Start Remembering the, Childhood, Years…

When we get to a, certain age (I’m thinkin’, older than………75-ish, maybe???), we start remembering, the, childhood, years, this is because, the more we age, the more we become, children, in the, psychological, sense.  And, I’m pretty sure (but no absolutely though), that, due to the limited time you (I’m still NOT one of you!) have left on this, planet, you feel compelled to, recall (and then again, I wouldn’t, know…).

Start remembering the, childhood, years, those were, the times of our, innocence, of the hearts of, wonder, of how we ran wild and free, through those, wheat fields without a worry or a care, how as our mothers called out to us: S~U~P~P~E~R!!!, we still, wanted to, play longer, because, our days of play, aren’t, quite done yet, NOT by, a long, shot.

that tunnel to the, past…photo from online

Then came, the ADULTHOOD days and in an instant, we’re, children, NO more.  Something had, happened to us all, to MAKE us, lose that, childhood so innocent from before.  And, many of us, can’t remember, because it’s, too, painful for us to…

And one day, by chance (more like FATE!), you would, stumble upon, that crying child that felt too, familiar, and, you try to, IGNORE it (no gender specifications), but, “it” kept on, crying for your, attention day and night, until, you finally, look its, way, and then, everything you’d forgotten previously, you suddenly, remembered it, like it just, happened, yesterday.

And in a sense, it did, happen, just, YESTERDAY,  because, you’d become, all grown, up, JUST like, how Little Red, transformed (shapeshifted, or whatever you want to call it!) into, GRANNY R-E-D!

Her Body Knew What Happened to Her…

She couldn’t, recall, what’d happened to her on that night…

But, her body seemed to, recall, NO, it’d, remembered, EXACTLY what’d, happened how her attacker’s cologne, smelled, the scent of his, body odor, his sweat even.  But she couldn’t, recall…

Her body knew what happened to her that night, as she came home late from, work, she was, walking through, a darkened part of town that she’d normally not gone on her way, home, but on that night particular, she’d, gone that, way for some, unknown, reasons.

as her mind, began, remembering, too…illustration from online

Her body knew what happened to her that night, and it’d been, keeping track, and, it’d become, so burdened with the truth of the events of that night, it’d started, crumbling down, the aches, the pains that came, became, totally, unbearable, and soon enough, she’d noted, the bruises too!

Her body knew what happened to her that night, and it’d been waiting for her mind to finally, get ready, to accept and to know, and, as she’d, started having, those, lucid dreams of her attack, her body knew, that it no longer, shouldered the burdens of, remembering for her.

Because soon, she’d, remembered EVERYTHING that happened on that, night……….

The Night that Just, Kept, Getting, Away

How your friend from childhood was there one day, and vanished, without a trace the next, and you couldn’t, find him, again…translated…

In my elementary school years, until before I entered middle school, there was a good friend of mine, he was the same age as I, but, entered school earlier, became my, older schoolmate.  I forgot how we got, connected, only recalled that we’d, played together in my childhood years with him, we live on the same alley.  Compared to him, I’m, more social, whatever toys that’s trending in school, whatever it was that I’d, played, and, maybe, it was because of my easygoing nature, that all the kids on our street would find me to play, the cardboard smackers, marbles, hopscotch, spinning the tops, the card fights………..anything that’s available for me to play with, the kids then, played just as much as the children do now.  While he’d, always gone off on his own, he’d loved to read, story books, comics, the encyclopedia too, he even, enjoyed reading the textbooks, and so, when we’re with him, he’s always, the smartest kid with all the answers of us all.

Naturally, we were, children, and, from time to time, we’d, gone off to catch the grasshoppers, to catch the sand ticks, pulling the clovers to play tug-of-war with…………all of these games, suited for, conversations.

When there are enough people, we’d roleplayed, sometimes, he would be the monk in Journey to the West, at times, he’d played the third follower, sometimes, he was, the bull who was the bad guy, and I, always, the Monkey King.

He’d written the scripts to all of our plays, he’d known more than we had.

We’d also done things that other kids didn’t, gone on strolls, and shared conversations.  He’s, really, knowledgeable, had too many stories to share.

In middle school, he’d read even more, with the student identification card, he could go and check out books to read by himself, it’d made me in the sixth grade, too envious of him.  Later, as I got to middle school, the very first time I went to a comic shop to borrow the books, he took me there.

One evening, he came to find me, we’d strolled, slowly to the end of our, alley, that was when he’d told me, that he was, moving, I was, surprised, and asked him, why.

