Sir, I Want Some Baked Goods that Are, Imperfect

The acts of kindness, initiated by the owner of the bakery, and it warms everybody who knows the details of what’s going on, translated…

Yesterday, as I was at the bakery selecting my breads, suddenly, a boy of about ten ran into the shop in a hurry, started hollering to the owner, “Sir, give me some imperfectly baked breads!”, the owner of around sixty years of age squinted his eyes, smiled and replied, “okay!”, then, I saw the child used the clasps, picked up a few breads, the owner bagged the items for him, and only took one small coin from his hand, then, handed him the goods, and told him, to walk carefully, and, the owner smiled, as he saw the young boy off.

Those of us, customers who saw this scene, we’d, all looked at each other, and smiled, while the owner of the shop told, with a heavy note, that the boy’s name is, “Lucky”, he was, a prematurely born child, back then, his mother gave birth to him out of wedlock, and couldn’t tell who the father was, in the end, she had to, leave the family, abandoning her own son, and for many years, nobody’s, heard from her, for several years, the boy was, left to raised by his grandmother who’d, lost her husband.  She’d hoped that he would be, blessed, thus, she’d, named him, “Lucky”, but because she’s elderly, without abilities to work, she could, only make the amount from recycling the materials, they lived on, very, poor.  “Thankfully, although Lucky may be, developmentally delayed, but his physical growth was, normal, he’d, helped his grandmother out without being asked regularly.”

a batch like this???sold, at a, discounted price here!  Photo found online

The owner told, that since he learned of Lucky’s story, when he’d come to buy the breads, he’d, symbolically, accepted a coin from him, as payment.  But, one time, his grandmother took him in, pointed to the bread, then inquired to the owner, that did Lucky steal the breads?  If not, how come, all the money she’d, given to him were, still there?  The owner replied, “Lucky is a good kid, he did NOT steal anything, he’d bought the ‘breads not baked perfectly’, so that’s why, I gave it to him, at, a discounted price!”, as the grandmother heard, she’d, felt relieved, and continually, thanked the owner for his, kind heart.

As I’d heard the owner of the bakery told the story, a surge of warmth rushed up.  Think about it, Lucky is, exactly like his grandmother hoped he’d become, a kid blessed, otherwise, how would he have, met up with the kindhearted, bakery owner?

And so, this, is one of these tiny tales that warms up the heart of those who heard, read, and knew it, and, the owner of the bakery saw that this young man was in need, and, started giving him the help, because he knew, that he and his grandmother, are living on so little, and this story warmed up the hearts of others, it gives us hope, to see, that there are, still, smallest amounts of kindness, happening, all around us.

Seeing You Off

The final passage, remembering the woman whom you’d come to know, as your, mother-in-law, from your father-in-law’s second marriage, translated…

Sitting silent, in the back of the church, on the wooden bench, stared at the white coffin, paved with flowers in the shrine, hearing the pastor slowly, told of your, eighty-two years of colorful life; as the pastor described you as being straightforward, generous, it’d, made me cry, and I’d, lifted up my head and smiled, started recalling the thirteen years of friendships we’d, come to share in life.

It was a snowy day in April in Norway, my husband who’d, planned to be single for the res of his life, drove me in his car, and, came to your door, my father-in-law, and his second wife, you, immediately led us in, and, in a panic, started, preparing the snacks, the coffees to serve to me, an unwelcomed guest.  Back then I wasn’t, fluent in Norwegian, I’d spoken in fluent German with my father-in-law, and, it’d, made you, who lived in the U.S. for over a decade object, that you had difficulties understanding us, and, we’d, realized that we had, excluded you, and immediately, we’d, both started switching to talking in English then.

On Christmas Eve that first year of our marriage, you’d, burst the hopes of your three daughters, sons-in-law, and nine grandchildren’s dreams of family union, you’d come to our home, and, baked for us, the traditional Norwegian pork ribs, meat balls, and sausages, and prepared seven types of pastries.  And, as lucky as I in the first time, I’d, scooped up, the only almond, hidden inside the rice pudding, and received, that special award for piggy almond candy.  Underneath the Christmas tree with the Norwegian flag, were the gifts, stacked up, you, my father-in-law, my husband and I, the four of us, sat around the tree, and started, tearing open the presents, the excitement, the joys, it’d, filled up the house.

The summer that my mother, second aunt, and nephew visited Norway, you’d not just, invited them, you’d also, found your youngest who’s my age, along with your young granddaughter, who’s around the same age as my nephew as company, you’d, set up a wooden board in your yard, with the balloons, and started, shooting the darts.  And even though, it’d rained that day, we’d, still, had a ton of fun; to this very day, my mother still talked of the cherries, the raspberries, and currants you grew in your own yard.

