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.

Clouds Rolled Back Like Memories…

Clouds rolled back like memories, and, before I knew it, the memories all, plagued my piece of sky up high!  Clouds rolled back like memories, I looked up, tilted my head toward the skies, and I see, our shared, better pasts, coming back to life, I started, to run, and, they’d all, chased after my tail, I can’t, lose them now………

like this, perhaps???  Not my photograph…

Clouds rolled back like memories, I can’t even, bear, to look up toward heaven anymore, for, they’re, all, a reminder, of what we used to have, but, love is now, lost, and, I will, NEVER, get that back again, and, whenever I looked up towards the skies, I’d felt, sad, and sorrow would, attack me like an army!

Clouds rolled back like memories, where, are those clouds now, they’re, all wiped away, erased, from these, cleared, blue skies, and, left, NO traces of our love intact, after all, this so-called love we once knew so very well, is, NO more, already, DEAD and GONE, and, I’d, BURIED it all already!

leaving, and, NEVER comin’ back again!  Not my photo…

Clouds rolled back like the memories, only, that as the day comes to an end, those clouds that rolled back like the memories, will be gone, but the memories, they’re, there, to stay, and I can’t, rid myself of them………

My Father’s Show of Care & Concern, on Filial Relations

How fathers normally showed the love they have for their young, with actions, and NOT words, translated…

It’s the end of the long holiday weekend, riding on the HSR usually, I’d made the exceptions, of driving back to Kaohsiung alone. Being a new driver, it was quite rare, for me, to drive this long journey, with my two children, I’d felt, a bit, nervous. My parents saw it, and, on the night before we set out, dad said, “I’ll head to Xiao-Gang, Kaohsiung, and book a flight for Kinmen, and I’ll, go home with you guys.”, I’d, nodded, thought, that it should make my way easier, with someone who’s, experienced by my side, I’ll take dad along, as a sort of a lucky charm, it’d make my drive home much relieved.

like this???  photo from online…

But, the very next morning before I set out, my dad took the car keys from me, with his swift hands, and, he’d made fun of me, “I’ll be the one, driving, I’m afraid, that I might, scold you if you drove.”, the elder had, stated, and, for the sake of the betterment of this world, I can only, become, his passenger-side driver, and, shouldered up the huge responsibilities of striking up conversations, eating and making criticisms on my dad’s driving skills, and the selection of the routes we should be taking.

As we got past Taichung, it was, about noon. I worried, that my children in the backseat are hungry, we’d, selected a small food shop at random, and went in, early, to resolve our lunch problems. As we’d entered into the shop, the two of us, father-and-daughter worked together, dad in charge of ordering, I, tending to my kids. Not long thereafter, a few freshly prepared plates of food were, served, the four of us, grandfather, daughter and grandchildren started, chowing down.

As I ate, I’d felt, that the food, wasn’t quite in season.

It is, a summer day that’s heated, and yet, dad ordered up, a plate of sliced ginger with lamb. And besides, he doesn’t really like, lamb, why would he order this dish? I’d eaten, and observed, and, surely, pops didn’t, move his chopsticks one bit, as I was, trying to figure it out, dad pushed the plate of lamb toward me, said, “This, is good for me, you need more of it.”

All of a sudden, I’d, gotten it. Turns out, before I set out, mom worried and nagged at me, “You’re so weakened, and you’re wearing, shorts, it would be troublesome, if you catch a cold”. Back then, I’d, just, brushed her warnings aside, dad was putting on his shoes close by, not said a single thing, but, he’d, carried my mother’s words with him, and ordered the foods to show his care and concerns towards me.

like this???  Not my photograph…

I’d, eaten that plate of lamb like a good daughter, as I chewed, I’d thought, that fathers showed their love, in a more covert manner. Unlike how mothers had, showed their love and care, and affections, so openly toward their children. Dads seemed to, show their love for us by actions, very lowkey, quietly, but, with the same amount of strengths. Like this plate of lamb cooked with ginger, or like how he’d changed the flights from Songshan Airport to Xiaogang Airport, or how he’d, managed, to get the keys away from me, and, disregarded the over hundred kilometer road trip, just to, see his, baby girl home safe and sound.