I forgot what he’d told me, perhaps, it was a reason, that no child could, fight nor, object, to.

He was from a single parent family, I’d never seen his mother, his father wasn’t like a nine-to-fiver, I’d always seen him during the workhour.  His father was really tough on him, we could never go and find him when he was studying, when he was having his meals, or when he was doing his, homework, otherwise, he would, end up, getting, hurt.

That was a really dark night, there was the moon high up, but, we stood in the shadows of a pickup truck as we talked, like we didn’t want to see each other’s, faces, there wasn’t any specific smell in the air, too clean, that it’d not felt like the supper hours.  I’d asked him where he was moving to?  He’d told me, he wasn’t, quite, sure.  I’d told him, to try and get back in touch, once he’d, settled down.

He’d stated, surely, and after awhile, he’d said it, again, but I’m not, too sure.

The following day, he’d, moved out, for real, the very, next, day, as I came home from school, it was like the alley had, forgotten, completely, about, him already.

As night came, I started, crying uncontrollably.

He’d let me know he was moving, at the, very last minute.

So, the night from before, he’d come to, bid, farewell.

Surely.

And later, I’d, started, piecing together the story from the adults, which was, totally opposite of what I’d, imagined, but, because these were, word-of-mouth, rumors, I’d, not minded those, versions of the, story.

He’d never got back in touch with me, he’d, become, lost, more so than the wet letter with the address blurred out by the rain.

Time became a pen, with everyone a different story of, coming into, being, I’d not stayed, at that broken but still clung on night, later on, there were the suns, and the rains that came to me, a mixture of, good and, bad.  Toward this friend, I’d, not remembered much of him now, I can’t even clearly recall, what he’d, looked, like, but the voice of his speech on the night he came by to see me, how he’d, stood under the lamplight at my front door, how the flies buzzed under the streetlamp, the loneliness, the darkness beside that pickup truck, whose phone was ringing, being at the end of the eighties, that touch and feel of the late night of the start of autumn, unfortunately, that’s, stayed in, and for decades, it’d had, nowhere to, escape to, even if, it wanted to, escape.

So, this is on, how you’d, lost contact with that important, significant other of your, childhood years, he was, a friend to you, and yet, he’d, left you behind in time, just like that, and you didn’t know what had, happened, because you were, way too young, and all you recalled, was how this friend of yours was there one day, and, gone, the next…

The Day that Silence Took Over Your Room…

The day that silence took over your room, it’d just, moved in, when your memories are still, residing there.  It’d become, this, squatter, that we simply, couldn’t, SQUAT, A-W-A-Y!

The day that silence took over your room, on the day after you were gone, I’d, shut the door to your room, and, never, went in there again, because, everything was, as you’d, left it, and, that room full of memories became, too difficult for me to, handle, so I’d, selected to, keep it locked up.

how your room was, left, on that day…photo from online

The day that silence took over your room, you’d, stopped breathing, but you were still, living there, I can still feel you, whenever I’d gone in, to retrieve something out.  We’d turned your room, into, nothing more than, that extra, storage space in our, house now.

The day that silence took over your room, you were found, dead in it, and, we, the survivors, were all, shocked at how you’d, ended it, so rash, so brutal, and it took us, a very long time, to paint over the blood stains splattered all over the walls, to replace the carpet, stained, with what’s, left of, you……………

as opposed to this…too neat, too, tidy…like nobody was, living there…photo from online

The day that silence took over your room, it was, very long ago, and yet, it’d felt like only yesterday, we were, sitting, laughing, inside that room of yours, and now, there’s, nothing but dead silence, that lives, there.

The Memories that Returned to, Find Us…

The memories that returned to, find us, even as we’d, left them all, way, way, WAY behind.  I’d left this marriage, too long ago, you, even longer than I had…

But the memories that returned to, find us, they just don’t seem to, let up for some unknown reasons.  They kept on, hounding me, stalking me (which is now, AGAINST the law here!!!), and yet, I can’t, get away from them, because, I don’t really know, when they’re all gonna just, P-O-P, out, like that jack-in-the-box.

The memories that returned to, find us, in our, better times together, when we were, still, very much in love, with that lovely, child, but now she’s DEAD, and, there’s NOTHING else, tying me to you, so yeah, I’d, unbound my self here.

like, this…artwork found online

The memories that returned to, find us, there’s no escaping them, and I can only, deal with them, on my own, because, you and I, are, no longer together (that sign that said, “I’m WITH STUPID!!!”, remember???). 

