Playing House

The unfulfilled promises that the living had, made to the dead, and the dead still, remembered it, translated…

“Woody, what are you doing!”, Jia-Jia screamed out: “Don’t nibble on the breads, that’s not courteous, you must tear it up in smaller pieces then put them into your mouth.”  Woody was shocked, to the point that he’d not, dared move a muscle.

potted plants by a grave 的圖片結果like this???  Photo found online…

“Okay, everyone, look here.”, Jia-Jia demonstrated for everybody, and said, “Use your right hand, pick up the spoon on the far right, drink the soup.”  “What am I to do, I’m, left-handed!”, Woody asked.  “When you eat the European or American meals, you used both your hands, so, that, wouldn’t be a problem”.  Jia-Jia said, with authority, and continued, “Pay attention!  Etiquette, use three fingers to pick up the soup spoon, can’t use your fists to hold it.  As you scoop into the bowls, from inside, to the out, gently, scoop up the surfaces, can’t scoop too deep.”

“Man!  Too troublesome!”, another companion, Bull stated, “Who made these rules?  Can’t we just, have a relaxed meal?”  Jia-Jia stopped, didn’t answer right away, and Bull realized, that he’d, said something wrong, he’d fallen silent too, San-San next by lightly elbowed him.

“My dad said.” Jia-Jia collected her overflowing emotions, and acted like she was the boss, in a flair, that no twelve-year-old child should be carrying, spoken, word for word, articulately, “My father is the instructor of manners at a military school, he said, ‘without knowing the differences of cultures, it’s NOT an excuse of why we’d acted, so carelessly.”  Even on the tables of the Chinese people, there are, rules to follow, like, the bowl should be held in the hands, and you must put down your bowl, and your chopsticks when you speak, don’t talk when there’s food in your mouths, some people don’t even know these basic rules.”  The three companions became stumped, or, it’s, safe to say, that they were, stunned.

a child is, laid to rest here, photo from online…

“I want another seat”, Bull raised his hand, “San-San always elbows me, and it’d hurt.”  “I’d needed to ask my dad.”  Jia-Jai replied, “Your seats were, set up by my dad, you need to ask him if you want to switch.”

“Pay attention now!”, Jia-Jia acted as the one who was passing something important down, focused on the details, “As the salad is served, you need to use that fork on the far left, the smallest, the eating utensils are set up by order in the western-style dining experiences, you use the utensils from the outside in, then you can’t go wrong.  You can’t grasp the fork with your left hand, pick it up gently.”

Woody asked, “Jia-Jia, you knew so much, did your dad take you out to dine in the western-style restaurants often?”, Jia-Jia fell silent for quite awhile, said, “Nope, he’d never taken me.  Dad had taught me at home, said, that if I’m no longer ill, then, he shall, take me to the real western style restaurants”.  Woody, Bull, and San-San, they all, fell silent, for a very long time.

mourning…photo from online…

Jia-Jia had, calmed herself down, and spoken, in an optimistic tone, “Here comes the main course!  Steak!”, her three companions let out a cheer together, although, nobody ever had steaks before, but, they were all, very, looking forward to it.  Jia-Jia got into teaching mode once more, “The knife for the steaks, is completely different!  The tips needed to be pointed inward, grasped with both hands, the fork in your left hand, clamped onto the piece of meat closest to you, and use the knife, lightly, cut off a small piece, the piece must be, very small, with elegance.”  The three companions seemed to have, heard the truths revealed, and all joined in in awe.

“Your dad’s here!”, Woody was thin and taller, and he saw far off, he’d, let Jia-Jia know.

Jia-Jia sat up straight, saw her parents walk in together, and moved the three potted plants, the petunias, the hibiscus, and the pansies, and, right in front of the rock with Jia-Jia’s name carved onto it, placed down, another pot of, marigold.

So, this would be, a sort of, an unfulfilled dream of this child who’d, died too young, and, the potted plants that her parents brought to visit her in the cemetery became her friend that she could play with.  This just showed, how wild the imaginations of children can be, and how they’d needed, the companionship of someone desperately.

