, I was, glad over that; finally someone had, thought about this, I’d replied, “All my articles are, classified, and I’d placed them all inside the cabinets.”

Many years ago, I’d told my son, “I can’t leave you any money when I’m gone, I’d only written the stories from when you guys were little, after you read them, you would know, how trying it was, for me, to raise you guys up.” As I’d spoken these words, my son let them pass through his ears, but today, he’d, mentioned it without me asking!

Back when I’d started to write, I’d wanted to capture my son’s aging processes, and, I’d wanted to earn a little more money for food on the tables. As I wrote, I’d added in the encounters I had at the local marketplaces, and the interesting things that’s happened in my parents as well as my in-law’s homes, and the fool I’d made of myself from work back when, and naturally, something stupid my husband had done as well.

And, my family took the “quieter approach to what I put down”, and there was only one faithful fan, who got all excited about everything I’d written, my dear old mom—every time I’d read my writings to her, she’d always laughed hard, commented, “Such wonderful proses!”

Last year I’d started working again, and entered in the line of workers in the nursing homes, and wrote down my stories with the elderly folks I’d worked with at the home, and my classmate, “Bull” read, left the message, “You now have more stories to write on.”

But, I’m, aged, and, as I’d gotten home from work, I’d become, way too fatigued, to start writing, but I’d wanted to leave the markings, and so, I’d written few lines on FB, thought, that I’ll sort through them eventually sometime in the future!

But, because I had a closed fracture of my femur last month, I can only take my leave of absence and stay home and rest, and now, I get to have the time, to pass in front of the computer screens, now, the inheritance for my son had the “elderly and mom” stories filed in.

And so, this woman documented her own life with her writings, and, she will keep on writing, and leave this legacy of her own memories to her own children to have after she is dead and gone, and, I’m sure, that in the futures, as her children read their mother’s writing, they will discover a side of their mother they never knew existed.

Love is, Deleting What isn’t Loved, a Poem

Falling out of love slowly, and in the end, there’s, NO tears to be shed, because, everything was, said, and done, translated…

There are, the Dry and the Humid Days

The Leaves Carried the Scents of Birth and Wither Away

the Wind Knows it Best

The Sand that, Sifted Through the Season of Summer

The Eulogies of Snow from the Winters

The Details of My Senses

Love is, Deleting What isn’t Loved

The Sun Passed Through Quietly

the Hairlines of the Mountains, in Between the Fields

The Birds that Sung Their Songs, the Flowers Bloomed, the Twisting and Turning in Love of the Streams and Creeks

There’s the Colder and Hotter, more Passionate Kisses

The Morning Fog Tastes Sweeter than the Light at Sunset

You’d, Stroked the Chords of the Fields of Grains

Harvested Through My Richness

Choosing to be the Rains that Fall Instead of the Umbrellas

Becoming the Holes, and Not the Keys

I’d Turned, as You Would be

the Eyes of Time

Moving Those Days of Our love

that Separated the Dry and the Wet of Memories

And so there’s, this scent of finding that closure that one needed, from a lost love of sorts, they’d weathered through the various seasons, and, got along very well, but, eventually, it still, didn’t, quite work out, and so, the narrator, let the lost love of her/his life go gently…

The Gifts of Love, an Accidental Hobby

Something so small, that can give you, so much joy, translated…

Some people chase after the maple leaves, the snow, the Pokémon, while I’m in love with chasing the beans (the peacock beans).

Another name for the peacock beans are red beans, the heart-shaped seeds are translucent, and I loved it so.

Perhaps, I was, influenced by the poet, Wei Wang’s beliefs about the beans, or maybe, I got infected by the character’s emotions, I’d felt especially close, to these, heart-shaped, red beans, and, as I’d seen the jewelries made from the beans by my friend, it’d, sparked my desire to collect them.

I’d hated the cold and loved the sun from before, but now, I’d, looked forward to the rain and the strong winds, because, those high red beans will only fall when there’s strong wind and rain. I’d walked around, as I hunted for treasures, didn’t fear the cold to say the least, since I’d become a solid fan of “Chasing the beans”, I’d finally understood those who’d gone all over the places to hunt for their Pokémons.

