Experience it Yourselves

Changes in one’s attitude, brought on by the many ups and downs of life, translated…

Is marriage a good thing?  I’m thinking, that it’s different based off of everybody’s experiences, and the answer, only one knows.

A couple of years ago, an old friend of mine talked about the ups and downs of her marriage, said that if she could have it to do all over again, she would’ve have chosen to get married; and, a short while ago, she’d talked to me about her daughter, and how well her and the members of her family are getting along, with that look of bliss all over her face.

I’d smiled and asked, didn’t you regret getting married from before?  She’d become stunned, then asked me, “Did I say that?  But, if you ask me that same question now, all I can say, that you need to experience it yourself to find out.”

Like drinking a cup of water, only you would know if it’s hot or cold; the life in marriage, with a mixture of sentiments.  Or maybe, marriage is not good or bad, it all depends, on how you see it as.

And that, is the importance of attitude, perhaps, when this friend came to the writer from before, her child was acting up, and she and her husband had an argument, that, was why she first stated, that marriage wasn’t the right choice for her, but, as the time passes, she and her family got along better, and, she’d started thinking, that being married, and having children is actually, a good thing.  This just showed, how unless you’d, experienced things from top to bottom, you can’t jump to conclusion on if something is good or bad for you.  You must give it enough time for life, to run its course…

No Matter How Busy I Got, I’ll Still Make the Time, to Make a Cup of Coffee for You, on Couple’s Relations

Something they do out of habit, and of love too, translated…

The coffee that’s got the right amount of milk in it is still at its usual place on the tables, loving the coffees, but being lazy, I’d, always used the instants or the drip, and my husband, who’s a great barista couldn’t take it any more, he’d made the coffees every single morn, add in the milk, waited for me to have my cup in the morning with breakfast, then packed another cup for me to go to work with.  These couple of days, we’d had fights, he’d carried his cold shoulders toward me, gave me the silent treatments, and wore his soured face for days, but there was still that cup of warm latte on the tables for me.

like this???  Photo from online…

As I drank, I’d recalled what he’d once told me, “No matter how busy I get, I’d still take the time, to make a cup of coffee for you.”  Because the problems at work, his moods became, heated up some.  As he was out on business trip, he’d counted the days, and brewed the coffees by the days, bottled them up, placed them in the fridge for me, because he knew that when he wasn’t around, I’d, become lazy with the coffees again, but gladly, his trips lasted no more than two to three days at a time.

I’d often complained, that he was an ape in a man’s clothes, without any words of sweetness, that I’d been in this false dream of romance all along.  But he’d not once, said a thing about his aging, and no longer beautiful yellow-faced wife, and never complained, that I’m nothing more than an old lady who couldn’t even manage the house well, he’d still bring me that coffee, to couch where I’d sat, and kept preparing the foods to feed to me.  For many years, I’m sure, that he’d gotten trained in feeding a woman.

What he’d given me, along with what I was able to make, made me into a working woman with two paychecks, he’d also told me calmly, that ape have high intelligence, that he should be able to handle the regular household chores; so other than work, any chores related to the house: cleaning, laundry, cooking, I’d not needed to lift a finger to.  Sometimes when I felt up to it, I’d felt introspective, and thought of his “no matter how busy I get, I will make you a cup of coffee”, that irrational feeling of wanting to start a fight with him, vanished, instantly.

making a cup of coffee for his wife 的圖片結果the first hing in the morning…photo from online…

I’m thinking, that he only had the inarticulate ape mannerism about him, he’s actually, quite gentle, and maybe, the next time, I should, make a cup of coffee of my love?  But, as I thought of how he would react, it’s best, that I continued my, “Honey, one more cup please!”, would be, better!

So, although this man isn’t articulate on expressing the love to his wife verbally, he’d made up for it in more ways than one, he’d taken care of the household chores, and made his wife a cup of coffee in the morning, and, it’s this sort of give and take that makes a marriage work well.  And so WHAT if you can’t say those sweet words, so long as you show that special someone in your lives that you loved her/him, that should be enough…

Passion Fruits

Seeing the seed you planted grow up, it gives you, that sense of achievement, doesn’t it???  Translated…

“Any more?”  “Still just seven.”  This was, the most common conversation my husband who works overseas and I had these past fifteen days.  We’re not in espionage, nor did we need to relay the messages in secret codes, what we cared about were, actually, just, the passion fruits.

plant a seed and watch it grow 的圖片結果not my picture…

The house we bought from way back has a very huge yard, the very first day we moved in, the elderly dog we had, Yellow believed, that the yard would be, her property, she’d strutted or run, and selected a fitting spot, to pee, she was, more than comfortable in it.  There were, the pigeons, the sparrows, that’s, found this yard, and, visited us from time to time, sometimes, they’d come in the sunny mornings, landed lightly, like an assortment of retired airplanes.  And, Yellow wouldn’t greet them with that bark with heightened excitement, nor would she barked loudly for them to shoo, she’d just, allowed them to come and go as they pleased.

