Looking back through the years, finding the blessings you had been given, feeling grateful toward all who’d, helped your family, and now, you’re, paying it, forward…translated…
It was, forty-two years ago, back when my husband and I had been dating for three years then, we’d talked of marriage, and so my mother took me to a temple to ask. My mother was illiterate, and I hadn’t had enough of worldly experiences yet, and can’t decipher the meaning of the verses of the slip I’d drawn out.
The man who’d helped decipher the meaning of the slip told my mother, “this marriage will be harder from the beginning, but there will always be someone who helped them out, and in the end, it will, be a good ending for both”, as my mother heard, she’d let go of her worries, and, agreed to marry me out.
After we were wed, the adjustment periods before our children were born, the adapting to one another’s personalities, the establishment of the relationship of me with my mother-in-law, along with our starting up our business, all of it tested me, as a new bride. As Lunar New Year came, although I am a working woman, I’d still had to gone out early to shop for the items, to cook two large tables’ worth of foods, to pass the evaluation of everybody on my husband’s side. I’d once cried in secret too, and felt like Cinderella, and objected to my husband too, “marriage IS, the tombstone of love”. To the point of me getting into confrontation with my mother-in-law, and my husband just, left home, and he almost committed, suicide. But, just like the man at the temple told me, “when you are troubled, there will be those who will help you light the way”, the relatives, the coworkers, had always helped me a whole lot, when I felt stuck, to help me get through the difficult, times.
With the births of my children, we’d put our wages to good use, and, three years later, we’d borrowed the amount for our home from our relatives without any interests, we’d purchased our own home; and, the smiles, the innocent laughter of our young children, it’d, made us feel, more blessed to have each other as family, and we’d, begun, tasting the sweet fruits of our, labor then.
We’d been married for forty-two years to date, and, we are referred to as the “it pair” by our friends, relatives and families. I’m more than grateful for the man who’d managed the temple from my younger years, who’s, given me, that blessing, and grateful to all who’d offer me a guiding light in my marriage, that’s how the two of us, learned to, appreciate each other, and continue to live happily together. More importantly, I’d often, reminded myself, that I can become, someone’s help when others are in need too.
And this is the act of, paying it forward, because you were helped by those around you, who’d offered you the assistance when you needed it the most, and you’d felt gratitude toward the kindness shown to you and your husband, and now, as you’d become, able to, you are paying it forward, lending those in need, a helping, hand too.
Weathered through the trials of her life, and now, she’s finally able to breathe, a little, easier…translated…
“I’d once felt despair of life too, but thinking of my two children, I’d told myself, that I can’t, fall.”, she stood with her back straight, with her eyes, glowing with light, her words, full of, confidence and flair, hard to believe, that she had been, gravely ill, and walked through the shadows of the valleys of death before, who’d, gotten through her broken marriage, a single, mother.
More than twenty years ago, she’d married over from China, then, found out that her husband was addicted to gambling, and was a, player. But she was already, pregnant then, she’d, swallowed all of her, tears, hoping that her husband will change one day. She’d gone to work at a cafeteria, to make ends meet, for more than ten hours a day. Her husband’s work was on and off, and when he had a relapse of his gambling addictions, he’d gone missing many days at a, time. Thankful, after the birth of her firstborn, her father-in-law was willing to help her out, so she could focus on working.
And two years, the second child was born, and yet, the bad luck knocked on her door, she was diagnosed of breast cancer in the second stage. Actually, a year early, she’d felt the lump on her breast, but she didn’t want to take the day off to see the doctor, worried that she’d be spending too much money, which delayed her treatment. Her father-in-law who felt awful for her, put up the money to get her her surgery. On the day of the mastectomy, she was all alone, on the hospital, bed, didn’t even know what to ask the heavens for.
As she was released from the hospital, she saw her two children who were still very young, had NO other option, but to, toughen herself up, didn’t dare take any days off, gone to work, and underwent chemo at the same time. Not long thereafter, her husband passed from complications from his diabetes, and that was when she’d learned, that the resident she’d lived in, had already been put up as collateral for the debts, that now, she owed more than two million dollars. Thankful for the kind hearted neighbors, who’d helped her apply for the low-income assistance from the government, at the same time, the owner of the cafeteria was willing to sell the shop to her, she’d thought a long time, finally, borrowed a couple hundred thousand dollars from her father-in-law, and started co-owing the cafeteria with her fellow, employee from work, began her life as an entrepreneur. As she’d become the owner, she’d grown busier than ever before, but she’d increased her incomes. She’d never viewed herself as a patient, returned to the follow-ups regularly, actively, optimistically coped with her cancer; during the time, her breast cancer came back, but her persistence had, forced death to back away from her.
After a little over a decade’s time, she’d paid up all the debts, and, raised her two sons up into adulthood. And now, they are both working, and her cancer is now, in remission, the hard times are finally, getting away from her life.
Seeing how she’d talked of her life, like it was no big deal, I’d imagined, that although she’d, weathered through many storms in her life, she’s was the light of her own, self, and finally, the darkness had, gone,, and she’d finally, become that light, that illuminated her own, self.
