Family Emendation

I don't remember when it started, but the feeling is growing so strong I wish I could smother it with my hands. Moments like now, when she yells from upstairs for me to take the kids to school because she is running late, make it worse.

I get up at the same time. I get ready in less than twenty minutes. Why does she need so much time to be ready for work? She seems to be lagging lately. She used to be cute. But look at her waistline, her skin, even her bosom now. Nothing is the same after our two kids. Sometimes I hate to walk by her side. People must think we are an unlikely couple.

My stomach churns with the familiar irritation. I control it by taking in a couple of long breaths. Be calm, I tell myself. It will be a different world soon.

"I have a meeting!" I yell back. I don't, but a change of plan is not allowed today. I have a perfect plan and I don't want any more delay.

"You do?" She comes down and looks at me funny. I hate it when she questions me, and she knows it.

"Marie..." I use the old trick of sighing impatiently. She avoids argument more often than not.

"I'll do it. Go before you're late." She gives in as I expected.

"Get up earlier tomorrow." There will be no tomorrow, but she doesn't need to know. There is a tinge of guilt when I said it, but the plan is set and I'm not going to deviate. Anna is waiting.

"And don't forget to take care of that throat of yours." I shout before closing the door behind me. That makes me sound like a good husband, while driving a lasting impression to help my plan. I pull away from the house. Goodbye, Marie--hopefully for the last time.

Anna and I will be perfect together. My groin tingles at the thought of her tan, firm body. She will never let herself go like Marie did. She loves me. Better yet, she worships me. Who, except for Marie, wouldn't? The nurses secretly call me the sexiest doctor in the hospital. I have to wade through the pheromone every time I pass their station. The giggles on their lips, the lust in their eyes all tell me they want me. I take it all in and I want more. I make sure to flash them a devastating smile upon leaving. It drives them crazy.

It's only natural Anna and I ended up together. We look divine as a couple. Soon we can be a couple in public. I can't wait to wrap her in my arms and press her to her bed. Unlike Marie, she is always ready for conquer.

* * *

Roland seems a little irate today. I'm not sure what I did wrong. All I asked was if he could take the kids to school, since I worked late last night and had some trouble falling asleep. My sore throat seems to be worse this morning.

I know what people say. They say it to my face sometimes. You're a doctor's wife; you don't need to work. I can't seem to make them understand money is not the reason for me to work. It helps, since the house is too big and the cars too expensive, but Roland had to have them. I'm a doctor, he said. We can't drive cheap cars.

I sensed his change when I had our first baby. I asked him to rinse out the bowl I just ate dinner with after my mother left. "You want me to wash it?" He looked incredulous: "I'm a doctor!" With that, he left the room. I cried all night.

He wasn't like this when I met him. He worked hard at school and as an intern. It was that work ethic and the determination attracted me to him. He wasn't so vain about his looks back then either. Along the road of building a career, he allowed the title to shadow his destination.

What happened to us? He seems to be more and more irritated toward me for no obvious reasons. I take care of the kids and the house. I don't complain because I love my work. It provides challenge and satisfaction no other tasks could compare. I only wish Roland could help out a little more.

The nurses flirt with him, I know. I notice how much he enjoys it, too. He won't cheat on me. We have two kids and they are important to him. He loves the boys. Too bad, Anna. Don't think I don't notice how you look at Roland every time he stops by our station. He will never leave me for a younger woman. He loves his family.

I was lost in my thoughts when Jason mumbled: "Mom, I don't feel good." I reach to the back seat and feel his forehead. He feels normal. It's the younger child syndrome. His brother won the spelling contest at school yesterday. He must feel left out with all the attention going to his brother. I search in my purse but find out I don't have any fruit rollups there.

"Here. Take one of this. It made mommy's throat better. It will help you, too." I gave him a lozenge. Roland told me these were for adults only and he got them just for me. I haven't tried it yet--they are usually too sweet and I'm watching my weight. Roland was sweet to get them for me. Deep down, he still cares. I don't see how a lozenge can hurt a kid. I quench any possible complaints from his brother by giving him one, too. Now everybody is happy.

I hope we won't be late for school or my work.

* * *

The sun is out, bright and warm. It's a symbol of the life Anna and I will have together. I found out how to fill those lozenges with the stuff I got from the Internet. It took me some work. They say it kills fast with very little discomfort. Since they were talking about possums, I had to double the dose. Divorce is for men who can't carry out a great plan, not for me. I am, after all, a doctor.

I patted my pocket just to make sure the regular lozenges are there. I will swap them out later in the hospital--by Marie's death bed. Anna, the kids and I will be a perfect family. I can just see it. Wait for me, Anna. I will be there soon.

Golden Voice

She was crowned by the media as Queen of Songs. Her voice was called Golden. There have been as many singers as there are stars in the sky, but few had a golden voice like hers.

