AN UNLOADER’S REGRET

Posted on April 18, 2018 by hafong

Sometimes I feel foolish being here, day after day. But it is the need of conversation and a friend that I return. It is true that I am my own best friend. Who has walked in my shoes and see my exact point of view? I feel it is foolish to tell another, “I understand. I get it. I know where you are. Been there. Done that.” We each have our own unique experiences and way of seeing the world. We couldn’t possibly understand another’s. All I can do is accept another’s when they tell me. Believe and don’t try to change or contradict. That is my motto.

It is here that I get to talk without interruption or correction. No one will say, Who’s THEY? No one will tell me I’m making assumptions. Before I go on and forget, I can tell you now who THEY are. They are our human tribe. I hope no one will demand who the THEY are from me any more. In my space, I can speak without judgement. No one will tell me that I say outloud what others would think only. It’s good I’ve unleashed my dark twin. I am getting a load off my mind.

Speaking of loads, it is quite difficult to rid them. Attachments have deep holds even though they serve no purpose. I felt so elated after doing my tax return this morning. It was a heavy load off my mind. In the process, I found that I’m not totally dizzy, ditzy and disorganized. I felt it was a good time to unload more of my outdated nursing texts and journals into the recycle bin. I gathered all the hard covered Nursing Skills manual. They were in excellent condition. I don’t think I’ve ever actually read one. Regret coursed through my body. I put them back on the shelf. Then I gathered them up again and ran outside. Into the bin they went. My logical self had asked: Of what purpose do they serve on the shelf for another 30 years?

My book shelves are getting thinned and dusted. I am sure I will experience more regret as I rid more of what is not needed anymore. It is not the books or objects that I am attached to. It is the memories they invoke. The regret over choices made, things not done, etc. There is only one path we can go down at any one time. Too bad we can’t straddle them all. Maybe hanging onto stuff is the straddle. I’m afraid of letting go. It is really being stuck and unable to go forward.

The feelings of regret and pining over choices not made are human. They are short lived like the ones of a buyer’s regret. I remember I’ve said “My God, what have I done!” over many purchases. All that evorporated with the enjoyment of the piano, house renovations, my Bernina sewing machine. I’m making real progress now, however slow it may be. An inch, a book, a square a day can add up to quite a bit in a year. I have alot of books but not 365 – I think.

COME SATURDAYS

Posted on December 16, 2017 by hafong

Saturdays have always been my favourite day of the week as far back as I can remember. One of my chores was to dust on Saturday. The sun lit up the dust on top of the chest of drawers that my father somehow had made. I can’t remember what other chores I had to do that day. I remember helping with the dishes and bringing in coal for the pot belly stove. When my mother was in the hospital having my brother, my grandmother came for a few days. My mother gave me a list of chores which included doing the laundry. We didn’t have a machine so it was by hand.

I think I always associate Saturdays with that sunlit dust. I can still see that beam of sunshine coming through the bedroom window in that little house behind the cafe. Of course not all Saturdays are sunny but they are in my mind’s eye. That little house with the coal shed is also there. Funny how some images stay with you after so many years.

Today was not sunny either but my Saturday sunshine is in me. It’s been a mellow yellow day. So happy that I could get myself to the pool though it was dark as night at 8 am. The University Bridge was lit up in bright Christmas lights of green and red. I wished I could have taken a photo but I was in moving traffic. I was alone and driving. I had not only a lane but the whole pool to myself. Just me, a brand new life guard and no loud music. It was heavenly. I could relax and pretend I was a mermaid. No worry of sharks on my tail. I splashed at my own speed to my heart’s content. I had planned to do a short swim but given that much freedom, I stayed the whole hour. Wouldn’t you?

I stopped in and visited with my mother on my walk with Sheba in the afternoon. Sheba was content to be outside. She preferred the snow rather the blanket I brought for her. I let her be. Kids and dogs. They have minds of their own. My mother was not as chirper as could be. She had her heating pad draped across her shoulders for her aches and pain. Some days are like that. That’s how it is.