So, this is the trials of life, this woman weathered through, but she’d, persisted, because she had children to care for, that was where she drew her strength from, and, she’d made it, to the other side, with her cancer now in remission, and her kids grown up, she can finally breathe, more easily now.
Lived through the harder times from before, and now, people see you as, being the successful and the blessed group, but you knew different…translated…
In my junior year of university, I accidentally got pregnant, when people my age are free, I was, caught by the home front, in the unpreparedness, I forced myself to become a parent. Whether it be the role of a wife, a mother, or a, daughter-in-law, I’d, not been, socialized enough yet to manage, with absolutely, ZERO experiences, I’d, worked hard to answer to all of what’s demanded and requested of, me, working my best to convince my self, that all of my hard work will, eventually, pay, off.
what we all want to become…photo from online
From twenty to thirty, I got mixed in the defeats of the nitty-gritty of life, along with living in the cracks, earned my college degree. Life became too, enormous, and I can, only, work my best to, shoulder ALL the responsibilities that came, my, way. I’d felt helpless, defeated, and beaten, I didn’t have enough left in me, to envy how others had it much, easier then.
And I’d, grown to over thirty in a blink of an eye, and, everyone else around me all gotten on the path to start their families, raising their, children. And when, my children are grown, I now have, a ton of, time, with a small career I’d, established, I’d become, listed in the, “victory” group—as I’d heard someone referring to me as such, I can’t help but, laugh. The ten years that were the primes of my life, I’d, put them into my husband, my children, didn’t have the opportunity to pursue my own work achievements, not to mention, the lacking of sleep, leisure activities too. If a person knows what’s been lost, or maybe, s/he would not, envy what another, has now.
Because, we may not want to, trade the life we wanted, with the exact same, cost.
There are always, the darkness that’s behind, the glowing bright; a tale of inspirations of four hundred characters, to the person who’d written it, it’d cost, a total of, fourteen years to write. This world, there is, NO victory group, only those who are, ordinary, whom, after drying their own tears, learned to, stand, back, up.
So, this is on how there IS, no order to the way life goes, everybody has a different path to travel, some of us have it harder when we were younger, some of us, have it easy all the way, it’s all, fate, there’s no good or bad, it all depends on how we interpret the events that happened in our lives.
What the generations shared, are not just the common threads of, their, connected fate, their similarities in personalities…translated…
What’s Been Passed Down from Mothers to Daughters, is NOT Just the Personality Traits, or the Damages…………
Who are the three most important women in my life?
Looking back through life, I’d found, that those who’d left me with the deepest injuries, are those whom I called, “families”……..
When my daughter did something wrong in her childhood, I would use the scrolled up paper to smack her hand or her buttock. Based off of my tradition, I thought this was a rational way of “raising my young by the book”. But, several times, as I became furious, hearing my own, screaming voice, how I’d started, trembling from anger, my fists clenched, too, tight, I caught a “glimpse” of my own, mother then. I’d felt, remorse, half of it was guilt: why did I not find a better way, than using the emotional upsets, the physical disciplinary means? The other half was from the shock and the heartaches: how come, I’d, inherited my mother’s, flaws? But I didn’t want that.
My mother’s with a type-A personality, her tongue was sharp like the knife, talked loudly, disgusted with everything, hard to, please. Before I married, my parents went to visit my in-laws to be, my mother arrived early, saw my mother-in-law, skinning an apple. As we arrived back home, she’d started, ranting incessantly, of how my mother, didn’t prepare herself completely for us to come, that she was, too, casual.
After I married, I’d become, just like my mother, found the flaws in my, mother-in-law too. I’d gone back to my parents’ home for my whole day of forty-two-days’ worth of recovery after birth, every meal, my mother cooked, cared for me completely. First day as I was returning to my mother-in-law’s home, I’d found, that she was headed out to the 101 to see the fireworks of the New Year. And, the following day my husband went out for work, there was the ready-made sweet rice porridge inside the fridge, like how my heart was, cold suddenly.
One day, my mother took time from her work, made some red bean soup, and, wrapped it up in thick Styrofoam container, placed it at my mother-in-law’s backdoor, then, rushed back to work again. My mother-in-law was away on her trip. I’d, carried that heated up bowl of sweet soup, thought of how much love my mother showed me, and I started, crying.
I thought that her love was suffocating, and now, I’d, interpreted her love as, overflowing, and when I needed it the most, my mother’s love became, that much more, precious.
illustration from UDN.com
Comparing the ways of my mother-in-law and my mother, my mother’s taking care of everything, her distance from me, her pushy manners, came from how she had to raise us all up alone. Her husband’s abandoning of her, and her own parents’ house’s unsupportiveness, she could only, use her animus to fight. Like a force that’s, driven her to success, she’d done everything best as she could, as way of, revenge. She’d once made fun of herself, that she was strong, made by life, that she had to toughen herself up to survive.