I remember when I first started, it was a windy afternoon. I was walking in the park, saw a lot of people, old and young, circling around a tree, as I was curious, and stopped to look, then, “SMACK!”, something hit my head, I’d focused, there were, several, heart-shaped, shiny beans that’s, rolled to my feet. As a reflex, I’d, bent over, picked them up, like the bean fans I’d come into contact with in the park.

illustration from the papers online…圖/陳完玲

Suddenly, I was, enchanted, I’d started, walking around the trees like everybody else. And, as I’d picked up a bean, it was like I’d gained some priceless treasures, especially when the entire pod fell before me, in the spirally pods, there were, over ten bright colored red beans, I’d become so excited, so ecstatic I couldn’t say a word, I was happy for the rest of the day.

After that day, I’d gone to that same place, to wait for the beans to fall, and after I’d become “bean friends” with the locals and those who’d come especially for the occasions. We’d, first observed the tips of the tree, to find the pods, then, we’d, found our separate places, then, waited, for the wind, then, we’d, bent over, start picking up the beans, it was, very interesting.

“There are two here…three behind you! And over there too………”, the rustling sound of the leaves sounded like a symphony, with the excited hollers of the bean pickers, the sounds became so harmonious.

Remembered how I’d met an elderly man, who entered into the line of looking too, but, he’d kept calling out from behind me, turns out, he’d used the bending down to pick up the beans to stretch his muscles, and, gave the beans he’d found at random away, to those around him.

here is the pendant made from the beans, photo from online…查看來源圖片

“You need to look carefully, it would hide in the grasses, the piles of leaves, or you may need to tear apart the pods to find them.”

“Grandpa, you have great eyes, thanks, be healthy, and live long!”

He was smiling so radiantly, that kind smile infected me too. A small red bean had, the enormous powers of healing, so amazing!

Looking at the small red beans inside the jars, and as I shook the jars, they’d made the clinking noises, I felt so blessed. Although I’m not as handy as my friend, couldn’t make them into decorations or bracelets or necklaces, but, prepare a small glass jar, drop the beans in, with some paper stars as company, a small gift with all the blessings had appeared.

The gifts of love, I shall, give to those I love, hope, that they get to share, that bliss that’s, filled with joy from me.

And, this, is what you’d found by accident, and, you’d, joined in the line, and, found something fun to do, and, you were able to, share that scent of bliss you’d found from picking up the beans with those you love, with these, special, handmade gifts.

A Unique Collection

A unique way you mark the passages of your life, that’s, different from everybody else’s, translated…

Strolling down those streets with shops on the sides, there are, assortments of clothing, with the various materials too, and, they are made everywhere, here, China, Japan, Korea and U.S., etc., etc. Of them all, what’d attracted me wasn’t the prices, nor was it the selections of the various shops, but, the tags that showed where the clothes were made from.

a collection of cloth tags like this???  Photo from online…查看來源圖片

And, all of these tags seemed unimportant, but, looking at them more closely, there are not just the names of the company or brand printed, the type fonts used were also, quite unique as well, everything from the cutesy cartoon styles, the ladies collections, the rock-n-roll trends, or the black and white simplified styles, I’d loved each and every one, they’d, made my eyes alit.

And, after awhile, although I’d buy the clothes that would fit me right, but, if the tags had, attracted me to them, then, I’d, started, itching again, and, my desire to buy would hike up too high, and sometimes, without even thinking, suddenly, I’d been drawn to buy the item, because of the designs of the tags, like I’m, made of money.

And, as I’d gone home with my “winnings”, I’d not change into the new clothes immediately, instead, I’d, snipped off the tags, and started looking at them front and back, I’d even sketched them onto my notebook, then, placed them like treasures, inside that beloved iron tin box. After a few years, I’d, accumulated a lot of the tags, and, the tags stacked up, into this, mobile catalogue, and, as I saw the tag, I’d immediately gotten reminded of what the item looked like, and how I’d felt at the moment of buying it. As I looked, that sense of joys came, and I’d found, that from when I was little, I’d, collected stickers, then, bookmarks, and now, the clothes tags, even though it’s nothing to others, but to me, it’s, a sort of an emotional outlet for me, that satisfaction that comes with owning, and, it’s absolutely correct, that I have, a obsession for collecting these items.

Every time I’d tidied up my room, and started flipping through the tags I’d collected, and, I’d, also taken a walk into my own past, and, I’m grateful, that this collection of the unique had helped healed what I’d lost, and, kept track of the memories over the years. In the future, I shall, collect more of what’s unique to me, and, reminisce through them all one by one.

So, this, is how you make your scrapbook, not by photos, but by the tags of the clothes you’d bought, and, it’s a unique way that you’d found, to keep track of what mattered to you in life.