The memories that returned to, find us, no escaping them, and I’d, boarded up the windows and doors, braced myself, for this, STORM of my, lifetime, I just hope, that, I’d, prepared myself completely for them…

Fight or Flight

On slowly coming to understand of, WHAT is right and wrong, what is, acceptable, what isn’t, in the wake of, #MeToo…translated…

As #MeToo is taking over the world, friends asked heartfeltly on the groups, “how come everybody has similar experiences?  Are there any women, who weren’t, harassed sexually in the society?”, as I’d finished reading that line, I was, lost, deep in, thought: in my coming of age, did I, ever get, sexually harassed?  And, was what happened, true, that if I were to mention it, nobody would, doubt me?

That very evening, I’d read “Let’s All Stand UP and Speak OUT” by Tina, and I recalled, something.

In my elementary years, in the cram schools, the boys and the girls sat on, separate sides of the room, until at the end of one semester, a girl and a boy started arguing, that boy immediately got up from his seats, walked over to the rows where we, the girls were, sitting, and, pushed his lower ab outward, stated brutely, “Suck IT”

That was, probably the very first time I’d ever heard those words, although it wasn’t familiar, I’d still understood, that it was, an insult, I’d, hoped my teacher could do something about it.  And yet, the instructor didn’t know how to handle it, and, she’d, looked, away, and, that was, how it’d, ended.

And, thinking to it now, all the girls sitting on that row, may have been, sexually harassed as a whole, group, and after I read that post by my friend, Tina, I’d felt bad, that my teacher couldn’t, stand UP like she had.  But, thinking on nit, the instructor may have only begun teaching for a short time, and, in the era when nobody knew the definitions of “gender equality”, how would she have the courage, the wisdom to handle such a thing.

unacceptable…

photo from online

Tina was the voice in the movement, it’d made me realized, that after my complaints didn’t get taken seriously, I’d become, socialized to believe, “it’s my blessing, that it’d not, happened to me”, “don’t waste your time, energy, on someone who hurt you like that”, and, could it be, that this is, the environment that’s, caused those, offenders, to NOT know the boundaries of what is and what isn’t, acceptable?  I’m not quite, certain, I just hope, that if something like this were to ever happen to me again, I work up the courage, to cry out loud, and I pray, that there’s, no, “next time”.

And so, this is how we’d all been, socialized, to accept what isn’t, right.  I mean, how would you feel, if someone pushed his DICK at you, and say to you, SUCK it!  That would be, SEXUAL HARASSMENT, based off of today’s (or any other days’) terms, only, that from before, we weren’t, aware enough, that we have the right, to fend for ourselves, to fight, and now that we’d become, aware, it’s still, a long ways away, from knowing what is done wrong to us, and to, FIGHT for the justice that we rightfully, deserved.

And, it’s because how those abusers think, that we feared them, and we’re not going to tell anybody, that’s why, they are, exacerbating in their, sexual harassment means, and think about, maybe you got victimized today, and you didn’t say a thing about it, and tomorrow, someone ELSE will get victimized, and what if, by speaking out when you were sexually harassed, you could’ve, stop this SHIT from, occurring, again?

When I Was Eight

How when we were too young, we’d often, blamed ourselves, for things, that we’d not, caused, because that’s how, egocentric we were…translated…

“You’d caused your grandfather to die”, the neighborhood older boy stated.  Back when I was in the first grade, my parents were busy starting up their business, didn’t have time to care about me.  After school, I’d gone to play with a couple of friends close to my home.

My grandpa sat outside the alley where we lived, next to the roads, selling the sugar canes.  He’d gone to get the sugar canes in the morn, and in the afternoons, set up shop, to tell, and in the evenings, he’d, picked up his stand, and, come home.  The orange-yellow glow of the light that marked the stand, reflected on the purplish-black sugarcanes, is the only light of that entire road.  Grandpa isn’t talkative, every time he saw me, he’d only, smiled lightly at me.  On that day, as I’d passed by his stand, he’d, waved at me, told me to come, and, became, really, talkative, asked if I knew how to write my own name?  I couldn’t recognize enough characters yet, I’d shaken my head awkwardly at him, later he’d told me, “Young one, can you go and bring me the ointment from home?”, I’d nodded, but my feet followed my playmates away, it wasn’t until dark, did I remember, that I was, supposed to, bring him, the ointment.

The following day, my grandfather died.  My neighbor, an older boy told, that your grandfather had a hole on his foot, had he gotten the ointment he’d needed, the wound wouldn’t have, expanded, and he wouldn’t have, died.

illustration from UDN.com

Then, his words started, residing in my mind.  I’d blamed myself for being too longing for the company of my playmates, so worried, that others might state, that I was the one, killing my own, grandfather.  And, all of these words, got locked inside the memories of when I was, just, eight, stuffed, into, the deepest part of that, drawer, and I’d, chained the drawers, to locking it dead completely, wrapped around, over, over, and over, again.