Posted in Beliefs, Death in the Family, Deaths, Experiences of Life, Loss, Properties of Life, the Consequences of Life, The Passages in Life, the Process of Life, Untimely Deaths | Tagged , | Leave a comment

Untitled, a Poem

Written, by the wife of the Chinese Nobel Peace Prize winner, Xiao-Bo Liu, about the trials of their lives together, what they’d, weathered together, separately, translated…

I’m Tired Now

I’m Tired Now My White-Colored Meds

I’m Tired Now of Your Smiles

I’m Tired Now the Restrooms on the Trains

I’m Tired Now of Your Fame

I’m Tired Now My Heart’s, Fatigued

not even close, to what it’d felt like, sketch found online…

I’m Tired Now

I’m Tired Now Looking at Those Roads I Can’t Trek Down

I’m Tired Now This Dirtied Patch of Sky

I’m Tired Now Crying

I’m Tired Now of This So-Called Pollution Free Life

what governments are doing to their citizens…cartoon from online…

I’m Tired of These False Claims

I’m Tired Now the Plants are Dead

I’m Tired of These Sleepless Nights

I’m Tired of the Emptied Mailboxes

I’m Tired, of All the Accusations

Tired of the Months, the Years without My Own Expressions

I’m Tired, My Jail

I’m Tired, My Love

tired of life…phoot from online…

I’m Tired, these Words, Branded All Over My Body

I’m Just Tired

There’s, that despair, that this poet felt, of her life’s situation, having her husband arrested and thrown into jail for free speech in China, and he’d died in prison, of cancer, and, the words, can’t fully, express how helpless she’d felt, without him by her side, and now, she must, carry on in life without him beside her…

 

 

 

 

 

Posted in Beliefs, Experiences of Life, Legislations, Policies, Government, Etc, Lessons of Life, Mishaps in Life, Properties of Life, the Consequences of Life, The Trials of Life | Tagged , , , | Leave a comment

In an Attempt, to Exorcise Her Demonic Past…

In an attempt, to exorcise her demonic past, she’d screamed that loud, high-pitched screech, that even HER herself had, never heard coming from her throat before.

In an attempt, to exorcise her demonic past, she’d cried, she’d, screamed, laughed hysterically, as the priests came, to perform an exorcism on her.  In an attempt, to exorcise her demonic past, oh, wait, there’s, absolutely, NO way anybody herself included, can exorcise her demonic past, they’d become, a part, of her now, etched, into her systems, inseparable, and, to separate the two, you’d have to, kill her!

being visited by ghosts of Christmases past, not my picture…

In an attempt, to exorcise her demonic past, she’d gone back over the roads she’d, traveled in the past, to find out EXACTLY, where she’d, gone wrong.  But, as she sat there, sorted, through those, pages, and pages of her painful memories, she’d become, trapped, deeper, deeper, and deeper still, in her own past, couldn’t, get herself out.

So, her attempts to, exorcise her demonic past had, failed completely, because, she’d, committed suicide at the end, but, her death had, shed light on the future cases of, demonic possessions.  They’re, not at all, demonic, but, entanglements, enmeshments of her past!

shocked to see me???  Not my photo…

 

 

 

 

Posted in Experiences of Life, Properties of Life, the Consequences of Life, The Trials of Life, Traumas of the Younger Years | Leave a comment

The Nightmare We’d, Shared…

Those weren’t dreams that we’d, shared, oh no! They were, nightmares instead! It’d, started, on that evening that you got home drunk…
You’d had, an awful day a1t work, dealing with, that terrible boss who’d been, breathin’ down your neck, getting on your case in everything you did, and don’t mention the coworkers, who’d slacked off on your team, you’d had to, double, no, triple to quadruple your workload, to finishing everybody else’s workload, AND your own.

photo found online, and look how in love they were…
The nightmare we’d shared started, blowin’, out of control, and this time, it was, something that’s, so small, like the kids cryin’, or the dogs, barkin’ out of turn, that got you so furious. The nightmare we’d shared, it wasn’t supposed to be like this: marriage. I mean, we were, in love, were we not? So, what happened to us, huh?
The nightmare we’d, shared, it’d, gotten to me, day, and night, while you’d, still, slept, quite soundly on your side of the bed. I can’t do this anymore! I can’t, knowingly, live, in this, nightmare we’d, shared, knowing, that I used to love you, and you, used to, love me to, and all that remained between us, was nothing, but this, animosity, this run-on argument we’re still, bickering in………

a heart, torn apart, not my picture…

 

