Holding Hands

Making up for the lack of experience of holding hand when one is younger now, translated…

When I’d gone out on a date, I’d always held hands with my lover.

Back when I was still, far away from the romantic relationship in my schooling years, I’d always enjoyed flipping through the magazines, and imagined the models’ beliefs about love: “No matter where we go, we’d always hold hands, it’d made me feel so safe and secure.”, she’d announced her engagement to a divorced business owner, you couldn’t tell she was pregnant, being tall and beautiful still, announced her retirement from the cover pages, with that blissful glow on her face, proving how happy she was, and that just, etched into my mind.

what the child was needing…NOT my photo…mother holding hands with a child 的圖片結果

Holding hands and walking, it’s an imprinted sort of bliss I had imagined since when I was younger. Every now and then, silence fell between us, like the dusts, and I’d, squeezed that hand tightly, again, and again, until I’d get the squeeze from him too, or until he’d turned to me and smiled. And so, I’d, smiled at him, like I’d created, some secret sort of a code we’d shared in love.

But, one night as the thoughts kept me up, I’d recalled how the signals in the darkness, twinkling, in the era where there are no compatibility charts available, when you can only go by your own experiences and instincts about love, my mother had, invented her own secret codes, that hand squeeze, again, and again, slowly getting harder each time, or, replies with a smile, with the silent inquiries, “Is this, our special secret message?”, mom smiled, and, being young as I, I couldn’t, decipher anything else from it.

Sometimes, “knowing you hated me”, but with the words, “Should we, start over again?”, “Something must’ve gone wrong with the way I was educated” with, “Call it, a debt from a previous lifetime then”; today, I’d, slammed the doors, the next day, I’d, shattered a bowl and threw a pair of chopsticks down, the plates of food, slowly, felt silent, to the same temperatures as the silence that passes between us.

But this, was what she got…NOT my photo…

The memories of mom had become, nearly wiped completely, and, as I grew up, the hands of my lovers became something I’d collected, something that helped me remember, and I’d started, keeping track, cherish, reviewing all the lost moments again, believed, that so long as I can find the comforts, I’ll be loved by my own mother. And, this answer I’d found, unintentionally, made me realized, that I’d needed to, put something new, into this replayed old and aged scripts, like how when my mother and I walked together, she’d compared me to her height, the two of us never found a good enough reason to hold our hands again.

Without coming up of a better way, I’d still, from time to time, try, to get the memories I’d lacked, sharing the moments, with my own mother.

picture from the papers…

約會時,我總是和戀人牽著手。 圖╱陳佳蕙

So, you’d become, intrigued, with holding hands, because you’d lacked the memory of holding hands with your parents, and this still just showed how much those early childhood experiences can affect us as we grow up, which also signifies the importance, of parents loving their young RIGHT when they were little, show more affection, physically, give your young the emotional supports you’d lacked and needed, that nobody had shown to you, to your children, so you don’t have to, repeat this same vicious cycle of behaviors again and again.


About taurusingemini

All I have to say, I've already said it, and, let's just say, that I'm someone who's ENDURED through a TON of losses in my life, and I still made it to the very top of MY game here, TADA!!!
This entry was posted in Adult Children, Beliefs, Experiences of Life, Interactions of Parents & Childlren, Lessons of Life, Mistakes in Parenting, Philosophies of Life, Properties of Life, Ranting About Life, the Consequences of Life, the Process of Life, Values of Life and tagged , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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