The ELECTRA complex, coming full-circle again, and this time, her ass didn’t get, kicked by it! Translated…
To tell the truth, if my husband got possessed, there’s, nothing I can do.
After my father passed, his things weren’t what I could handle, thankfully, I’d only needed to hint at my husband, he’d, understood me, and, went to my mother’s home to sort out my father’s things with me. Those things that remained, were of my mother’s, too, and what us, sisters, left behind at our parents’ home after we were married and moved out.
Lost track of how many days it’d taken for us to clear things up, only that my husband saw this, and that, and told me, that we could use them in the futures. To thank him for helping me out, I can only ask, “you sure? Don’t stack the items all over the places at home.” He’d patted his chest, “don’t worry about it!”
A lot of things, by first look, I’d known, wasn’t my mother’s, must’ve been the “treasures” my father discovered somewhere. My father became demented in the elderly years, I’d guessed at his path to collecting the items, guessed that maybe what he’d, picked up were those, lost dreams of his. But, I suppose, my husband won’t have those, symptoms, thankfully, all he’d brought back from my parents’ home were put up nice and neat. It’s, just that afterwards, things became, a bit, weird.
When there were the large items taken out by the curb that’s waiting to get, recycled, my husband would study them, to see if they’re, worth, something, even if there were the parts that he’d found useful, he’d, taken the things apart, and brought it back home. But he’d not stacked these junks all over the place, so I’d, turned a, blind eye to his ways, and, not nagged him over them.
One day, he’d made him home earlier in his early morning exercises, entered in from the driveway, with a few iron rods on his arms, strutted in like a warrior who’d won some prizes. Because of the angle of the sunlight, I couldn’t see him. He’d called out before I said anything to stop him, “You’re only getting up and going to the markets now?”, I got awakened suddenly, “WHAT is it this time?”, he’d stayed calm, “this is good metal, it’s zinc plated, it wouldn’t become rusted up”. He’d strutted forward without stopping, and, brushed by me, and pressed the elevator button to go upstairs. And, my useless awakeness, left me, speechless then.
He was about to take in a preowned desktop, and, there were already, the occupants on his desk and I became troubled where to put it, and it was like he’d, suddenly remembered the location of a treasure he’d stashed somewhere, long, ago, flipped out the board he brought from my parents’ home, the parts he dissembled of the machine from the side of the roads, took him two days, he’d actually, made a computer desk with the extensions that’s the flexi sort. Although, it wasn’t an original that fitted with the computer, but, he’d spent nothing on the parts, and, what he’d made actually, worked, how can I not, hooray him?
One day he’d come home from his walk, and, he’d gone into the bathroom as he’d come in. I had my back to the door, felt him, stealthily, behind me, but, I was into my book and didn’t care, then, the water running from the faucet in the bathrooms, and there’s the rustling of scrubbing something. Turned out, he’d made his way back out of our home, to bring in a screen door he’d found. I’d thought about my mother’s complaints when she was still alive, “your father NEVER dared bring home the things he’d found, and, as he saw me busying in the kitchen, then, he’d, opened the door, to move what he’d picked up on his walk in.” I’d caught him all right: “hey! Why are you, moving this screen door in?”, he was working hard, scrubbing away, without lifting his head, “I’d already measured the size, this is the exact fit for the window frame of our front balcony, that way, the bugs can’t, get in.” that screen door we had, was blown off by the typhoons many, many years ago, and now, he’d feared that the bugs would get into our home, it’s for my benefit, and I should, thank him.
Two days ago on the way home by bus from my grocery trip, I’d stared out the windows to see the views along the way. Half way up the mountains here was, a man in a white shirt, loose casual pants with his wrists together behind his back—that stature, those clothes, is it, dad? What, it’s past the month of the opening of the gates of hell, thankfully he’d, took that baseball cap that belonged tour son, for me, to confirm that it was, my husband. SHIT! Is it, possessed now?
Thinking on it, both him and my father were, tall men from the north, and both were of the same ranks in the armed services too. When the left sock had a hole, my husband would switch the sock to wear on his right foot for a bit, then, toss it out, when my father was in his eighties, he’d had me use the threads and needles to patch up the holes in HIS socks too. He’d worn those two outfit at home, and, always silent at home like that shadow that lurked, and, as they both met some stranger and chatted it up, they couldn’t, stop talking to the unknown strangers they just, met. Both enjoyed noodles, and traditional Chinese buns, never picky on food, as the purpose of food served the only purpose of satisfying their, hungers.
Did I, use my father as a prototype, and I’d, found my, husband? And, that figure that looked EXACTLY like my father, who was actually, my own, husband, and I’d, thought about how he was, possessed by my own, deceased father from before, then, my lips, curled up into a, smile.
So, the Electra complex still came full-circle here, we select our husbands, based off of the prototypes of our own father, and we can NEVER escape this, and this woman found the “shadows” of her own father in her husband, and, it’s like she still has her father with her, even after he was, gone, because her husband IS the exact replica of her own, dear old, dad!
Mirroring the World 