I’d thought that that drawer will, never open again, that I can, keep this, secret, forever.  Until I’d become a mother, and gotten involved in a reading club set up by the parents, and, through the illustrated books, went on that journey of self-discovery.  Don’t remember how that session started, I’d told this to the members of the reading group.  It’d felt like I was, repenting, telling grandpa I’m sorry, to forgive me as a child, for being, too playful, for, causing him to, die.

Some of the members consoled me, told me, that some memories of the childhood years aren’t entirely, truthful, that my grandfather could not have died, because he didn’t get the ointment on time, that his death had, nothing to do, with, me.

I’d kept this inside of me too long, never dared to, ask.  From before, I’d not dared talking to my father.  But recently, he’d become, childlike, and that strictness, that aloofness vanished, from him, I’d gotten, closer to him now.  I’d often, bugged him, for the stories.  I’d answered to his, inquiries, asking questions about my own childhood.

I’d asked, “why did grandpa die at the young age of fifty-eight?”, “Did he die because he’d not gotten the ointment on his feet?”, my father told me, “of course NOT, it’s the doctors, that’s, made the wrong, diagnoses of…………….”

“You remembered your grandfather?”, he saw me nod, and told I’d told him what my grandfather told me then.  My father looked, surprised, and said, with that relief, “You are the very first born grandchild.  When he’d died, you were, very, young.”

Should’ve opened that drawer, sooner.

And so, this is on, owning up to the memories of the loss that you’d carried for so very long, because you kept on feeling guilty, that it was you, who’d, caused your grandfather to die, because you were too playful, and didn’t get the ointment that he’d needed on time, and it’s only natural, that children would, assign these, responsibilities to themselves, carrying the debts of those, memories, of loss…

Can, the Justice Systems, Actually, Prevent the Victims of Sexual Harassment to Get, Victimized, Again?

Of course not, considering how difficult it will be, for these, SURVIVORS (not VICTIMS!) to relive everything, again, and again, and again, let alone having to FACE their, attackers, and the damaged reputations too, all of these, aren’t, considered thoroughly!  Off of the Front Page Sections, translated…

As #MeToo continued burning, even the originally perfect-imaged T.V. personnel, Mickey Huang was accused of forcibly kissing a woman, taking the victims’ nude shots, etc., etc., etc.  And if all the accusations had been proven, it’s no longer sexual harassment, but into the five-year-or-below offenses of forced molestation charges, and, if the victims aren’t eighteen yet, there’s the increased by half term.  And, all of these crimes aren’t processed based off of criminal contents, but, the statute of limitation is twenty years, so, there would NOT be the expiration or the shortened statute of limitation problems.  It’s just, that criminally, would the charges be enough, to keep the impact of the second time injury to a, minimum, to help the victims bravely, come out in their, accusations?

The victims of sex crimes, once they’d come forth, they’d had to face the interrogations, the inquiries from the law enforcement, and this would certainly bring back the painful, memories.  And, based off of the criminal law, these individuals can have their families, doctors, psychiatrists, therapists, or social workers with them when answering to the inquiries, to allow these, victims to have someone there for support, so they wouldn’t face it alone.  And, based off of the sex crime prevention law number nineteen, it also required the district attorneys, and the bailiffs, to have the professionals to assist in the inquiries in cases involving children or mentally decapacitated individuals, or even, having these trained professionals, inquire about what happened to these, victims, to prevent them from getting, attacked, again.

the Kubler-Ross stages…that is, applicable to these, cases…found online

And, all of these laws are, set up, to protect the victims of these, heinous crimes from getting, attacked again, but, putting these survivors on the stand, so they can, testify against their, attackers, tell the court what had happened to them, that’s something, quite difficult, and, to make these people relive through all of that again (like they’re not doing that since the attacks???), is, cruelty in itself!  But, to convict these sex predators, this is, a necessary, evil, and, once the events came out into the open (as being told by the survivors), the healing will finally, begin, because, being able to tell what happened to you, that’s, the first step to, owning up to your, injuries, and it’s still, a very long road to, recovery, but at least, you’d taken, that first, step out.

Memories Came, Undone…

Memories, they’d, rolled on out, like those, waves, rolling in, to the, beaches…

Memories came, undone, and, like that woman who’d been, stripped to N-U-D-E (don’t EVEN, you LOSERS!!!), the memories were all, exposed here.

