Friday, January 8, 2016

Sharing our Memoirs

If you like, post your memoir to share with your classmates. Not required, but it would be nice for everyone to see more than the two or three from group work today.

Posted by Brad at 1/08/2016 11:23:00 AM

6 comments:

Unknown said...

A Debt (part 1)

Back in late summer decades ago, I was 10 years old, bound for one month in a ward of two beds, away from my family, and my cat that I was really fond of, Huanger. I was sick from an accident that I could not recall the details except a wild field overgrown with grass and weeds along a still river with a mossy edge where the adults hardly appeared. I remember kids chasing each other and walking along the river to find a way home. I stepped onto one tussock which seemed more stretchy and less muddy as more children behind me jumped and ran with hustle and bustle. I was pushed into the river. Its only gift that summer tumble was darkness surrounded by a helpless, unfathomable landing.

I was very sick after surviving. I could not fall asleep alone. I often wept from a nightmare during the night, following a sleepless morning and a mindless day. My stomach ache could come and go without any warning. My legs might twitch anytime. I became too timid to meet my friends. The only chance I could connect to school was when the school librarian --a big nice lady-- visited me with a pile of books. I was brought to different clinics— western or traditional Chinese doctors’. I might get an injection of Oryzanol and Vitamin 12 in the morning, and treated by an acupuncturist in the afternoon. My grandma still insisted on her meditative therapy. Normally before sunset, I was asked to lie down and to keep my eyes closed. She leveled a full bowl of millet, covered it with a red silk handkerchief, turned upside down the covered bowl, and swayed it from my left side to right side over my head back and forth, while she muttered some “incantation” words. Sometimes I peeked, but only got scolded, “Close your eyes!” I could only squint when she finished a bout. At that time, the bowl was turned upright, in most cases a scoop of millet was found missing. She then filled more millet into the bowl, covered it and started over. This procedure would be done again and again until no more millet was found missing. It might take up to ten bouts. (I probably had been slumberous.)

My condition was in-and-out, as was my mood. Even my younger brother gingerly talked to me. Finally my parents sent me to a pediatric specialist to diagnose my possible mental disorder. The hospital ward was too quiet to get disturbed by others. I was given checks every day, from head to toe. During the hardship, there was only one happy time, when another kid was located in my ward. We had pillow-fights from crib to crib whenever the nurse left. Soon a dragon nurse perceived our giggles, and broke the only secret. She separated us immediately and discharged the kid home the following weekend. The rest of the days were as boring as before, I was seemingly even more fragile. Nothing could evoke my appetite. My mom did not know my secret. She just worried. When I begged her to bring Huanger for me the next visit, she agreed and asked me for a reasonable food intake in exchange.

January 11, 2016 at 9:11 AM
Unknown said...

a Debt (part 2)

The next Sunday dinner time, hot but damp. My mom took me out in the hospital yard. My sister handed in my favourate cat after I sat on a bench. I was cheered up then. My fingers tucked into its furs. Huanger licked my hand, and then tipped its head back to my chin. We sniffed each other. Its tiny cold nose printed wet dots and stripes on my face. When sunlight dimmed, my mom reminded me to have my dinner done before the food became cold. I realized that I was starving. Both of us were tired too. It sat on my lap. I ate a fairly big meal. Unpredictably Huanger yarned while I meant to finish the last cup of soup. It overturned my soup and soaked itself wet!

Though Huanger affrighted me, in the following weeks, I dreamed of Huanger very often. I became less sensitive and slept well, and soon was released from the hospital with a stamp of “normal”.

I rushed in home and called “Huanger! Huanger!” My grandma came out and stroked my face, “My dear, all right, all right.” She patted my shoulder and let me sit beside her, “Huanger headed to its enlightment home.” I was shocked and started sobbing on her chest. “My father was a famous doctor in my hometown. He was extremely kind to patients. He also saved many cats. Good cats will lift its life to a higher level towards becoming immortal by requiting gratitude.” Grandma continued, “It is grateful you are back. We owe a debt of gratitude to Huanger, to your teachers, to the doctors, to your saver…”


--812 words

January 11, 2016 at 9:12 AM
Unknown said...

