you felt the timber tumbling octave in my voice caught me as I fell
The temperature is still, RISING up here, translated…
With the Steps Light
I’d, Walked on Those Memories Which Were Speeding Up
In a Dumb Daze, I’d Walked, Parallel to the Bicycle, Across that Street
Turned, into that Brick-Cornered, World, Filled with
The Blooming Flowers, and the Shady Trees
it’s, a global thing, not my photo…
Rousing Up the Borderline of Reality & Make-Believe
The Aromatic Coffee Took You to that Slow Intoxication
The Sugar, the Temperatures, and the Lights, Just Right
Providing that Sense of Safety
In the Cracks
The Current Life is always, Slowly, Eating Away, Sinking Down
this used to do the trick, but NOT naymore…not my photo…
When You’re, Most Unaware
You’d Already Predicted
The Moment You Would, Lose Your Foothold
Light as Feathers, Yet, So Heavy Like Lead
The Weightiness Rubbed and Ate Away at Your Skin
The Blood Started Flowing Out, Scabbing
still heating UP! Not my phoot…
What’s Lost, Will Always, be Returned, Back to the Origins
Like that, Never Ending, Karmic Cycle
Every Morning, with that, Sensitive, Dried, Clean Body
So, this, is after you’d slept, through a heated night, the night got hotter and hotter, and, you can’t have the air-conditioning on, because it’s going to cost you a LOT, as the price of electricity too, is on the rise, and so, you’d set the timer for a few hours, then, after the air-conditioning stopped running, you’re left, with this, extreme heat, and high humidity (b/c that is how the weather is here???), and you’d, waken up, covered in sweat, and, the day began, again…
I have conquered my metaphorical mountain. I kept telling myself I can do it. It was hard. It felt emotionally, spiritually and physically excruciating at times, and I did it. I asked myself, when I conquer this mountain, have a congruent past and the tools to live with PTSD, is that when I will feel […]
A dish, made, with a TON of love, translated…
Mom called to ask, if I wanted some peppermint? “Of course!”, I’d hung up my cell, and, my second aunt came to my mind.
Mom has two older sisters, the closest was my second aunt. My second aunt married off close to my grandmother’s house, and lived their lives, as hardworking farmers with my second uncle, she’d often used the spare time she had after work, and carried bags and bags of homegrown produces, rode the night trains up to Taipei; her appearances would always cause all of us to holler so loudly, and, those homegrown fruits and vegetables had helped save a lot of money for my parents, who aren’t really that well-to-do.
marinating the chicken in mint…phoot from online…
One summer, mom took me home to visit when I was in the elementary years, I’d wandered around, there were, fowls kept at the front of the field. And, suddenly, a red-faced duck came toward me, half-crazed, bit down tightly on my skirt, I was so thrilled I’d started crying loudly. At which time, my second aunt came out of the kitchens with her cooking spatula, and “shooed” off the ducks, at the same time, trying hard, to comfort me who was already, flustered and freaked out.
The aromatic scents came from the house, it’d, made me forget about the scare I just had. “So aromatic, what are you cooking, second aunt?” “I’m making peppermint chicken for you guys”. I’d entered into the kitchen, saw an assortment of yummy dishes, on the tables, it’d made me, drool. Her way of showing us the hospitality was, kept getting the foods from the plates, into our bowls. I’d smiled and told her, “Enough, I can’t even see the rice underneath now!”, my second aunt told me, all of these, are simple and plain dishes.
Later, I’d learned that it takes a lot of preparation, to make a peppermint chicken. Once we’d arrived at my second aunt’s early, my uncle said, “Your aunt went to harvest some mints at the fields, she should be returning soon.”, a short while later, my second aunt came in, with two large bags of mint, seeing us, she’d, swiftly, picked enough mints and washed the leaves, and, killed a rooster swiftly, and, set up the stoves, to start cooking the garlics, the chives, then, started, stir-frying the mints.
