Category Archives: Philosophies of Life

As My Husband Got, Possessed

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!

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Filed under Because of Love, Life, Marriages, Observations, Perspectives, Philosophies of Life, Properties of Life, Theories & Applications

The Air, My Friend

The column by Jimmi Liao, translated by me…

My New Raincoat’s Way Too Pretty,

I Don’t Want it to, Get, Wet.

the artwork of Jimmi Liao, courtesy of UDN.com

That’s just, how it works, sometimes, isn’t it?  We get ourselves something to serve a, specific purpose, but, we don’t want to use it, so it stays, brand new, like we just picked them up from the shop, and that totally, defeats the purposes of us, going out, to buy that, particular, item, doesn’t it?

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Filed under Life, Perspectives, Philosophies of Life, Properties of Life, Pursuits of Pointless Things, STUCK in a Cookie Jar, Values

Both Ways

Words out of mouths of, babes…very wise, and, making, a whole lot of, sense too!  Translated…

Since Circle started preschool, she’d become, this opened up wide door to knowledge, and would always shock us in the defining moments of our, lives.

Although my mother stopped working in business, but, at the end-of-year banquet for the employees, she’d made the pork pieces wrapped up in buns to serve.  Because we’re a four-generation family, the same dishes are set up with two kinds of cuts, with the fitting portion sizes for the younger children to savor.  Since we have the pork slices wrapped up in buns, we’d also, started, making TWO different sizes for the kids to enjoy.

the bun, resembling the wide-opened mouth of a tiger, with the piece of pork in the middle, photo from online

Due to the pandemic, these past few years, the end-of-year employee meals were set up by the individual families using webcams, we’d skillfully spread the peanut powder onto the buns, and, padded the buns with my daughter’s favorite canned tuna, the baby pork floss, as our daughter was ready for the seconds, she’d suddenly blurted out, “I get to have it, both ways!”

And my older brother took the footages of her exclaiming these words, and sent it up to LINE for the rest of the families to see.  Yes, surely, absolutely, certainly, at this very moment in time, we all feel, that we were, having it, both, ways.

So, this is how easily a child feels, pleased, the young child is satisfied with so very little, she is, curious, and that’s what made her world so brand new to her experiencing it, and, the words out of those babes’ mouths, can sometimes, surprise all of us, adults too!

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Filed under Childhood, Family Matters, Interactions Shared with the World, Life, Parent-Child Interactions, Perspectives, Philosophies of Life, Properties of Life

Secrets & Rebirth

When death occurred, so very, suddenly, we couldn’t, adapt, but, eventually, as time passes we’d, learned that it’s the love we felt for those whom we lost that will, forever, stay, translated…

My in-laws live out in the countryside, still very agile, and healthy.  Every now and then, we’d gone home to visit them, the two would start complaining about each other, and everybody was laughing and enjoying ourselves, not known, that bad luck was, already, at our, doors.

On an August morning four years ago, my father-in-law lay slanted on the floor, passed out into a coma.  We’d rushed him to the hospital, where we were told, that he had a hemorrhage in his brain stem, he’d fallen into comatose after the surgery, was in, a vegetative, state.  In the hospital, my mother-in-law kept telling me, “Your dad always called me weaker, that he would let me die before him, how can he do this now?”, not wearing enough clothes, she was pale, but, without any tears, and stated to us, “if you are going to set up the funeral for your father, don’t waste time nor energy, just do it like the elderly neighbor woman.”

Destiny is this, when it comes, you can’t, stop it.

On that very afternoon, as my father-in-law was taken to surgery, I’d given my mother-in-law a lift home to rest a bit, the families called us, told that my father-in-law’s surgery went well, that they got the hematomas out, the two of us, embraced and started crying, we’d thought, that the skies are, turning light.  And yet, not long thereafter, my mother-in-law complained that her heart was beating too fast, that she was, feeling, ill, and the ambulance came over, again.

the new life after their elders are, gone…

photo from online

In the E.R., this time, it was, my mother-in-law who’d gone into, a comatose.

The doctor on duty told that it might be the Takotsubo cardiomyopathy, caused by enormous emotional distress of sudden onset, causing the heart to not be able to cope.  A week later, my mother-in-law had an embolism in her brains, and we’d decided, to have her, unplugged then.

My father-in-law kept his promise, stayed alone on this earth, to withstand the tortures of his body, he’d become, slimmed down very quickly, and a year later, he’d, finished all of his, missions on, earth.

