How the love that we have for someone who died, is, saved, by us…translated…
The feelings can be hidden, way, too deep within.
There is a florist close by, that I’d gone to frequently to buy the flowers, but, I’d, bought not enough of the flowers, and more of the pickled radishes.
The mother of the florist is an agile cook, living in Southern Taiwan, she’d planted a ton of radish, and, because she couldn’t finish it all, she’d, sun-dried them, sent it to her daughter who lives up north for the family to savor.
And, as there’d been too much the owner received, she’d given it to her frequent customers. The organic radish, with the unique sunshine of the southern lands, plus the elders means of pickling, the radish gave off a special scent. And just like that, I’d become, a frequent, customer.
what the mother of the florist left for her, that she just, couldn’t, bring herself to eat up…
These past two years I’d been busy from work, rarely cooked, and then, I’d not, gone to the florist to pick up the jars of pickled radish anymore, until not long ago, I’d, remembered the tastes again.
That day, as I just set foot into the florist, I’d searched all around for that tiny table where the radish had been on display for sale, and I’d, found none, and back then, a bad sense of something came up inside.
And surely enough, the florist told, that her mother had, passed, and that we will never get a taste of what she used to make for us.
She’d spoken lightly about it, I’d, listened in silence, as my heart, it’d, soured up inside.
In the end, she’d smiled and told me, she’d saved a tiny jar of it, but she didn’t plan on eating it, just wanted to keep the jar close by, forever and ever.
I’d recalled another friend’s mother who’d gone, the two of them are all each other had for long, as his mother was gone, my friend felt sad for a very, long, long time. As he was still healing from the loss, his friends, all of us, we’d not, spoken a word of his mother. But this year on Dragon Boat’s Festival, he’d started a conversation with us about his mom.
On that day, I took the foods I’d made myself to give it to him, and he’d mentioned, that inside his freezer, there was, a six-year-old sticky rice wrapped in the bamboo leave that his mother made. I’d looked at him, questioningly, then that was when he’d told me, that it was the final time his mother ever made the food, and he’d, saved one, especially.
And the sticky rice wrapped in bamboo leaves, specialty item, and the pickled radish that is saved by the florist, it all carried, the nostalgia of the individuals’ missing their loved ones.
And so, this, is how someone remembers someone who is important to them, and had, passed away, and, it’s only natural, that we all want to, hold on to something from someone we loved dearly, who’s now, gone, it’s only human, that we miss the ones we loved, that had, died.
Life, the Obstacle Course 