The Beauty in Life
Back in January of 1994, I was living with my husband and daughter in a beautiful coastal city in eastern China. I had a job as a human resource manager for the Foreign Trade and Economic Cooperation Bureau. I was sent to an HR seminar in Beijing. The northern wind was cold as ice, sending waves of chills when I least expected it. After a little exploration into the city, I willingly surrendered to its freezing fiery and found my way back to the warm hotel, the only gift that the chilly winter brings was the hope of upcoming spring.
As I opened the door to my hotel room, an unexpected and shocking mess greeted me. The drawers were open and the mattress was upside down. Everything was gone! My luggage has disappeared and I had lost everything, including my passport for Japan business visa application, a brand new digital camera, and a large sum of cash (this was before debit and credit cards). After some investigation, the hotel manager told me that an inexperienced housekeeping staff had opened the door for a woman who claimed that she had lost the keys. I got very frustrated at the senselessness of the hotel staff and the worry of what’s to come began tumbling down like a storm.
The evening air was bitter cold. I wandered along the moat without any appetite; and blamed my own negligence for leaving such a large amount of cash in the hotel. I looked up to the despairing black sky and let out a sigh of anger and distress. “Would you like to buy a flower?” a soft and childish voice whispered beside me. I looked past my shoulders and saw a small body covered in shabby cotton-padded cloth stood underneath the street lamp. The girl was no more than six or seven years old. She held out flowers with frozen fingers and begged me with a pair of innocent yet melancholy eyes. The sight of her filled my heart with sadness. I bent down and placed three twenty dollar bills into her hand. “Here you go, you can keep the flowers.” The girl’s eyes all of a sudden widened with astonishment. She bowed down gratefully and dashed away with a cheerful hop. She hopped past a beggar, looked at him, and dropped a twenty into his hands before hopping away happily again. At the sight of this, a stream of warmth gushed out from my heart.
The little girl should be spoiled in her parents’ arms like other kids, but instead, she is forced to bear the burden of poverty on her shoulders. She did not despair over her less fortunate upbringing, nor did she feel saddened by the sight of pampered little princesses walking past her; she complained neither of the coldness nor of the lack of people willing to help her. She simply stood in the cold winter night doing her job, hoping that she too could help her family. She was poor, but she was more compassionate and generous than those who already have everything. I thought back to earlier today and realized that everything up to this point was just yet another unexpected turn in life. We cannot control what happens to us but we certainly can control what we do about it. The people who robbed my hotel room were probably just trying to survive in this bustling city too.
After the brief encounter with the little girl, I told myself that I would open my heart to help those who are less fortunate, so that no one would have to steal from others, and no child would need to stand in the winter cold. There were times I lost my temper, and there were times I lost hope, but I continued to believe in spite of what I saw, that by restoring the faith in myself, I could influence the others too. I moved to the other side of the world with the same belief, and I hope to pass on kindness for as long as I’m living.
The little girl in the cold was a spark of fire that lit up my world. I became more appreciative of what I have and more understanding to the unexpected misfortunes that come my way. No matter how accomplished you become in life, remember that we live in an interdependent society. When you give your time or your help to others, you have gifted the best present to yourself.
--748 words

January 11, 2016 at 8:10 PM
Kylie said...

Little Ann

Back in the summer of 1996, I was 18 years old, graduated from high school and was free to become a freshman at the university. I just purchased my first scooter after I got my motorcycle driver's license. It was a fairly light-hearted summer; I had nothing to worry about but to enjoy myself with my new scooter and to take care of my youngest cousin Ann, who was only 5 years old at the time and cute as a pie, for my hard working family. I remembered taking her riding around in her cunningest outfit: a pink helmet, her tiny sparkly backpack and in it was her little stuffy who's name was Babe. The air was humid and stifling. Our only relief on that hot summer days was a short cool breeze that made it bearable.

