The Sign on My Back, Ways to Tackle Becoming Forgetful

Scared of forgetting things, could it be, an early sign of dementia?  Or, could it be, that there’s, just too many things we’re, keeping in mind, that one or two had, “slipped”???  Translated…

“Honey, looks like I’m going to have to post something on your back as a reminder today.”  As I woke up in the morn, my wife hollered out at me.  I’d asked her what’s up, she’d smiled and told me, “While I was making breakfast, I’d suddenly, forgotten what I was about to do next, and no matter how hard I’d tried, I can’t remember it, could it be, that I’m already, demented?”

“Dementia?  Don’t exaggerate.”  I’d laughed, “Last night you were just telling me, that there’s a CD due today, that you’re going to, withdraw it from the banks………”, after she’d heard, she’d realized, that she’d told me this, and tapped her head with her fingers, “Yes, yes, that’s it!  Oh, I’d still needed to………”, she looked troubled in thought, like she can’t remember something else.

okay, mayne NOT that overboard!!!  Photo from online…

“Let’s do it this way,” I’d recommended to her, “Why don’t you do like I do, have a notebook handy, and write everything you need to do down, or, just use the Post-It notes and stick it on the fridge, that way, you will NEVER need to worry about forgetting anything!”

“We’re together every single day, or, I should, post that stick-it note on your back, like those cue boards for the actors and actresses, that way, I’d known what I’m going to do.”  My wife still wanted me to do as she said, posting the notes on my back, she’d’ continued, “You know what, there was a famous media personnel after her mother was diagnosed with dementia, she’d stated, ‘what made me the saddest was how my mother forgot our shared memories, it’s, the worst kind of punishment.’”

The worst kind of punishment?  This was, shocking to me, and I’d recalled my eldest cousin who’d worked as a school teacher for thirty-nine years.  Only a few short years after his retirement, one morning, after he walked out of the house, and in a few short steps, had forgotten how to get back home, clearly, that, was the signs of Alzheimer’s; not long thereafter, his condition worsened, it’s small matter that he’d forgotten things, what’s worse was he’d wanted to ram out of the house, rushed to school.  Although the families tried stopping him, he’d still found his way, to “sneak” out.  And yet, after he got out, he’d become, disoriented, the family worried he might be in an accident, and started the cycles of “finding the lost” daily.

like this???  Not my picture…

“Posting a note on my back is only temporary,” I’d smiled and told my wife, “Why don’t you give your brain exercises, like through reading, practicing calligraphy, or, get involved with line dancing, that, would be the best way to prevent yourself from forgetting!”

She’d nodded, and told me that she will, otherwise, it would be, regrettable for her in the future, if she’d, forgotten, this past we’d, once shared.

So, it is, normal that we start to forget things as we get older, and, because dementia IS the common cold of old age, everybody is scared, and, there’s no need to feel alarmed if you can’t remember things, after all, we’re still, processing a TON of information from a day-to-day basis, and, not being able to recall the slightest details, is only normal, we’re NOT computers or machines here!!!

And, for What?

From an online blog in Chinese I’m a subscriber to, translated by me…

Why are you, still, inside this confined space?  Or maybe, you’re still, afraid, feeling lost?  You feared, that if you leave the comfortable place you’re currently in, you will, get be completely, defeated, by reality, and that, if, you’d, moved along too fast, you may, forget, who you were when you’d started from before.

Feared, that if you’d left the you that everybody is familiar with

Nobody will have your back, people you know would, desert you.

And, as life goes on, more and more of these questions had, hounded down on you, they’d, masked up your hesitations, urged you onward.  So, you’d, moved, slowly onward, but, backed away, as a decision comes before you.

Who are you?

And why, are you, alive?

This is, an existentialism crisis, that this individual is experiencing, s/he is starting to, question everything that s/he comes into contact with, and, feels confused, about the purpose of life, and, there’s, NO other option (or so this person had been led to believe!), but to, keep moving onward, and, this person doesn’t realize, that it’s okay, to NOT have all the answers in one’s life, that somehow (don’t ask me how, but I just know it!!!), that things will all work out, the way it’s, supposed to………

 

 

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.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Another Segment of the Journey

Learning, to cope with the parents’ dementia, translated…

In one’s life, there are things, that we wish we could forget, but the more we’d tried to forget them, the closely, they’d, followed behind, especially those painful experiences in our lives. We’d wanted to forget about all that’s painful, but we’d, greedily, desired others to remember us too, because being remembered, is what made us feel we mattered.

Looking at my parents who’d both become demented, forgetting all of our names, along with ALL the memories associated with us, all of a sudden, I’d, come to understand, that “forgetting” is a hurtful word, a torturing feeling.

For my demented parents, every moment was like a first, the same questions being asked, tried our patience; and still, toward the young children’s repeated inquiries, the adults felt that they’re, very cute and naïve. Actually, there’s, no call for patience, just take out that glasses that’s with an alternative perspective, then, everything will be, smoother.