My second aunt salted the entire rooster, then, stuffed the rooster’s inside full of the stir-fried mints, then, she’d, started, cooking the rooster. As the fire crackled on, she’d kept turning the chicken, to prevent it from burning, she’d become like an octopus, working on other dishes as well. As the crispy mint chicken was plated and served, I couldn’t help, but get the mints out of the stuffing, and stuffed them into my mouth, and, it was sweeter as I chewed. My second aunt immediately ripped off one leg, placed it inside my bowl, with love flowing from her eyes.
After I married, I’d lived closer to my mother’s home, every time as she was going to visit my second aunt, she’d always called me up, “Your second aunt asked me if she needs to make the mint rooster, she’ll make one for you.” “Of course,” I’d exclaimed excitedly.
Many years later, I’d not felt right, troubling my aging aunt, I’d said, “just the mints would be fine”, I’d cooked by my aunt’s methods, but, I could, never quite make the mint chicken like she was able to.
This day, I’d recalled my second aunt, working in and out of the kitchens, I’d, lifted my head toward the skies, said to my second aunt, “Thanks for making your, amazing mint chicken for us!”
Because this family member had, prepared the food with such great care and love, that, was why those who were served it, loved it, and, this is probably why, the writer couldn’t quite, make the same dish like her aunt had, because, her aunt had, cooked with care, concern, and love with them in her mind…
Love was, nothing more, than playing pretend. It was, quite easy, actually, we just, told ourselves, over and over, again, and again, that this nonexistent love is actually, in existence, and, after enough number of times, this lie that we made for ourselves to live in became, TRUE!
it’s, like this, you only THINK you know what she’s thinking but, you actually, don’t have a C-L-U-E!!! Not my picture…
This pretentious love, that we’d, come to share, we’d both became, too comfortable, living in it, that we didn’t want to, change anything about it, knowing, that it’s all, play pretend (like playing house???), and, we’d gotten, used to, lying to ourselves, that this so-called nonexistent love, actually DOES, exist…
This pretentious love, why, do we lie to ourselves over it, huh? There must be, better options out there available for us both, there’s, NO need, to keep this, pretentious love intact anymore, and, I’m, severing, the ties here.
left, with the broken pieces…not my photo…
This pretentious love is, NO more, I’d, taken it out back, and, PUT it out of its misery, with that shotgun, as, there’s, just NO need, for us, to keep on, dragging it along, lengthening, its, sufferings, it’s NOT humane, don’t you know???
And now, after we’d, given this, pretentious love its, proper burial, it’s time, we finally, stopped pretending, that we still, loved one another, it’s time, that we move on too, like this, pretentious love already had………
This, is what you are, you are, never knowing the man I’d, become, because you were, NEVER there, watching me grow every step of the way, and, as I was younger, I’d, felt awful, that you weren’t around, to bear witness of my transformations, and now I realized, that I have, NOTHING to regret!
Never knowing the man I’d, become, my father, and, the loss will be, YOURS, and yours alone! Nobody will, EVER care about or for you, because, you’d done, so many WRONG things in your life…
Never knowing the man I’d become, you will, forever, live, without knowing the man that I am, the man, you will, NEVER be, for I’d become, BETTER than you EVER were as a father to me, to my own young!
I vowed, to NEVER BE like you, when I had my own young and now, as my children grow older by the day, with me, watching closely by, I knew, that I’d, made the RIGHT choices in life, unlike you, who’d done, EVERYTHING wrong, from the very START…
Never knowing the man I’d become, that, is your loss, NOT mine, and, I feel sorry, that you never got to know your own children, well, I don’t, not really, because I’m NOT supposed to. The regrets are now, ALL yours!
I have broken my own bones, splintered them and placed them into bags, dozens of bags of me, and I have thrown them from the windows of speeding cars in hope that you will find me after the crash, somewhere where the good girls would never go, littered between back alleys in the dark parts, […]