As I wandered around town with Ann on my shiny scooter, building my confidence (that soon revealed to be naive) believing that I had everything under control, we went further and further away from home everyday. Needless to say, we were caught off guard one afternoon by thunder shower when I decided to ride to somewhere unfamiliar and thirty minutes away from home. It was too late before we noticed all the signs – the black clouds gathering, the lighting flashing and the thunder roaring – and once it started to rain, it poured. Not knowing what else to do, I put the only poncho on Ann and started riding toward home as fast as I could. It felt like we were stoned as the rain drops fell hard. Little Ann didn't say a word; she surrounded her tiny arms around my waist, shook like a falling leaf and rested her head on my lap.

“ Are you okay? You are too quiet.” I asked Ann.
“It hurts. I am scared.” Ann lifted her head. I noticed that tears had crawled all over her beautiful face.
“I'm sorry sweetie. We'll be home soon. I promise.” I could only reassure her about that; although I was not sure that the promise that I delivered was true.
“I know. I believe you.” She said at last, before she rested her head on my lap once again.

I was thrilled, shocked and ashamed – I did not deserve the trust she gave me that day, especially after what I had put her through. I do not know what went through her beautiful brain. I only know that on that particular day, this pure innocent soul gave me her trust and believed in me unconditionally. I would never forget that incident and how it changed me. There are moments in our lives when we realize that we are given trust, hope, and faith when we less expect it, and when that happens, we must do what we can to fulfill and protect it. That we sometimes get lost, forget about who we truly are must not be arrogant and forget our ways. The day when Ann put her trust in my hands, I let the tears went down my cheeks mixed with the rain and I swore to whatever spirit that was listening, and to myself, that I would treasure beauty and honor trust. I swore, too, that I'd believe in hope, honesty, faith, and love. I would be humbled when the trust was laid in my hands, and I would do my best to fulfill it every way I can.

Today I have left my hometown thousand miles away, left family and little Ann, and chose my duty as a stay-at-home mom. I would never forget that day; the vow that I made to myself. I am living my life to the fullest and when the final day comes, I can be honest and say that I tried to treasure beauty, and to honor trust that little Ann taught me, on that pouring, horrifying darkest day.

(650 words)

January 12, 2016 at 3:36 PM
Mariel M. said...

Back in the summer of 2012, I was 20 years old, living with my hardworking dad and my adorable sisters n a small, cozy apartment away from my dearest mom hundred miles away. I had a tiring and successful job auditing balance sheets and income statements plus attending to the customer’s every needs in a big and well-known bank located in the business center of Manila, Philippines. I remember dealing with an irate, regular customer shouting angrily at everyone inside the busy and narrow office. I stood there shaking in my corporate attire as I waited for any brave co-worker to talk and attend calmly to the customer’s problem. The office was chaotic and quiet. The last chance was for someone fearless to settle the enraged lady’s small problem.

As I stood there in an indescribable fear, I saw a pale-looking little girl wearing an orange Sunday dress and worn out shoes holding the angry customer’s hand. I saw her tug her mother’s hand trying to calm her down. I overheard her saying, “Mom, it is okay. Please do not get mad. Please don’t shout.” Her voice was shaking as if any moment she may start to cry. I saw her teary eyes looking straight towards her mother’s eyes. From being furious and mad, her mom took a deep breath and started to talk in a normal manner. However, she also started to cry. Our manager bravely approached her and attended to her problem. Her daughter is sick and the furious mom was trying to ask for a loan --a cry for help-- for the medications and hospital bills of her sweet, fragile daughter.

I did not know what to feel or how to react during that moment. Should I approach them and help resolve the matter even if I do not really have the means? Or should I just stand there and silently pity them. I really had no idea what to do. I only know both the mother and the weak girl need help and I truly feel sorry for them. There are times I just wished I won the lottery or I was born rich so I can be a philanthropist of some sort. That day, I had the strong urge to help them, and I could totally observe that my co-workers felt the same way. The mom was enraged and taken by her emotions when she learned that the bank couldn’t lend her money. Her weak daughter has cancer, and they really needed money for her treatment.