She’s excited all three of her orchids are going to bloom. She told me how she saved her goldfish. It was constipated and in distress. What could she do? What do we do for our constipation? Vegetables! Fish eat plants. She chopped up a bit of lettuce for it and cut back the pellet food. It made all the difference. I showed her a picture of my new sewing machine. She was impressed by its size and that it’s computerized. I was surprised to learn that hers had embroidery and other accessories. It is older than my old Kenmore and it is OLD. So many memories when we visit. My mother is a very good conversationist and story teller.

The day has turned into evening. Supper and dishes are done. Saturdays have always been kind to me. Feeling mellow and content.

UNDER THE TREE, BY THE POND

Posted on October 5, 2016 by hafong

It’s Wednesday and snowing big times here in Saskatoon, Saskatchewan. It’s a good day for storytelling. What better venue than the Friday Fictioneers. We like to tell stories of 100 words to a photo prompt. We are hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields of Addicted to Purple. Here is my story.

PHOTO PROMPT © CEAyr

I sat at the base of the tree, cradled by two roots. I gazed across the pond. Right out there in the middle was where my brother and I got stuck. We were chasing the water buffalo with sticks. We didn’t get very far before we couldn’t go at all. We had to be rescued. Boy, did mother give it to us after! We were soaked and caked in mud.

Those were the good memories. What haunted me still was the memory of my grandmother being publicly humiliated and persecuted by the village under this very tree many years ago.

AFTER THE PARTY

Posted on September 18, 2015 by hafong

After the party is over, after all the drinks are gone, after all the speeches have been spoken, after everyone has gone home… We can relax and let our smiles fall. We can take our shoes off and drop our clothes on the floor. We can sigh, breathe and let our shoulders drop. We can wash the weariness off our faces, smile again, remembering the moments, faces, toasts and stories, feeling grateful that we have friends and family to invite and share.

After the party is over, after we can take no more, after we have come home, we can let our faces fall. We undress, hang up our clothes and stumble to the bathroom. Under the warm shower, we breathe and sigh with relief and contentment. We smile at the memories, stories and happy faces, feeling grateful to be invited.

After the journey is over and the dog collected, after the bags are unloaded, after a cup of tea and a glass of wine, after a meal cooked and ate, after a good night’s sleep…..After the bags are unpacked, the clothes laundered and hung, I am able to sit here, feet up, tap, tapping on the keyboard, feeling grateful for the journey, the hills and valleys, the laughter, the tears and the people who travelled with me.

THE YEAR OF THE GOAT

Posted on February 8, 2015 by hafong

Chinese New Year is coming on February 19th. It’s the year of the goat. I’m thinking of my roots, where I come from. I have travelled away far and a long time from my homeland. It resides still in my heart.

I’m remembering our house in the village. It was built with money my grandfather sent from Gold Mountain. It was two storied with a cupula on top. I loved climbing up the stairs and emerging from it to play on the roof. It was where I saw my ghosts. My mother told me they were our ancestors and no need to be afraid.

I have memories of chasing chickens around the courtyard. Our house was big, being a Gold Mountain house. We lived in one half and my grandfather’s brother’s family lived in the other half. We were a household of women and children. The men were over- seas working and sending money home. The only adult man is the household was my grandfather’s brother. That’s how it was. We sustained and supported each other.

Down the lane was another Gold Mountain house. My grandfather’s other two brothers’ families lived there. Just like us, they were a household of women and children. We were all overseered by my grandfather’s one brother. But in reality, it was the women who took care of him.

Close to Chinese New Year, memories of New Year’s Eve come to me. I am snug in my bed of wooden planks and a wooden block for a pillow. I don’t recall the hardness or the discomfort of such a bed. But being in winter, it was probably lined with a quilt. In my mind’s eye, I see the flames as the women tended the fire through the night to cook the pastries for the celebration. I feel such contentment and security. That memory is such a blessing to have. It nourishes me through all of life.