Because men are socialized, to keep their love unspoken, that, is why this father had, used his actions, to show his cares, concerns, and love for his own daughter, and, although, love isn’t spoken between the father and daughter, it surely was, felt!

The Music from Onstage

Finding people who shared the same love of music like you, and playing with them, making wonderful music, those, are the moments, you’d, miss the most, translated…

Although, I’d, matured into an okay adult, and managed, to gain some real-world experiences, but every time when someone asked me of my dreams, I’d become, silenced, “What, is it?”, in this world, maybe, without dreams had become, a sort of an ordinariness, because that means, that the individuals are, without goals, or directions to their lives, a man who doesn’t know which way to turn, can be called, “lost”.

just, sharing their love for music, jamming together, photo from online…

And so, I’d always, come up with a dream, and, as I’d told others about it, it seemed, to have, become, real.  I’d dreamed, of performing in the national concert hall, playing the songs that I loved, because I’d once, been intoxicated, taken in, by the moments on stage from before.  As a student, because of my nature as a gambler, the refusal to get defeated, it’d made me from not being able to play an instrument, to entering into competition, earning a placement in the national contests.  Thinking back of this, don’t know how, I’d, managed, to gamble on this passion of mine, it’d always, caused me to repeat a grade level.

That, was the very first time our school had competed in the national competitions.  First, we’d defeated the winner in the regionals, moving our places forward.  This competitor, was our best friend, we’d, practiced during the summers together, but, in the competitions, there IS a winner, and, the cruelties of this competition had, tested our friendships.  On that day, it was my birthday, as I tasted the fruits of victory, I’d still needed to, pay attention to my friends’ tears as well as their emotions too, and, they were very good losers, helping us move our instruments off stage too, and, we were only able to, taste this bitter, and soured success on our own.

My friend, my competition handed me a birthday card, I’d, written back to him, courteously and honestly, “I hope, that this competition won’t ruin what we had, we can still be good friends.”  A few days later, I’d received a letter back from him, he told me, “As I read your letter, I was, eating an apple, and, I’d, tasted that sourness mixed into the sweetness like you were experiencing too.”, another friend wrote, “Hearing you talk, it’s, beat-by-beat, matching to each other’s tempos, you all must worked really hard to perfect your skills, we’re, glad, you were, winners!”

Before we’d tasted that mixture of joy and ambiguity of being in the finals, we’d faced, that pressure onstage soon enough.  The night before the competition, we were still, rehearsing in the auditorium, surprisingly, nobody spoke a single word, every one of us only, stared down at our instruments, and, played our separate parts; and, don’t know which measure it was, when the huqin came in, very harmoniously.  I’d felt, that the lower parts were in-synch, then came, the woodwinds, finally, the percussion strings came in, then, those percussionists who were cleaning up their instruments, also, joined in too.  The teacher who were chit-chatting offstage were all shocked, looking at how our headless band was, playing something hard, and in the end, every one of us, cried.

That night on stage, I’d clearly, felt the vibrations from the string player next to me, the vibration from his instrument had, shocked me, that my instrument played with his too—I started to believe, that music, can be felt, naturally, that the human hearts were, calling out to each other too.  But after that, I’d never met anybody, who was, in-synch whom, I’d, played so well with again.  In college, after the camps finished the activities, I’d started wailing aloud outside, perhaps, I’d, discovered, that I will NEVER, find the wonders of that very night back again, that I will never find another, whose hearts, resonated, in accordance to mine so perfectly.

just a group of friends, playing music together, photo from online…

During that part of my life when I took up music, to now, thinking back, I’d still, get intoxicated in the moments, felt phased, by that music.  I’d always thought, that we are now, humming our own separate songs in the city’s streets, playing our own tunes now.  We all have musical instruments inside each one of us, and, a stage to perform on, is everywhere in sight.

