A Room for the Elders

The relationships of the family members, in the, generations, how much love there is, in this, family here, translated…

These Rooms, Designed for the Elders, are Normally Located on the First Floor, with the Squarish Shape, and Small Space, Center of the Property, Located at the Back of the Living Room, and in Front of the Kitchen, Makes it Easier to Come & Go in & Out………………

Hadn’t come home in quite a while, pulling on it, the thin plastic bags, turned into like those dolls with the souls pulled out from them, fallen limp.  There’s that final tissue that’s, left in the pack now.

I got downstairs, entered into the storage, with the items staked, opening the door, entered into that darkened room, and used the dim light, to tell which items are, which, extended my arms out, passed through the row of hangers, and, prodded to find that pack of toilet papers.  At this time, my olfactory sense awakened, hmmmmmmmmm———this room feels, familiar, this was—my arms are left, in midair, I’d recalled that this room as a name, it’s called, the “Room saved for the parents!”

The Scents Stacked Atop One Another, Mixed into Each Other, and Structured the Connection of the Room Saved for the Parents to Stay in

These sleeping quarters, designed for the elders of the family, are normally, located on the first floors of the properties, tiny, but squarish, dead center, with the living room in front, kitchen on the back of it, easy to move about, hidden in.  But, the most defining element of this sort of a room, would be the aromas.  The rooms, with the lights turned off normally, had that drape of fogginess on the items inside it, and in this coldness, mixed in with the scent of the thick winter coats made of wool and such, there’s, that scent of, ancient, too-strong perfume from long ago, the scent of the body, of the oiliness of hair, the rusty scent of the metal boxes, the dusty smell of that cobweb by the corners.  The sweetness from the red envelopes, the sweet fermented rice wines, along with the scent of the rotted away soils by the creek too.  All of these scents, stacked on top of each other, mixed in, structured the flesh and bone of the room, saved for the parents to, stay in.

Before middle school, my study is located within the room, my desk was to the left, next to the window, pulling open that window, there was, the kitchen.  I’d turned on the lamp on the desk, to do my homework assignments after school, listened to the rumbling of the stove’s air ventilating systems, warm, and low the sound was, plus the sound of the clinking of the spatula against that wok, gives that hypnotic feel to me, especially as I was working on the math problems, I’d, worked slowly, and my mind was, adrift to the kitchens, to what my mother’s preparing.  Mom’s made the fish, and, as she’d plated the fish, she’d, drawn back the windows, and before suppertime, I got my dibs to the tastes.  The skins, fried to golden crisp, it’d tasted, most delicious then.  My older brother’s desk was at the right, farther right, it was my grandmother’s bed for two she’d often sat on the edges, smiled at us, while we’d, studied.

illustration from UDN.com

My grandmother in her eighties, with her hair all white, silvery smooth, like the white fox.  She cared a lot about appearances, even though her hair didn’t seem messy, she’d often, picked up the red mirror, and started, brushing it carefully with that amber colored comb of hers, then, put on the head band, to finish her look.

My parents were at work, not yet home, and she became, my company, took me to stroll to the cultural plaza.  I knew too well, that so long as I’d, played coy with her, I would have a limitless amount of free ice cream cones at my pleasures, for she’d had, tons of coins stashed inside her pockets then.  I can have a scoop of the taro, a scoop of pineapple, then, the taro with the red beans……………the honking ice cream was, silky smooth, and I’d, carefully counted it.  As we returned home, grandma who can only speak in Taiwanese, and was illiterate, started folding the paper cranes from the page-a-day torn off calendar, she’d also made the placemats, and other items too.  But most of the times she’s found, in her room, underneath that thin cover, resting away.

In the Dimly Lit Room, I’d Sat on the Empty Bed on My Own for a While

Recalling of how my desk took up half of my grandmother’s room, it’s a bit, cramped.  As I’d started going to school in Taipei, she’d already started forgetting, as she’d returned back the following month, we’d all treated her like she’d been away for a long time, “look who this is?”, and used the loving tones, that expectancy.  And, grandma managed to pass the tests each and every single time, and called our names out one by one, I’d let out a sigh of relief.  “How can I not recognize him, I’d, raised him up!”, that look made me feel spoiled.  And following, she’d taken my hand, told me that I should find someone, to settle down, and have a few kids.  Grandma, I’m only in university…………I’d told her several times, and it seemed to not register with her, then I’d, smiled and took her hand in mine, allowed her to talk.  My hands were, normally too cold, while hers, warm, her palms were soft and thick, the veins popped up, on that white loosened skin, like the tracks of the green mountains.

Grandma was healthy, and lived to a hundred, we’d moved, and yet, her wishes for me, still hadn’t, come true yet.

There’s the double bed here in the new home too now, but, its primarily used as a storage, and my parents would nap here from time to time.  I’d picked up a brand new pack of tissue, in the dimly lit room, sat, on that empty bed for a long time, thought of how my father took after my grandmother, started having that head of, silvery white too, while I’d gotten to my parents’ ages back then.  We are like the pawns on a chess board, can only move forward, and not back, one right after the next, on that chess board of time.

For lunch that day, mom fried the salmon to crisp around the sides, called out to me, “you can’t get enough fish living away, have more!”, then, I’d used my chopsticks to get some, put it into my mouth, then, I’d started, choking……tastes so sour, I’d thought.  The fish was still fresh, but with those few extra drops of lemon juice, that’s, a bit, too sour for me.

And so, from this, you can see, how closely knit this family is, how the generations related to one another, interacted with each other, in such, a wonderful manner, and this is truly rare, to feel so close to one’s own parents, and grandparents too like this individual does.