Category Archives: Values

The Values one hold, the meanings of things

Every Time, Another MASS SHOOTING Occurred…

Every time, another MASS SHOOTING occurred, you see those, government officials (the members of the Congress, Senate, House Representatives, yada, yada, yada) swear UP and DOWN that AISLE, to CRACK down on ownership of guns (i.e. a stricter rule for purchasing, blah-blah-blah), and this last for???  No more than, three NANOSECONDS (as that would be, the attention span of modern day man, or maybe shorter, as we all became, addicted to those, three-second long, TikTok videos here???), then, everything gets, put OUT of, all of our, minds.

Every time, another MASS SHOOTING occurred, you’d hear those government officials, SWEAR that they’re going to CRACK down on the laws on stricter mandates of ownership of guns, the banning of owning of illegal firearms, having a tougher set of standards on getting the license (like say???  A SIX-MONTHS to a YEAR’s waiting period, but, would that be enough???), and, what happened to those, “promises”???  Oh yeah, it all went into, that, TRASH pile, labeled, “Yesterday’s NEWS”!

“FIRE in the HOLE!!!”, in “slow-motion” here…photo from online

That, is what happens, every time, another MASS SHOOTING occurred, people feel scared, not knowing, if it’ll be safe for them, to shop at a local mall (‘cuz, who’s to say, that PSYCHO with a MACHINE GUN won’t come in, and shoot us all???), and so, we all start, carrying our own separate, “concealable weapons” (preferably fitting into our tiny little, purses, to PROTECT ourselves!)…

And yet, who’s to say, those LOADED guns won’t fire by “accident”?  I mean, there were, already, the PRECEDENCE of a kid playing with a loaded gun of his mamas, and, BOOM!, SHOOTING his little ten-year-old (think she was!) girlfriend (friend who WAS a girl, not going out on dates!) somewhere NOT near her VITAL organs, from???  2010, 2011, 2012, or, when was that SHIT again???  Yeah, I can’t remember NO more (and your point being???).

So, you think it’s safe, to have a FIREARM in your house?  Yeah, the LAWS will NEVER change, until HALF of the LEGISLATORS (or maybe more would be needed???) lost someone they loved to gun-related violence or accident, because hey, safety’s off!


And maybe, GUN CONTROL is NOT, what we need, PEOPLE CONTROL, is, as them guns, well, they don’t, FIRE themselves now, do they???  Yeah, think on it…

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Filed under Gun Control, Life, Nowhere Is Safe, Observations, Perspectives, Properties of Life, Second Amendment Rights, The Constitution, Unsafe in the Schools, Unsafe Neighborhoods, Values, White Picket Fence

Secrets & Rebirth

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

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

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

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

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

the new life after their elders are, gone…

photo from online

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Air, My Friend

Why do we always, need to, FAKE it???  The column by Jimmi Liao, translated…

Is your head sore?

How about Your Arms?

How Much Longer

Can You Keep on, Grinning, Ear-to-Ear?

the artwork of Jimmi Liao, courtesy of

My Head’s Completely Sore

My Arms Too

Not to Mention the Smiles as Well

Stop Being So Sore Now

She Only Wanted to Appear Cute for a Little While

This, is how we’re, socialized, to behave ourselves, because we needed to, put ourselves in some unknown categories of whatever, that’s why, we FAKE it!  And, by FAKING it too long, what’s faked became, absolutely, REAL, and we end up, losing our own, true, selves, and that’s, no good!

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Filed under Cost of Living, Life, Properties of Life, Socialization, Values

Going Home

Family reunions are always, a total, BITCH, but hey, we can’t, avoid it, no matter what!  So yeah, we put on that painted on smile, pretend to greet each other nicely, with our fingers crossed, that this SHIT will be, over soon!  Translated…

I’d never liked the New Years.

In my childhood, there’s, the thick scent of the New Year, from buying up the foods, heading home for the New Year’s Eve meal gatherings, getting the red envelopes, staying up all night to ring in the new year, the firecrackers sounding off, to getting in our new clothes, going to wish everybody we meet a happy new year, the whole family got really into it.  After all we have the foods, the families, relatives, and friends visiting, the kids got their young playmates, with the red envelopes received, no school, no homework, we got to play for many days on end, everybody was happy then.

And, in that mood of celebration, I’d always felt, lethargic, unenthusiastic about everything, I seemed like a killjoy.