She was abducted and sold by her own uncle, and later adopted by strangers as a young child. Throughout her adult life, after attaining fame and fortune, she tried in vain to locate her birth parents. She never found them.

Her death was equally mysterious as her birth. The following is a common story shrouded by the veil of unknown.

Her parents were believed to be either college educators or business owners. Her mother sent the little girl to her grandparents’ place to be looked after when her parents' third child was near full term, where her uncle sold the young girl for money to purchase opium. Her parents searched frantically upon the discovery, but the little girl vanished without a trace.

She was probably sold more than once, until a family with the last name Zhou in Shanghai adopted the six-year-old girl. Her good fortune didn’t last long. In her second year of school she was sold again by her adopted father, who was another opium addict; this time though, she was sold to a brothel. The landlord, Xhe, from whom her adopted parents subleased the house, took pity on her and arranged for her to work as a servant to the owner of a performing group. She also learned how to sing and dance while not working.

One day a piano teacher from another performing group came over as a guest, and overheard her singing. Her voice, as he described, was crisp and sweet and he recognized it as a rare talent. He talked her “owner” into let him take her to his group and be taught by him. She learned zealously on the art of singing, dancing and acting. She had a cute face and petite status, and was well liked by her teachers and peers. This was probably the happiest time of her life.

Her big break came when one day the leading lady of an evening show failed to arrive on time. The owner summoned her to be the replacement, and her voice of a golden canary and the performance of a young and fresh face wowed the crowd. She was given the stage name of Zhou Xuan. The rest, as they put it, was history. The year was 1932, and she was only fourteen.

During the near twenty years of her career, she made 42 movies, recorded more than100 songs—many of them were popular in common household, and some of them are still being performed by singers today. Her movies and concerts were often sold out on the first day when they came out. She was hailed both as the queen of songs and the queen of motion pictures.

If only her personal life was equally perfect and brilliant. But life has its own way of making its mark.

After the group she was working under disassembled, she joined a different group and worked with a fellow performer Yen. He was nine years older than her and perhaps filled the void of a father figure in her life. They married in 1938, but divorced in three years. Both events were headline news. It was reported by friends that he had raised his hands to her during arguments--which I suspect was not the kind of father figure she was looking for.

She fell for a merchant’s son Chu while working in Hong Kong during the late 40s. He captured both her money and her heart, and obviously kept the former and discarded the latter. She went back to Shanghai in 1950 with a broken heart and a soon-to-be-born young son.

Subsequently an art technician in the same film company entered her life and, just when they prepared to get married, he was sentenced to jail for fraud and rape. Soon after the delivery of her second son, she developed mental illness and was institutionalized. She never left the hospital and passed away in 1957, at the age of thirty-nine.

However, this was not how it really was from what I heard.

The version I heard was she was lured back to work in China, while her career in Hong Kong was going well, by a friend who persuaded her with a hidden agenda. Unbeknownst to her, this friend joined the communist party shortly after the revolution. She was persecuted and imprisoned for years before she finally died in the “hospital.” Her fiancé was jailed for guilty by association.

My initial thought was: that was unlikely as she was only an entertainer—there was no point in persecuting her. A recent book I read on the revolution of China and the many, many waves of persecution progressed there changed my mind. If the party was capable of persecuting its founding members, to whom they owed their revolutionary success, and dragging millions of civilian into hell on earth for more than a decade, it would be perfectly capable of sacrificing a mere entertainer.

The reason was--not that they needed one—she was the paramount of the “exploited class” and therefore the crowning example of an “enemy of the revolution.” In the minds of the crazed leaders and blind followers, she had to be attacked, persecuted and eliminated. In a place where evil resides, human life has the value of an ant.

The truth couldn’t be verified, since all information coming out of China is censored. Her own son voiced doubt on her mental illness, but he couldn’t substantiate it either.

Her life may have started and ended in tragedy, but her talents dazzled like a radiant comet in the dark sky. Her songs continue to echo in the hearts of many. Happiness may have eluded her entirely too short of a life, but I hope she had finally found peace in another, more sensible world.

Among Mud and Sludge

"Even though growing among mud and sludge, the lotus is always clean and pure."


We were taught to do good even if we grew up among the wicked, but is it remotely possible at a young age when we are easily influenced and have not the capacity to steer our will toward the good?

My parents moved to a strange place when I was five or six years old. People looked very different from the old place and I didn't understand anything they said to me in the form of a series of sound made by the rolling of their tongues. We had to fly in an enormous airplane--that was really fun, for the first couple of hours anyway--and take a long car ride to get there.

I was a little scared of the people there, but I tried not to show it because a boy should be brave--that was what my mother said. She also said "Be nice to your sister" a lot but I found that hard to do, since she was very annoying and I didn't understand why my parents liked her so much.

