Tag Archives: Memories

Turn into a Cat on that Day, Travel Through Time

Memories of loss, translated…

In the depth of one wet, November night, he and I split up, to look for the cat, I had a flashlight, as I wandered the streets.  The flashlight sucked, only had the dimmed lights, and, all the reflection points were the eyes of the cats.  It’s all a test.

The tarp-paved roads were twinkling, because of the rain, my eyes were also, collecting the rain, the roads were blurred.  Why would the cat get lost?  Why didn’t he tell me right away?  I’d swallowed my angers hard, twisted the lid on tight, wanted to get all the negative emotions to suffocate, without the oxygen.

From that day on, whenever my cat surfaced back into my mind, I’d started time-traveling.  So many nights, I’d returned to that particular night, became a cat, flipped through the gates, and, jumped from the ridges of the roof, and followed the cat that was lost, entered through the passages that only those cats would know about; there were, several times when I’d sent myself back, to the moment I’d gotten the cat back, to prevent myself from flying abroad; naturally, I’d gone back to the moment when I’d learned about my cat being lost, and, SLAP the person who lost my cat really hard, across the face.

But, I will NEVER go back to the moment when my cat got lost—what I’d done wrong by my cat, I will, carry that, forever.

So, it’s still haunting you, after so many years, it’s just something you can’t get over, because, perhaps, you’d entrusted something you loved so dearly to someone you once trusted, and, he’d ended up, being careless, and lost it, that, was probably what made this person mad, more than the fact, that her cat got lost.

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Filed under Being Exposed, Coping Mechanisms, Life, Loss, Perspectives, Properties of Life, Re-Experiencing the Trauma

The Door’s Not Locked, Come on In

A treasure map of memories, translated…

On a certain evening when I was cooking with the rice cooker, I’d measured out the half cup of rice that’s just right for one person, and, like electric shock, I’d all of a sudden, felt how lonely it was, to be living all alone on my own…

From the Fortress of My Days of Playing House to My Hiding Place During the Teenage Years

I still recall that room that I’d had to share with my older sister.  I’d used to think, that that, was it, the fortress: in a tightly cramped in room, with two desks, and a bunk bed.  There’s NO more room for a closet, and so, when we needed to change our clothes, we’d headed over, to our parents’ room to do it.

We’d drawn up the boundaries in this space of ours.  My older sister took the top bunk, there was her favorite rabbit stuffed animal, “Mr. Goody”, it was, a gift from her friend in the elementary years, and she’d only allowed me to look at it, but not touch it.  I had, taped a ton of glow-in-the-dark stars on the “ceiling” of the bottom of the bunk beds, as the lights were turned off, they’d started glowing green, and accompanied me to dreams.

We’d also used the “fortress” to play house.  There are railings around the bunk beds, the opening on the railings would be the doorway of our fortresses. (My older sister had it better, with the steps, which were turned into the river that protected the fortress).  When we’d wanted to go into each other’s spaces, we’d knocked on the edge of the beds twice gently, “knock, knock, I’m coming over to your place to play.”

Sometimes, as the answerer of the door was caught off guard, we’d yelled, “wait, I have yet to fix up my bed!”, then, we’d tidy up our messed up quilts and sheets.  But most of the times, we’d greeted one another with, “Welcome, the door’s not locked, come on in.”

My mother who’s very strict on our reading materials would ban us from reading comics and the novels, but, as children we’d all been diagnosed with a kind of illness called, “The more you’d banned the more we wanted” syndrome.  And so, as my sister and I got farther away from our childhoods, our room became a fortress we’d placed house in to a storage place of our teenage years—everywhere, underneath the pillows, inside the quilts, were the secrets, folded in.  The stuffed toy rabbit, and the paper stars are still there, watching us, as we’d devoured those love stories.

Leaving the Shared Space of the Dormitories to Having My Own Room

Since I’d left home to go to school at age fifteen, I’d lived in dorm rooms with three other roommates.  The managements at the high school dorms are stricter, other than eating, sleeping with the roommates, we’d still had to keep our living areas neat and tidy.  Although I’d become good friends with my roomies, I’d still felt that I was being ordered around.

In college, I’d gotten even farther from my home, if anything is up, with a phone call, my roomies would show up, faster than members of my family would.  We’d lived together, we’d bought a huge pack of toilet paper, laundry detergent, with a six-servings rice cooker, stayed in 24/7, with our backs against one another, playing on the computers, and we’d told one another everything, the records of our conversations were reduced to the hyperlinks.

Thinking about it, in my life, I’d never actually had a room all to myself at all.  With different patterns of sleep, different definitions of what clean is………in the moments we’d felt slightly annoyed, I’d had the thoughts of moving out.  But, in the very end, I’d stayed by my roommates’ persuasions of having someone to share the rents, the foods, helping one another out.

Until I’d become a graduate student, when I’d needed more personal space, that, was when I’d moved to a place closer to the school, to rent a small room.  There are a ton of suites for rent around the school, with every mansion, every building, the boxed out windows, with people who are somewhat related, yet living separately.

