The Visit - Part 4

The bather is coming today (Friday). Mom asked me to first cancel it, then to change the time yesterday. I asked for the phone number but she didn’t have it. The bather will call before coming over, which is of course too late to change anything. She couldn’t give me a reason why she wanted to change it though. She decided to bathe herself, so I helped.

We left for the Red Cross before the bather called. I hope she didn’t get worried and call mom’s emergency contact, whoever that may be.

Before we left, we decided to have an argument first. Her “nice temper” made a guest appearance.

“Where’s the 2008 tax return paper?” She asked.
“It’s on the coffee table.” I picked it up and handed her the envelop.
“It’s important paper. I need to give this to Michelle to do my tax this year.”
“Mom, it’s the 2008 tax. It’s already done.”
“How could it be done? I haven’t given her the paper yet.”
“You need to give her 2009 paper to do the tax, not 2008.”
“Nonsense! This is 2010. We do the tax for 2009, so we need the paper from 2008.”
“What? Nooo….” I was baffled by her logic. Did they change the tax rules when I wasn’t paying attention?
“What do you mean no? That’s how it’s done every year!” She was irritated. Her brows were arched high and her look said “you’re an idiot” to me.
“No, you get the 2009…”
“Don’t tell me no!” She refused to listen and raised her voice.
“Mom! This is 2010, you need the income statements from 2009 to do the tax.”

We went through this chronological intrigue several times. Each time she got angrier and louder. Finally she said, “But how can I do the tax? I don’t have the papers!” As if that was the point of our “discussion.”

“That’s why we went to the social services yesterday--to request the duplicates.” How could she not remember? We did this less than 24 hours ago.

She looked at me and, for a second, I thought she was going to argue again, but somehow she decided otherwise. I went inside to change. When I was walking away I heard her murmuring to herself “2009, 2008...?”

Red Cross told us we needed a doctor’s referral to rent a walker. Naturally we didn’t have it. I did get a list where we could purchase one and we decided to get one instead. We found the store and their walkers looked very nice--if “nice” is a proper word to describe walkers. She told the salesman it was too expensive and we left empty handed. I apologized to the salesman, but I couldn’t fault her for being price weary. Truth is, I’m the same way--I see it as a virtue. We went to a discount store and came home with a cheaper walker. I put it together and she tried it out in the house. She seemed happy with it, but it felt sturdy and that was most important.

We looked through her piles of pictures. To some I said yew! I don’t like that person. She lectured me on how we shouldn’t hate, because Christians aren’t supposed to hate. This came from a person who stopped talking to her own brother when he was alive, or to his family who are alive, or to her own two other kids?

Right now I’m tempted to get a job and move here so she doesn’t have to leave her house, or live among strangers. I also know this is the overwhelming emotion I’m experiencing. Getting along will be a challenge in the long run. I probably won’t be able to find work here for quite some time. And just like her, I like my town very much.

On the other hand, how many years does she have left? I may never have a second chance, and the thought of it brings on a feeling that begs for a new word for “awful.”

The Visit - Part 3

We set out to get her missing papers needed for this year’s tax return straighten out by paying a visit to the local social services. I suspect she had received, and misplaced, these papers, but I wasn’t going to argue with her. It would be a lot easier to request duplicates. I got the directions from the internet because she had no clue where it was. We got there and she said she had been there before to get her passport. I said why didn’t you tell me this, she said she didn’t know it was a government’s building.…

We put in the request and went home, but not before making a detour to the Red Cross to rent a walker--she was not supposed to use a cane according to the health consultant. They were closed. Upon finding out they only worked half a day each day, I wondered out loud if I should get a job there.

We tried again to look for the missing 2008 tax returns. She said she put them away with specific care. I think it must be the Murphy’s law. She found a stack of letters from me, dating from my school years. I read in amazement how detailed I wrote her about my life, most of them I have forgotten or would rather forget. It appeared that I have always been a wordy kid on paper. Is that why I have a blog?

There was one in which I complained about how she hurt my feelings with her careless and constant criticism. This was last year when I figured I was finally old enough to tell her how I felt. I regretted sending it right afterwards. Here came the chance for redemption--I threw it away while she wasn‘t looking.

I had just thrown her letters to me out while getting the room ready for her. In my defense, her letters were all very short and non emotional. I saw how she didn’t express positive feelings, verbally or otherwise, was inline with her upbringing. Sometimes I wished she had a different upbringing.

I spotted a big envelop with “08 tax” on it and opened it. Viola! Instead of the regular envelop she has been using for tax papers, she used a different one for this particular year for no particular reason. Mystery solved. I called the health consultant and gave her the information.

The meals delivery services called me back. I set her up for lunch delivery starting next Monday. I think I will get the phone shopping service for her as well. She will get a phone call once a week to get her grocery list, and someone will buy and deliver the grocery to her.

It was a fruitful day. Now we need to make a decision on the facility. Not surprisingly, she’s having second thought.

(I'm visiting my mom to take care of things needed at this time. As a result I have limited time to read or comment on my beloved blogs. All should resume to normal in another week.)