We lived with my grand parents in a two-story house with a red door. I think we had the only red door in the neighborhood. My grand parents had been living there for a while so they could speak a little of that strange language, but my parents had to learn it just like me--only they didn't go to school like I did.

My grandpa walked both of us to and from the school most of the time. Sometimes my mother would take us. I was the happiest walking with my mother. Her hand was soft unlike grandpa's. Her smile was more pleasing to watch, too. But my sister had to be there to distract my mother's attention by talking childish things, and to hold her other hand.

My father got me new book bag and notebooks and an awesome mechanical pencil--my very first one--before the first day, and both my parents took us to the new school on the first day. I was a little scared and felt lost when my parents left us. For the first time I was happy my sister was there with me, although she didn't speak or understand the language either.

I had no idea what was going on, but I knew a recess was coming up when everyone in the class went outside. I left the pencil, which was the envy of my classmates, on the desk and went outside as well. Imagine my horror when I came back to find that my brand new pencil was gone. I looked around and couldn't tell who took it, and I couldn't tell the teacher what had happened either. The helplessness and agony made the first day of school the longest day of my life.

I told my parents what happened to my brand new pencil after I got home, and I could tell they were a little annoyed. It wasn't my fault, I thought to myself. I was embarrassed, and anger brewed in my chest to a consuming heap of incinerating ember.

I learned to put things in my bag before leaving the classroom, something my parents taught me to do after the stolen pencil. We all realized that stealing was more rampant in this new place, and we had to adjust our behaviors somewhat. Something they didn't teach me, and I started doing, all in an angry revenge, was to take their stuff when they were not watching. I didn't take big things, as it would be noticed by my parents, and I knew I would be in trouble if I got caught. So it had to be small and easy to hide--just like what they did to me.

My chance came when someone left a coin on his desk. I put it in my pocket when no one was watching. It was a worthless coin, as the country's inflation rate was several hundred percent a year, but I didn't know or care. It was revenge for losing my cherished possession to theft.

On the way home I would run a few yards ahead of my grandpa, drop the coin on the ground, then run back to him. When we came upon it I would say, "Look grandpa--a coin!" and pick it up. Thus I could keep the coin since no one was there to claim it. My grandpa was amazed at my frequent good fortune, as I found coins on the ground quite a few times.

Looking back, it was fortunate that I didn't continue this game for long. It was very easy to traverse down the irreversible path all the way to the dark side. I think eventually the teachings from the school and my parents brought me back from the detour without knowing what I was secretly doing. It could also be that all those coins couldn't come close to my lost pencil, and I eventually lost interest. Or was it the suspicious look from my mother that made me stop? I couldn't say for sure.

But there is always a chance that they failed to instill good in me. What if no matter how much they scrubbed and wiped and washed, and still couldn't make me clean and pure like a lotus growing in a mud pond? Would I be sitting in a jail somewhere, or lurking at some dark corner waiting for my next prey if that was the case? I hate to contemplate any further.

(Thanks to everyone who either participated or cheered on at the 'change a rhyme' two posts ago. I have decided to donate $200 to Red Cross in spite of the low turnout, since that was my original intend anyway. Thank you all!!!)

Stolen

It was Ruan's turn to take the lunch racks to the kitchen. Ruan, and a classmate who sat beside her.

Everyday a pair of students would be on duty for various responsibilities. Other than sweeping the floor, taking the trash out and re-aligning the desks before going home, several times a day they also cleaned the blackboard after each class. She would go outside and smack the two board erasers together real hard until all the chalk dust disappeared. New chalks were placed in the groove for the teacher of next class to use. Sometimes the wind changed direction suddenly, and her hair and face would be covered with chalk dust.

Once a year everyone would roll up the sleeves and sweep, scrub, and douse the classrooms down with buckets and buckets of water until the place was sparkling clean. Students never thought of saying “that’s not our job” and parents thought a little work did the children immensely good.

She put her own metal lunchbox in the racks after arriving in the morning, same as all other classmates. Now, during the first break, it was time to take them to the kitchen to be steamed. They believed cold food was harmful to one's health. Besides, cold rice just didn't taste right.

The racks were heavy for her, and she hated that she wasn't strong like her classmate. She mustered all her strength and completed the first part of the mission. The second part of the mission--getting the racks back from the kitchen--would be even harder, as the racks would be hot from the steamer, and, with all the moisture-saturated lunchboxes and empty stomachs, felt even heavier than they did in the morning.

Starving classmates swarmed to the front of the classroom to retrieve their lunchboxes from the racks. She couldn't find hers. She waited until everyone got her lunch and checked the racks again. They were empty.

Someone had stolen her lunch.

A sympathetic classmate advised her to talk to the principal. It was a terrifying thought, but she had to do it. She never had any money, so she couldn't buy anything. A search was organized, and sometime later she was informed there was an abandoned lunchbox near the kitchen. She went there as told, and it was her lunchbox indeed--left open and uneaten.