As I first moved in, I was so excited, a huge place all to myself, no need to line up for the showers, with no worries of who I might wake when I sleep at night, and, I don’t really need to keep my place that tidy either.  During those first days, I’d not even gone into the research labs, other than heading out for classes, I’d stayed in my room mostly.

After I’d slowly gotten used to living in my own room, on a certain evening, as I’d measured out the rice to be cooked, seeing the half-cup of rice that I’d measured out, it was like electric shock, all of a sudden, I’d felt this solitude of living alone.  And that, was when I’d come to the realizations, that compared to being alone with myself, I’m better at living as a part of a group.

And now, being alone with myself became a lesson.  Sometimes it’s hard, sometimes, I’m feeling proud, at how I’d grown up a little.

When that loneliness wouldn’t go away, the few of us who are renting out would pay one another a visit.  Although it was only a small room, but, we’d referred to our places of residences as “your house”, “my house”.  As if a very small suite is enough, to carry our fantasies, our imaginations of what “home” is.

“We’d arrived downstairs to your house,” my classmates called.

“Welcome, the door’s not locked, come on it”, I’d replied.

And so, you’d desperately longed to have your own space, because you were never able to have a place all to yourself, because you had to share it with someone else, and now that you finally have this place, all to yourself, you started missing the days that you’d shared a room with someone else, because you’d lived on your own for a while, and, you’d started to understand, the importance of the connections of you and your families and friends.

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Filed under Childhood, Connections, Life, Loneliness/Solitude, Observations

Meeting Up with Your Childhood Selves

What are you going to say, to your childhood selves when you meet up with them again?  And, you DO realize, that this, is not at all, just MY delusion OR hallucination, right???

Meeting up with your childhood selves, are they (your childhood selves) surprised at how you turn out?  Did meeting up with them, remind you of your childhood dreams, did that set you on the right course that you’d strayed too far from again?

Meeting up with your childhood selves, these “blasts from the past” are NOT entirely without point or purpose either, meeting up with your childhood selves again, because you’d either forgot something very important to yourselves as children (a goal, a dream, maybe???), it’s also a way you can reflect on where you’d gone since that innocent, wide-eyed young boy or girl had been gone.

So, don’t take these “blasts from the past”, and just shrug them off your shoulders easily, because, this kinds of opportunities only comes, but ONCE in one’s life, so, don’t WASTE it!!!

 

 

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Filed under Childhood, Coping Mechanisms, Life, Perspectives, Philosophies of Life

Voices Left, the Markers of Childhood

Memories from a long time ago, translated…

Childhood, when televisions weren’t found in every household, and all the memories we captured, are mostly from the radios, from the capturing of sounds.

Differentiating the channels and the voices.  The forceful Taiwanese words like “This is getting serious folks, will the Tien-Ding Liao get caught or not………”  “Come get the medicines for your stomachs, guaranteed to work for you, the black label……” etc., the sponsors of the programs from the local radio stations.

As for, the perfectly pronounced, annunciated, melodious, all belonged to the set stations on the radios.  For instance, “The Sensible Time”, hosted by Lee, “The Stars Tonight”, by In, along with “Western Popular Music”, with Yu, the “Silent Night” for the midnights, etc., etc., etc., they’d all accompanied me through my nights of study, sailed with me through my youthful days.

The accompaniment of the oldies, through the melodies, it’d made me realize just how far the world in the distant is, it’d broken the boundaries of the universe, I got the chance of soaring high on the music, and allowed my imaginations to run wild.

The age of sound keeping, even thought the island is closed in on itself, we still heard the flowers bloom, the moon rise, even the stars, twinkling in the skies…………

And so, in those years, when you didn’t have much of anything, you got satisfied easily, because when you’re given very little, you’d become really grateful, and now???  People are not grateful enough for everything they’d received, and that, is why this article has that “scent” of nostalgia to it.

 

 

 

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Filed under Childhood, Life, Maturation, Socialization

Scars & Wounds, Markings of Childhood

Translated…

“If children don’t fall down, they don’t grow up.” For children growing up in the countryside, falling down and getting wounded is regular like the mealtimes, slipping, tripping, falling flat on our faces, the wild children who can’t be stopped from chasing after the happiness back in the days; the jokes of one’s childhood playmates, like the dusts, slapped off from the bodies, gone with the wind; but, more or less, they’d left those beautiful markings on you.

“This scar on the back of my heel, was from when I was six, when grandpa rode his bicycle with me, on the back, to town, to get some shaved ice.  Back then, I was sitting on the back, waving ‘hi’ to the older girls, pulling up weeds in the fields, but, I’d stuck my left leg into the wheels, and, not only did I not get that ice treat, I’d stood on just one leg for over a month.”, said Blackie.

“This scar on my head, was when I’d fought off the bigger boys, trying to get more yam from the ground, it was caused by Mr. Porkchop’s youngest son.”  Red Turtle pointed to his hair, where there are NO hairs growing.

