A treasure map of memories worth cherishing here, translated…
I loved riding on the trains, and my strong feelings toward this method of transportation stemmed out of my long-term memories. Inside the Tzi-Chian Train, those backward going scenes outside the windows, pulled me closer and closer to home. I’d closed my eyes, in a small flower printed dress, following my mom to Zhudong to visit with my maternal grandmother, that younger version of myself leaped out………
Relaxed on the Ride to Grandma’s
The dawn’s just, breaking, my mother woke my younger sister and I out of our sleepy dream states. In a blur, I saw my mom put on a pair of slender, see-through pantyhose, that meant, we’re going away for a bit. Dad rode on the tricycle with us to the station, then, returned home, mom carried my youngest brother who’s sound asleep on her back, taking my younger sister’s hand, with me, closely behind her, rushing, to catch the trains. I’d pulled tightly onto my mother’s skirt, not relaxing one bit, worried, that if I’d spaced out, I would get separated from her, but, my pair of pink dress shoes, made my steps lighter with each stride, and there’s that scent of joy that came from not doing what we’re usually doing.
In those days when the train stopped at every single station, the trip would take forever, and I’d bounced around, energetically, calling out to the other passengers, “hi auntie”, “hello, uncle”, to get them to say, “such a well-behaved, cute little girl you are”; I’d loved glaring at the suitcases that other people were carrying, and guessing at what might be inside; I especially enjoyed the entertainment of the drink server’s ability to flip the cups around one hand, fill up the water, then, put the lids back on, the swift movements for me, was like watching a mini circus performance.
At around noon, by the platforms where the train had stopped came, “Packed lunch for sale”, these moments were the rare instances we’d had dining out. Mom would extend her hand out the window, to buy two railway packed lunches, there was, a stewed pork chop, an egg, a piece of bean curd, a slice of pickle, plus some mustard greens, and it was, the most savory meal that managed to keep us, mother and daughters fed. As the train arrived to Hsinchu Station, we’d needed to transfer onto a smaller train to Zhudong. The swaying boxcars, plus the rhythmic rumbling of the trains moving, became like a kind of a lullaby, rocking me, who’d become, a bit, tired out from playing, to dreams. And, after these few short naps during the ride, we’d finally, arrived at grandma’s, by then, it would already be sunset. Now, thinking back, whenever I’d recalled this, I couldn’t imagine how my mother was able to, soothe three rowdy children, at her young age back then, and managed through this over ten-hour train ride home by herself.
The Point of Connection Between Coming & Leaving Home
As I’d started going to elementary school, there was no more relatives back in my mother’s hometown, “getting on a train, going to grandma’s” became, extinct. Until I’d gone up to Taipei from the south to study, the platforms became, once more, that connection point between going and leaving home, my father still rode his motorcycle, chauffeured me in and out, like back then as he’d done, giving us a lift to my grandma’s. And, being a poor student, I’d still, ridden on that train that stopped, at every single station along the way, but, the mindset I’d carried in leaving and coming home, was, exactly the same as before.
The fan that turned around and around on the ceiling; those windows that can either be opened or closed; that nasty scent of coal from when the train entered into a tunnel; the sweat and body odors on everybody around the holiday seasons, when everybody’s heading home; not getting a seat, and, stood for six straight hours on end………the memories of these images and scents, are all, deeply, etched into my memory bank, and now, whenever I alight the trains, they’d become, activated again.
As the places away from home became my home, the railroads became, once more, that straight line that connected my homes in the north and the south. In order to save the time, I’d already, chosen the trains with the assigned seats, and, there were, no longer lunch vendors calling out on the platforms anymore. And even so, as I got on the trains, I’d still buy the old style boxed lunch from the fifties, because I wanted to, have a taste, to savor, the long lost memories, along with that scent of, nostalgia.
not my photo…
So, this, is the memories you have on home, and, to carry this memory of heading home from when you were a kid to now, as an adult, it means, how precious those days of old were to you, and, you’ll keep on, cherishing the time spent on the trains, heading home again, and again…