My mother-in-law is, on the polarized end from my own, mother: not asking, not fighting for anything, easy going. And this value in my upbringing, was originally, unacceptable. But, after I’d fought for perfection for twenty full years in work, I’d gotten, completely, strained, and my mother-in-law’s most widely used words, “it’ll be okay”, “anything will do”, was her, attitude toward life: accepting everything as it’d, come. Seemingly, she wasn’t, active, enough, but she could be gentle, in handling all ups and downs of her own, life, like how my father-in-law who’d served in the army, strict, and they were poor, and she had to work as a maid, to help make ends, meet, and her two children, died young too.
The days are smooth flowing, but not without the trials or the, pains, and she’d, chosen to, not get, bothered by the, hardships.
I’d started, going to and from, from these, opposites, in the trials of my life, I’d battled, and fought hard, gotten a ton of bruises and bumps. From working really hard, to, longing, to giving, up. Then, from the loosened grips I’d, tightened my clench, slowly, gotten into the rhythms of the tango of, life.
And now, my seventeen year-old daughter has her own share of life’s lessons handed to her too, the internet age, the studies, the interpersonal interactions, like a game of getting to the next level for me in youth. But she’d become, a mirror to me, reflecting the depth of my life. There’s me in her, and she’s, like herself too. She shone through my weakness, pointed out to me, “You used to hit me, I hated you before, and now you don’t, you’re, making, progress.” Seeing how I took up reading and writing, she’d, commented, “my classmates’ moms, they aren’t like you, loving learning so much.”, I couldn’t stop the hardships of her life from heading her way, I’d, felt scared, allowing her to use her own way to cope with the ups and downs—that sort of, a balance, between her personality, and how she’d, handled the trials of her, life, becoming, who she’s, destined to, be.
My mother in her eighties, still kneaded down the dough for the traditional Chinese buns, the salted bacons, and helped the locals collect the recyclable materials too. My mother-in-law who’s the same age as my mother, would often, stroll in the plum garden of Chingwha University, taking in the fresh scent of the flowers. I, sit in front of my keyboard, with a hazelnut latte, recorded the songs of my own, life.
The mothers passed the values to the daughters, not only are we similar in injuries, in personality traits. Through the turns of our lives, there’s the light in from the cracks, allowing the brokenness of life, to find something that’s brand new—growth.
So, this is the stories of three generations of women, how they all walked down different paths of their lives, but, they all made their own lives, count.
The twists and turns of her life, and she still got a good man who love and respects her in the end, the love is not at all easy to come by, especially for these, migrants from other countries who move to Taiwan to make a life for themselves, translated…
The love came from, far, far away, the ladies who married over to Taiwan, after they were wed, had to spend even more energies, to adapt to a culture that’s not the same as their own, and this sort of a trial, cultural shock, they only know it themselves, but these women shared a common trait: bravery.
I’d gone out to dine with Ying, who is from Cambodia and Hong who recently got married, wished them well, seeing the smiles radiating from their faces, I can’t help but recall the sad past that Ying already had, had.
At the age of twenty, she was matchmade by a broker to marry to Taiwan, and, started going to community college to learn Chinese, and that was when we first became acquainted; well-behaved and studious as she was, she’s active in learning her Chinese, I could tell that she was hurried to assimilate herself into the culture of Taiwan,
During her pregnancy, she’d not made it to class, and shortly thereafter we’d reconnected again in another group; taking the baby along to attend wasn’t easy, but she’d not given up on any opportunities to improve her skills. She has such a need to learn, and that was when I’d felt, that she was the talented woman who was caused to live in the trials of life by fate.
The days passed, originally she was living happily, with in-laws who loved and cherished her, but, her husband’s affair was the biggest curve ball of her life; later she’d decided to give up on this marriage, and accepted the help from the organization as well as her friends, settled herself as well her kids down and in, slowly, digested her own, upset of her husband’s affair, how her marriage had, fallen, apart, and started actively involving herself in the cause of improving the rights of migrated women, slowly found her confidence back.
While Hong, who graduated from a university in the U.S., came back to Taiwan to learn Chinese, interned at Ying’s group, and they’d become, connected since, from the very start when his parents were against them being together, to finally making it across all the obstacles of their love, to be together, to finally, walking down that aisle.
I think that Ying was amazing, that despite how she was treated so unfairly in a foreign land, she’d not lost her trust in people. I, who also, got through a bad marriage just like her, and even as twenty-seven years had passed, I’d still, selected to stay single, fearing, that the new love I get in, will become, bad immediately after I’d found it.
Seeing how Ying and Hong shared their foods together, being not fluent enough in Mandarin, Hong relies on Ying’s translation, I could feel the love between their interactions.
I truly hope, that Ying’s hard-to-come-by second marriage will, last to the end.
So, this is the trials of life of a woman, and she’s, worked really hard, to get over her husband’s skill, worked hard to assimilate herself to the culture, the life here, and, her hard work paid off, she’d found a man for herself, who loves her with his whole heart. Love will eventually come, if it’s meant to, and, the trials we’re weathering through right now, is nothing more than a stepping stone to get us to where we’re going in our lives.