The principal asked: "Is it yours?"
A pause, then she answered with excruciating embarrassment: "Yes."
He looked at it and, for a while, couldn't find a proper word. Finally he said: "Well, maybe you can still eat it." He left after an awkward second or two.

She sat alone on the vine-shaded bench, staring at the untouched lunch and wishing the person had eaten all of it.

She put the lid back on and took it with her to the classroom, avoiding looking at anybody after she sat down. The pain in the stomach was easier to ignore than the thought in her head. What would her classmates think if they knew?

The principal's announcement in the flag-raising ceremony next morning solidified her humiliation. He lectured the entire school on how someone's lunch was stolen, and how the thieve left it untouched because it was not to the person's liking. She felt the gaze from her classmates and wished she could simply vanish. Now they knew, she thought to herself. Nobody said anything to her, but her mind swirled downward to the bottomless abyss.

How could she tell them that she ate her lunch everyday using the aroma from her fellow students' lunches as the appetizer, or she would have trouble finishing it even with a growling stomach? How could she let them know that it was prepared by her step-mother, and she understood that she should consider herself lucky to even be fed? The woman's contempt of having to be a step-mother of two girls, and her reluctance in having to feed them, showed clearly in the lunches she carelessly prepared.

She always ate with the lid half on, away from others if she could help it. She didn't want anyone to see what she was being fed with.

The rest of them had their delicious lunches prepared by their loving mothers, whose only worry was their daughters wouldn't have enough food to their liking. The aroma was a daily reminder of how she was less than her peer.

Now the whole world knew that even a hungry thieve wouldn't touch her lunch.

Somehow the pain was easier to take when nobody knew about it. That shield was stolen from her. She was left naked, with the raw wound exposed in plain sight for everyone to see. She hated the person who took her lunch and left it in such a crude display. She hated the principal for making her pain public. She hated her parents. She didn't want a step-mother, but her feelings were of no consequences. She hated her mother for not being there.

Among all that hate, she hated being born the most.

Her head bowed lower when she walked, and she never looked at anyone in the eyes anymore. Her world closed in and wrapped around her like a tortoise shell, in which she found the only comfort she knew—a desolate existence that few noticed.

(The 'change a rhyme' is still playing if you're interested. Go here to see what had been changed: http://thegoodgirls.blogspot.com/2010/02/rain-god.html)

Rain God

Before you start laughing let me just say it for you: I don't know a thing about rhymes. So you can all stop the snickers and pay attention now.

I found out from Marla's blog that someone is doing a challenge with a twist. The gist of it is for readers to list or write simple things that make them happy, and for each response the author of Enchanted Oak will donate 2 dollars to Haiti's medical clinic.

Great idea! I thought.

I further thought: a good cause is worth a following act. So here it is: for each word at the end of each line below that you can think of a better substitute, I will donate 5 dollars to Red Cross to help Haiti. There are 40 lines, and each word can only be changed once. The cap is there because, um, Ms. Sarah is currently jobless, so she needs to exercise a little self control. The changed ones will be in blue font.

You can help Haiti's crisis and my rhymes, so what are you waiting for?


* * *

leaves on trees shimmer with thousands of sequins
freshly cleansed air smells of grass and aspens
thank heavens for the blessing of showers
to god of rain I pleaded with a whisper

please grace us with more nourishing moisture
water is in such desperate need at this juncture
several counties are talking the dreaded "R" word
we do not want a drought again just too absurd

* * *

the god of rain indulges me freely
two weeks of rain has fallen easily
grass on the mountains flaunt its new color
I can not find a shade bears more splendor

but the warmth of sun fairy is long missing
could you please let up just a smidgen
our water level is now more than bountiful
a little breather in between will make us o so thankful

* * *

my dog is bored and demand action
my bones are complaining dissatisfaction
my house the haven for fungi and pesters
my yard a jungle of moss that festers

one trip on the slippery brick road back there
could send me flying to the doctors in despair
the heartless god of rain parades on
there is no sign of stopping his fun

* * *

houses on the cliff are falling off to sea
saturated lands slide away everyday on tv
cars swirl and pile up everywhere you see
all state's freeways are too watery for me

wet air now smells like old woman's dirty shawl
musty, damp and suffocating on my skull
why can't you stop the cursed downpour
your mischief is more than our simple wish

* * *

one more week of rain announced by the forecaster
you should be ashamed of your ungodly behavior
when I pleaded with you for more moisture
I did not say, mind you, please rain forever

now that you have ruined houses, cars and lives
do pack up your hose, drums and darkened skies
may I suggest to sahara desert that you stay
I'm sure no one will b*tch there as you play

Lamp in the Dark

Suey rubbed her eyes and blinked hard. She had been sewing all day and all night, except at times she had to go to the kitchen and cook. She turned the wick up a little in the oil lamp, stretched her sore back, and went back to her sewing.