On your seventy-fifth, because your body was, ailing, you’d, delayed your birthday celebration in May, but you’d, not told us flat out, only asked, if we’re available to show up in June.  And, as my husband and I arrived, I’d found, that it was, a family birthday celebration your daughter, son-in-law, and grandson had set up for you; we’d, not brought anything, and we were, embarrassed, but you’d laughed and told, that it was because you didn’t want any presents, that was why, you’d, not told us it was to celebrate your birthday.

illustration from UDN.com

2017 was, especially cruel to you.  First, your best friend who lived in the U.S. died in the spring at the age of over ninety, several months later, it was, my father-in-law, the second love of your life, passed away, in the autumn.  On the evening my father-in-law passed, you, me, and my husband, the three of us, stayed close by his side, until he’d, swallowed his, last breath.  You’d, dragged your, deteriorated health, your, slow steps home; the following day, we took you to the funeral home, to set up my father-in-law’s final affairs, you’d spoken of how you’d, not slept through the night, that you’d, paced around in the living room; even as your kids and grandkids were there, to accompany you, it still, didn’t, take away from your losing your husband.

Within two years after my father-in-law’s funeral, I sat here, in this, same church, heard the same pastor, hosting your funeral.  This pastor was the one who’d, conducted the wedding ceremony of you and my father-in-law thirty years back, he’d retired since, but, two years ago, he’d, made an exception for my father-in-law, spoken on his funeral, and this time, for you too.  You marrying my father-in-law, had once cast a huge shadow for my husband’s not introducing me to his own mother, but, for the eighteen years, the three of you had, died, and all the displeases of the past are now, gone, with the wind.  I’d heard of the news of your death as I’d returned from Egypt, I’d, come, to see you off, I’m so grateful for your kindness toward me, even more grateful, that you were, a “stand-in mother-in-law” to me, giving my families and I, such, wonderful, memories.

And so, this, is on how strong the connections of strangers who became, families are, and this still just showed, how if you’re kind to your daughters or sons-in-law, they will, reciprocate, and love you like you were, their own, parents too.  This is quite rare, to see a stepmother-in-law and a daughter-in-law get along so very well together.

Because of Your Not Ready to Let Me Go, I Had to, Suffer, Longer than I Had to…

tattooed, around the area where the tube is, supposed to, go in…photo from online

I’d been found, in the TERMINAL stage of cancer, it’d, progressed too advance, metastasized, took over, my other organs as well, but because of your not ready to let me go, I had to, suffer, longer than I had to.

I get, that you love me, and couldn’t see me die, but heck, EVERYBODY dies, I’d, already, come to understand that, through the course, of this, illness, and, as my cancer had, progressed, little, by little each and every day, I’d, become, less than all I once was, I’d lost, ALL my dignities, I’d started, wearing DIAPERS for crying on loud, and needed people, to carry me up and down, and I can’t even, sit STRAIGHT, in my god damn, WHEELCHAIR either!

Despite everything that’s been done, my cancer is still “on”, in fact, it’s, MORE than on, and, this last round of chemo, it’d, left me, so FUCKING weak, I can’t even see anything in front of my eyes now.

the forms…photo from online

Is this the way, I want to live? HELL no! And yet, you’re, still, keeping me here, but W-H-Y, huh? Why do you, HATE me so, that you feel compelled, to DRAG me through this SHIT in these dying days of mine? And, why can’t I, just, have some peace, and just, live from breath to breath?

I’m NOT afraid to D-I-E, by any measures, in fact, I wish I were DEAD now, and yet, look at, these tubes that are, attached to my body, there’s one, to drain out the excess fluids, one that’s, in my arms, to draw the blood out for testing’s sake, and oh, do you not see, this tube that’s, stuck down MY fucking throat here? And, don’t EVEN, get ME started, on what feeding time is like every single time here???

Now, ask yourselves this: would THIS be the way, you all want to, live out the rest of your lives? And, if you could have a choice, wouldn’t you, just, want someone, to PULL the P-L-U-G-S?

So, why are you, still, keeping your own loved ones, connected to that monitor, beeping, beeping, beeping, beeping, beeping, and beeping away, huh?

This is, completely, I-N-H-U-M-A-N-E, and NOBODY deserves to, LIVE like this, especially, NOT during those, final days, years, months of her/his, life………

Status

On death & dying, in the funeral home, translated…

On day, an Indonesian Woman Took Her Mother in, But, No Matter How We’d, Checked & Crosschecked the References from Taiwan, We Can’t See, that They are, Mother & Daughter………

That Column of “Spouse”, Left Blank

One day, the owner of a funeral home took an elderly person’s copy of identification, and left it on the desk at the office the moment he’d, walked in.

