A Heart that’s Never Been Touched, the Growth of a Woman

Through looking back at the past, this woman finally figured out what made her grandmother into the way she was, and finally, let go of her disgruntleness toward the mistreatments of her and her mother by her grandmother too, translated…

Recently, I’d been reminded of my paternal grandmother a lot, too many times, in my sleep, I’d thought about her, in a daze, I’d, thought about hyer too, as I’m keying down this article right now, I’m still, thinking about her, is it, my grandmother’s spirit, urging me home, to offer her incense? But, is it, possible?

Compared to my maternal grandmother who’d worn smiles a lot, I’m not even the least bit close to my paternal grandmother. Whenever I’d talked about her, I’d recalled how much and hard my mother had, cried, recalling how my strong mother told her friends, that my paternal grandmother didn’t lilke us one bit, and yet, my father, who’d been, bound by his own filial piety duties could only put up with his own mother’s unfair treatment of us. In the hushed voices that escaped our, the children’s ears, the words became like a dull knife, etched, into my heart, couldn’t kill me, but, torturesome.

picture from the newspapers, courtesy of UDN.com

My parents fell in love and got married, my mother only had an elementary level education, compared to the other sisters-in-law which her mother-in-law hand selected, her level of education was quite lowly, which made her destined, for their trash talks.

I can’t understand, even to this date, that how come, in the harshness of the winter, my paternal grandmother had, set that stand-alone washer outside, and wouldn’t allow my mother to use it. And so, my mother can only, wash everybody’s, including my younger uncle’s and aunt’s families’ clothes by hand, the bigger items included the thick jackets, the smaller included the underwears; and, even as her hand froze to a shade of purple, turned red, her skin split up, the very next day, she’d still needed to, soak her hands into the harsh soapy water.

The new wounds on top of the older ones, day after day, after day, until my mother’s hands were, completely, calloused, until the newly wedded daughter-in-law finally learned to do the household chores. And what was ironic was, my mother was only left in charge of the household chores, everything in the house was still, in my grandmother’s doing, and my mother kept her lowly status in the household, she’d worked hard to make the meals, but, she can only wait until everybody else finished eating their meals, then, it’s, her turn to dine.

not my art…

All of these, I took in in silence, I’m the eldest granddaughter, but I’d resembled my mother too much, and I’d had a slanted gaze too, so, I’d not gained the favoritisms of my grandparents. I’d heard my father told, that at the age of one, I wore thick corrective lenses, that back then, I’d, pulled off the bobby pins off my head, only that pair of thick glasses was never taken off by me; and maybe, my set of eyes, are made to see what others can’t.

I’d kept believeing, that only my mother was tried, until I’d married, and heard my own mother-in-law told of how she was mistreated too, as she’d married my father-in-law, and I’d felt, so awful for all the Taiwanese daughters-in-law and mothers too. The hands became, so filled with callouses, written in blood, were the histories from the trials of their separate lives. Although most of them were frailly built, but for the sake of their entire families, they’d become, toughened on the inside. The faults in their stars, the hardships of the chores, it’d never, beaten any of them, they’d just, opened a small hole inside their heart every now and then, to let all the pains flow back out; and, all the moments they were mistreated, they’d kept, bottled up inside, waited, and fermented by the time that passed, became this sort of sweet and sour, sour and sweetened, philosophies of their separate lives.

Maybe I’d not actually understood just how tough this group of Taiwanese mothers were, I’d not really, gotten to understand my own paternal grandmother. As I got older, my hatred toward her slowly started to change, recently, I’d recalled, how when I was younger, she’d stated, with the Three Characters Classic, told me, the reasoning behind how if we don’t learn from the silkworms that made the silks and the honeybees that made the honey, we wouldn’t be anything; at naptime, she’d, sung in a thin voice, those old tunes, and, I’d recalled how for a college assignment, I’d interviewed her, she’d told of how she’d wanted to study when she was younger but her family didn’t have the money, the Japanese teacher paid her parents a house visit, begged them not to pull her out of school, but, in the end, because nobody else can carry the household chores, she’d, stopped, going to school to learn; and she’d followed my grandfather into the Japanese army to war, and, as she’d heard the engines from the planes, she’d anxiously, awaited, for the charcoaled news.

and that, si what a hardened heart looks like, not my photograph still…

And I’d recalled how after she’d become demented and bedridden, she’d once seen the photo from the calendar, mumbled to herself, “Fresh shrimp, how come nobody eats it?”, and, reached for it and not touched it, the embarrassment. Everybody around her started laughing, including me, but don’t know why, as I’d laughed on, I’d, run into the bathrooms and cried. That year, my eldest son was one. And I’d recalled how on the day that my grandmother had her funeral, my younger cousin started crying, as she’d, eulogized my grandmother, I’d not felt an inkling of emotion inside.

And maybe, until now, I’d finally understood, how the women during that time period were, made, and now, I’d wanted to tell my grandmother, “I’m sorry, I’d not matured soon enough, and not cherished my time with you.” And the most important, “Thank you, for waiting for me for seven whole years.”, this year, your eldest maternal great grandson is ten, and, I will, take my children, to finally, offer that incense to you now.

So, this woman finally forgave her grandmother for mistreating her mother, and for being unfair, because she’d learned and understood, that her grandmother was made by her own childhood circumstances, but that still didn’t make what the elder had done to the mother of the writer right, does it? But, this woman found closure, in examining the past, so, good for her!