Posted in Loss, Ranting About Life, Recollections, the Consequences of Life, The Trials of Life, Things Left Behind, Things that Came Too Late in Life | Leave a comment

His Ex Refused to Get Back Together with Him, He’d Stabbed Her to Death

Because this loser refused to let go, while this woman had already, moved on, from the Front Page Sections, translated…

The thirty-five year-old Wu, demanded that his thirty-four year-old ex, Chen to get back together with him unsuccessfully, early yesterday morning, was suspected of entering into Chen’s office, and stabbed her seven time, then, was at a standstill with the officers, then, mutilated himself; after the police disarmed him, they took them both to the hospital, Wu only suffered minor injuries, while Chen had died due to serious injury.

The police investigated, that Wu is currently unemployed, started dating Wu a little over a year ago; because Wu wasn’t progressing, the two got in fights often, last month, Chen wanted to break up with him.

Wu refused to break it off, still called her, LINED her, begging her to take him back, although Chen blocked out his LINE account, and refused to take his calls, but, Wu knew she’d worked at the community sales center, at ten last night, he’d made a direct call to the sales center, Chen picked up.

Back then, the office was about to end its operations for the day, Chen asked Wu, “What do you want?”  Wu screamed angrily, “I want to kill you!”, Chen shouted back, “You come, I’ll call the cops!”, she’d hung up on his angrily.

At the midnight hours yesterday, Wu rode his motorcycle to the sales center where Chen worked, took out two folding knives, and, stabbed both directly, into Chen’s chest, Chen turned to run, Wu caught up with her, and, stabbed her repeatedly, on her back.

The salesperson, Liu, and the security guard saw, went up, managed to get a knife away from Wu, Liu was cut across his chest because of it, and they still couldn’t, disarm Wu who’s, half-crazed then; Chen escaped to the gas stations next door before she passed out, that, was when the police finally arrived, and they were, at a standoff with Wu, who was standing next to Chen’s body.

The police talked to the suspect for three minutes, and saw Wu stabbed himself in the stomach with the knife, they rushed up, disarmed him, subdued him, then, rushed Chen to the hospitals, but, she’d already, bled to death.

Wu only suffered minor injuries on his ab, hand, and thigh, after the hospital dressed his wounds, he was in no life threatening danger; the police charged him with murder after they’d interrogated him.

So, another love became, murder here, and it’s still because, the LOSER wouldn’t let this woman go, and, at the moment of anger, he’d, lost it, and committed murder, on someone whom he loved, or maybe, it was never even, love at all, because you don’t MURDER someone you loved, even after she broke up with you, that’s, just, NOT right!

 

 

 

 

 

Posted in A Wrong Kind of Love, Causes of Death, Deaths, Law & Dis-Order, Love & Murder, Love Became Revenge, Murder, Reasons for Murder, the Ins & Outs of the World, Unsafe in the World, Untimely Deaths | Tagged | Leave a comment

When Mom Comes for a Visit

What will she bring this time, I wonder, translated…

Time Flew Quickly by, I’d No Longer Needed, to Sit at My Desk, Pretending I was, Working on Homework, and, Actually, that Daughter Who’s, Hidden a Novel Beneath the Test Prep Books No Longer Had an Eye, on the Mother, Who’s, Arriving Home at Any Minute.  As I’d Started Complaining of How My Child Left the Toys All Over the Places, How She’d Not Finished Her Meals, and, She’d Allowed that Light from Her Computer Screen, to Illuminate Her Excited Gazes.  I’d Felt I’m Older Now, and Mom Was Only, Starting, in her Late Puberty Years………

My father asked, “She said she wanted to go and stay with you?  Is that right?”  My younger sister added, “She’d come to Taipei for supper with me, and seemed to have driven a friend to Taichung, said they were going on a night shoot at the tourist farms or something…”  It was close to noon, I was about to put my son down for his nap, “She’d not come over”, I’d typed the words on LINE with just one hand, with a toothbrush in my other hand, going in and out of his mouth, as he’d fought hard, waving his arms and legs around.  Not long thereafter, my front door swung open hard, she, with her hiking backpack, camera case in hand, an iPad, along with an assortment of bags big and small, she’d taken off her sunglasses, smiled at me, “Hey, I’m here”.