Memories came, undone, and, you can’t, put them all, into that box again, ‘cuz, Pandora’s on “break”, and she’d left her, Two-Weeks (and it’s still more than two weeks that she’d, “checked out”…), and we got ZERO clue when she’s coming back, to keep guard over that, “box” of hers…

and, guess W-H-O, is at the bottom of this, huge, pile of, M-E-S-S??? Photo from online

you guessed it!

Memories came, undone, and, there’s, nothing you or I, can do, ‘bout it, the memories, they’d, flooded this nightmare of mine drowning me, and now, as the water receded (finally!), I’m, barely, breathin’, but still, NOT quite D-E-A-D (unfortunately!).

Memories came, undone, and, they’d, exposed my past to me, without, the colored lenses, without the kaleidoscope view of wonders, and all of it, became, real…………….

Memories, Finally, Released

On, how the mother and the father both, abandoned their own young when they needed them the most, and how this person is now grown, as she remembered everything, and tried to, make sense of it all, a difficult childhood this individual must’ve, had…translated…

Some memories are, locked in tightly, even if we’d let them loose every now and then, they’d become, someone else’s, stories.

1. Surfacing

In the afternoon, the sun came through the sky roof, illuminated a patch of floor, inside that huge basin on the long bench, there was, a pair of hands, turning over the white colored sticky rice, with the woman’s smiles, curling up her, shy, lips, pouring the rice into the steel jar, pouring the rice back out, refill, pulling it back out, again.

On the other side of that long bench sat, a man, also smiling on, the kind of smile that smiled with the, eyes.  The woman inquired, “how many kilograms?”, the man didn’t respond, but shift his gaze to that, young girl at the corner of the wall, telling her, “Young lady, can you go get uncle a bag for the rice?”, the young child ran toward the back of the house, she knew there were the bags at the corner of the kitchen.

By the time the young child ran back into the house, the sun was, still there, the sticky rice, still there too, the long bench, where it’d been, but the people are, gone.

• Flowing Through

When I was younger, my older brother and I often got sent to my maternal grandmother’s to, stay, most of the reasons were related to mom running out, or had already, run, out.  And dad would come visit us after he was off work, and every time I’d told him I wanted to come home, that I knew how to cook, I knew how to sweep, clean, do the laundry, I can, care for myself now, but in the end, I’d always had to, cry and watch my father, leave me behind.

illustration from UDN.com

One day, dad made me wear a shirt that I could only wear around the New Year’s, we rode the greyhound for a long, long, long time, met a woman whom I called “great aunt”, and my father left me there, told me, “you wait here, and follow your mother, home”.

When it grew dark, I saw my mom, whom I’d not seen for a long, long, long time, I had a ton of delicious foods.  The following morn, my mother let my great aunt take me on that ride home, as my great aunt dropped me off, dad told me, “oh, I forgot to tell you, that if your mother doesn’t come back, you don’t, come back here either.”

After this very day, I’d not been sent to my maternal grandmother’s home again, I’d started going to school, getting off school, cooking, on my own, with my older brother, and waited for dad to come home after work for supper.

parents, leaving children, behind…like, this…photo from online

My maternal grandparents were over here, the man in charge of the borough we live in, here, also the cops, and, from the beginning where only my father’s accusations of my mother came, in the night time, in the schools, with the photos of two people embracing, to admitting he was wrong to think that mom was having an affair with uncle.  Then finally, my mother agreed to, come back home.

On that day, dad bought a huge bag of bread, told, that the Mid-Autumn Festival was over, there’s no moon cake anymore, that we are all going to have the round-shaped buns to celebrate for the holiday that’s just, passed us.  I can’t remember what the breads tasted like, but recalled complaining of how my mother only took my younger sister and not me when she’d, run away from home.

• Submerging

In the darkened toilet, suddenly, the backdoor swung open, the young girl grabbed her pants up, rushed outside to check, on that road to the school at the back of the house, a woman was, walking agilely, away, with a man’s dark shadow, coming toward her, under the streetlamps, from inside, that tree………………

And, this is how you caught your mother, running out, to cheat on your father, and, this is awful, it’s something even you wish you could forget, that you can’t, because her abandonment of you and your older brother had, damaged you, and that’s something that you can’t, EVER, forget, and you shouldn’t either.  These are, awful memories, of a young child’s life, and now, the person is an adult, and, s/he could better cope and better understand what had happened in these, specific memories she’d, recalled, that’s why, all the memories now came, flooding, back.