There wasn’t much time to lose. She could hear the watchmen’s lonely dual in the dark of the night. One would sound the hours with wooden rattles that made crisp clicking noise, and the other would echo with a gong that had brassy and lingering noise. Five sounds indicated daybreak. Was it two she just heard? She was so tired she wasn’t sure anymore.

A messenger who carried a letter written by her was sent to where Hoi was doing business to fetch him home. The trip would be doubly hard on him with the speed he must travel to come back in time, and with the heartbreaking news in the letter.

His mother, Suey’s mother-in-law of seven years, had just passed away. She wasn’t fifty yet.

For the past seven years she had taught Suey everything she needed to know about housework. Suey started out clumsily as a daughter of an affluent family, but she bit her lips and carried on. After some cuts and bruises she managed most of the work, and gradually took over running most of the household. At times she resented the fact that she had to work so hard, while daughters from similar background had it easy. She didn’t understand why they had to do everything themselves and rejected the maids included in her dowry.

Gradually though, she could somehow see their logic. A farming family was not used to luxury, and being served by maids was unheard of. Secondly, her mother-in-law came from a poor family, so she wasn’t going to let her daughter-in-law be spoiled that way. In her mind she was doing this for Suey’s own good.

Hoi was patient when she complained. After venting, she felt better going back to the manual labor that was waiting for her. There was fun in eating the food you cooked yourself, or the vegetables you planted yourself, or wearing clothes made from the cloths you wove yourself. A strange kind of fun that she didn’t know existed before her marriage.

Slowly, Suey began to think of them as her real family.

She grew stronger - both physically and mentally. She missed reading and writing as she used to do a lot before marriage, but they seemed to be very impractical now. Confucius said: “A gentleman should stay away from the kitchen.” It was considered a lowly profession to be a cook. Now she thought to herself: “A gentleman is all fluff if he didn’t realize all the hard work that went into the delectable meal he enjoyed so much. Not only it is hypocritical, his writing would have nothing to do with real life either.”

There was noise coming from the front room, and her smile disappeared. Her father-in-law had been sitting there with the coffin that had his wife’s body, and had never left since she was put in there. He hardly ate anything all day. She went to the kitchen and boiled some water, then carried the kettle to the front room. He looked up with red and puffy eyes:

“How are the mourning clothes coming along? You should get some sleep…” his voice trailed off without realizing the two statements contradicted each other. She filled his cup with hot water and replied softly: “They will be ready tomorrow. Have some tea, father.” The coffin didn’t have enough layers of paint, as they were not prepared for her premature death. Everything had to be ready overnight.

“Who is going to take care of Fucheng?” He murmured to himself and appeared to be at a complete loss. Fucheng was her youngest brother-in-law, who was just five years old.

“I will, father.” She reassured him.

“And who will take care of the books?” He continued.

“I will, father.” Her ability of reading and writing were not valued before, but would be relied on now.

“Ah…” He nodded his head: “I will show you how to do it.”

“Yes, father. I will learn. We will manage.” She could feel a tear coming up and left after saying: “Try and rest a bit. It will be a busy day tomorrow.”

The lamp was flickering while she settled down by the table. She looked at the darkness around her with a daze. Could she do it? Would they manage without her mother-in-law’s directions day to day? She felt alone and a little scared.

She didn’t know it yet with the overwhelming loads thrust upon her. With great responsibilities, great liberation was also coming her way.

Liberators

They were polite and courteous young people when they first came to the village. They would borrow either a wok or a cleaver from us, but always returned them promptly after they were done. I felt sorry for them—so young, and already thousands of miles from home. Their garbs were torn, dirty and skimpy.

They called us either “big uncle” or “big auntie,” the way kids in most villages did. We had to go to their meetings organized by some village leader everyday, and I really didn’t mind too much, except I moved with difficulties in the snow. In the meetings they told us our poor days were about to end, and that their "common property party" would liberate us from the evil landlords soon.

We had some land, but I didn’t think we were evil because we had to work very hard to put a roof over our heads and food on our table. There was not a single idle hand in the house. Everything we had we earned it with sweat and back-breaking work. But I didn’t say anything under some villagers’ unfriendly glare. I recognized some of the faces that had refused work we offered in the past.

Often someone from their group would pat my round tummy lightly and ask: “Big auntie, when is the baby due?” and nod with a mysterious smile after I replied. I didn’t think much of it. Kids were naturally curious about such things and were probably too shy to ask.

I was “sitting the month”1 in my bedroom with my new born baby when things came crashing down.

First I heard that a lot more of them were coming to the village. The meetings soon turned ugly. People would shout hateful bouts of slogan against landlords.

Then one day they came and dragged my husband and my father-in-law out. My sister-in-law told me what happened next.