That old house dimmed down, faced the sunset, all alone now.  We live in the city, and rarely made it back, didn’t want to, get reminded of, all of, this.  Until the start of the pandemic, in stage-three alert, we had, no other places we can go, and finally, we’d, returned back to their, old, stay.

Cobwebs, geckos, the cracks on the walls, the dust, the leaks……….from that day four years ago, there were, the traces of that day that remained, we’d, started, cleaning up, and, a lot of the, secrets, they’d, begun, surfacing, back up.

At the bottommost layer of that old camphor cabinet, we’d found the saving books and the stamps stashed there under the few bowls; the camphor beams on the roof, there were, the gold necklace my in-laws saved for their granddaughter as dowry; in the notebook there was, the ledger of how much they’d spent by the days, they’d only spent $5,000N.T.s on groceries, there were the diaries my mother-in-law kept during my father-in-law’s service terms, when they were, separated, with how much she’d missed him…………..

Those who’d, suddenly departed, couldn’t say goodbye in time, using this means, to leave traces of them selves behind, so those who’d survived, can, slowly, heal, using their own ways.

Last winter, we’d started setting up the racks out in the garden to plant a loofa; started in October, the bright yellow flower of the squash started, fighting to get our, attention, the fruits were, grown in by the huge numbers now.  The yellow and green colored country scene, the new life began, in the, old-style mansion home.

And so, life still goes, on, even after those whom we loved and cared about are, gone, and, after the griefs all you will remember about those whom you’d loved and lost, are the, better memories all of you had made, and share.

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Filed under Fate, Life, Loss, Perspectives, Philosophies of Life, Properties of Life, the Finality of Life, Values

Ms. Kobayashi

How we were raised, by your, unconditional, love, translated…

Ms. Kobayashi comes from the city of Taipei, she’s a fashionable, and pretty woman.  The year, 1951, she worked as a nurse at N.T.U. Hospital, was in love with her husband who’s looking after his classmate who was hospitalized, and started a relationship with him and married to him.  Afterwards, Ms. Kobayashi moved with him to Chiayi, to a small town called Minghsiung.  This marriage was said to, shock the entire localities—a modern woman from Taipei, marrying a poor teacher from the countryside.

Originally, all their neighbors thought, that that this woman from the city couldn’t withstand a life in the countryside, how was she going to be able to, shoulder an entire extended families’ expectations?  But, being slender and tall, she’d carried one child on her back, with an infant in her arms, and, stir-fried the foods, tackled all the tasks that her mother-in-law had, assigned, to her, never called out in aches and pains, nor that she was tired, not even, a word of, complaint from her, she’d, started, looking after the entire, extended, family then.

a family like this…photo from online

Back then, in the means of tradition, the people believed, that having sons, to carry on the families’ last names, is the duties of the daughters-in-law, and so, after she had four daughters straight, Ms. Kobayashi’s in-laws pressured her hard, she’d often cried when no one was looking.  Her gentle husband told her to ignore his parents’ requests, but, being highly educated, thought-forward, she was still willing to keep on trying for that son for the sake of love, and tradition, and finally, she got her wish, finally, a youngest son, and so, Ms. Kobayashi has four daughters, and a, son, along with her loving husband, and the family of seven lived on, happily.

In those days of poverty-stricken means, to keep the closely aged five children alive, the couple worked really hard, to make their ends meet.  Her husband, other than taking the teaching offers all around, he’d also planted the fruits, for that extra income, while Ms. Kobayashi had, scrounged up all she could, a little here, a little, there, no longer was she into the high-end shops, no longer did she buy the Pond’s face cream at the counter (in those days, Pond’s was the high-end brand), instead, she’d used the loofa lotions, nor did she buy an article of clothing for herself—and even so, Ms. Kobayashi is still glowing with beauty, with that, scent of, elegance about her.