She’s here.  I’m certain, that her car must be, parked, disorderly, downstairs, with the mud on the windshield, marking her proud journey through the night, with the photos of her sightseeing through the entire night in her SD card.  She’d taken off her battle clothes, changed into something casual.  Having driven all through the night, she’d stuffed the cabbage, the mushrooms, the apples, and some other groceries into the fridge, then, stated, “I’m going to catch some Z’s”.

On the group called “Family”, I’d written, “She’s here”.  After I’d moved to Taichung, my mother would come every one and a half months, most of the times, she was in the neighborhood, traveling in Taichung, as her trip ended, she’d, come to my house to spend some time, helping me with the kids, the meals, and after a few days, she’d, gone off again, with her friends once more.

Mom is a great cook.  Ever since I’d turned vegetarian, she’d made a few of her specialty dishes just for me, every time we’d dined out, she’d paid close attention to the foods being served, used her experiences and her observant nature, dissected the dishes into the recipes, and duplicated the dishes after she got home.  What’s amazing about mom, was turning the foods that nobody wanted to touch, into brand new dishes, on the names of cleaning out the fridge, but, those whom she prepared the foods for never felt they were, eating the leftovers, this was, totally, something that my mother was excellent at.

Because of my work, teaching, and caring for my young, my days were like war, I’d normally, quickly, gotten my meals to go, only on the weekends, would I have the time, to make my meals.  Reason why my kitchen was so clean, has nothing to do with how well I’d, cleaned up after use, but due to the lack of use.  As mom came, everything in my kitchen seemed to know that she was coming, each item carried that sense of pride, with the atmosphere of respect, of glory, as mom stood in front of the stove, waving the spatula like she was, directing a symphony, she was, filled with life and energy.

Perhaps it’s being in synch, she’d always shown up when I was most fatigued, and fragile.  Once I’d had a four-hour course to teach, with the four hours of meeting afterwards consecutively, I’d, dragged my tired feet home.  Pushing open my front door, the smell of the aromatic mushroom entered into my nostrils, and, that familiar scent opened its arms wide to embrace me, without tilting my head into the kitchen, I’d known, that mom is here.  She always has a way, of digging up the dried mushrooms, the garlic, or gingers and leeks that were, frozen to beyond recognition, combined them with the freshly bought vegetables, tofu, quickly, produced a table’s worth of her kids’ favorite foods.  Not only were her kids happy, savoring her stir fried cabbage, cooked tofu, curry, it’s, as if, I’d, returned back to before I was wed, started eating ‘til my heart’s content, without needing to clean up, that, was an amazing time of life, and although I’d felt guilty, and started cleaning up, my mother would stop me like an authoritarian, “You’d worked so slowly, I’ll do the dishes.”  “The kitchen is way too small, why did you come in here?  Go and spend time with your children!”

Although I’m already a mother now, this was, the kindness, she’d, shown towards me, with her actions.

Her gentle concerns for me also included making her specialized dishes for me too.

Since I have my young, don’t know why I’d become, addicted to the chili peppers, perhaps, it was because I’d quit coffee because I was breastfeeding, I’d gotten, this new food fad.  But, as I took my child out, the foods I’d ordered, can’t be spicy at all, even if it’s just, adding some small amount of pepper, my son’s eyes and nose would, start watering up, plus my husband didn’t like spicy foods, and so, I’d, held it all down.  And, every now and then, I’d taken the rare opportunities of having the chances to dine alone, rushed into the small food shops, whether it be the spicy and sour soup, the spicy-sour noodle soup, the stinky tofu with the chilis added, they’d all become, an extravagance to me.  I’d savored these dishes by myself, sweating it all out, it’d felt, refreshing.