“On my thigh………”, as Jen was about to hike up her skirt, everybody held his breath, and watched her closely.

And so, these scars we’d received from our childhood days became sort of a bragging right to us, it’s a show of how wild and free we once were, and, as we grew older, those scars, even though, they may have faded away, but, we’d still have memories of them inside our minds, and, they will NEVER be forgotten!

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Filed under Childhood, Connections, Life, Perspectives, Properties of Life

Snacks of Childhood

The markers of childhood, translated…

As children, we loved munching on snacks.

I still recalled, how on Ming-Hsian Street, there was a sesame ball stand, with a wok of boiling oil, filtering net, and, a couple of sesame balls, draining.  The golden colored dough balls, covered with the white sesames on the outside, with air-filled interiors, looking translucent, like a small lantern.  Five dollars a piece, and my mother would often give me two, on the way home, I’d held on to the paper bags, and eaten them.

I’d loved the grocery stores too.  The store was darkened by the tall stacks, on the outermost column was my favorite snack.  I loved the flavor of spices, every couple of days, I’d pulled my mother along to get a bag for me.  Other than the great tastes, there was also a toy inside, small water gun, small car, sometimes, there were series of comics.  In order to make my collection of seven books of comics, I didn’t mind, draining my parents dry, I’d have a bag of that childhood snack every two or three days.  On the screens, the two puppets are talking, “We have a field trip tomorrow!”  “Yeah, I have………Goody Snack!”

Thankfully, Goody Snack is five dollars; the sweetened drinks, five dollars.  Five dollars, after all, that, is the most basic unit, to keep a child quiet.

And so, that, was the snack that carries you back to your childhood days, and, we ALL have these mental notes that can initiate the memory response, that draws us back to our childhood, don’t we???

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Filed under Childhood, Properties of Life

Childhood Remembered

Childhood remembered, what, did the childhood remember?  Its PAINS, SUFFERINGS, the abuse, the neglect it had weathered, in its earlier “stages of life”?  And, what good would that do now?  Childhood is gone already.

Childhood remembered, but W-H-Y?  I’d been working hard, all my life, to forget, and yet, childhood remembered the things I desperately wanted to leave behind each and every single night, and because I hadn’t DEALT with it all, childhood will always keep that FUCKED up of itself intact!!!

Childhood remembered, what?  What, did childhood remember?  What’s so important, that you have to wake me UP, in the middle of my dreams?  Childhood remembered, but W-H-Y?  I have NO need for my childhood memories, as I’d already PUSHED all of that SHIT into the fire, the way Hansel & Gretel did the witch in that house, made of candy, and, it’s (my childhood!!!) still sizzling, and it’d burned, for so many years, after I’m grown up too………

 

 

 

 

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Filed under Abandonment of Children, Childhood

No Photographs During Your Final Days

There would be NO photographs, during your final days, because that, is NOT the way I wanted to remember you, my love.  You’d grown so frail, with nothing MORE than JUST skin and bones, and it pains me to see you like this.

So, NO photographs during your final days, because I want to give you the amounts of dignity that you RIGHTFULLY deserved, after all, I loved you very much, and now, I’m just letting you go, because keeping you bound, by this ailing body, is absolutely POINTLESS.

No photographs during your final days, I have NO need for those, after all, I’d already saved UP on memories of you, and I need NO reminder, of how frail you are near the end.  No photographs during your final days, and that, is that, you ARE mine, and I get a say, in how I choose to remember you, and there’s NO debating that here!!!

No photographs during your final days, as you wasted away, little by little, day by day, and I do NOT want to remember you as being sick, I want to recall you (whenever I will!!!) as being healthy, upbeat, and waking me up too early.

 

 

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Filed under Old Age, On Death & Dying

The First Love with the Sweetest Memory

Yeah, because you were so young, so innocent, and NOT looking then, you “bumped” into that first love around the corner???  There’s this nostalgia of the first love being sweet because you were young, naïve, and that, was the first TASTE of love you’d ever had, and, because it’s new, therefore, it tasted wonderful.

The first love with the sweetest memory, I never had the chance of getting, because I’m still waiting to be B-O-R-N, and currently, there’s this HUGE traffic jam up here (in heaven, where BABIES come from???), and, no matter how hard we pushed each other, we ain’t gettin’ D-O-W-N.

The first love with the sweetest memory, oh yeah, I remember it, I was young and naive, and thought that I’d found love, but, not long thereafter, I’d discovered that it wasn’t, that it was abuse instead, and, if you can, imagine how PISSED OFF I got, and that was back in Shanghai, in 2008, and yes, I was DRAGGED on that trip that I didn’t even want to go on in the first place, when that FORMER son-of-a-BITCH who will come crawling back to BURY his own DEAD father called me an “ingrate” (and no, this still has NOTHING to do with Y-O-U, you KNOW who you are!!!).

And, that, is how my first love that STALE taste in my mouth, and, it tastes like dead corpse, not that I’d ever had that meat variety before, but, ugh…

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Filed under Miscelaneous