Ms. Kobayashi sacrificed her own means of life, and, gave her five children a perfect childhood, with all the foods, all the needs, fulfilled.  In the fieldtrips of the elementary years, her kids must’ve asked her for the pricy Washington Red apples and Playgum, at this time, she’d become this loving mother in her children’s eyes; she’d also, made sure her children behaved correctly, did well in their schoolwork, and this time, she’d become, a tiger mom that made her children respect her.  And at the time, her second child was often, naughty, often picked on the younger siblings, and he was eighter punished by Ms. Kobayashi by the bamboo stick, or that she’d punished him to get on his knees.  And, on top of that, this second born was developmentally delayed, and Ms. Kobayashi had made the rulers herself, used the matchsticks to teach him to count, and even as she’d worked so hard to train him, in the second grade, he’d still answered the multiple choice questions using X and O, it’d, made her had a hard time.  At the end of the semester, all of the other siblings all received the awards certificates, the rewards, and to make sure that this secondborn doesn’t feel overlooked, she’d taken the prize to school for her second child’s teacher to give it to him.  Thankfully, the secondborn was only slow to start, in the middle school, he’d quickly caught up in his intelligence, and, this part of the past of the second child, became the butt of the joke that the families would talk of at the meal gatherings.

And now, Ms. Kobayashi is eighty-eight, from a young mother, to a grandmother, and a, great-grandmother, but the years never left its track on her face, she’d still, have that, grace about her.  And, even though she’d now become, immobile, in a wheelchair for close to ten years, she’d still insisted on making herself up pretty, her voice is bright and loud and strong.  Her face always smiling, she’s bright and optimistic, using her own actions to show her younger generations: this world is still beautiful, even if things that are bad come our ways, we should still, enjoy our lives, and love.

“Ms. Kobayashi” is what that secondborn who got into tons of trouble, I referred to her as.  In my eyes, she’s like a fairy, pretty and kind.  And now, I’d often hugged her, kissed her, as she’d done with me when I was little.  In my childhood, she had it too hard because of me, and now, in my elderly years, I’m that man who’d dressed up to entertain the parents, as her company, stuck to her side, making her laugh, hoping, that mom would feel that I was the gift from heaven to her, that I was worth her, having it hard for me.

And so, this is a perfect example of giving back to the ones who’d raised us with their love, because this older generation had loved this child of hers unconditionally, despite how much troubles she got in, the mother continued to love the children unconditionally, which is what made the offspring now, willing, to return the kindness back, and this is the cycle of love of kindness, that passes from one generation to the next.

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Filed under A Cycle of Kindness, Because of Love, Family Dynamics, Family Matters, Life, Perspectives, Philosophies of Life, Properties of Life

The Handmade Gift Pouches with Love

How when you take the time, to make the gifts yourselves, and not just go out and buy things for each other, it’d become, that much more, meaningful to the, recipient of the presents you give to them, translated…

Every year as the year came to an end, the Chinese knot instructor, Mrs. Shih would always design a gift pouch, used the electric sewing machines to stitch the blessings on it…coinciding with the coming Chinese zodiac, to give us a ton of blessings of the new year.

What’s behind these gift pouches, was some ten odd years back, as Mrs. Shih was searching for the materials to use for her classes, she’d accidentally stumbled upon a ribbon manufacturing plant; the owner, due to the western art styles taking over, didn’t want to follow what was trending them, and barely made his shop run.  Afterwards, Mrs. Shih was asked to design the gift pouches for the small town, and that was how she’d helped the man’s business to continue.  The unique gift pouches hit off the market right away, the ribbon factory received many more orders, and found its, rebirth.  Several years ago, in the pleas of the students in the class, there’s the renewed thought of the gift pouches for the new year, Mrs. Shih said sentimentally, that every year, the designs are a form of self-challenge, also, the thought of being on amicable terms with the local industries as well.

something like, this???

from online

The designs that Mrs. Shih made, are with that scent of celebration to them, and still carried that elegance.  While, the blessings, the wishes for safe passages through the year, already gotten placed into every one of these gift pouches as they were being made.

Every year, I would have the extra sets of gift pouches to give to my loved ones, also, mailed some to my friend’s daughter who’s studying in the U.S. as well, the girl was so happy, and what she’d looked most forward to, was this, tiny present that’s filled with the celebration of the brand new year, and she’d shared this gift pouch with her American friends too.  These years, as I saw the gift pouches, it was like that joy that came to me as I was able to get the zodiac stamps at the post office, but what’s different was: in the pouches, there was the thoughtfulness from my tying up the Chinese knot art, and what’s worth the keepsake, is the warmth of the memories that’s stored inside these, gift, pouches.

And so, this is how much thought goes into giving the presents that’s handmade, and, that just showed, that you do NOT need to spend a whole lot of money, that you can make something for someone that you love, and, the recipient of these gifts will surely, appreciate the act of you taking the time, to make the gifts for them yourselves, and it also won’t put that huge damper on your bank accounts.

It’s the thought that goes into these handmade personalized gifts that you give to someone that mattered to the recipients, the most.