Before my childhood ended, I already noted, that the more we comply with the social norms, the more we are able to, get overly critical of those whom we eat our New Year’s Eve meals with.  If we don’t have the money, or the status, so long as we have thick enough skins, we can, turn the prodding into how we cared too much, and turned the criticisms of one another into our cares and concerns for each other.  I’d known, since the very start of it all, that I would never make the A-list of good wonderful, children, couldn’t turn in the shiny grade sheets of academia, graduation, employment, marriage, having children, it was during this time of year, that I’d, for the very first time, of how I’d become, the oddest, duck!

Many years later, I’d looked back again, those photos of us sitting for the photo ops at the photo studios, the pictures of the trips we took, the family photo of the New Year’s Eve meals, it seemed, so perfect, but, the smiles can be painted on, the words of well-wishes, we can rehearse ourselves to say to each other, seeing is, NEVER, believing.  As I grew old, I’d started, growing the perspective of that, outsider.  From my youth to after I was wed, the locations of the New Year’s Eve meals ept changing, and most of the times, I’d, carried a huge book, sitting on the edge of that table; as I couldn’t, get out of it, I shall, sit quiet, and just, watch, listen, and feel.

the foods

photo from online

The fishes, the meats served on the tables, the drinks, most fitting to exchanges the goings on of all of, our lives of late.  I’d heard those who made the highest grades, who made the most sales, who made the most of wages, gloat, their tones are, firm and, proud, like they can’t wait to tell the rest of the world.  I’d heard the sounds of chairs moving, the men sitting, waiting for the women, to serve dish after dish after dish, the elders waited for the daughters-in-law to add more wine to their glasses, to put more foods on their, plates, the infants waiting for mommies or older female siblings to coo with them, to feed them, those who busied themselves are always women, the last to sit down to eat, the first to get up to clean up, all, women.

I’d also heard the chinaware, clinking loud, also, the hearts of people, silently, knocked against one another.  Some gulfed down the foods fast, some, used the spare times to gossip, some lectured incessantly, some, evasive in answering and asking.  Some laughing loud, some, forcing that smile on, some talked really loud of their successes, others, sitting on pins and needles.  If there’s a year, that I can, not be used as that, target, I would be, too grateful, that this year would be, good.

Rationally, I understand, that no matter how good I do for myself, how I’d made up my life to perfect, under that microscope, there would be, the barely visible blemishes that’s shown up, that I will, NEVER live up to others’ expectations of me.  I also can understand, that the elders, and all the families are scattered all over the places, and this is the one and only occasion that we get to, gather up as a big family to share the time.  Problem being, year after year, I’d heard the waves getting turned over, over, over and over underneath the, surfaces, we all put on our predispositions, with the war paint on our faces, get on the battlefield of that supper table, safest is the topics that won’t cause any ripples, attacking before we were attacked, the best of tactics.  The meanings of the New Years became an excuse of forced gathering to get emotionally blackmailed.  The process of socialization, taught us to force ourselves to act courteous, to find our own ways of surviving, in the visible and invisible cannons that’s flying all over the places.

As I’d found, that there are, those who started panicking around New Year’s around me, I’d let out, that sigh of, huge, relief, and felt sad too.  New Year is no longer a happy occasion, but a, worst experience of the entire, year, we’d come into the meals with a whole year’s worth of fatigue, then, we’d, carried the exact same load, with the extra add-ons on our ways out, and, made that date for the, next year, until we are, finally, separated by death.  Then, just like that, the old wounds were never healed, the new ones came too quick, and, there’s, that nasty scent, and taste of interacting with the families, and we drift farther, farther away, from each other, and, only when we take that group photo, we looked, happy.

the photo of the family! And, how many of these do you think actually feel “happy”??? Photo from online

How regrettable, from the weakness of human nature, we blurred out the focuses of things so easily.  The meanings of the New Year, is it get the table with the family connecting, with the grand dishes prepared and served, that happiness that showed from the family photos, or, is it a reminder, of how family should be a safe harbor, that all who get into this circle is, welcomed?  Deep down, I’m sure, that we all wish, that nobody needs to put on the masks here, to protect ourselves, that everybody can, feel, relaxed, to just share a good conversations, to listen to one another.

Actually, those who feared going home the most, are the ones who needed to come home, the most.

And so, this is how these New Year’s Eve family meal gatherings are imposing to us all, I mean, why the @#$% would we, want to sit around with those whom we called “family”, put on that smiling face, to pretend that we are enjoying ourselves?  Oh yeah, because that’s our OBLIGATIONS, and, thankfully, this was only for this ONE time a year, through a span of, no more than, a whole week, and we still got the rest of the fifty-one-weeks of the year, to feel relaxed, until we get, wound up again, and that, is from the impositions of families on us as individuals, on these, celebratory occasions!