So here’s an early toast to the year of the goat. Gong Hee Fat Choy!

DREAMS, MEMORIES AND FATE

Posted on August 3, 2014 by hafong

I’m scribbling on the deck again. That’s what you do if you don’t have a laptop. It’s a perfect afternoon to sit out here and enjoy a beer. But I better do my writing first, if I want to make sense with my tenses. I wonder if it’s a Chinese thing – not being correct with my tenses.

The melody of the theme song from the Titanic ‘My Heart Will Go On’ had inspired me to write my post In My Dreams for Friday Fictioneers. Yes, I heard Celine Dione’s voice in my head, too. The music lifted me high above the clouds and I touched Mr. Moon’s face. It felt so real. It was magical.

You know what they say about dreams. If you can dream/imagine it, it can come true. Those are one kind of dreams. Then there are the kind that are harbingers of the future. I believe in dreams. I am very superstitious, like all Chinese. I cross my slippers to ward off ghosts.

My uncle and me on each side of the grandmother. My mother and elder uncle behind us.

My mother had such a dream the night before my accident. She dreamt of a one-armed girl. The next day I had my accident. I did not lose an arm, but it got badly burned. I had been playing in the courtyard with my uncle. He was only a year older than me. We were chasing and harassing the chickens when we were called in to have some sweet taro root soup.

We fought over the biggest bowl. I grabbed at it, knocking it over and spilling the hot, sticky soup over my left arm. It was winter and I had on a sweater with long sleeves. My mother had trouble getting me out of it.

I have memories of chasing chickens, being at the table and grabbing at the bowl, but none of the impact. Nature has a way of protecting us from unbearable pain. Now, even the memories are just a memory and not the real thing.

My arm would not heal no matter how many remedies my mother and the aunties tried. My mother said I was very well behaved. I did not fussed nor cried. I only said it hurt. Finally someone told my mother to take me to the city and see a doctor. In the early 50’s and in rural China, medical attention was not common.

My mother hired a bicycle taxi and took me to the hospital in Taisan, Guangdong. I remembered going through arches to the hospital and that our taxi driver was not very skilled. It took a few visits before my arm finally healed. It scarred half my forearm, from elbow down. Still, I was lucky I had full mobility of the arm.

In a sense, my mother’s dream came true or you can say that she was warned of impending danger. But what good did it do? It still happened. It was fate.

SATURDAY MORNING COMING DOWN

Posted on April 5, 2014 by hafong

It’s Saturday morning, grey and overcast. No sun yet. It evokes in me feelings from the song, Sunday Morning Coming Down – nostalgia and hung over, feelings of a misspent youth, and memories of early university days.

Yes, those days were somewhat misspent but not wasted. No, I never finished and got a degree. But it was an education all the same. And it was fun in a painful sort of way. I got to explore the world, getting lost and found and lost again but not forever. I got to taste the bitter along with the sweet. I discovered I had appeal but never believed it.

I was a fool and a saint. I was an innocent and innocent of the fact. Someone up there looked after me! And I came out alright.

It is Saturday morning and it is snowing tiny snow flakes. Enough of nostalgia and wallowing in memories. On with the day. Forward, march!

I KNEW IT WAS MY LAST DAY THERE

Posted on October 21, 2013 by hafong

The snow on the ground this morning made me think of my first time to Ghana, land of palm trees and warm beaches, being close to the equator.

Here I am, with my own chief, sitting on the balcony of our chalet, facing the ocean, creating my own photo memory. I knew it was my last day there.

Pictures flashed through my mind – the woman in her black Benz on the red clay road, the son who thanked me and the balloon-filled sky as Nana drove towards the airport.

I remembered I was a woman of grace. I am still.

onethousandandtwo

Looking at Infinity

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