It was me, who got, shattered, like you, had, I just, didn’t know it then, but I know it now…
It was me, who got shattered, like you, had, and, you broke into, millions of bits and pieces, and, scattered your broken self, across my mind. It was me, who got shattered, like you had, I just, didn’t know it then, I didn’t know, that I was, going to be like you, the victim of our, angers.
what became of, her, my porcelain of, long-ago…photo found online (this wasn’t my identical porcelain though…)
It was me, who got shattered, like you, had, and I know it now, and, I’m so sorry, for how you’d, “died” back when I was too young to even realize. It was me, who got shattered, like you had, only, I shattered inside, while you’d, shattered, on the, out, and, as soon as you hit the marble floor, I knew, it was, too late, to save you.
Oh how I’d, cried, over you (did I now, can’t remember!), you were prettier than my other, porcelain, and, the thoughts of, had I only, thrown HER, instead of you, you would be, “alive” still, crawled into my mind.
But it was, too late, you’d already, “died”, at my childhood, hand, there was nothing I can do, but to, mourn for my loss of you, and of my own self too……………
The lesson this father learned, from his baby daughter, who is in her, Queen Elsa stage of life, translated…
I have a four-year-old daughter who loved nothing but skirts, but, in her preschool, for the kids to stay easily managed, and having the agility to do the class activities, the preschool told the students that they can’t wear skirts or dresses to classes, and so, on the weekends and holidays, she’d, made up for it, putting on the skirts, the dresses, to satisfy her own desires of being dolled up like a princess.
Since we received the preowned princess dress from a friend, she’d, found that hidden princess side of her self, even though, she’d not seen any Disney princess films, but through the social networking in her school, she’d become, the master of “Frozen” by Disney, “let it go” became her overly used phrase, and on the weekends, she’d insisted, on becoming Elsa the queen, with that crown on her head, a magic wand in her hand, then, she would allow us to take her out, she’d, put her heart, her soul, her being into this, as a father to her, and a film director, I don’t know how to react to it, and realized, just how, powerful an influence the movie industry has on the people.
I wrecked my mind, do I, allow my daughter to exercise her own free imagination, or to restrict her, to set a right kind of value system for her to follow?
little girls, dressing themselves up as princesses
photo from online
This semester, I’d started teaching a master class, “Writing Scripts for Young Children”, I’d set up the discussion times with my students on the matter of “children” from before. First, understand the minds of the young children? How the children’s thought processes worked? How do they express themselves? How to get along, communicate, then lastly, what we want to, give to the children? This order is quite vital, but in the Asian culture, stressing raising outstanding children, we only cared about what we’re, feeding to the children, how to make them absorb what we’re giving to them, to make sure they learned the lessons quickly, and all of the lessons we have to teach all at once? As for the children’s thoughts, or feelings………we’d ignored, wait until they’re older, then, we tailor to that.
On the weekend, I took my young daughter, dressed up as Queen Elsa to Costco to shop, because of how she’d stood out, the ladies working at the sample tables, and demonstrating the new products all came to say hello.
“Hi, princess”.
“Princess, you are, beautiful!”
“What are you looking to buy today, princess?”
“Are you Princess Elsa? I saw your movie once!”
All the way, my daughter was very conversational with everybody who’d greeted her, it’s her dad who felt, embarrassed, and boy oh boy, am I glad, that I’d put my mask on.
“Does it bother you, or make you uncomfortable, that you’re getting, everybody’s, attention?”, I’d asked my daughter.
“no.”, she’d responded.
“So, you enjoy all the attention then?” I’d inquired.
“Sure, because they’re giving me compliments, affirming me.”, she’d told me.
Actually, this child of mine, had suppressed her feelings from when she was a young child, refused to express herself, and we’d had to guess what’s on her mind a lot. It took my wife and I a ton of time, and worked hard with her, for her to finally express her own emotions, to tell her thoughts to us, and now, the results are finally, apparent.
what these, little girls, loved…photo from online
Before we give to the children, and teach them things, we must first, know what they’re thinking, how they’re, feeling; understand, empathize, allowing them to tell us, give the children their own means of expression, to valid what they experience, this is, the core value of writing for children.
Letting the children be themselves, versus training them to be someone else we expect them to become, this is a huge matter for not just the parents, but also, a must-learn lesson for everybody in this world. I’m too grateful to my princess, teaching her father, the “king”, to learn this, important lesson.
So, the adults learned something from the children here, because there is, a lot to learn from your own kids, but, mostly, you @#$%ING (maxed out!) adults think, that we’re older, therefore, we know more than you do kid, and, we will silence you, because you got nothing important to say, after, we are older, AND wiser, having lived longer.
And yet, there are, a ton of things, that the adults should be learning from their own young, not the other way around, children are, born wise, and then, they grow up, become, stupid adults.
There’s this home, of the broken dolls, where, all those dolls that got torn apart (made of cloth), shattered (made of porcelain), go to, die.
