From the childhood years, something special, worth remembering, translated…
That Doll that My Wife Sailed Through Her Childhood With
The most cherished stuffed animal that my wife has, was a monkey, with big eyes, named, “Curious George”. In the artwork of Margret E. Rey, it was, a cute and misbehaving animal, he would often, sneak out of his owner’s home, passed through those wonderful and exciting adventures. When my wife was in the third grade, her older brother gave her this stuffed animal, and ever since, Curious George had never left her company.
Curious George had accompanied my wife through her carefree childhood years, through her bitter teens, to her uncertain youth. As she’d studied, she’d kept George close by, when she’s bored, she’d, looked at him, and, when she felt upset, she’d, hugged him tightly. George was the friend whom she’d told all her secrets to, the best harbor for the storm for her, and, something she can take her anger out on if she’d needed to. George knew all her secrets, collected all her tears, as well as her laughter too. Sometimes, when she got into his with her family, or didn’t do well enough on her exams, she’d hidden out with George, inside that closet of hers, and fallen, asleep.
That year, she’d gone abroad to get her graduate degree, she’d left George with me, told me to take good care of him. I asked her with disbelief, “What about you? Can you, be without it?”, she said, “George’s purpose is to keep a tight watch on you, watching you write to me every single day.”
For over two years, George had, sat, in front of my desk, on that homemade wooden chair my wife made, watched, as I wrote the letters every single day. In over hundreds of nights, I’d actually, written the letters like I was keeping a diary, and, wrote one to two pages every single day to my wife. After I’d written a couple of words, I’d gazed up at George; as I’d finished the paragraphs, I’d, patted George. As I’d received the letters from my life, I can’t help, but hold George close to me, as I read aloud the letters from my wife to George, and, talked to George, as if, he were, alive and understood me; on the days when there are no letters, I’d, sighed and hugged George tight, and, reread through the letters I’d already received, and mumbled to myself, “I guess, I’ll be, receiving a letter soon?” George had, become this harbor for me, something I took my angers out on, it’d, kept track of ALL those unspoken nostalgia I’d felt toward my wife. Without George, I would’ve gotten so withered away, it’d, turned into, the embodiment of my wife. I’d found, that I can’t, be separated from George, every morning when I wake, I see George, the last thing I saw, before I’d turned out the lights at night was also, George. Could this be, my wife’s plan all along?
We’d made a pact, to write and send a letter once a week, and, our letters would intersect over the Pacific, and, landed on U.S. soil and Taiwan. Back then, there wasn’t webcam, but, e-mail was, the it thing, and, my friends all shook their heads in disbelief, that I’d, still written my letters by hand, and lived by the coming and going of the mail carrier. But, how can I, differentiate between the letters and the e-mails? It’s not just that light tremble in my heart that I got, from opening up her mail; but as I’d taken out my wife’s letters, and took a whiff of the scented letters, and, those characters, written, in ink, onto the letterheads. All of this, how can I say, that I still have, George close by?
the adventures of Curious George book cover…from online.
George, Who’d Embarked on His Own Beautiful Adventures Now
In over seven hundred days we were apart, everything got compressed to a cadence, the moment my wife came home. And, the bitterness of living without one another close by, became blurry instantly, like those specks of dusts that you’d, patted off of your shoulders, that you weren’t aware that they were there before, and by then, we’d, no longer, missed one another. We were engaged, then, married, had children, one, two of them, and lived out our marriage, year, after year. George, the George that I’d, clung onto once day and night, was, placed, on some shelf, it’d no longer received the attention anymore, but, it is still, right where, the spot where I’d noticed every single day, going in and out, always smiling, whenever I’d, lifted my head up, I’d see it.
Several years later, don’t know why, one day, my four-year-old youngest daughter started falling in love with George too, and that Curious George that sat on my wife’s homemade chair, in a certain cabinet of our living room, I saw my daughter with him, in the morning, in the evenings, when she’s doodling, and reading, when she’s playing hide-and seek, she’d taken him to the meals, to bed too, and even as she went to the bathrooms too. As she was riding out on her tricycle, she’d placed George inside the small basket; as she’d played house, George would become a baby; as she’d gotten into fights with our eldest daughter, George became, the scapegoat, a safe harbor for her. George, the large-eyed monkey that’s already faded, had kept, all of this young child’s emotion too.
We’re going out, and naturally, my youngest wouldn’t let go of George, my wife and I tried to coax her out of taking George, even her older sister went into the persuasion lines, we still couldn’t get her to leave George at home. We can’t reason, with a child that young. And naturally, as we’d come home from a long trip, my youngest daughter’s George was gone. But, where, did she left him? On the long bus ride, on the bus ride home? On the MRT? My youngest just cried hysterically, and, it’d gotten on all our nerves, and we can’t get to where she might have lost it. And, her little older sister who’d chit-chatted endlessly with her baby sister looked lost. And, George who was in my youngest arms as she fell asleep, secretly, slipped, away. This day, we’d gone to so many places, had so many transfers, and, there was, NO way we can go back to every single place to look. I’d become totally flustered, and, I’d consoled with my wife, using words that I wouldn’t even believe in, “I’ll get you an exactly identical one, okay?”, my wife fell silent, and, it’d scared me, the silence she’d given to me, my heart became, twisted into knots now. I’d, spread my arms out, glared up at the ceiling, that looked like completely nothing, called out in my heart, “oh George, how, can you be so awful? Taken the memories of all three members of my family, in just one day!”
The stiffness in the air stayed, after a long while, my wife let out a long sigh, smiled toward me, said, “George had, started his own brand new adventure now. And I, I already have all of you, you three, are my Curious George now………”
And, in the corner of the living room, the sobbing of my children had, turned into light snoring, and, the two Curious Georges we had, already, fallen asleep, in a bundle now………
So, this, is the attachment to an object, and, what’s so hard to let go is NOT the object itself, but ALL the memories, ALL the emotions that are, attached to this stuffed animal, and, the wife realized, that she now has people to give her love to, so, she’s no longer at loss over the Curious George stuffed animal that she had from when she and her husband were just, starting out together.
Life, the Obstacle Course 