The beliefs about “home”, from a woman’s perspectives, translated…
During the New Year’s the married women looked forward to the second of the Chinese New Year, to happily return to their own families of origin to visit. Although gender equality is now, practiced, but, in the traditionalist beliefs, the daughters going back home to visit, they’re still “guests” in their parents’ houses, and it would be unfitting, for them to stay for longer. And it is even more so with the grandchildren, because the elders are weakened, and couldn’t work, and, it’d, become too straining, for them, to usher in all the guests, there’s no way they’ll be able to afford it. But if the families all lived under the same roofs, and looked after each other regularly, that, would be, a whole other story.
In my studies, I’d learned, that the “mobile homes” are the simplified nests and burrows of the birds and insects, they can build it up, and tear it down easily, I’d not seen any other living things longed for home, save for humans! Thinking on it clearly, the pulled out mattress I’d slept on at my parents’ home, was also, “mobile”, it’s, a “temporary stay”.
But, don’t know why, I’d felt, that strong scent of nostalgia toward my parents’ home, stemming from the unsettling minds of women, I suppose. And, although I’d, kept calming myself, that I’m, way better than the homeless, for I do, have a home, but, this home I’d lived in for sixteen years on end, with a TON of my memories, still felt, more like a hotel to me, a temporary stay that I’m squatting in currently.
A short while ago, I’d made a visit home, and, found, that the bamboo mat I’d slept on as a child was already, covered with dust, and my room was, piled with an assortment of junk too; my childhood room is now, a storage room, the tarp covered things took up my original living space, it’d showed how desolate my once home was, looking at it, it’d, made my heart wrench. This place had, kept my tragic childhood experiences, those I thought I’d already, forgotten, the youth that never was, had, stuffed up this place of gloom and bitterness.
If in a family, there’s a destined drifter, then, that role shall always be portrayed by the daughters, just like me.
Gladly, a brand new year is here. Putting on those brand new clothes, and, the firecracker that chased away the past year, sent away, all the unsettlement, all the gloom already. No matter how unsettling, that scent of drifting of the soul of a woman, can only be resolved, through understanding, and gaining that wisdom.
Like the philosopher of the Song Dynasty, Shou, he kept his mind opened up, didn’t care about fame OR fortune, treated the whole universe as his “home”, and had traveled all over the places; and, his fans, showed love and kindness for him, and, set up this “comfort home” inside their houses for him, so he could, stay with them, as he’d visited, and, named it, the “mobile stay”. It’s said, that in Loyang, he’d had up to TWELVE “mobile stays”.
how the ancient people do it, picture from online…
Every time I’d gone back to my parents’, I didn’t know where I can sleep, and couldn’t understand, why it was, that I’d, put up the money, for my parents to get a bigger place, but, there’s, no way, I got a stable bedspace. But, as I’d thought about Yong Shao’s carefree nature, I’d, let it go, he’d not spent a single dime, with his reputation, and sense of morality, he’d gotten homes everywhere, and was right at home anywhere he’d gone, without that scent of uprootedness, that sense of, unsettlement.
It’s kinda nice, for a woman, to have a mobile stay at her parents’, I’d not have any brothers, and, my parents are elderly, and, it’s us, sisters, who took turns, not only on the second of the Chinese New Year’s, but year-round, when my parents needed something, one of us would be there.
Or maybe, someone would feel, that she is, drifting between her own home and her parents’ home, and, if the parents’ are divorced, this feeling of separation would be, even STRONGER, but, there’s no need to feel like a drifter at all, because, the entire universe belonged to us, all we needed to do, is to stay here, and look upon it, there’s no need for that strong scent of nostalgia whatsoever.
riding home on a donkey to visit her parents, not my art…
So, this woman must’ve passed through a lot of trials in her life, to come to this sort of an understanding about life, and, it’s tradition, that as women married, they no longer “belonged with” their separate families of origin anymore, that they are, a part of their husbands’ (1 @ a time!) families, and, some parents wouldn’t be at all, welcoming to their daughters, as they’d come home to visit…