As soon as we’d learned about her difficulty, the whole staff in our department agreed to donate money to them. The whole staff gave their generous donations whole-heartedly. I can never forget this moment; indeed, I was blown away by this very kind gesture. I know my officemates are not wealthy (they probably have their own financial problems too), but that moment proved to me that anyone can give and be a hero. We were able to collect a pretty decent amount of money to be given to the mom. It was not enough to cover the girl’s treatment expenses; however, the lady repeatedly thanked us and said that the money is a big help. “All of you are angels! Thank you. Thank you!” the lady said. She was hugging and thanking every one of us, and I really felt emotional. At the same time, I saw a glow on the little girl’s face. She was standing there showing her gratitude through radiant smile. Both of them happily went home and promised to update us about the little girl’s condition.

Reminiscing about this incredible moment really moves me. It totally reminds me of so many things. This experience taught me how to be humble, how to listen, how to care and, most importantly, how to give. I have respected and admired the generosity my colleagues from then on. I also think that this experience molded me to become more mature. I now see the world and the environment in a different perspective. Being generous gives you a great feeling you can’t even express. It is one of those feeling of great joy-- helping someone and sharing your blessings. Without any doubt, I consider this an amazing story an example of beauty in life.
(715 words)

January 14, 2016 at 11:22 PM
Uma said...

The Treasure Hunters (Child’s Play)
Back in mid-summer many years ago, I was ten years old, living with my parents and three siblings in a two-level wooden house with a beautiful front yard full of fruit trees and surrounded by wooden fences. On the right side of my house lived my best friends—I have known them my whole life—Nuj was a twelve-year-old girl, who I called sister, and Meena was a nine-year-old (Nuj’s younger sister). We spent most of our childhood together. In their backyard they had a duck pen—my favourite; Nuj and Meena hated it. Since our families were best friends, our parents decided to build a friendship door in the fence between our houses, so we could easily reach each other anytime.

I was woken up one morning during summer break by the golden sunlight and the sweet smell of fruit flowers pervading my bedroom; I was eager to start my special day—special because it was egg collecting day.

After breakfast, I ran through the friendship door to meet my partners (Nuj and Meena) searching for the “golden eggs” in the far away land.
“Hand me the eggs or else,” said Nuj to the ducks.
“Taking a chance!” the ducks struck back with loud quacks, flapped their wings and flew overhead. I looked around to check for their parents—I didn’t want any trouble; they were not home.
“Yaaaa!” shouted Nuj, waving her arm like a sword, “I’m going to take all your treasures,” as she kept moving her arms and legs, the ducks quacked louder and louder and ran all over the place while Meena and I tried to collect eggs from each hole.
“I found four,” I reported as I placed eggs in the basket.
“I found five,” Meena picked up some. “I heard they hide a lot of treasures in the Dragon Cave; let’s go get them. I will lead the way.”
Galloping around the pen a few times on our long journey, we parked our horses as we arrived.
“I have a plan,” said Nuj and we put our heads together. “We have to use our magic power; it’s the only way we can defeat the dragon and his men.”
Nodding at each other, we ran to the ducks and tried to gather them. We waved our arms, kicked our legs and reached one hand out—deploying magic power—until all the ducks were stuck in the same corner.
“Collect them all fast!” Nuj shouted, “before I run out of power.”
Meena and I walked to the holes which we had not collected from and filled up two big baskets with eggs.
“Look at all the gold! We are rich!” we all laughed in evil voices.
“Let’s find something to eat; I’m starving.” I said.
I put my hand over my eyebrows, “Look over there! Lots of delicious fruit by the mountain. Let’s ride our horses there.”
We put the eggs baskets in the kitchen before we started our next journey.
“Gallop gallop gallop,” we galloped through our friendship door to my front yard, tied up our horses to the trunk, climbed up the trees, picked some fruit and ate while sitting on the branches. We spent the rest of our memorable day there.

Even though this happened decades ago, our memory of that treasure hunt has never faded away. Every time we see each other, we talk about our unforgettable memories that make us laugh. Sometimes, we wish we were kids again, so we could use our magic power to search for more treasures.
(590 words)

January 15, 2016 at 9:45 PM

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