The blessings of life are, usually, in disguise, and, sometimes, we need to, almost lose something we have, to learn to, cherish it, written by a neurology professor, off of the Front Page Sections, translated…
My friend hurriedly called on me, said that she worried that her daughter-in-law may have postpartum depression. Turned on, her daughter-in-law lost massive amounts of blood in childbirth, almost died, thankful for the modern day medical advances, she was, saved. But, don’t know if it’s because of this, her daughter-in-law wasn’t close with her own newborn infant, she’d originally planned to breastfeed, and now, she’d switched to bottles. My friend heard, that the infants needed to have skin-to-skin contact with their mothers to establish that needed, bond, she’d worried that her daughter-in-law won’t love this child.
I told her not to worry, that attachment is not as serious as the world believes, some children were born with jaundice, needed to be in the incubators with the lights, they can’t be taken home immediately; and the premature born infants needed a few days in the incubators, before the parents are allowed to take them home, so long as the parents respond to the infant’s biological and emotional needs, then, the mother and child will be connected, there’s no need to worry about the short separations.
The connections of PTSD with postpartum depression, however, are often, overlooked. The PTSD that women who’d given birth are similar to that of the aftermath of getting hit by a car, a lot of those who were hit by cars, saw cars, and started feeling the fears, didn’t dare to drive again, to the point of not being able to get into cars that other people are, driving. Some of the women with difficult childbirth may not want to see their infants, because the infants are like the cars in the car crashes, would make the mothers recall the traumas. This had been documented in the ancient text of “Zuozhuan” from three thousand years ago.
There’s a phenomenon in psychology, the framing effect, the same thing, due to differences of expressions, there would be, the different effects. For instance, if a medication is said to be ninety-percent effective, the physicians would prescribe it to the patients, but if it’s said to be ten-percent ineffective, then the physicians, wouldn’t. The same thing, the way we see it, is the primary determinant of how it will work, the circumstances define how wrong or right it is.
The oddest birthing process I’d ever heard of, was a neurologist in the Massachusetts General Hospital, she was pregnant at age thirty-six, when she got to thirty-seven weeks, the gynecologist thought it was a stillborn, recommended that she induced labor, she’d refused, waited until thirty-nine weeks, the fetus still didn’t grow bigger, and, she had to, go to get her labor induced, but, soon as the oxytocin was injected, she’d started contracting, but then, the contractions, stopped, and she can only get a caesarian, and the fetus was born healthy, she was ecstatic, but the surgeon told her immediately, that there is a huge tumor growing on her ovary, that it might be ovarian cancer, asked if she wanted to have it removed. She’d thought, that her child was born finally, and she’s, going to die, to see her child grow up, she’d decided on the removal immediately. As the surgeons operated on her, they’d found that it was only a fibroma, and not cancer. After all the tortures, she finally got to take her son home, but, within two weeks of getting home, she was once again, hospitalized due to pulmonary embolism.
And, for most, if this happened, we would be overcome with, depression, but she didn’t. She’d told, without losing, there’s no joys of regaining in return; I thought I’d lost my baby, and he was healthy; thought I had cancer, that I didn’t have that much time left, turned out it was a benign tumor; the embolism might kill me, but I’d, survived, all of these good things had happened to me, why would I need to be, depressed?
The joys of return after what you thought was lost, greatly exceeded when you first received something. Because only after losing, then, we stopped, taking things for, granted. A lot of people fearing lost, they’d stopped, expecting, but that’s wrong, as expectations would add more to the joys. Toward what had already happened to us in life, we need to learn to let go, and be grateful for what we’d been, given, to NOT envy what we don’t have, that, is the right ways of, life.
So, this is on how life twists and turns, and how it, made us realize, that sometimes a loss, may be a gain in, disguise, it just takes longer for us to realize it is all.
There are still, NO “vic” in this, DYADIC, relationship here, it’s all, ABUSER/ENABLER!
He won’t, let me, go, he’d, threatened that if I leave, he will, harm my families, and, it’s already, awful enough, that I brought this, upon my self, by marrying him against all of my loved ones’, advice, and now, I will, risk all of my loved ones’ lives, if I leave him? That’s why I’d, stayed.
He won’t, let me, go, because you’d, spoiled him completely, allowed him to get away, with EVERYTHING he did to you, beating, talking down at you, not to mention the FUCK session that came after each and every BEAT down, that’s made you believe, that everything will get better, that he was, just, having a, bad day is all.
what happened to you, that last time…photo from online
Well, there’d been, one too many, bad days to count up, and there are still MORE bad days in your futures together. He won’t, let me go, yeah, just keep on telling yourselves that, I mean, unless he got you, CUFFED to the walls, restricted your, movement, whereabouts, you are, able to, get the HELL out of there, away from that, loser who kept, abusing you, but you don’t.
Because he’d, PREYED on the FACT, that you won’t fight back, because you are, way too WEAK, to go against his wishes, and that, is how he’d completely, controlled, you.