The Visit - Part 2

The next day I called and left a message with the meal delivery service to get things started. She had driven up to a sidewalk once, so it would be in everybody’s interest if she doesn’t drive at all, or as little as possible. Right now she had to go out and eat everyday. She couldn’t stand or lift her arms too long after the fall. Her arms that once could’ve smacked me from here to China are no longer able to lift more than five pounds.

Nobody called back. A friend of hers insisted on treating us lunch. I was surprised to find the quality of food served there was much better than that in my town. Maybe I should move here and find a job here instead. Her friends told me how stubborn and independent mom was. I thanked them repeatedly for taking care of her in my absence. I don’t have such friends. Not that many anyway.

We took care of business at her bank on the third day so if anything happens to her…I avoid thinking any further.

Someone she knew at the bank suggested a senior facility for us to check out. This friend even went so far as to summon her friend, Mr. M, to go with us after work, as his father is a resident there and as luck would have it, Mr. M was going to visit him today. We were excited. Mom liked this town very much and was reluctant to move in with me, who lives nine hundred miles away with no grocery stores in walking distance.

She used guilt trip once to tell me she ‘had no choice but to move here’ to imply it was my fault that she now lived so far away, at which time I had to remind her that she decided to move here to be close to her brother’s family (with whom she no longer talks to) and I actually asked her not to move.

We had lunch and made a visit to the health consultant, who was a very nice and extremely helpful lady. She cleared up a lot of questions for us--namely me, and was glad to hear the bathe assistance was helpful to mom. All we need now is to find her 2008 tax return papers and inform her which facility mom likes the best. She will put mom on the waiting list as soon as she has those information.

Mom’s navigational skills led us to a different city instead of home. I tried to turn back but ended on a different highway instead. We visited my uncle’s grave since we were in the neighborhood, albeit completely accidental. She wasn’t going to take me here when I asked earlier, so I was glad we got lost.

Her grave site was in the same cemetery. A Wang’s family on her right. I found out they were her friends and they bought the lots together. I said some silent monologue to my uncle. The ground was covered with pale pink petals from a nearby cherry tree, and more were flying in the wind, teasing in my hair. Going home was much better this time--this is the only out-of-town route she knows how to travel and find her way home.

The sun was still out at five o’clock but the wind was cutting like cold blades. We waited on the sidewalk for her friend to pick us up to the senior facility. I kept moving so the cold wouldn’t get me. She sat on the stone wall as standing was too much for her. The doctor said she might have Parkinson’s disease, but she doesn’t shake. Her brother, the one we visited earlier, died from the same illness. It doesn’t look good for me.

The facility was a hit. It was clean, spacious, and overlooked a river. About thirty percent of their residents were from her country, so it’s possible she could make friends if she controls her temper. She said she had nice temper. I said no you don’t, and immediately wished I hadn‘t said so. Too late. She got mad and yelled at me.

I looked through the pamphlets for seniors needing assistance after dinner and the tears came out without warning. I cleaned myself up and went back to the pamphlets of walkers, wheelchairs, resource lists and happy pictures of seniors with smiling family members. The tears came out again. A few more times of this and I gave up. I couldn’t read a word through pools of water.

The Visit - Part 1

She sat on the short stone wall by the sidewalk, head bowed and back slumped forward. I waved at her and told the driver to stop. She slowly got up and walked over. With the help of a cane, she approached the cab and raised her cane at the driver.

I panicked for a moment. The deep creases between her brows made her look irritated, and I wasn’t sure if they were from habits or an indication of her mood. Was she going to smash the window with her cane? Was she mad at me for not picking up the phone this morning?

I didn’t have to answer the phone to know the instructions from her:

It’s time to get up! Don’t miss the plane! for the first call and It’s time to leave. The plane isn‘t going to wait for you! for the second call. Apparently I’m still three years old to her.

“Left, left!” she said/yelled.
The driver said, “Should I go up more?” He was intimidated by the cane, too.

I said no and got out of the cab. She strolled over to the side where I was sitting and practically yelled, “This is not the entrance! Tell him to go up more!”

I hugged her and said it’s okay--I traveled light. She calmed down a little, but she wasn’t excited to see me as I had imagined. I got teary eyed on the plane for nothing.

She shrunk a lot. The cane was new to me, and it was hard for me to see. Not that long ago--or so it felt--she was taller and stronger than I was. She wore high heels that I had trouble walking in. Now her head was barely up to my chin, her back perpetually hunched over, and she looked as if she might fall anytime even with a cane. High heels belonged to the dreams of yesteryear. Her body felt small in my arms although she still weighed more than me.

Age had her beat and there was evidence from her head to her toe.

I haven’t been to this house before. She moved about half a dozen times in ten years, twice within the same complex. She had trouble making decision, and it changed easily once it had been made. She packed and unpacked everything herself, and the sore muscles didn’t stop her from doing it again in a year or two. I got tired just from hearing these words: I’m moving--here’s the new address.

I was given a tour in the small house and her complaint of having to throw away tons of stuff. I have a small house, so she had to make the sacrifice if we were going to live together. Besides, they were mostly junk anyway. But I won’t tell her that.

I couldn’t sleep the first night. There were a lot to do, but that wasn’t why I lost sleep.

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.