Savoring the memories, translated…
Since the start of this month, the afternoon sun showed the fierceness of the heat of the autumns, and, only the cooled down temperatures around dawn and dusk gave off the hint that autumn is here. Shu-Huei, whose birthday is approaching, had been friends with me for over sixty years now, what, should I give to her as a birthday present? She doesn’t lack anything at all!
The plum vinegar I’d started making should be ready to drink now, the handmade lemon oats soap from last month, is great for this season transition times. The sticky wine rice I’d cooked a few days back, fits best with the handmade starch balls. I’d found the Hakka floral printed clothes, and, stitched them up to three sizes, and, I’d added the elastic bands, this covers the gifts, as well as the wrapping too.
The old-styled sewing machine at my house, had passed through the age where “living room is a working factory”, the tapping sound was the most familiar kind of music of my childhood days. My dad’s amazing sewing skill was passed from my grandmother in China, I’d asked him why would a boy take up tailoring? Dad told me, “because grandma didn’t have a daughter, and I’m the eldest, and while my older brothers dodged left and right to not do it, there was, no place left for me to hide, so, grandma can only, teach me.”, there’s that scent of helplessness in my dad’s voice, but, there’s that scent of hidden nostalgia too, then, he’d turned the corners, “So now, I’m, teaching it to you”.
I didn’t see myself as a good student, always felt, that dad’s seams were sewn to perfection, that, with dad around, how could it be my turn? The pants are too long, the skirts, too wide, I’d made a hole on my shirt, I’d, handed it to dad. And, it became comforting, seeing dad, sitting by the sewing machines. Until one day, he’d, returned to heaven, to accompany grandma.
I’d once seen a statement on a film, “If the sun explodes, it’ll take you eight minutes to know it, because it takes that long, for the light to come to us, and, in those eight minutes, the world is still bright, still warm.”, a year after dad was gone, I’d felt, that the “eight minutes” that I’d shared with my dad is, about to end.
I’d pulled back the dust covers, and, this sewing machine hadn’t been used since he’d fallen ill. I’d greased the parts, threaded the threads, stepped on it, and, that familiar mechanic sound accompanied the tears that fell; I’d reviewed over what he’d taught me in my memories, and, sewn back the lost memories, stitch, by stitch, filled up the void in my memories.
The light trousers I no longer wore in the summers, I’d, disassembled, sewn on the decorative buttons, added the suspenders, turned them into sleeves to protect against the sun when I go out hiking; the jeans dress I no longer fitted into, I’d added the zippers, and adjusted the suspenders, turned it into a purse. I’d sewn the fluffy skirt that my niece no longer wore onto my mother’s farmer’s hat, and, gave her a pair of my newly made farmer’s pants, with the till on her shoulders, a bucket in her hand, wow, she’d become a farming version of the female fighter now!
Sewing had, extended the time I’d spent with my father for eight more minutes, and maybe, I can, make it last forever too.
So, this, is one way, to keep someone you love in your memories, carry on in doing what the person loved doing, and, by doing this, this woman is able to feel closer to her father’s life, and, even though the father is already gone, the woman will always have the wonderful memories of her father to keep.