Home of the broken dolls, that, is where you belong, you’d been, broken, and I do NOT want you around me, not, go on, GET! Home of the broken dolls, how cruel those young children are, just, cast us all away, tossed us all away, like we don’t matter, but we had, we were, once, important, significant others in their young lives, it’s just, that they’d, outgrown all of us, and we became, unwanted, TRASH!
where ALL those broken toys go and, D-I-E!
photo from online
Home of the broken dolls, that, is where you’ll be, you got broken by my childhood, and it still, wasn’t my fault, that I couldn’t, save you, I was, too little, too scared myself, I had to, duck for cover, when the storms came, and, you got struck by thunder AND lightning, ‘cuz I forgot, to take you with me into hiding…
I’m sorry, doll, I really am, but now you’re, broken, I have, NO need for you, and you still can’t blame me, for tossing you out, you want someone to blame? BLAME yourself, for being, MADE from, such, fragile, material…………
In this home of broken dolls, all dolls lay waiting, to D-I-E, they’re all, unwanted, disowned, by their, children.
Call this, the, “confessions”, of a, porcelain if you wish!
Piece by piece, you’d, GLULED me back, only, to SHATTER me, all over again? Why, huh? Why do you need to, hurt me like that? It’s, hard enough, to feel all of my, broken pieces, not intact, like I’m, about to, fall apart at any given moment. Why why had you, put me back together again?
Piece by piece, you’d, GLUED me back, and, the next time someone did something AWFUL to you again, you’d, taken it out of me, and I’m supposed to what? Just, keep on, getting, beaten up by you, is that it, huh?
what became, of me…photo from online
And so, what if, I’m only, a porcelain doll, an object, I hurt too you know? Well, I don’t, but I get shattered, and that, is how I know, that I’m, hurt!
Piece by piece, you’d, GLUED me back, and again, and again, you’d, shattered me, all over, and now, there’s, NO a single millimeter of my skin that’s, in one-piece, because of you!!!
And I blame you, for breaking me apart, you should’ve, just, trashed me when your mother told you to, but you didn’t…………
When a child cuts her Play-Doh into, tiny little pieces, with a plastic knife, you gotta give it to her, for having, such trained, fine motor movement, but wait…
When the child cuts her Play-Doh into, tiny little pieces, then she, SMACK all them, tiny little pieces hard, what, does that mean, huh? Is there, a TRAINED child shrink in the house right now? (paging the child psychiatric experts…………), oh wait, nobody’s, “home”!
how a hurt child might play…or you may just see it as, “boys will be, boys!”
photo from online
When the child cuts her Play-Doh into, tiny little pieces, with a plastic knife, she just, wanted, to inflict “pain” on something that she has, control over, something that won’t feel a thing, that’s, her way, of telling her STUPID adult counterparts, that something HAD, happened to her, and yet, her parents, took her to the shrink, because she’d started, wetting her bed (and she should be, potty trained, oh, ‘bout??? Two years back!).
When the child cuts her Play-Doh into, tiny little, pieces, don’t take it for an ordinary child’s play, ‘cuz it isn’t, unless, she shows that talent, for cooking from a very early age.
When the child cuts her Play-Doh into, tiny, little pieces, this Teddy, Dolly, Doggy, and after you, walked out of that room, she’d, started, SHOVING those Play-Doh “food pieces” violent, DOWN her Teddy, Doll, Doggy’s, THROATS!
And that, is how WE, children (yeah so, I’m still one here, ‘k???) P-L-A-Y…
This morning, the Porcelain climbed off that high shelf that her owner kept her on display, toward the floor, and, she stood there, in front of the mirror (b/c it’s a girl’s room, and ALL girls want to get dolled up, don’t they???), and, she’d looked at her self in the mirror, left, and right, like how a scientist is examining something s/he’d just, discovered…
I’m not a porcelain doll, Porcelain mumbled to herself, although I looked delicate, fragile, easily shattered, but, I have, a heart of a Raggedly Ann, you can SHAKE, toss me, and let me DROP to the floor, I still won’t BREAK!
not my photo…
I’m not a porcelain doll, the Porcelain decided, that she will NOT be fragile like she’d always been, she’d wanted her owner (a little girl???), to pick her up, and play with her without worrying about shattering her, and so, Porcelain started changing, metamorphosing, and, the little girl who’d owned her, hadn’t seen her, she’d, forgotten about the existence of this particular Porcelain she loved so much.
not my photo…
I’m not a porcelain doll, I won’t break if you shake me too hard, and, even if you tossed me high up in the air, and I come down, landing on my head, I still won’t CRACK wide open!
But, although Porcelain had, made up HER mind on not to break anymore, she still can’t change her physical self, and, surely enough, she’d, shattered, for the last and final time, and, we are all gathered here today, to MOURN the loss, of our dear friend, Porcelain, she was, a very good doll, she just can’t get satisfied, being WHAT and WHO she is, that, is why, she had “died”………
Kiki’s mom often told, “Kiki could never sit still at home, would love to touch everything, and, would ask me why a lot, I just can’t handle it anymore, can you tell me, how is it, that you manage, to teach Kiki at school?”, I’d transmitted this interesting message from class to her.