And in the end, it’s still Y-O-U, who’s to, BLAME, because, you’d, ALLOWED him, to control you like that…
He won’t let me go, that’s, a sorry EXCUSE for you as a woman, and if you continue to stay, what’ll happen is this, you will get beaten up, raped, repeatedly, until you finally had enough, and killed him in self-defense, but, at your trial, you’d be, charged with, MURDER, because there’d been, NO records of you, reporting his abuse, to the police, and you’d be, looking AT, 35 to life (I’m guessing???), and even IF you get out on good behavior, your children (and you DO have those, remember? They were, so tiny when the cops, arrested you for defending yourself, and SHOT that, abusive DEAD husband of yours!).
So, it still won’t look good for you, but hey, that’s what fate does to you, and now, looking back, you’d noted, that you should’ve, called the cops, and, pressed charges against him, that very first time he’d, lain a hand on you, but you didn’t, because he’d, apologized profusely, and sworn he will, never get like that, again, that this time WAS, the last time, but it wasn’t, was it???
The fate of a woman, through the, hard times of her childhood years, of being wed into a family as a child bride, and finally, her life got, better toward the end…translated…
The Term, “Vicinity”, Maybe, it Had the Insinuations of How Her Families Didn’t Want Her to Marry Too Far Away…………
As a Housewife of the Large Extended Families in the Fishing Village, She’d Worked All Year Long
The year, 1926, Wen-Jing was born to a family that relied off of the seas that’s poverty-stricken. That was during the Japanese ruling eras too, the daughters who were born to a family, got “given away” as brides, like how there was too many squashes harvested, and you’d, give some to your neighbors, it was, quite, normal. And so, Wen-Jing was, given to the Hong family, that originally connection given to her by her family of origin, temporarily got severed, with her changing her last name when she’d, married. As for the character of “Jing” in her name, maybe, it was her families’ secretly praying, that she won’t marry too far away. And actually, she, didn’t, marry, too, faraway, in the same county, just, to another, village.
The younger years surely weren’t, easy. Jing Hong often mentioned of the awful temper that my grandfather had, how he’d, beaten up his own wife, and more. Sometimes, I’d, carried the small teacups, looking at my grandfather, who’s, gentle, and steeping up the teas, it was, difficult for me to imagine, that he had a, violent side from before all of this, how it’d, completely, mismatched tot eh modern values. But he was still my grandpa, my grandpa who loves me dearly.
It was hard for everyone. My grandmother’s pasts seemed to be, filled with the unhappiness, what she’d told of were all the stories of how she was given away, how she was, abused, in the memories she’d recalled and retold to me, the only one who’d ever treated her kindly was her own, grandmother. Grandma and her grandma to love and cherish her, and would often leave the good stuff for her to eat. And, as she’d told these tales of old, the tears would glisten from her wrinkle-filled, eyes. Don’t know if they were, tears or something else.
She was born in the wrong times, had she worked hard in a previous life for seventy more years, and get born, then, she would probably be an independent woman with her own unique style, maybe even with her own Instagram account, to post her daily wardrobes. She’d loved the pretty clothes, even as she’s already elderly, she’d still, kept her body slender enough, and, wore those traditional Taiwanese dresses, to go out to chit chat with her neighbors. Her friends nicknamed her “Hibiscus”.
Grandma is way more acquainted with how to dress herself up than I, in my, twenties. As I’d picked up my cell phone, told her I wanted to take a shot of her, she’d, gone upstairs, to put on her pearl necklace, and there would also be a bracelet of jade, or of colorful beads on her wrists. Outside of the shot, I was in my worn out slippers, my cut-off t-shirt, I’d looked like a dried up weed. And my nickname at home was, “Ugly”.
Although grandma told that she wasn’t physically fit, that there were the eye problems, but she’d from time to time pointed to the skies, stated, that a flock of birds just, flew, by, how many males, and how many, females, and that always, impressed us. Don’t know if she’s telling the truth or not, but, with her amazing eye sight, she is surely, to live until, a hundred and twenty.
She is also, an amazing cook, after she was married, my grandfather and his friends up their money together, bought a ship, became captains, and grandma would make the tasty treats for the crewmembers and my grandfather to eat. And there would be more than one ship that arrived at port, and the other wives too, would make the full-course meals to usher the sailors back home. The master chef competitions, west versus east would then, begin, with the bowls as the shields, the chopsticks as the, swords, my grandmother who always wanted to win, would add in the extra foods given her set budgets. And, every time the men cleaned up the wok completely, there seemed to be this, invisible and hidden large fish, and it’d made her gloat, because she’d, won the competitions, and she’d told and retold this story for over decades of, time. Maybe, it was her will to win al the time, that’s, made grandma into, who she, was, grandma!
As the housewife of a fishing village, she’d busied all year long. The first and the fifteenth of the lunar calendar months, offerings to the heavens, making the bamboo leave wrapped sticky rice on Dragon Boat Festival, the offerings of the deceased in lunar calendar July, making the sticky rice balls at winter solstice, steaming up the sticky rice cakes during New Year. Even if her eighties and nineties, she’d still, insisted on making the suppers every single night, I’d felt, her need for control in the way that her kitchen was, run and operated under, that was the women of her generations’ means of defending her own status in the families. Isn’t that right, from the day we were born, we’d begun, eating. Entered in the kitchens, she couldn’t, stop.