After awhile, the saplings sprouted up, some were easily taken away, by a small storm; and, those that were strong enough to stay, Yellow didn’t have an opinion on them.  And so, with the sun, the papaya tree grew taller, supporting the palm-shaped leaves; the passion fruit trees started growing out the vines, leading their slowly thickening stems upward onto the fences; and those unnamed weeds and flowers, all found their separate, perfect spots too.

still very young, but one day, it’ll grow up tall and big!  Not my photograph…

It was my good friend who’d, found it first that the passion fruit tree was blooming, looked beautiful and fun, like a small bundle of Chinese noodles soaked in water, and flattened into a circle, and using a purple market onto the protractor, drawn a circle with it, then, sprouted up a few stems of green, then, the noodles’ tips had, a few circular figures at the tips.

After the first flower, the second, then, a third, a fourth, then, they’d started blooming, in speed faster than we can count.  It wasn’t hard to get the information these days, I knew, that it wasn’t easy, for the passion fruit trees to pollinate naturally, I’d found the calligraphy brush no longer in use, and helped the pollination process along, and, it’d retracted and withered away in the corners of my small yard.  I’d seen the butterflies, the bees, going to and fro, I’d not wanted to be the owner of the yard who took all the credit, and hadn’t, assigned them their jobs.

Those who’d planted passion fruits may know, that the leaves are thick and green, very close to each other, and would show up as a patch of green; and because of it, as I saw those smaller greenish fruits in the bundle of green leaves, I was, so excited, and as I took a closer look, I’d found, that the leaves had already, had fruits underneath them, ready, to take on a life of their own.

After the passion fruit trees grew the fruits, it’s as though they’d cross that threshold, and passed through the hardest trial of its life, and started growing steadily, confidently, speedily.  As I’d said hi in the morning, when I’d gone to say goodnight to the plants, I could already tell, that the fruits had, doubled their sizes.  I’d written the numbers on waterproof strips of paper, and labeled the fruits one by one.

I’d said that I was going to share the harvest with my friends, but, the messages they’d replied were all too, disheartening.  And the worst of them all was, “Oh, actually, why don’t you just go get a bag of passion fruits at the fruit stands, the ripened ones cost just $120N.T.s per bag.”

I’d thought about life.  I thought, if we’d, stabilized the start and the finish of life and spread out what’s in-between, maybe, every life is similar, that we’d needed to, take life, a step at a time, so we can, see the beauties; and maybe, there would be, the thrashing storms, but because of them, we’re able to see, how blessed we are, in the days, when there are, no storms.  And so, those certified packed up bags and bags of passion fruits sold at the supermarkets didn’t dilute my desires for watching my own planted passion fruits grow one bit.

almost ready to pick!  Photo from online…

I shall, keep my eyes out for that eighth little fruit to show its face, or maybe, I should, learn from its greetings to me, “hey, see me yet?  I’m, right over here!”, and I’d replied to it back, “Yup, I see you now!”

So, nothing beats harvesting what you’d planted, it’s not just how much sweeter the fruits would taste, but that sense of accomplishment that came, with taking care of your fruits, and watch them grow and flower, and finally, bear their fruits, it’s like, raising up children!

The Tasty Memories of Bitter & Spicy Weed

Tastes of home, making us miss it so…translated…

The bitter and spicy weed, also known as “hunger weed”, it was a plant that was found in my home in Mingnan, a weed that’s very well grown.

Based off of the name, this medicinal herb was used to cure people of their hardships in life.  As the villagers worked too hard, they’d stewed some of the weeds with the pork ribs or the intestines to drink, it would, help them relieve the strains, make them more energetic; as the students buckled down to study, become stuffy in the chest cavities, they can drink it, to reduce that suffocating feeling in their thoracic; when we’d lost our appetite, we can drink it, to make our internal organs start to work.  The bitter and spicy weed, after pulling it up out of the ground from the roots, clean it off under water, then, we can cook it immediately, or we can, dry it up under the sun, and store it for future uses too.

辛苦草 的圖片結果the herb, dried for easier storage…photo from online…

Whenever there was an exam in my childhood, I’d only needed to tell my mother I was stressed out from studying, that there’s that stuffiness in my chest, then, she would stew the weed with the pork small intestines for us to drink, the soup was sweet and fresh, and the intestine that was bathed in the weeds became, even more savory.

