this, is not what this is like at all…
Translated…
I’d gazed over to my left hand, and discovered again, that scar on my index finger, at the moment that my heart trembled, I’d also remembered, how, I’d gotten the scar. When I was just seven, my father died abruptly, back then, my eldest sister was going to high school away, and all my other older sisters were still in the middle school and the elementary school years, they all had whole day classes, only I, who was in the first grade, had half days.
only that it’d not happened to an adult, but a child…
After my father died, there was, a very long period of time that my mother fell ill and became bedridden for long. One day, I didn’t have classes until the afternoons, I’d used my spare time, to help around the house; first, I’d squatted by the back lanai, and washed the clothes under the sink, then, gone to the markets, to buy some simple food items, back then, the tofu and the chicken gizzards we can get for ten dollars was enough as the sides of our meals.
After I’d bought the foods, I’d gone to the back lanai, to clean out the organs. I’d needed to, slice open the chicken gizzards, take out the fecal matters, and peel off that thin film, I’d recalled how my mother had done it, and used my not accustomed young hands, chopped it up. Seeing how I was able to clean up the gizzards so very well, I’d thought, tagging along my mother as she’d handled the household chores, finally paid off.
a child chopping up the fruits, hopefully, with adult supervision…
My mother would always cut the gizzards into the shapes of flowers, and this took some skills. First, slice the gizzards horizontally, then, diagonally, then, dice it up, that way, as the gizzards went into the boiling water, it’d become cooked, into shapes of flowers.
As I was modeling after my mother, the sharpened blade of the chopping knife sliced across the index finger of my left hand, blood came flowing out, seeing how it’s almost time for school, I’d fallen into a panic, just used some toilet paper, to dress my wounds, placed my left hand in hiding, inside of my pocket, and ran toward school in super-fast speed. Nobody knew, that my left hand that’s inside of my pocket was becoming, sticky, with blood………
As I saw this scar again, I’d found, that losing my father at such a young age, I’d found my strength, without even crying any tears. Without a father, although I wasn’t able to get the cram school sessions or the talent courses provided to me, I’d even needed to spend more time to help my family by working the crafts to earn our money for living, but, I’d still kept my grades high, and, I’d excelled in the various academic competitions too. How life turns, it’s all in a thought, and, I’d had this strong personality, all due to how my mother, who’d become widowed at the age of forty-three had, watched over us; she’s a mother who’d never frowned, used her gentle and warm hands, guided my young hands along, to create my own, beautiful life.
So, this child had it hard, growing up without a father, but, she’d become tough and strong, because she’d felt the need to, and, because of how she’d lost her father at such a young age, and she’d watched her mother, worked through the hardships of life, and raised her and her siblings up, and she’d carried her mother’s ways too.
Life, the Obstacle Course 