Recollections, on how he grew up, translated…
On the corner of the first floor was a bottle of loofah lotion from a friend awhile ago. In my memories, the last time that loofah lotion showed up at our home, it was, about twenty years ago, back then, my family owned and operated a tradition grocery shop.
My mother who was very careful with money knew where the money was, other than selling an assortment of groceries and breakfast foods, there were also those items made the family, wrapped up ourselves. My over two-hundred volumes of Doraemon comics is one. My mother took advantage of the time I was away in school, she’d wrapped up my comics in plastic wrap, and, put them out for sale for $15, and they’d cost me $35 each volume. Waited until I got home from school, I could only manage to salvage the dozen that were, remaining. My mother said, the books I’d read were just, gathering dust, if we sell them, we could at least, make something for them.
Loofah lotion is another. One day, a customer grabbed a bottle of red wine, rushed to the shop angrily, complained to my mother how the wine tasted funny.
My mother who’d usually believed that being kind is a way to make more money, finally showed her stingy self which she normally showed to just me, and, started defending herself, that the wines wouldn’t have problem, as it was made by the government agencies, that there was, NO problem at all! She’d believed, that the customer was making troubles for her on purpose.
As they were really getting into it, my father took the bottle, took a small sip, looked toward my mother, with his usually, calm tone of voice, “This was, the loofah lotion you’d made a year ago.”
Turns out, about a year ago, mother heard of the uses of loofah lotion, and started making her own, used the disinfected empty bottles, to capture the dews from the loofah she’d planted outback, and, she’d made five, six bottles total, and, placed them at a cooler corner of the shop, and planned to use them later. And still, after the days passed, she’d, forgotten about them, and, she’d, placed them out as the red wines to sell, which was what made this mess in the first place.
My mother who was ashamed immediately apologized to the customer, but, as the owner of the shop, she’d not taken a break on making the money. So instead, she’d, pushed forth the product she’d made herself: used externally, to reduce inflammation, making the age spots disappear, prevent pimples from surfacing. The male customer in his sixties told my mother, “ma’am, I’m already in my sixties, how will I still have pimples?”, my mother replied, “Those age spots can be treated too!”, then, she’d, switched her tones, and started telling of the hardship she’d weathered through, to get these bottles of loofah lotion.
what the wine looked like
And finally, the customer who was originally angered, took back that bottle of loofah lotion, and bought three more bottles of real red wines. And, my mom flashed that look of victory toward us, as if saying, “You two can learn something about sales from me!”
The bottle of loofah lotion from my friend looked clear as water, but, maybe, I was, affected by my mother, I’d started guessing at how much I can sell it for? Then, I’d recalled, that those bottles of loofah lotion my mother made, I’d never been benefitted at all, how I’d not, treated my pimples with them.
I’d opened up this bottle carefully, used a cleaned ladle, put some into a spray bottle, then, started, spritzing at myself, like forcing myself, to fill up a segment of my own memories, letting it infiltrate into my pores, a memory of my own mother, the red wine bottles, and loofah lotion.
the bottled up loofah lotion, and, you still couldn’t tell if the contents of this was, poured inot the red wine bottles, photo from online…
So, this, is how much the writer’s mother was saving up, she’d used the bottles that weren’t being used, for some other purposes, which caused some misunderstandings in their lives, and, yet, the writer now sees this as a prominent memory of his younger years.