We looked at the identification, asked, “is the person, coming in soon?”

The owner said, “no, not the man, but his wife, she’s, almost, gone.”

I looked at the identification, there’s nothing on the spousal column, it’d been, left, blank, could it be, someone who’s, just like me, who’d imagined he had a wife, and, the air was, almost, out of, his air-filled dolls? As I thought, I’d, felt empathy, looking at that identification card, I’d felt, closer, and, it didn’t, look like that eyesore that it had become to me.

The owner looked at my face, knew that I wasn’t, thinking straight, said, “He’d been with a divorced woman a long time, they’re both, getting older, with no need to get married again, and, twenty years had, come and gone. Now, the woman is dying, and the man wanted to know, if you can, help take care of the final affairs?”

We’d first inquired, “are they, cohabiting partners?”

The man said, “nope, they are registered separately.”

Then, we’d inquired, “Would they need to set up separate wills?”

The owner shook his head, “They don’t have enough money for that!”

We’d sighed, “then, we can only, ask the social services to sort it all through”.

The owner smiled bitterly, “the elderly just thought, they’d been together so long, they should, help each other with one another’s, final affairs.”

illustration from UDN.com

The woman who was, sweeping up the floors close by said, “Then…how about, marrying one another?”

The few of us were, lost in thought: one of them is in the eighties, and, the other one, about, to get, sent in here too, and, this marriage would be………

The owner smiled bitterly, “I’ll go and ask them.”

About a week later, the owner took an elder into the funeral home, to set the affairs up, the elderly took out his identification, it looked, familiar, I’d, flipped it over, there’s a name on the spouse column now, and the elderly said firmly, “I want to, check my wife in”.

This elderly looked like he was from the lower end of the socioeconomic statuses, leaving the final affairs to the social services, it would surely, help him save up on a lot, and, is, “status”, really, that important?

The Woman Who Wheeled My Mother in

One day, an Indonesian woman sent in her mother, but, we’d, read the paperwork, and just, couldn’t believe, that they were, mother, and daughter at all.

The woman said, back then, it was her aunt who’d, married to Taiwan first, so she could, come over here too, she’d, used some measures, and, managed to have the mother’s name become her aunt’s, and her birthmother, she’d, called her “aunt” instead.

Waited until she’d started living stably here, she’d, moved her mother over to Taiwan to live, and, within a few short months, her own mother tripped, fell, and died.

As I heard this story, although I felt bad for her, but, aunt is aunt is aunt is aunt, and, we’d, slashed the services for those from other countries, that only the blood relatives can be taken care of. We’d, told her the situations, as she’d heard, she’d, waved to us, said, “the cost is nothing, I want to know, can I, help her sort through her final affairs as her daughter?”

We’d thought a bit, consoled her, to go back to Indonesia to try to get the status changed, but, it’d been, a very long time since she’d, changed her information, and, the costs of the funeral would not be, something small.

She’d thought for a bit, and we could tell, she was, really, distraught.

In the end, other than registering her mother as her “aunt” and her being the “niece” of the deceased, she’d, used their real status, but, as the funeral processions happened, she’d started, wailing in front of her own mother’s coffin, cried on how she wasn’t fitting as a daughter, not being able to, give her own mother, a rightful status when she’d died.

Sometimes I’d wondered, so long, as she’d, treated her aunt like a mother in her heart, took care of her, like her real daughter would, would it be important, that the status of “mother” is, specified?

That Most Unforgettable Household Registry

On yet, another day, came, a man, there was a lady who’d, cried so hard outside, actually, this wasn’t, any sort of a big deal, for the death of a spouse, we’d thought, that it would be rarer, if the person doesn’t cry at all.

And yet, this man’s body was only, accompanied by this one woman in his family, and she’d told us, that she’ll, give us the paperwork of their relations later on.

And, as we’re, about to, place him in the ice bins, the woman asked, “can I, say some final words to him?”, we’d nodded.

She’d bent down, patted the man’s head, “Honey, this, is the very first time I called you honey, it’s also, the last, you need to take care of yourself on the other side. Thank you for looking after me so long. You and your older brother, are, the most perfect men I’d ever met in this life, I love you………”

She’d, started, crying like HELL at the icebins, but, as she’d, walked away, she’d, become, very strong.

At this time, the proof of relationships came.

This had happened a long, long time ago, but sometimes, I’d still, gotten reminded of that household registry, with only TWO people registered, the relationship being brother and sister-in-law.