They were forced to kneel down on an outdoor platform with cone-shape paper hats put on their heads that read “landlord” on them. The villagers shouted and threw stones at them all day long. Her hollow eyes reflected the horror she saw. She couldn't shed a tear.

After three days of this torture they died. It was cold, they didn’t have any food or sleep during the three days, and they finally succumbed to the stoning. Nobody was allowed to collect their bodies. They wanted to use them as a warning to others. My mother-in-law and I were crying everyday after hearing this. The most heart wrenching thing was we couldn't even bury them properly.

And then the liberators and the village vagabonds came and occupied most part of the house. The remaining women in the family were crammed into two rooms. They confiscated our food as well. We had meager rations from the liberators while they ate to their hearts' content.

I grieved silently in my bedroom. My husband and his father were honest and hard working men. They didn’t deserve this kind of death. What would be the future of me and my babies? What would happen to the family? In less than a year the invisible hand of a demon choked off our livelihood. Our only fault was being the owner of a piece of farm land.
My mother-in-law and I sneaked out one night to where the bodies were. We took a piece of wood plank with us to carry the bodies. They deserved to be buried instead of being exposed like animals. It was difficult for us to move my father-in-law’s body – we both were bound-foot women, but eventually we managed to move him onto the plank. I had to hush my mother-in-law so her sobs wouldn’t alert anyone.

We dug a grave in the field and buried him. It was hard to dig a deep one since the soil was frozen. I couldn't tell if my tears were from grief or the piercing wind.

We went back to move my husband’s body, and that was when I found out he was still alive. His faint breathing was barely detectable. We were elated. We put him on the plank and dragged him home to my room. It was the only safe place because the liberators wouldn’t enter my room during the first month. We slowly nursed him back to health in a few weeks.

They found out what we did, and told me they would deal with me later.

My mother-in-law told us to leave before the month was up. The liberators would no doubt kill my husband as soon as they could. She would be safe, she said, because she was a woman and didn’t really own the land. We made the difficult decision to do what she said. We didn't know if we would ever see her again.

In a snowy evening when most people were sleeping, my husband, me, my elder daughter left quietly. I wrapped my baby close to my bosom and covered both of us with my cotton quilted jacket. We plunged our feet into the deep snow all night long, avoiding the main roads, and caught a train in the next village. We traveled hundreds of miles to the capital city of the province, where we heard was not controlled by the liberators yet. My husband found a job at the pier as a day laborer to support the family.

I still get a headache when it gets cold, because not only I didn’t get the proper rest after the child birth, but also from the work and long march I did in the snow. But it was nothing comparing to the nightmares I have until this day.2



(1. It was believed women needed to rest 30 days after the child birth, and their rooms were considered unclean for a man to enter. 2. After hearing the story from this elderly woman, I too had recurring nightmares for years.)

Perfect Gentleman

“There’s a delivery for you, my dear.” The receptionist chirped happily over the phone. She thanked her and proceeded to the lobby. It was flowers from her boyfriend, she was sure of that. She didn’t know though, that there would be a forest waiting for her.

“Wow! What’s the occasion?” A co-worker couldn’t hide his awe while she performed a careful balancing act back to her desk. It was both glorious and enormous, and she replied with her eye lashes batting purposefully fast: “Just because.”

He laughed. She sat it down and basted in the warmth of the divine light. She was being loved by a perfect man.

He was doing all the right things. Flowers, calls, “love you”s, pulling chairs and holding hands. There was not a single thing wrong with him. He was perfect, and she was on cloud nine. She thought his shiny head and round silhouette symbolized wisdom and success. After all, he prided himself as a true gentleman. She had finally found the man in her prayers.

She should know, of course, that there was the black hole of "too good to be true" lurking nearby, waiting to devour her. This has to work, she told herself instead. Nobody had ever treated her the way he did. He talked about marriage, moving in, and what closet she could use constantly. The visual of a happy life they would share was so vivid she could taste it.

It started subtly and she didn’t catch on. A casual comment about news event or people they knew caused his uncomfortable silence. The hand holding stopped. The “love you” became scarce. The flowers made their appearance less and less frequent. She ignored them – he must be tired from his work.

One day he called hours after the time he promised, with a resigned voice and a change of plan:

“I’ve been busy…I have Timmy tonight so I have to cancel. Do you want to come over after work instead?”

Timmy was his babysitting duty almost constantly. They spent countless dates as a party of three. Family was important, so she didn’t complain. This time though, she didn’t feel like trading a night out with babysitting again, so she said: “I’m actually a little tired. I think I’ll go home tonight. We can do this another time.”

There was that silence again. He stopped calling for several days. She had his recorded greeting when she called. Her world was lost in a haze, and there was not an echo to answer her when she reached out.

When he finally did call, he said:

“I don’t think this is working out. We are not meshing as we should.”

“What do you mean?” Was he breaking up with her? It felt like a bomb exploded somewhere near her. She couldn’t see a thing.