Later I’d left home, came to Taiwan, I’d never heard, or have anybody seen this sort of a weed again, and, the memories of spicy and bitter weed cooked with the pork parts were, stashed inside of my mind, became a sort of a nostalgia for me.  Whenever I’d felt stressed or tired out, my friends in Taiwan told me, that I could have some basils stir-fry it with some eggs.  I’d tried it, and, it’d not worked for me.  All of a sudden, it’d, dawned on me, if I don’t open up my mind, the basils wouldn’t help me soothe this sort of gloom.

As I returned back home, I’d gone to my older sister’s to stay, he’d plucked a few stems of spicy and bitter weed, with the dews still on it to make that dish I’d savored long ago, I knew, she did it especially for me.  Other than my mother, my older sister, who else, will feel awful when we’re in pain or in distress?  As I drank that aromatic and hot soup, all of a sudden, I was, overwhelmed with emotion, tears came overflowing.

the processing of the herbs, photo from lonline…

Maybe, it’s because of how these bitter and spicy weeds had the memories of home assigned to them, that it had the love my family and loved ones carried for me, that, was why they were, so healing.

So, this, is how a food had reminded you of home, there’s that certain taste that you had once when you were younger, that has this sort of a strong effect on you, and, it’s still NOT the taste of the dish, it’s the memories you’d, assigned to that dish that’s, made it so powerful!

Living, in Death, a Poem

The cycles of life here, over, over, and over again, translated…

Everything, is Nothing

Birth, Destruction, and Everything that’s In-Between is Only, Ordinary………

Always in Full-Bloom in the Midst of All Flowers,

like this???  Not my diagram…

Those Paragraphs and Essays, Embodied Life

Underneath the Sun, and Inside the Winds

To Gain the Gazes of the Seasons

The Loud Applauses, with the Various Flowers

Fighting to Get Noticed, the Birds, Attempting to Get All the Attention

Only the Fungi, Were Existing, Parasitically

Parasitically There Between the Darkness & Death

With the Decaying, and Destruction, Slowly


a part of who we are, and how we becmae, and comes, the E-N-D!!!   Not my diagram…

The Structures Collapsed

The Past, the Future

With Only Traces of the Moment, Short, Temporary

Before the Sun Splashed Down

After Death Had, Completed

Its Tug-of-War with Life

Life Became a River

Just Passing Through: with Moments of Hesitations

Twisting, and Turning, Carelessly Asking How Much It’d Longed, to Stay as Is

not my silhouette…

No Amount of Nostalgia Will, Keep it In Place

It’d, Never, Looked Back, Not Even Once!

Only the Fungus

Comfortable, Living as is

Being Born on Death, Dying from

Being Evaporated from the Sun’s Heat

At the Moment When All Other Flowers Fought hard to Get Shown

Its Spores Spread, Hidden Beneath

That Decaying Wood and Dirt


Waiting for Ages on End

it’s the end, but, life shall, begin again, soon enough…not my photo…

Until the Archaeologists Dug Up and Studied the Found

Broken Down Verses

And Managed to, Translate, Their

Original Thoughts that Was Once

Too Quiet to be Known

So, this, is how life is, just waiting, waiting, waiting, for the right time to show itself, and, sometimes, as the timing became correct, and life fought hard, to get noticed, it still wasn’t, and then, it’d, died, leaving its, small markings on the world, it was, here, without anybody else’s being aware of it, but that life that’s died, knows, that it was, once alive…

A Million Miles, from Where I Left You

You are now, a million miles, from where I left you, and yet, it’s still, a very long ways away, until I’m finally, able to, leave you completely, behind.

A million miles, from where I left you, you’d trekked along my footsteps for so very long, trying to match my footprints, but, you were, never able to, manage, as my footprints, were too large for you to step into…

drifting apart here, NOT my photograph…

A million miles, from where I left you, and now, we’re, millions of miles apart, we’d, drifted apart through the years, and we’d, lived in, this realm, of our silent ways with each other for so god damn long, it’s, just, NO longer, necessary, for either one of us, to break that deafening silence, to start talking to one another now!

A million miles, from where I left you, how did I, get so far from, where you are?  I still remembered how close we were, once, so very, long, long ago, how inseparable we are, in each other’s lives, and, look at us now…

A million miles, from where I left you, and you still, hadn’t, grown, an inch yet, and, it appeared, that I’d, made right by me, when I left you back then, ‘cuz you were, NEVER going to change your ways, and so, I had, changed my beliefs about you, about us, dragged the love from between us out of this run-down shack we called our home, and, put it out of its, misery!!!

like this???  Not my photo…