Sometimes, I’d thought, “status”, didn’t seem, so important at times like these.

And so, for the sake of paperwork, you’d, needed to, prove your relationships to the deceased and sometimes, it’s, more complicated than that, because, the two of you may have, related to each other as a husband and wife, but, you’re, actually not, you might be related, in other ways, and yet, the system mandated that we need to proof our status, who we are, in relations, to one another, to have our, loved ones, properly, buried.

A Different Life

With the assistance given to these families by the foundation, these families can finally, have some sense of, normalcy in their, functioning, translated…

In the meetings that day, the senior early childhood intervention educator, Mrs. Shih told everybody, there was a student’s mother whom she’d lost contact with that’s gotten reconnected with her on FB, told her that her twins who were, helped by the center from before, who’d, received the early intervention helps are, in the universities now.

Mrs. Shih said, as the mother told her how her children were doing, it’d, deeply impacted her, because as the twins were sent to the early intervention center, they had troubles, feeding themselves, and yet, Mrs. Shih wasn’t as experienced as she is now, she’d, become, too nervous when looking after the twins, worried, that she may, injure the twin if she weren’t, careful enough; but, over a decade later, the twins had the abilities to take the entrance exams for college, and, they’d, both gotten into the public universities too.

I’d once heard other coworkers, sharing the tales of success.  The person in the story was, Shen, he’d lost his parents, and lacked that secure attachment, he’d, needed to hug everybody he saw, and in the end, he was called, the “sexual predator”; but, as he’d been sent to the foundation for placement, he’d, learned to express his insecurity in an alternative method, and because of the company he had from his teachers, his peers, he’d, changed his manners from being timid as he’d come to the center, to now, being able to, laugh out loud.

There was, also, the younger brother of a guy, that he’d, felt like an older brother to his own older brother, because his older brother needed to get taken care of more.  Thankfully, after the older brother received job trainings, he’d, started working, not only was he making his own way, he’d no longer needed to, be watched over staying at home, and he finally had the time, to do what he wanted to do, and felt the burdens, lifted from his shoulders now.

If the early interventions didn’t happen, then, the twins may still need someone else to help them at meal time, let alone how they’d, taken the college entrance exams; had the teachers not helped Shen adjust his behavior problems, he would now still be, misunderstood, as a “sex predator”; if the older brother didn’t get the job training he needed, the younger brother would still be, carrying that burden of taking care of him, and NOT had a life of his own, the life that he’d, wanted; and, those families that were, torn apart, because of the children’s conditions, after the children were, placed in the early intervention programs, the atmospheres at home became much better; and, the aging parents, who could, no longer look after their own young, and after they’d asked the First Welfare Foundation for assistance, they’d now, found time to breathe, for themselves…………

Every time I’d heard these stories, it’d, moved me very much, the teachers at the First Welfare Foundation, had originally, just wanted to, help the needed to have a better, a more comfortable life, but, their work had, touched the families as well, helped these families, changed for the better, giving a higher quality of life, of the family members.

Reason why I’d started this column, is because, I want the world to know, how extraordinary these teachers are, how they’re, using their, professionalism, their passions, persistence, and love, to help turn the families they’d helped, around, giving the families, new hope, so they can, keep on, hoping for, a better, a brighter future for themselves.

And so, this, is considered the fishing pole program, because this foundation had helped those who are, mentally decapacitated to have a skill set, to train them to take care of themselves, so, their families no longer need to worry about them all the time, and, this is an amazing program, and we should have more of these, social welfare foundations that are, doing this sort of work in the world.

The Air, My Friend

The column by Jimmi Liao, on what’s instinctive to someone, may not be instinctive to another, and we shouldn’t, judge one another based off of what we know!  Translated…

Can’t believe they’re, learning to swim, what do they learn in learning to swim, isn’t that supposed to be, instinct?

Nope.

the artwork that came with the passage, off of UDN.com

Not at all.

By this “conversation”, we can tell, how we lacked respect for what each other has, that we make judgments of one another based off of our personal experiences, and the thing is, everybody has different experiences in life, just because it’s something you know, that doesn’t mean, that everybody knows it too…

The Air, My Friend

The column by Jimi Liao, translated…

Because I can’t keep my self all the time, keep maintaining that bright happy smile,

So, I’d made an enormous sculpture, to tell myself: be happy, smile more!

the artwork of Jimi Liao, from UDN.com…

This is just odd, and, it’s so sad to see, that there are still, adults “educating” their own young like this: that they can’t be unhappy, they need to be happy, and you DO realize, how this, is considered as a sort of emotional NEGLECT, right???