The preschool class, we have a theme for the day, electronic appliances, I’d made headgears of the multiple appliances, and allowed the young kids to choose what they like, to put over their heads, and, do a roll call of the appliances, when I’d called out, “Cell phone, where are you?”, the group of children with the cell phone headgear would say, “Here, we’re here!”, only Kiki remained silent. I asked her, “why aren’t you talking?”, she said, “My cell phone is out of power, so I can’t talk.”
I started laughing, believing, that it was a trip, for a three-year-old kid to say such a thing. Later on, I’d told her, “Kiki, you have such a great answer, then, let teacher give you a hug, meaning that you’re recharged, okay?”
She said, “Okay, I love being a cell phone, because the teacher hugs me”. This, is the purest kind of conversation, very childlike too.
And so, the learning experiences of a young child is based, solely off of the senses, and the discoveries in life, and, from the mommy’s cell, we can understand, “without power in the cell phones, she couldn’t talk, and feel the love from others.”, so, mom should not feel annoyed by her, instead, to fill her sense of curiosity, interact with her more, play more games with her, find Kiki’s good qualities, to help her find tap into her potential.
After Kiki’s mom heard, she’d decided to become a more patient than ever mommy, took after my way, and, recorded down her own offspring’s growth processes, with her heart.
Says WHO the younger children don’t know HOW to express themselves? This young girl felt ignored by her mom, and, she’s showing it, in the interaction with her preschool teacher, and, the teacher was very well trained, and, she’d relayed the message to the child’s mother, so, the mother now, realized that she’d let her daughter feel ignored, and, she changed her ways. Wonderful things can happen, when the teacher and the parents work together…
Hush up! Raggedly Ann, go in the corner, with Raggedly Andy!
That, was how she’d ordered her dolls around, when they came to her, telling her that those monsters in the nights had hurt them…
Unspeakable crimes against her dolls had been committed, by her, their loving owner, and that, was merely, the reflection of her day time life. Unspeakable crime against her dolls, who’s going to come to their rescue? Nobody! Just as nobody came to HER rescue that very first time, and the next, and the next, and the next times afterwards, when her mama’s boyfriend came to her.
Unspeakable crimes against her dolls, the dolls ended up, not being able to handle the pains imposed on them, they’d all run off, one by one, but, she’d always managed, to get them all rounded again, and, those who tried running off would get it, HARDER from her. Unspeakable crimes against her doll, these bad things are happening to her dolls, because they’d all happened, to her too, and, because she’s too young, and couldn’t tell her mama WHAT, was happening to her, she’d taken her anger out on her dolls, and, in the end, all her dolls were placed, in coffins, one by one, and laid to rest, just like her childhood was………
Unspeakable crimes against her dolls, why are these still happening? There should be, a protective network, to help those dolls in trouble, to help them, get away, from those abusive owners of theirs, isn’t there? Why isn’t one such protective network set up? Oh yeah, I forgot, because dolls don’t have life, my bad then!!!
There were, many monsters that Teddy and I saw, and each and every time, I’d closed my eyes tight, and, hugged onto him, very tightly, until the monsters went away.
Monsters Teddy and I saw, for a very long time in my childhood, all I had, was Teddy, and, all Teddy had, was me, and, we’d relied on one another for protection and support, and, somehow, don’t really know how, but, it’d helped us both throw, and now, I’m grown.
Monsters Teddy and I saw, they usually only comes out, in the darkness of the night, they don’t visit us during the daytime when there’s light, or, when mama’s around for some unknown reasons. Monsters Teddy and I saw, they’d screamed out in pain, and their voices, so sharp that I feel my ears would bleed! But, Teddy always told me, not to fear them, that he’ll be there, to keep me company, and I trusted that he will.
Monsters Teddy and I saw, they’re now, all gone, so is Teddy, because he got too old, too torn up over the years, and, although it was painful, throwing him out, I had, still, parted, with those childhood nightmares and memories in the end………
The dolls DO come alive, and this time, it’s in the daytime, instead of the nights…
The dolls you’d shattered, were NOT just dolls, oh no, they’re a metaphor for something else, but what??? Nobody knows! The dolls you’d shattered, were not JUST dolls, they’re parts of you that you disowned, the parts of you that you didn’t like, like some characteristics about yourselves, that others said that are bad??? The dolls you’d shattered, were NOT just dolls, but how can that be? They were dolls, with glass bead eyes, white porcelain faces, with those delicate dresses on them, unless, unless, the dolls DO come alive when we’re not looking…
The dolls you’d shattered, were not JUST dolls at all, they’re portions of you, that you lost in your childhood, and, as an adult, you started to recall, very slowly, all those countless dolls you’d shattered, the you you’d managed to destroy from a very long time ago, and you start to finally, MOURN for the losses, of those cleanly looking, well-dressed, blonde, brunette, red-headed, porcelains, and you used to name all your dolls too, but now, you just can’t recall what each and every last one of them are called…
The dolls you shattered, were NOT just dolls, they’re piece of you that got taken from you as a child, and now, they manifested themselves, the lost parts, and the broken pieces of those incomplete porcelains, they’re all, coming back, to GET you!!!
not my photo…
Mirroring the World 
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