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Filed under Because of Love, Expectations, Life, Perspectives, Philosophies of Life

Apartment

This space, that’s, saved, for us to have, to come back to, to gather in, a point of our, origins…translated…

The first few years, the entire building carried that flair.  With the different expectations of future, my eldest and youngest aunts, my third older uncle, my father all, redecorated the second, third, fourth floor balcony.  Pushing the balcony out, adding that extra loft on the rooftop, and, extending the originally elongated shape of the apartment backward more, the stacks, the layers, all of the spaces in existence, all carried, that thickness of, expectation.  Unfortunately, the deformed old apartment, no matter how hard it’d tried, to upkeep the older generations’ dreams, still can’t, carry the younger generations’ expectancies of their, futures; and so, what remained, that’s still with the flairs, is the, humidifier that buzzed on, endlessly, echoing, inside, that old, home.

I’d heard the elders’ stories, of how four, five decades ago, as they were starting to build this apartment, the whole town was mast of all old-style one-story residential homes, back then, all the materials for the constructions are bought by the families individually, hiring the construction workers to help build the place, with the family members, supervising the building process.  And, because of this, when the major earthquakes came, even though the residential homes are already decades old, without the anti-quake designs, looking at the cracks, down the walls, my father always looked, quite, relaxed, told me, there’s nothing to worry about, this old home, that it was as if, the family’s watching over, no matter what, we are, going to be, just, fine.

For decades, the earthquakes, hadn’t, damaged our home much, even though, the exteriors told a complete, different, story, but I keep on believing, that like the depth of connection of my father’s generations, no matter if the exterior walls are damaged, the materials within the walls are still, sturdy and strong, holding onto the ground of this, small, town.

illustration from UDN.com

And yet, maybe it’s also because of this, the older generations seemed to lack that sense of the future, that as we’d grown our legs, we will, eventually, leave this, apartment that they’d rooted down, in.  During those years of economical wellbeing, the older generations had, pushed the apartment floor plans outward, expanded, maybe, they’d wanted the families that lived there to have more comfortable space, then, they’d started imagining, that after their sons married and have children, the space would NOT get big enough for everybody to say, that if their daughters, and sons-in-law moved back in too, they won’t have their own private and independent, space, and there would also be the, next generations to, consider too……….the original tiny balcony behind the kitchen, got remade into, an independent tiny living room, and a separate suite, for those who lived higher up, the stairs were set up, connecting the, independent, space, carefully, guarding the privacy, and also, connecting the entire, family.

I’d contemplated, what was in the mind of the, older generations, in setting up the homes for us, the younger generations, who haven’t figured out, the uncertainties of our, separate, futures.  And, as these new spaces never got taken up, did they find alternative uses for them then?  Or, after many years, it’d stayed, vacant, the places that the older generations would go and sweep up every now and then, dreaming of how their younger generations who are living in other cities, might come home on the weekends or the holidays for a, short, stay?

These vacant rooms, based off of the building codes, they’d become, illegal spaces after 1995, although, there’s no demands for immediate demolition, but, they can’t, be altered again.  Thinking on this, our generations are, probably with the best years of the family’s history, there was that huge group of elders who’d, worked really hard, to ensure that we have something they never had for our, futures, and, even though, we, the younger generations of cousins, no longer live in that, same apartment complex, we still have this place that’s, unchanged, that can’t be, altered, that just, stayed right where it is, waiting for us, who want to, return to it.

So, this is the idea of, an, “ancestral home”, a space that the families can share, that’s left to, everybody in the family, for the extended families to have a space to share, and any of the family members who’d, needed, that temporary stay when they come back to town.

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Filed under Because of Love, Family Dynamics, Family Matters, Life, Perspectives, Philosophies of Life, Values

Crossing the River Styx

There was, a huge group of “us”, who’d been lost, up there, and now, we’d, followed this, long, long line, one leading before the other, journeyed down into, the underground.

I’d not noted this, but, those “souls” whom I’d originally, set out with, are all, gone, as my companions.  And now, I’m about to, travel across, this, final threshold…

Crossing the River Styx, as soon as my feet touched the waters, I’d, gotten that thrilling feel, suddenly, the air was, no longer inside my lungs, and I’d, fought, really hard, to keep this, final breath within my lungs (forgot that I was already, D-E-A-D???).

look on the bright side, at least, THIS guy’s going to be with me, for a, little, bit…

illustration from online

Crossing the River Styx, I know what’s, on the other side (heaven, or hell???), at LEAST, it’s not this state of, LIMBO, so it’s, a lot, better…but, soon as my feet touched the water, I got that feeling of death, entering into me, and, it’d, thrilled me: I’m not ready to die yet, I don’t belong here!!!