Her best dish was the winter melon braised pork. The pickled to golden winter melon used as the main, braised with the fatty bacons, the salty and sweet juices, became a thief of food for me, causing the developing teenage girl to eat several bowls of rice at once. Once, my grandmother was about to, pickle a new batch of winter melon, I’d wanted to help her out. In that white ironclad basin, there were the sliced up winter melon with the peels shaved off, poured on the coarse salt, grandma lifted up her apron, with her wrinkly feet that was enormous, stepped at the winter melon, to get all the bitter juices out, the sight shocked me, like that animation of the horns sounding off as war was about to happen. So, the salted winter melon dishes had been made by my grandmother’s personal, feet, then, the dish should be called her “best foot dish”.
Getting STUCK Between Grandmother & My Mother, It’d Felt Like I Was Caught in the Middle of a Love Triangle
The older generations had a stronger sense of the seasons, in the heated summers, my grandmother would often make that classic mung bean shaved ice. She’d cooked up a pot of mung bean soup, and a couple of us, scooped the soup up into the palm-sized plastic bags, and then, sent the bagged up sweet soup into the time machine in the kitchen—the freezer bins. The temperature caused the sweetness to freeze at the precise moment of, perfection, chasing away, the heats of the summertime for us. In the winters, we’d, taken out the sweet cakes made by grandma last year, sliced the cakes up, and, fried them on the sizzler to burnt and crisp, sticky, and savory, it’d tasted so good we could care less that it’d been there, stashed away, for a whole year already. And every time I’d felt my throat was sore and it was hard for me to swallow anything, I’d, played the role of that pitiful child to grandma, then, she would, go and pull the leaves to make me the herbal teas. And, like MAGIC, my throat stopped, feeling sore, soon, enough.
illustration from UDN.com
Grandma was really agile inside the house, and very kind to the families, but to the outside, she’d had the, more aggressive means. We had a shop, and there would be those customers who wanted to take advantage, buying this, and demanding that we give them that for free, actually, it wasn’t that huge a deal, so long as we weighed it out. By the time my mother took the store from her father, she could already, run the storefront on her own, every decision was made by her. The only thing was that there were no price labels on the items, as she’d, kept the price tags in her head. And every time my mother went out, we can only call her up, to confirm how much something, costs.
Once, a man who’s big and tall came, I’d had grandma take care of him, I’d gone to the side to call up my mother. And, a few minutes later as I’d returned back to the shop, the two of them, a younger man and an, old lady were, fighting like kids in school, with the last step of “I’m going to tell on you to the teacher” yet to, happen.
Turned out, grandma had, refused to give the customer a little, extra. With her quick mouth, she’d, insulted the man a bit. And that tough-looking guy was, way too, easily, offended, started stating that he won’t make a purchase anymore, and complained to me on my grandmother. And I can only, mediate, that’s fine, that’s what I’m, used to, doing, a lot of, times.
The issues of mothers and daughters-in-law weren’t resolved too easily since the start of time, my grandma and mom were courteous toward one another according to the outside vies (they’d even won the award for best mother and daughter-in-law pair), and yet, I’d known privately, they don’t get along at all, my grandmother would often tell me what she thought my mother wasn’t, unfitting in every now and then. Once, I’d, not held it anymore, and told, that she is my mother, she’d given too much to the family already, then, grandma was like that rebellious teen, stopped speaking with me for days on, end.
But she’s still, my grandmother. She was very kind to me, so was my own mother too, and it’d felt like I was, caught in a, love triangle sometimes. I can’t say good things about one of them to the other, and only, kept everything inside of me, praying, that there would be a day that they will, come to resolve their differences. But that day, it’d, never, come.
She’d not lived until a hundred and twenty years old. After Jing Hong passed away, my younger sister and I were assigned to sort out her dresser drawer, first, we’d found a cutout of a famous man who’d hosted the talk shows. There were the photos clipped to this cutout, with the photos of my younger siblings and I, along with the Mother’s Day card I’d written to her, with the phonetic spelling: Happy Mother’s Day. Grandma was illiterate, can only write her own name, and the Buddhist chants, she probably didn’t know what the card was, for, but she’d, kept it, anyways. And, my tears came falling, down.
At the end of the year, my grandmother had been gone a whole of four years, gone too far off, to where I can’t, catch up to her. There were the things I’d forgotten more and more, and, as I’d written, it’d, only shown how little I knew of, her. Using these words, to groom through the best parts of who she was, and the, mischievous behaviors that she’d, had.
There was a comic that had, “a good person, so long as s/he works really hard, in another’s story, can turn into, the antagonist.” Did grandma finally forgive grandpa? Had mom forgiven my grandmother yet? Did I, forgive, me?
Mrs. Jing Hong, Ms. Wen-Jing, next time, we should, still be, closer to each other, what do you, say?