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Filed under "Professional" Opinions, Family Dynamics, Family Matters, Life, Observations, Perspectives, Properties of Life, Reality Clashes with Dreams, STUCK in a Cookie Jar, Values

The Cause of Poverty: Broken Relationships with the Families

The understanding, the awareness, that the writer arrived at, on his trip around Taiwan, to visit the distant region areas, where there are, too many families, waiting for, assistance, the call, for everybody to lend that, helping hand!  Off of the Front Page Sections, translated…

I’d recently finished the fundraiser, 1919 Cycling Around Taiwan, the fifteen day cycling trip of “I ride, You donate”, for the families in dire need.  With a team of sixty-two cyclist, riding 1,300 kilometers around Taiwan, and we’d visited twenty-nine help center, to understand the trials of life of the families hit by emergency situations, hearing their voices, helped them walk that extra mile.  The fifteen days’ of in-depth entering into the poverty-stricken, distant regions, made me see what poverty looked like, and it’d made me realized, that “the origins of poverty WAS from the broken family relations!”

the plea…

photo from online

In actuality, poverty is a widely defined concept, there’s no set definition of it.  From the language, the two characters mean “extremely deprived”, so, poverty is used to describe people living in the hardships of economics, with a shortage of all the resources they’re in need of.  But, being poor, it’s a subjective interpretation, and a comparative; and, there are more levels of poverty than just the economical, materialistic, it may also include societal, economical, as well as political.  In my fifteen days cycling to raise fund for the poverty stricken regions, with personal contact, interactions with the dozens of families, it’d made me feel, that poverty is actually the results of “broken relationships”, especially of the family relationships that were, broken down.

Aunty Chang in Pingdong, is an exemplary case of this.  Aunty Chang is seventy-one, with the condition of mildly mental retardation, live with her younger brother who had a stroke, her own emotionally troubled son, and the nephew with epilepsy.  This family of four lived off of the assistance of handicapped individuals, and the assistance for the elderly.  What added to their difficulties was, that last year, there was a fire on the second floor of their home, the furniture all burned up, there’s now, just the living room on the first floor that can be, used, the originally home with almost nothing now, looked like ruins, and, as it rained, the house would, start, leaking, the place was totally, unoccupiable.  Our teams helped fixed up Aunty Chang’s home, and as she’d cried and told of her trials of life, I can only cry with her, and hugged her, to give her the emotional supports, and told the assistance foundation, to help them look for more resources to help the family, to help them fix up this broken home, so at least this family would have a steady roof over their, heads.

And, there was, an Atayal fellow cyclist this year on our team, who’d, gone on the entire fifteen days’ trip with us.  He’d witnessed the needs of these families, and shared with me, that what he saw, was no different than what he was growing up in, forty years ago.  When this man was only five, his father died from long-term alcohol abuse, leaving his mother, to raise him and his siblings up.  Thankfully, that his mother insisted on getting the children into the church, to help them keep their, faith; because of the church’s unconditional love, and help, it’d helped covered for the lacking of functionality of his family, and it’d helped the family members patched their relationship with one another, up, keeping this Atayal teammate of ours, not gone astray, and he was able to break away from the cycle of poverty, to not pass it down to the next, generation.

And now, the 1919 Cycling Around Taiwan’s fifteen-day long journey is over, but, the needs of these families in the distant regions are still, pressing, and all we can do, is to keep watch over them, continue to accompany these families in need, help raise the funds for the families that are faced with the emergencies, to help those who have the needs, for one more, extra, mile.  I invite you, the readers, to offer a helping hand to those families that are broken down, lacking the normal functions, so the members of these families can, have the hopes for a better, tomorrow.

what we can do to help!

poster from online

Because of you, love cycles!  Help us help those in poverty, to return the relations we share with the outside world back to, love again.

And so, this, is from going deep into the local regions, to SEE and FEEL the needs of these families, and, if we don’t get immersed in the trials of others, and learn to empathize with their situations in life, we will never be driven to help.