He was not happy she didn’t go along with his change of plan, and that was what he meant by “not meshing as they should.” He didn’t think she would have a different idea from his.

She explained and explained. No, she wasn’t mad at him. She was just tired. She would be happy to be with him and Timmy otherwise. She understood Timmy was family, and family should come first. Finally he agreed to meet. Things slowly went back to normal.

Only it was never quite normal again.

Every little thing made her nervous now. Did she say something wrong? Was he going to break it up again? The warm basting light had become revealing spotlight that shone on everything she did and said. If she inquired what his thought was, he would answer curtly: “Why? Are you wondering in your fucked up mind if I’m going to break up with you?”

The gentleman strangely disappeared. In its place was an unkind and distant shadow that scared her. Somehow she had transformed from a princess to a beggar, and she hadn’t a clue how she got there.

There was really no other way to respond when he called and said this was not working out, for the second time.

“Okay. When should I come by and get my stuff?” She didn’t miss a beat.

A pause, then he hesitantly added: “It’s not you. I could be too sensitive sometimes…”

“Please. Don't give me the ‘it’s not you’ speech. When will you be home?” her heart shivered as she spoke. She hung up the phone and all strength was drained from her. The soft carpet cradled her curled up body, and time halted to a hush around her for a long while.

She got there an hour before he would be home, and left everything he had ever given her inside of the house. She collected the few things of hers, and left before seeing him.

While she pulled away she had a final glance at the house – the home of the perfect gentleman.

Three Days

"Going to the kitchen after three days
Washing hands before making a soup
Not knowing my in-laws' taste
I ask the little sister to try it first"1

Suey got up before dawn and washed her face in a hurry. She had everything she needed for the morning ready last night, and now she just had to change.

Hoi said softly: “You’re up so early?”

It didn’t sound like a real question though. Farming families rose and rested in harmony with the sun. It was more of his way of saying good morning.

She replied: “Go back to sleep. I think I heard mom in the kitchen…” and out she went.

There was a faint light from the brick stove, and she saw the back of her mother-in-law. She turned and saw Suey standing by the door timidly. With a smile she said:

“Up already?”

“Yes, mom. You’re early.” Suey felt embarrassed that she might give the impression of laziness, but “mom” didn’t seem to be upset. She was also relieved that she had the foresight to put on her darker, plainer clothes made of cotton.

The first thing mom showed her was how to start a fire in the stove. Within minutes her brand new clothes were stained with soot, and her sleeves were used to dab sweat off her forehead. The only comfort was she might have hot water to use the next morning.

She watched and kept the soy milk and rice porridge from being burnt, but the flat bread and pickled side dishes were out of her ability completely. The steamed buns were so complicated to her she just wanted to cry. Her mind was busy making sense of all the steps in preparing those foods, but it was overwhelmingly frustrating that she was on the brink of panic.

Mom seemed to see through her thoughts, and told her: “Don’t worry. You’ll get a handle on it soon enough.”

She didn’t think that day would come, but she didn’t tell mom.

Together they served the breakfast to the men. Some were family – Hoi among them. Some were hired hands. They ate almost all of it before they left for the fields. Harvest was done, but there were wheat to be turned on the flat land waiting to dry, the rice fields needed to be turned upside down before it turned too cold, so the roots would serve as the fertilizer for next year’s planting.

Women in the house would be making mid-day snacks for the men while they worked, then sending it to the fields. There was not a moment to waste. They ate their breakfast after the men left and, after they returned to the kitchen, mom whispered to her:

“Don’t forget to give me your ‘proof’ later.” 2

Her face burned like the fire under the stove. Her husband did the "deed" last night, and she had carefully saved the “proof;” but to think she had to show it to his mother and father was both horrifying and awkward. No matter how gentle Hoi was, he couldn’t save her now. She would have to do this on her own.

“Come. Let me show you how to make noodles as a starter. It’s the simplest task.” Her mom beckoned. She followed her to the corner of the kitchen where the big board was. Hoi’s sister joined them for breakfast, but disappeared to her room afterward. She had the luxury to enjoy life as an unmarried girl, just like Suey before her own wedding.

It felt like a lifetime ago.



(1. An ancient poem describing the mood of a new bride making her first meal. 2. Proof of virginity was required from the bride, or she would be expelled from her husband’s home and deeply shamed.)

Going Home

Suey lifted the flap cautiously to see if the familiar stone road was in sight. Now that she was a married woman, being seen by strangers was not such a taboo anymore. Out of habit, though, she carefully hid her face out of sight. The daily market was over, and people were walking home with fresh produce and meats in their baskets. Just like her, they were going home.

Only she didn't have grocery with her. She turned to see her travel companion, Hoi, her husband of three days. His eyes shined like dark onyx, with a hint of something exciting that made her face warm. She looked away so he wouldn’t find out that she was secretly wanting him. Boldness in a woman was unbecoming.