After my parents became demented, they’d never, acting according to the scripts given to them, to the point, of crazy, and none of us could, handle them, we are only able to, follow behind them, to clean up the messes they’d, made. But, as my parents grow older, their mind had, regressed back to that of children’s, if we’d looked at dementia through this perspective, then, maybe, “not remembering”, “hard to control” would become, easier to cope with, and that everything they did, was not to make us suffer, that it was, only, a part, of this, journey to life.

So, this, is on how a person can adjust her/his mindset, in coping with the parents becoming demented, because, dementia is becoming, the common cold of the elderly years right now, and, if we don’t learn to adapt to our parents’ whacked out behaviors, then, we’re only making it harder on ours

Do Remember to Come Home Often, on Filial Relations

Getting ready, to see his own baby girl off to marry, translated…

Still remembered the very first time I was riding in the car with my father, as I was leaving my hometown for my higher education, he’d told me, “If you miss home, you can come back any time.” Back then, I’d, nodded hard, but, I’d become, like a wild mustang without my harness now, fallen in, to the colorful world in the cities, plus, I’d had multiple disagreements with my parents, and had many confrontations with them, I’d, reduced the number of times I’d gone home to visit.

It’d been over a decade since I’d left my hometown to go away for school, and to start working, every time my father drove me out, the last thing he’d always told me was, “Do remember to come home more.” Normally, I’d only interpreted it as my dad, missing his daughter, but today, as I’d heard him told me, it’d felt, heart aching, I’d held back my tears, watched him drove off into the distance, disappearing, and the conversation we had just ten minutes ago, resonated in my ears, and, my tears flooded out of me.

saying goodbye to his daughter who was about to get married…photo from online…

“Dad, I want to tell you something………”, sitting in the back, I glared at the back of my father’s head, I took a long inhale, told myself: just let it loose!

My father’s left hand was tightened on the steering wheel, he’d reached out his right, to reduce the volume of the radio, to barely audible to me, he’d tuned in to me, waited, for me, to start.

“My boyfriend and his mother wanted to come and ask you for my hand, what do you think?”, I’d squeezed these words out, uneasily.

My father fell silent for a couple of seconds, the air froze, and that barely audible volume of the radio, all of a sudden, got so loud it’d, filled up the entire car, until he’d opened up, said to me, “Okay, the end of this year then.”

We’d continued chatting about the details of the wedding plans, but, not long thereafter, we’d both, gotten lost, in deep thought, until we’d reached where I was going. I stood behind me, about to watch him leave, he’d stopped abruptly, without turning his head back toward me, said in a low voice, “Do remember to come home often, there will always be a room, saved back home, for you guys.”

記得第一次坐父親的車,離開家鄉念大學時,他對我說:「妳要是想家,就常回家。」當時...back when she was a young child…picture from the papers…

This time, the “do remember to come home more”, was filled with nostalgia, with a little unwillingness added on. Because I wasn’t about to leave home to go to school, nor going away for work, but to leave my own, family of origin, no longer am I, just my father’s cherished daughter, I am also, becoming someone else’s wife, and daughter-in-law too.

So from this, you can see the love of the father for his own daughter, now that she’s all grown up, about to get married, surely, the man felt sad, seeing his baby girl off, as would be, the sentiments of ALL fathers out there, I’m thinking………

Taking the Monsters, from Underneath Our Beds…

Originally posted on Brave and Reckless: When I can’t sleep I lay on the floor and hang out with the monsters under my bed I finally introduced myself after I got tired of them poking me in the middle of the night mustered my courage took a peak ? They are quite the motley crew ?…

via The Monsters Under My Bed — Sudden Denouement Literary Collective

The Heavy Burdens Upon My Heart

The heavy burdens upon my heart, they’d, weighed me down, kept me locked up AND bound, I’d, struggled real hard, to break free, from these invisible chains in my life…

The heavy burdens upon my heart, they’d, stayed, refused to vacate these properties, which belonged to me (since I am the “landlord”!), I’d threatened, to take extreme measures (cutting off the electricity, water, heat, and threatened to sue!) against them, if they don’t leave me, and yet, they’d, refused to go!

a kind of the heavy burdens we all carry, not my picture here…

These heavy burdens upon my heart, how, can I, get rid of all of you? All you have to do, is to hear our pleas, and, give us what we ask of you, that, would be enough, to satisfy us! But, what you’re asking of me, that’s, IMPOSSIBLE, I’m not, ready to forgive, or forget, or, let go, of the assortments of betrayals that’s already happened, to me body, my mind, my soul, AND my heart yet…

These heavy burdens upon my heart, they’d somehow become, alleviated, and, the stress on my body, mind, soul, and heart, reduced to nothing MORE than the size of a small speck of sand, because, I’d, let you go, and, it may still feel heart-shattering when I thought of you, and I may need to cry, but for right now, I’m, okay………

carrying the weights of the world here, NOT my artowrk…

The heavy burdens upon my heart, they’re, of no bother to me now, I’d learned, to effectively, deal with every single last one of them, moments of pain, of hurt, of betrayal that’s happened in my short twenty-SIX (‘cuz I’d already died???) years of life here!