Crossing the River Styx, just one more step, and I’ll be, underground, but I can’t, I just, can’t, let go, of this, final breath, because I’m scared (of what???)………

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Filed under On Death & Dying, Perspectives, Philosophies of Life, Properties of Life, the Finality of Life, Values

Trekking These Streets of the, Past…

Trekking these streets of the, past, it’d brought back, many, memories…

Trekking these streets of the, past, don’t know which sort of ghosts I’ll, bump into, and frankly, I’m a bit, scared here.  Trekking these streets of the, past, why am I here again, I just, walked this path, not too long ago, and yet, it seemed, that I’m, right back where I, started from, why is that?

with these walls, falling apart, piece, by, piece…photo from online

Trekking these streets of the, past, I’m getting really tired and weary, but, my feet had, put on those, god damn, DANCING shoes that kept going, going, going, all night (like in the story with the princesses who’d, snuck out???), and they just, won’t, allow me to rest for some, reasons.

Trekking these streets of the, past, I don’t want to anymore, I want to just, CAMP my ASS down on the ground, and refuse to walk any longer, like that TWO-YEAR old, but I’m, way past two already, which would make that, unacceptable, behaviors, so, no terrible-two tantrums for me then?

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Filed under Observations, Perspectives, Philosophies of Life, Properties of Life, Re-Experiencing the Trauma, STUCK in a Cookie Jar, Suppressed Memories, Values

The Miscalculation of Weight Gain that Will Help Me Fit into Those Dresses Perfectly

No matter how beautiful they all are, if you can’t fit into them, they’re still, scraps, and finally, you’d decided, to donate these dresses you loved for all these years, to someone who may find use for them, translated…

It’d made me feel, regrettable, as I’d opened up my wardrobe, saw those classic, elegant, good quality dresses.  As I was younger, I’d loved dressing up pretty, and enjoyed going to the couture shops to shop, once I got into a high-end couture store that was hosting a sale, and, these few dresses are from my carefully selecting from the racks.

I was only in my thirties, and these dresses seemed, a bit, old-fashioned in style, and they were, a bit, too large for me then, but I’d still told myself, that I got a good bargain for the cost, that maybe they would NOT fit me now, but, as I grew older, into midlife, and gained some weight, then, they will fit me, perfectly!

All the way home, I was, gloating, grinning ear to ear, at my gains, and, saw myself in those, dresses, how elegant I would, appear.  As I got home, I’d, gloated to my husband about what I did.

like this??? Photo from online

“Yeah, they look great, but how do you know for a FACT, that you will, gain weight later on in life?  And besides, maybe, you would change your taste in style by then?”, he’d lightly, poured, that glass of cold water, all over my, parade then.

And, he was half right.  I’d, waited until I’m past sixty, still not gained any extra weight, instead, due to the loss of my muscle mass, I kept at forty-five, forty-six kilograms prior to age fifty, and now, I’m, defending forty-two.  And, although, these dresses still won’t my taste contest, but they’d, drifted, farther, farther, and farther away from where I am now!

Back then I thought I was, “preparing for my future”, and now, it’d become, a “waste of resources”.  Gazing upon those few dresses that I’d kept for more than thirty years, although they still appeared, brand new, but the unchanged fact was, “I can’t wear them”, and there’s nobody I can give them to; I’d made my mind up, I shall, donate them tomorrow then!

And, it’d been told, that “dreams are what keep us alive”, and, yet, a lot of things, they don’t go, as we, planned.  Year after year, I’d often imagined, “one day, I shall, put these, beautiful dresses on me”, I’d dreamed this dream for more than thirty years, and, although, the dreamer still, woke up, but, these more than 10,000 days of dreaming on, I suppose, it was, worth what these, dresses had, cost!

And so, this, is how something you thought that were, too pretty to lose, that you’d kept forever (literally!), still end up as, useless, because you hadn’t gained the weight that you thought you would gain in midlife, and so now, you let these items go, but the images of you, fitting perfectly in those, dresses you loved so very much, shall stay forever fresh, in your, mind.

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Filed under Expectations, Life, Perspectives, Philosophies of Life, Properties of Life, Pursuits of Pointless Things, Things Left Behind