crossroads

I don’t really remember what happened that day that caused me to walk home from school for the first time by myself. I must have been either seven, or eight years old. All I remember was the feeling of fear, of loneliness, of frantic search for my way back home in a familiar yet strange place. Familiar because it was a place that I had frequently passed by with my mother in the car, whether on trips to the marketplace, or on the way to playdates with my childhood friends or my cousin.

Standing at the first and only intersection that blocked my path to returning home, the set of lights that trafficked inbound and outbound cars with impatient pedestrians waiting for their turn to cross, seemed ominous. Looking at the busy intersection, a wave of anxiety washed over me, and the sudden possibility of being lost and not being able to see my mother again gripped me and pushed me over to uncontrollable tears.

I knew how I was supposed to cross the crosswalks: when the pedestrian signal flashed a white walking person, I was to walk within the confined bounds, looking both ways all the while. But I had never done it myself–my mother had always held my hand and guided me.

I wanted to step forward and to run across the street to the other side where I knew my mother was waiting for me in our home. But after each attempted first step, I only hesitated and drew back in fear. I was faintly aware of other grownups around me, starting and me and wondering with pity why this poor child was crying, where she was going, and where on earth were her parents?

I looked around frantically, sobbing all the while, wishing that someone would help me.

Someone! Anyone!

They obviously must have known I was in distress, but why wouldn’t anyone offer to help? Or even ask me where I was going? Or perhaps they did ask and offer help; I was probably too scared and hysterical with tears to say anything, much less take their help.

After who knew how many lights had passed, I finally summoned up the courage to cross the seemingly endless abyss over to the other side where my home was just beyond the horizon.

Brushing my tears away with my sleeve, I took a deep breath, and waited until the next walking lights came on. There were so many cars rushing past, honking. How do I know if I can cross safely without getting hit? What if I was really lost, and would never find my way home? Then I would never see mom again… Would she ever find me? I would be alone in this world, with no one to love me and care for me…

At the same time, I knew I had to do it. Without the help of others, without my mother holding my hand. If I wanted to get home, I had to be able to take my first step and have the courage to finish in this cruel and strange world of honking cars, blinking lights, and unfamiliar faces.

Bracing myself, waiting for the right moment, I ran as fast as I would, past the honking cars, past the blinking lights, and past the unfamiliar faces.

And… I DID IT!!!

As soon as I crossed it, I felt so relieved, and yet so overwhelmed, that the tears I had welled up behind my eyes just long enough to make the journey across the street came rushing forth, spilling onto my cheeks like a tsunami wave on the beach. But I didn’t care to hold them anymore. I sprinted the rest of the way home as fast as my little legs could carry me, sobbing the entire time, thinking of my mother and my home, and saying to myself, You must get home safely! Please get home safely! Please find your way home! Please don’t get lost!

I don’t remember the events that followed thereafter, though I knew I found my way home eventually, and was reunited with my mother. I don’t even remember when I saw my mother after that horrific confrontation with the monstrous crossroad. Surely, I must have ran in her arms and continued crying for Heavens knew how long. Neither do I remember if my mother was at home waiting, or if she had gone out in search for me.

All I remember is how I had crossed my first crossroad, how scared and alone I felt, how hard it was to find courage to take the first step and to finish by myself in doing something that I had always had guidance.

The scary thing was not the crossroad.

The scary thing, was knowing the way home, but lacking the courage to take the first step, and because of cowardness, losing the way home.

I still remember clearly which intersection it was: Jackson Street and 15th Avenue in the international district in Seattle.

One of these days, I must ask my mother her side of the story.

my father’s words

yesterday, i received a sweet call from my dear father.

he just called to ask, “i haven’t heard your voice in a long time! how are you? how’s your health? are you eating well? are you keeping your body warm? you have to take good care of your health, it is very important.”

it was very heartwarming, though after we hung up, an aching and almost melancholic feeling washed over me.

i miss him. and of course, i also miss my mother.

i don’t know how to explain the pain of being so close, and yet feeling so far… and this remote feeling is not one of pure and simple proximity, but an absence that is not quite an absence of presence; rather, it is a mixture of an unspeakable burden that has caused a unworthy and unnecessary distance.

i know i’ve said this elsewhere before, but recently my mother’s words has frequently revisited the surfaces of my consciousness. “no matter how busy you are, no matter where you are and what you might be doing, there is nothing more important than your family. and you must take as little or as much time as is required to maintain a healthy bond with them. because you will find out in the end if you haven’t already, that even if you lose the whole world, your family will always be there at ground zero, waiting for you to come home, and waiting for you to restart a new you.”

and so, at moments of solitude, moments of sadness or happiness, in times of sunshine, rain, or snow, i think of my parents, what they have sacrificed for men with their infinite and unselfish love and support, i can’t help but feel a deep sense of longing that i must nevertheless swallow back down.

every once in a while, something will remind me of my parents’ age. they are not old, but i know that when that day arrives that one of them must leave forever, i can’t help but feel that i have not done my duty as a daughter. and i am not just talking about the superficial “duties” of keeping the house clean, doing the dishes, making sure their physical health is in excellent condition, but also the psychological “duties” of genuine love that i can never repay. the gift that they have given me is an impossible gift; i cannot return it. and perhaps in this instance, it is a true gift, one that transcends and exceeds all forms and meanings of human commodification where the gift must be returned. because nothing that is in my capability as a human being can ever be done that will equal what my parents have given me. and this realisation has truly put me in a strange state of being.

i know not how to face the day when either of my parents have to leave me. i know not how to prepare for the death of the other. indeed, it is in the finitude of the other that i am confronted with my own finitude.

it never gets easier…

to say goodbye.

you would think that after so many years of seeing someone so close to you go off on frequent business trips, that by the nth time, you would have got used to it. apparently, not very much so.

a few hours ago, i just sent off Mr. Worm to yet another business trip in China. after all the seemingly endless “goodbyes” and “i love yous” and hugs and kisses, on aboard to Asiana Airlines went Mr. Worm, on aboard thousands and thousands of miles away. i tried to tell myself to stop being so sentimental. he’ll only be gone for ten days, which is nothing compared to how long we’ve been separated for. and now that i have two kids to take care of, i should find myself with a handful and busy enough to not miss him as much.

so after we dropped off Mr. Worm, i took the kids to a late lunch and then over to Lego and bought them each a large can of Lego pieces. when we got home, they got busy with building a new world of Legos, leaving me to contemplate and adjust to a sudden and strange emptiness at the pit of my stomach, and a knot at the back of my throat.

i don’t know how to explain it. the noise in the house, mostly coming from the kids, has remained the same. but without Mr. Worm’s presence, something just feels missing……. and i do miss him dearly, even though were he at home, he would just be sitting in front of his laptop, or watching Taiwanese television shows.

*sigh~

i just hope that this trip will be worth the while, and that our financial stability will be regained as soon as possible. without him, this house is not a home.