And, my mother knew of these chances of spicy foods I’d had, as my child and husband left the supper tables, that, was when she brought out the specialty dishes: the red hot chili peppers with the bean curd and vegetarian hams, the ingredients, simple, but, with a lot of heart, saved for, just, the two of us.  The two of us sat opposite of one another, without a word of exchange, silently, chewed, felt the heat, silently, burning up our throats separately.  When mom visited, other than stuffing up my emptied fridge, there’s, also, the specialty housekeeping services too, but, normally, it’s with, a ton of nagging, like as she was making the soups, adding in the salt, she’d added, “these Japanese seaweeds are so expensive, and, you’d kept them, until they’re, almost, expired.”  In how my time is cramped up too tightly, I can only, make the minimum requirements of housework, if I can make a meal with two dishes, I’d not used three; if it wasn’t necessary, I’d hung my clothes out on the racks, and when needed, I’d, yank ed them off, put them on directly (that way, I’d not needed to worry about wrinkles).  This, in my mother, who’s been a housewife for forty years, was a taboo, she couldn’t understand, how I’d become a mother now, and still, lived with the minimum measures.

Before she’d poured the clothes into the washer, she’d always remembered to separating the socks from the clothes (Your skin allergies were because you’d washed them together).  As she’d started nagging, she’d cleaned my underwear (you must wash these every single day), washing the bib that my son has (the collar was so dirty and you’d not used the detergents to soak it first), scrubbed the kitchen floors, as she’d ranted on and on, but still continued, scrubbing the window panes, and after she’d finished ALL of the household chores I couldn’t even imagine, she’d blamed me for not buying bigger sized shoes for my young, complained how the gingers, the lemon had, dried up, being in the refrigerators, then, with that spoiling mannerism, she’d, pulled my son out to the parks, and, bought a few artificially colored candy to keep his mouth shut, then, as my son ran out of her field of vision, she’d, started, screaming out at him, watching him closely.

Before I married, when I’d still lived with my mother, she’d nagged incessantly, it’d made me angry, and, I’d talked back to her, using the meanest ways, and she’d slammed the doors, with, “You’re on your own then!”, but of course, she couldn’t just, leave me be, after a few days, a replay of the same things.  My father who was there had already, learned, to ignore, and continued, eating his meals, watching his television programs.  Even so, it’d still, made my father mad, once on the day before New Year’s Eve, my mother and I gotten into a serious fight on how to wring dry the mop, my father got angered, and hollered out to me, “Go and apologize to your mother!”

The moments of our past fights: the anger, the tears, the complaints, they’d become, unreal now, it’d become, funny, of the dramatics.  And now, I looked at my mother, whom I only got to see occasionally, seeing her swiftly worked around the house, heard her complained on and on, swiftly, found bones to pick out, in my already cocky, lazy mannerisms—like picking out a strand of hair, in a perfectly cooked dish, hit me right where it’d, hurt; and unless she was way overboard, I usually, kept silent, there was that nostalgic feeling of “So, this, is my mother”…

As I’d become a mother, I’d, inherited her nagging ways too more or less.  Ever since she was into photography and Facebook, I’d found a reason, to nag her.  From her occasional visits, I’d learned that the internet had, turned her back into a teenager in her schedules: night rushes, night photo sessions, turning home late in the evenings.  Our hard-to-come-by family gatherings, she’d taken the opportunities of the dishes still being cooked, to log onto FB to check the happenings.  Late at night, I was waken by my child, to go to breastfeed, I’d found her light still on, I’d, knocked and entered, and surely, she was still, uploading the photos of her travel, or trying, to keep her eyes open, holding conversations with her friends.  I’d reminded her, “Mom, time to sleep”, she’d only replied, “Mmmmmmm.”, without even turning her head.

No replies.

“Sleep now.”

“Okay, stop nagging me already!”

The time turned so quickly, I’m no longer sitting at my desk, pretending to work on my assignments, reading those romance novels underneath my practice test volumes anymore, she’s no longer the one, watching the clock on the wall, waiting my return.  As I’d complained on how my son left his toys scattered all over, how he wouldn’t eat his meals, she’d allowed the screens, to illuminate her excitement.  I am beginning to feel older, and, she seemed to, have only, begun the later years of her puberty.