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Filed under "Professional" Opinions, A Cycle of Kindness, Awareness, Helping Behaviors, Lending a Helping Hand, Observations, Properties of Life, Social Awareness, STUCK in a Cookie Jar, The Observer Effect, Values, Vicious Cycle, White Picket Fence


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

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

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

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

illustration from

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

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

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

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

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

Crossing the River Styx

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

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

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

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

illustration from online

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

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

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

Trekking These Streets of the, Past…

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

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

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

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

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

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

Rohingya refugees bet lives on boat crossings despite rising death toll — Stigmatis

Woman recounts suffering on perilous journeys taken to escape oppression in Myanmar and squalid Bangladesh camps Rohingya refugees rest following their arrival by boat on Lamnga beach in Indonesia’s Aceh province on 8 January. Photograph: Chaideer Mahyuddin/AFP/Getty Images Shaikh Azizur Rahman and Rebecca Ratcliffe in Bangkok | Jan. 8 2023 Hatemon Nesa recalled hugging her young daughter tightly as […]

Rohingya refugees bet lives on boat crossings despite rising death toll — Stigmatis

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Filed under "Professional" Opinions, Abuse, Basic Human Rights, Nowhere Is Safe, Observations, Perspectives, Properties of Life, Right to Life, Values, White Picket Fence

Those Moments to, Spare

How reading is important, not just, as a leisure activity, but also, a fulfillment of the mind, and the, soul too!  Translated…

After breakfast on Sunday morn, as the rain hadn’t gotten to big yet, I’d taken out the umbrella, slung that huge bag of books that’s about due to the library, thinking, that I could, return the whole lot before the due dates, and pick up the reserved books I’d wanted to borrow for me and the kids to read along.  And, due to where we live, other than the bookstore visits, sometimes I get to be alone on my own, but mostly, I had to, haul along my two young children, around two weeks to a little over a months, I’d gotten to the library as scheduled.  Every time I’d gone there, on the return too, no matter how heavy a load I was carrying I’d always felt light in my, steps.  I’d recalled seeing a young boy, with a large book that’s, half his height, hoppity, hopped to the counter, to check it out, he’d grinned ear to ear, like he’d found, some sort of a, treasure or something.

There wasn’t enough children’s book collection in my hometown library, or maybe it wasn’t, labeled well enough, it was hard for us to find the fitting to the age readers, and, it was like betting with our lucks every time we went to the libraries, whatever my hands landed on, that was the one I took home.  I’d eaten the stories of some books for older people not set for children when I was young.

illustratioin from

And think on it, I was, lucky too, without the carefully selecting the readers by the adults for me, it’d, helped broaden my horizon, each and every time I went, tiptoed to get to the books, reading the adult books!  So, this is what adults are, reading……seeing those, words that’s not simplified so children could understand, counting the limits of the number of books I can check out, not wanting to let any of them go, there may be, the imaginations I’d acquired toward the written form of language, and so, what if I couldn’t, understand everything I was, reading?

Although, there are a few bookshops next to the train stations, but they mostly sold the school supplies, the test study guides.  The only bookstore that fitted to be called a “bookstore” to me, was the Kingstone Bookstore that I had to take half an hour bus ride to get to; and, every time I’d stepped into the store, it’d made me feel like I was, getting the high end treatments like I was, the honorary, guest, that sense of joy, enjoyment, and leisure.

There were, the novels on the second floor by that window, with an assortment of novels I’d never seen from the libraries or in my school.  And this was the very first place that took my money, it was a shorter story, about how a group of people went into that state of dormancy for thousands of years, to dodge the changes of time, how they’d, traveled through, time.  Actually I’d, read it cover to cover before I bought it, but don’t know why, I’d thought, that if I could have it in my backpack, and pull it out as I waited for the bus, how wonderful that would be.

As I graduated and grew up, I’d transferred to and from work in different towns, and, certainly, my wish came true, in the commute of almost two hours every day, I’d kept a book close by, to read as I waited, and, for some, I look like I was, trying to, catch up on my reading, but, it was my means of finding that calm, in the coming and going, the rushes from day to day.

To this very day, as I marched into midlife, the libraries had all, evolved, especially after I married, I’d started, living in the urban city, there’s no shortages of books, and yet, because of my earlier memories, no matter how my role altered, or how my lifestyle changed, I’d still gone to the libraries regularly, gone to the bookstores; and, whenever I head out, I always pack a book in my bag, so I can, start back up that feeling of, treasure hunt I had, to find the leisure in my, day to day, living.

And so, this love of reading started young, for this person, she’d always loved reading, and now, she’d kept going in her habits of, packing a book in her purse, so she can have access to something interesting, when she’s out and about, and can, squeeze in, those, tiny moments to, spare…

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Filed under Hobbies/Pasttimes, Life, Perspectives, Philosophies of Life, Properties of Life, Values