This, would be the depth of the writer’s friendship with her fellow musicians, and, it is, very difficult, to find a group of people who shared your similar values, your similar interests, that you can, run with, and, this writer was lucky enough, to find the opportunities in her younger years, to find such a group of wonderful friends to share their joys of making the music together.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Bundles of Flowers, from My Father-in-Law

The act of love from this elderly, to his daughter-in-law, translated…

It was, 1981, my firstborn came to the world, when I was thirty-two weeks in, started, living in the incubators, and I too, stayed at the hospital for an entire week.

like this???  Photo from online…

What impressed me the deepest, however, was back then, my father-in-law who was in his sixties, other than taking the bus then transferring to the trains, from the countryside to the hospital to see me, other than delivering the foods, he’d also, plucked the flowers in bloom from the gardens, and brought them to me, put it into a plastic cup that’s found in the ward, then, flashing his loving smiles toward me.

These flowers are often, two stems of roses, with a small bundle of Bougainvillea; sometimes, it’s, stems of rosy periwinkle with azaleas, with that hint of cuteness, in the plainness of the flowers.  Sense of artistry: none, scent: slightly; color: ordinary; heart: full, and I was, very moved by his actions.  It’d made my roommate envious!  Surely, don’t know what I’d done, in a past life, to be so lucky, to be the daughter-in-law to such a wonderful man.

These couple of years, the Taiwanese public were in a frenzy, with the flower seasons, every year, the orchids shows in Tainan, the carpet of flowers in Taichung is more and more populated, but in my heart, the most beautiful flowers were still, those bundles of flowers that my father-in-law plucked and brought from home to visit me with.

bringing flowers to someone in the hospital 的圖片結果like this, perhaps???  Photo from online…

So, this, is the heart of this father-in-law, he’d shown his love for this daughter-in-law, by taking the time, plucking down the flowers he has around him, wrapped them up in bundles, and, taking it to visit her in the hospitals, and, this woman felt how much heart the elder had in getting the flowers for her too.

My Second Daughter

The closeness of sister, on how this woman helped out with her younger sister’s pregnancy and newborn child, translated…

Back then, I got pregnant with my younger sister, and, my due date was a couple of weeks earlier than hers. After giving birth, I’d stayed at home for my month’s recovery, and, on the few days the month’s time was about, I’d missed my mother’s cooking, and, in order to satisfy my appetite, I’d asked my sister to come home with me to visit mom.

Half way through the meal, my younger sister felt awful, I took her into the bedroom to rest up, she’d asked, with a pale face, “Older sister, what, do contractions feel like?”, I’d carried my almost-a-month-old daughter in my arms, replied, carelessly, “If your baby is coming, you’d surely, know it!”

But, as I’d returned home, to that month-long sleep deprivation phase, my younger sister who’s not-yet eight-months in her pregnancy, was lifted to the E.R. in the middle of the nights.

The very next morning, I got a heartbroken call from mom, her voice shook, said, “Your sister delivered last night, the baby was so tiny, she felt, so awful………”, I’d become, dumbfounded, recalled that worried look on my younger sister’s face, and couldn’t even imagine how my parents, my brother-in-law had, cope with that sense of panic, with her delivering her child early.

My sister who was weak, couldn’t even manage to get her needed rest, other than constructing her own mind, she’d used the short time frame she was allotted, to visit her premature child. My father couldn’t bare how worried she was, told her to go through her month-after-birth recovery process completely, she’d cried, “You’re thinking of your daughter, what about mine? I’d, wanted what’s best for her too!”, later on, my father delivered my younger sister’s breast milk to the hospital every single day to her child, so she could stay at home, and recuperate. We all hoped, that that baby that’s in the incubator will grow up healthy.

Back then, I was, a first-time mom, wishing I had extra pairs of arms, I couldn’t, help my sister in any way, I’d heard, that breast milk are good for the baby, and, I can only, make sure I produce enough, to pack two servings for the baby.

And now, in my whole family’s carefully looking after her, this “second daughter” of mine is pretty and healthy, and now, she’d become, the best sister my daughter had, her constant playmate too. As the cousins held hands when they’re out, we’d received the inquires, “Wow, so cute, are they, twins?”

So, this, is how a woman watches over her own sister, because they shared close births, and, because the niece was born prematurely, the sister felt compelled, to help out, and, with the whole family, working together, helping the sister’s baby get healthy, as well as helping her recover from the stresses of giving birth, the children are now, growing up together, healthily!