Even as we’d nagged one another, and started getting all worked up, my mother never kept scores.  In the mornings when I  woke, I’d found that she had her toothbrush in her mouth, with her head in the fridge, heating up the stoves, and not long thereafter, a full table of yummy breakfast again.  Only when mom visited, my breakfast became that all-you-can-eat buffet: the breads with the preserves, the stir-fry vegetable noodle, steamed yams, a plate of greens, drizzled with olive oil, with the nuts, an assortment of fruits and a hot cup of soy milk, and once, there was the pine nuts pesto rice (making full use of leftovers from the previous night).

Seeing how delicate the table’s worth of food was, all the reasons I’d usually used: can’t have that much food, I’m running late already, I don’t have much of an appetite, etc., etc., etc., I’d, swallowed back in, I can only, sit down obediently, picked up my bowl.  My mother turned on her iPad, logged online, found music to play.

“Mom, have some”.

“You guys start first, I’ll find some music.  There’s no T.V. at your house, it’s too quiet, having some music gets my appetite going.”

“It’s okay, I’ll wait”, actually, I’d wanted her, to put down her iPad.

The music flowed, above the bread and the soy milk, above the mother and daughter too.  The words that got tossed, got locked between the tolerance, the agreements that we silently shared.  As I finally found time to relax, mom was, right here with me.

So, this is how the mother and daughter related to one another now, their roles are switched, the daughter is now, like the mother, nagging her about not staying up too late, eating her foods on time, etc., etc., etc., and from their interactions, you can see, that there are, some conflicts between them, but also, a lot of love as well.

 

 

 

 

 

Posted in Experiences of Life, Family Dynamics, Family Relations, Opinions, Properties of Life, the Process of Life, Values of Life | Tagged | Leave a comment

My Youngest with a Beautiful Heart

Why doesn’t this kindergartener want to go to school?  It’s, up to you, parents, to figure that out, as she is with, limited vocabulary, to tell you what is exactly, going on at school with her, translated…

My youngest started disliking school recently, but I couldn’t get the why out of her.  I’d privately contacted her school teacher, she saw nothing out of the ordinary either.

it will be okay!  The mother said, to the child…photo from online…

And so, we can just, coaxed her to go to school every single day, but one day, she was really screaming and crying, so, I’d told my wife, then, maybe, we should take her out of the first year of kindergarten then, just enter her into the second year of kindergarten then?  But my wife disagreed, said that she was four already, and she may only be having problems, adjusting to schedules of school, and how to get along with a group of children her age.

And, I’d really, wanted to, understand WHY it was she didn’t want to go to school, I’d, guided her constantly, and finally, I’d, used the wordings she could understand, to have her express to me, with her limited vocabulary—reason was, that she’d felt the school was too ugly, the teacher ugly, her classmates, ugly too.

Ugly?  I knew, that there are only a handful of adjectives she knew, and only understood descriptive terms like “ugly”, “smelly”, and “bad”.  The school limited her in her expressions, made her felt suppressed.  Toward my naïve, and upbeat youngest daughter, I’d needed to tell her where the boundaries are gently and firmly too.

I’d recalled once, that my wife was disciplining my eldest, and she’d, dodged left and right, my youngest stood in front of my eldest, with her arms opened up wide, wouldn’t let her mother “take advantage” of her big sister.  We were both, very moved by my youngest’s actions, although she’d not known, about our intentions in the first place.child refusing to go to school 的圖片結果just say “NO”, to school!  Not my photograph…

What if my youngest child’s sense of justice was shown in front of her classmates?  I believe, she, being so small-framed, wouldn’t have it easy at all.  Naturally, for her, the classmates who’d, ignored her, were all, not pretty.  My youngest, dear, I think, it’s, all because, you have, a beautiful heart.

So, this young child, used her limited vocabulary, her limited ways of expressions, to tell her parents, that she disliked school, and, the parents hadn’t quite figured out the reason yet, and, until they finally know why their child didn’t like school, their young child won’t want to go to school, as children this young, needed to feel safe, especially, when they’re, just, starting out in their lives, entering into school………

Posted in Child Development, Conversations with a Child, Experiences of Life, Lessons of Life, Properties of Life, the Consequences of Life, The Passages in Life, the Process of Life, Values of Life | Tagged , | Leave a comment