She had left home on short outings when she was a girl. Her mother had taken her to a temple several times to beg the gods with generous offerings. They failed to perform the miracle her mother had asked them. She remembered first the disappointment, then the bitterness she felt every morning she looked into the mirror.

She had also gone to the temple of the marriage goddess like so many other girls. All the travels were done with her securely tucked away in the covered horse carriage. Other girls from poorer families walked to the temple, but they always had fans or handkerchiefs to cover their faces if any men were around. They prayed feverishly for good husbands, and in exchange they promised to return with more offerings. She remembered how little hopes she had when she prayed. With her cleft lip she was sure the matchmaker would never find a husband for her.

Her bitterness was gone now. Hoi turned out to be better than she had imagined before the wedding. He was kind and a little shy. Although this was only the third day they had been together, she could tell he was not the tyrant she heard from the stories the servants used to tell about their husbands. Sometimes the beatings they described made her wish she could stay at her parent’s house and never marry.

The sound of the horseshoes clacking on the cobblestone told her she was near home. Her heart started beating with happiness. How she had missed her mother and her maids! A part of her wished she had never married, and stayed in the warmth and protection of her parents forever. Her husband extended his hand to help her dismount, and the touch of his hand pulled her back to reality.

The giant stone lions stood on both sides of the gate guarding the mansion looked happy to see her as well. They walked up the steps to the threshold of the main gate, and she could see her parents walking toward the gate to welcome them – the newlyweds. Her tears flooded out without warning, and she collapsed on the stone ground on her knees. Hoi followed her, kneeling to his in-laws and called out: “Mom, dad.” Her father said in a pleasant tone, “Do get up, my son. Do get up.” If he was emotional to see her, he did not let on. She knew he was behaving the way it was expected of a master of the house.

Her mother pulled her up and put her arms around her. She saw her mother's watery eyes and told herself to stop crying. This was supposed to be a happy occasion. Together they walked through the courtyard and arrived at the main hall. A big round table had been set up in the middle of it, and now the father said to the servants, “Tell the kitchen to start serving lunch.” The housekeeper replied, “Yes, master.” and disappeared. The young guests freshened up in the water basins offered by the servants. Suey looked at her mother. Somehow she seemed so familiar and yet different at the same time. Just like the house - it was her home and now it felt like a strange place. She could tell there were many questions her mother wanted to ask her, but couldn’t. She had so many things to tell her mother, too; but she couldn’t.

She and Hoi were seated at the “top seats” that were customarily reserved for distinguished guests. She felt like a complete stranger in her own home. Her siblings and their spouses were there for the happy family event. Knowing what little she knew about men now, she had a difficult time looking at her brothers and her sister-in-laws. She held hands briefly with her maids - the two who were sent home on her wedding night - and refrained from crying by forcing a tearful smile at them. The maids did the same, and they stood behind her for the rest of the meal.

She had dined in the main hall before, during important family gatherings such as New Year, her parents' birthdays, and several festivals every year. Those occasions were always accompanied by banquets in the main hall. She could only imagine what was going through Hoi’s mind. She was sure he had never seen such a house or being treated in such a manner before, but he behaved respectfully so far.

They dined in pleasantries and laughter, with endless dishes served throughout the meal. She had a chance to be with her mother after the meal, when the men stayed in the main hall to talk, and the women retreated to the back quarter. The smaller children all begged, and received, candies from the new bride, and were now playing in the courtyard.

The first question her mother had was:

“Is he being nice to you?”
“Yes, mom. He seems to be a nice man...” She replied shyly. The other women in the room laughed, and her face turned red.

She couldn’t tell her mother how he was taking advantage of the privacy of the horse carriage, and had been caressing her wrists all that time, sometimes venturing up to her upper arms in the sleeves. She knew she should have stopped him – they were, after all, at a public place; but she couldn't and didn't. How could she tell her mother that her body weakened at his touch, or that she enjoyed his caress and wanted more, or that the “big event” her mother warned her about had not happened yet, but she almost looked forward for it to come?

They both were inexperienced in the newly found pleasure of the flesh, and they both were still exploring each other in small steps. Her mother warned her about the intrusive and painful nature of the big event, but she never told her daughter that a man’s hand could ignite her body with such desire that she was terrified by her own yearning for him.

Her mother saw the blushing on her face, and understood more than Suey's simple answer indicated. She held her hand and said gently, “It will be alright.” Suey's anxiety over the inevitable event was somehow eased a little by her mother's soothing voice.

They left shortly so they could reach her in-laws’ house before it turned too dark. She waved to her parents from behind the opening until they disappeared from her view. Hoi held her hand while she wiped away her tears.

She was going back to her husband’s home. It would be her real home from this day on.



(The old custom dictates the newlyweds go back to the bride’s home on the third day of the wedding.)