So, this is in memorial of the grandmother who’d, passed away, the woman had a tough life from the start, and, she’d still, survived through her own hard times, and, her fate had sent her down that winding path, and she had no other options but to, walk the roads her fate had, paved out for her, and, she’d, ended up, okay toward the end of her life, with the grandkids, and children who had done right by, her.
One of the greatest men of literature, and he got, ZERO, moral, just kept using his mistress, abusing her endlessly, and what’s worse was, she allowed him to, suck her dry, how stupid is this woman??? Translated…
Juliette is a high-end whore from Paris, dressed really elegantly, squandered the money away like, crazy. But she’s, too beautiful to, resist, clear and bright eyes, with a tall nose, there’s, that, attractive, elegance about her, with the cherry red tiny lips, oval shaped face, with her thick, blue and black hair, a beauty that can make the entire, world fall at her, feet.
Victor Hugo, the author of “The Hunchback of Notre Dame”, was romantic, and he’d put the twenty-seven-year-old Juliette play a part in his play, then, used the excuse of rehearsing the lines with her to, see her, and started a, love, affair, there’s the bliss that’s faithful in that story, and yet, it didn’t run short on betrayals, and the disappointments from the, betrayals.
here’s a potrait of Victor Hugo…portrait from online
Juliette became Hugo’s newest mistress. At the time, she’d already, squandered all the money she’d made from the performances, away completely, and was living off of the sponsorships. To keep her relationship with Hugo going, she’d given up her flashy social life, and let go of her originally, rich, lovers.
Although Hugo also had the money, but he’s, very, strict, he’d not just not given Juliette too much money to spend at her will, he’d also, restricted her from speaking with other men too, to date them, without his consent, she wasn’t to leave home. At this time, Hugo found a wife for himself, but, refused to stop his relationship with Juliette. Juliette complained that she had nothing to do, but to wait for Hugo, to come and be with her, Hugo told her, “write to me then, write everything that’s come to your mind and sent them to me, let me know everything that makes your heart tremble.”
Juliette didn’t resist, planned to give her whole life to the man she loved, Hugo, other than being his, mistress, she was also his, secretary, traveling companion. She’d scribed Hugo’s work all day long, read his poetry. And on the holidays, they’d gone out to France, Belgium, the Netherlands, Germany, the Swiss Alps to, travel.
Hugo ignored the tears and objections of his own wife, Adele, but the truth was, Adele also kept a lover too. This sort of a script kept playing repeatedly in western literature, for instance, the Mexican painter, Diego married Kahlo, but also had an affair with his own, younger sister-in-law, while Frida also had, a lover on the side too.
Juliette was stuck in a bad place, she’d copied the hand-drafted work of Victor Hugo for around fifty whole years, but didn’t have a penny for a new, dress, later, she’d even had to, pawn her own belongings, because the debtors came. And she couldn’t get enough firewood to keep herself warm in the winters, and because she didn’t have the firewood, she’d stayed in bed all day long.
Other than scribing for Hugo, and being his traveling companion, Juliette couldn’t be a part of Hugo’s public life that’s, quite elegant. And, once she was granted to go with Hugo to visit someone, she’d waited for him, patiently, like a, faithful, puppy, waiting in a horse carriage with the tent. In a letter from Juliette to Hugo, she’d told him, “thank you for treating me like a stray dog.”
In the decade’s time, Juliette lost her looks, but, she’d, praised Hugo, that he’d never, aged a day, still kept his, charming, facial features.
And, Hugo still, transpired in-between the women. He could spend his morning with a whore, and a famed ballerina for an afternoon, and spending a night with a, socialite.
and here’s the SELF-SACRIFICING WHORE of, Victor Hugo, Juliette Drouet, from the internet…
But the real trial came. In 1851, Napoleon the Third started up the revolution, and Hugo became a most wanted criminal. His wife, Adele was ill in bed, Julliette found a safe house for Hugo, falsified the documents so he could escape out of France, and lived with him, like an exile, again. Hugo wrote a letter to Juliette who’d saved his life, “I’m often in the dangerous hiding places, after along night’s waiting, I hear my keys, trembling in your, fingers……then the light would come in………you’d found me, calm and, at peace, you know why this is? It’s because of, you…………”
After Juliette died, Hugo grieved for a long, long time, he’d never written anything, ever again, this showed, how Juliette’s faithfulness toward him, meant so much to him.
There’s a western idiom, “Translation is like women, if it’s loyal, then, it wouldn’t be beautiful, if it’s beautiful, then it wouldn’t be, real”. In my translation course, my student asked me, “aren’t there the women who are, faithful and, beautiful at the, same, time?”, I’d told my student, “don’t be fooled, Juliette is, one of them.”
And so, this is how men used women, until they can’t be used anymore, then, the men discarded their lovers like, TRASH, and what’s worse is these DUMB BITCHES (because that is what they made themselves into!) allowed this, CHEATS to keep on, coming back to their bed, and for what? A FREE FUCK, and this still didn’t just happen in the eighteenth (that’s when Victor Hugo’s time was, right???) century, there are still women, who are, foolishly, giving, every ounce of everything that they had, to the men too unworthy of their, time, and in the end, these women are still, enablers to their own being abused, and taken advantage of, by these, bad, men…
How it was, fate, that’s, caused things in one’s life to, happen…even though, we may think we have something to do with it, but we actually, don’t…this is due to the sexist beliefs of the olden days…translated…
I had two maternal grandmothers, one was my mother’s birthmother, we’d called her, “Grandma in the countryside”, the other, her adopted, whom we’d referred to “Grandma in town”.
“Grandma in the countryside” was originally born to a hardworking family in a town in Taoyuan, her older brothers and younger brothers grew up to be physicians, or worked in businesses. In that era when men are weighed heavier than women, this good a family, still gave their daughters up, to a farming family as a child bride, with never-ending manual labor, and no chance for schooling.
the fates of young girls in the earlier era…with the SOLE purpose, function of the female being, REPRODUCTIVE!
photo from online
In 1922, “grandma in the countryside” gave birth to her eldest daughter—my mother. The farming families needed the boys to work the fields, believed, that raising daughters is wasting food source, that eventually, they will be someone else’s daughters-in-law, so my mother’s life, was the exact replica of my maternal grandmother’s, shortly afterbirth, she too, became a child bride to another family’s son. And, her parents gave her up, but in return, they’d brought home, a baby girl, to my older uncle by two years as a bride in his future, believed, that if you raised your own daughter-in-law from when they were little, they will be, close to you like the daughters will be. It’s just, that this girl, my eldest aunt, grew up and was forced to sleep with my uncle, and yet, after a few short years, she’d, run off. While life became, totally, different for my mother ever since.
My mother was a beautiful baby, a single woman in town wanted her, immediately took her home. From before, the women who were divorced, without children would mostly adopt, so they can have someone to care for their elderly years; and my “grandma in town”, opened up a teashop close to the temple, and adopted three girls.
My eldest aunt started in her teens, started helping out with the business, later, she’d taken after my adopted grandmother’s work, never married. My second aunt also came to my grandmother when she was infantile too, she’d grown up, to become rough and tall, with darker complexion, really not likable, and yet, she’d followed her fate, shouldered up all the manual labor in the home, and when the adults told her to welcome the guests, she’d, defied them, no matter how they’d, tried and beaten her into, submission. In the end, her adoptive mother couldn’t deal with it, and married her to a family that lived in the mountains, life was difficult there, and it wasn’t until my second aunt’s children were grown, went to Taipei to work, that was when her life started, getting, better.
In 1930, the Japanese government set up the public schools here, and, both sexes are allowed entrance, but, with the deeply rooted sexist beliefs, most of the families still, refused to send their daughters to schools. My mother was the intelligent, and cute youngest of the family, she’d gotten a ton of love from her adoptive mother, not only did she not need to lift a finger in the household chores, they’d put her through school.
My mother was always the top of her class, excelled in every single subject, after she’d graduated, she’d still continued learning, worked hard to study. She’d subscribed to the trending Japanese magazines herself, and worked hard, to absorb the endless information she could of this, new world, learned the means of interacting with others, she’d learned to dress herself well too, when she’d walked down the streets, everybody thought she was from a well-rounded, and rich family.
And, maybe, her adoptive mother saw that she was, outstanding, other than putting her through school, she’d also allowed my mother to work in the banks. In 1940, my father works in the Shantou, Guangdong Branch of the Taiwan Bank, at age twenty-seven, twenty-eight, way past marrying age, his family was desperately, searching for a bride for him, he’d told them, that he’d wanted to marry a former coworker in the Taoyuan Branch. As my father proposed abruptly, my mother was, surprised, being avant garde, she’d written a letter to my father, told him to think things through thoroughly. When my mother was still alive, she’d often stated to me, “I’d had a ton of dreams, wanted to get away from my own home, so I’d, agreed, to marry this, familiar, stranger.”
the practices of “wrapping the feet”, that’s now, outdated, because men like to see women walk a certain way…photo from online
After that, my father had smooth way in work, climbed higher and higher in the banks. I saw in the old photographs, my mother dressed fashionably, with her hair tied up in a bun, with the crocodile hide purse in her hand, in her high heels, with the white gloves, and went to a ton of dinner functions, and parties with my father.
The adopted daughters, the sacrificed in silence—my countryside grandma, my run-away older aunt, my single eldest aunt, my laboring second aunt, all were with, different, fates, only my mother was blessed.
So, everything is, all FATE, and seeing how the writer’s mother, had been tossed out, because during the times, the baby girls are considered a waste of food, because you will end up, marrying your, daughters, which was why in those times, daughters got, given up for adoptions, and that just showed how shortsighted the culture was, and the woman’s family, never got to, rub off of her good fortune, because they’d, tossed her out, like a piece of, TRASH! The families that gave up their daughters for adoption, don’t DESERVE these, baby, girls.
Mirroring the World 
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