What the generations shared, are not just the common threads of, their, connected fate, their similarities in personalities…translated…
What's Been Passed Down from Mothers to Daughters, is NOT Just the Personality Traits, or the Damages…………
Who are the three most important women in my life?
Looking back through life, I'd found, that those who'd left me with the deepest injuries, are those whom I called, "families"……..
When my daughter did something wrong in her childhood, I would use the scrolled up paper to smack her hand or her buttock. Based off of my tradition, I thought this was a rational way of "raising my young by the book". But, several times, as I became furious, hearing my own, screaming voice, how I'd started, trembling from anger, my fists clenched, too, tight, I caught a "glimpse" of my own, mother then. I'd felt, remorse, half of it was guilt: why did I not find a better way, than using the emotional upsets, the physical disciplinary means? The other half was from the shock and the heartaches: how come, I'd, inherited my mother's, flaws? But I didn't want that.
My mother's with a type-A personality, her tongue was sharp like the knife, talked loudly, disgusted with everything, hard to, please. Before I married, my parents went to visit my in-laws to be, my mother arrived early, saw my mother-in-law, skinning an apple. As we arrived back home, she'd started, ranting incessantly, of how my mother, didn't prepare herself completely for us to come, that she was, too, casual.
After I married, I'd become, just like my mother, found the flaws in my, mother-in-law too. I'd gone back to my parents' home for my whole day of forty-two-days' worth of recovery after birth, every meal, my mother cooked, cared for me completely. First day as I was returning to my mother-in-law's home, I'd found, that she was headed out to the 101 to see the fireworks of the New Year. And, the following day my husband went out for work, there was the ready-made sweet rice porridge inside the fridge, like how my heart was, cold suddenly.
One day, my mother took time from her work, made some red bean soup, and, wrapped it up in thick Styrofoam container, placed it at my mother-in-law's backdoor, then, rushed back to work again. My mother-in-law was away on her trip. I'd, carried that heated up bowl of sweet soup, thought of how much love my mother showed me, and I started, crying.
I thought that her love was suffocating, and now, I'd, interpreted her love as, overflowing, and when I needed it the most, my mother's love became, that much more, precious.
illustration from UDN.com
Comparing the ways of my mother-in-law and my mother, my mother's taking care of everything, her distance from me, her pushy manners, came from how she had to raise us all up alone. Her husband's abandoning of her, and her own parents' house's unsupportiveness, she could only, use her animus to fight. Like a force that's, driven her to success, she'd done everything best as she could, as way of, revenge. She'd once made fun of herself, that she was strong, made by life, that she had to toughen herself up to survive.
My mother-in-law is, on the polarized end from my own, mother: not asking, not fighting for anything, easy going. And this value in my upbringing, was originally, unacceptable. But, after I'd fought for perfection for twenty full years in work, I'd gotten, completely, strained, and my mother-in-law's most widely used words, "it'll be okay", "anything will do", was her, attitude toward life: accepting everything as it'd, come. Seemingly, she wasn't, active, enough, but she could be gentle, in handling all ups and downs of her own, life, like how my father-in-law who'd served in the army, strict, and they were poor, and she had to work as a maid, to help make ends, meet, and her two children, died young too.
The days are smooth flowing, but not without the trials or the, pains, and she'd, chosen to, not get, bothered by the, hardships.
I'd started, going to and from, from these, opposites, in the trials of my life, I'd battled, and fought hard, gotten a ton of bruises and bumps. From working really hard, to, longing, to giving, up. Then, from the loosened grips I'd, tightened my clench, slowly, gotten into the rhythms of the tango of, life.
And now, my seventeen year-old daughter has her own share of life's lessons handed to her too, the internet age, the studies, the interpersonal interactions, like a game of getting to the next level for me in youth. But she'd become, a mirror to me, reflecting the depth of my life. There's me in her, and she's, like herself too. She shone through my weakness, pointed out to me, "You used to hit me, I hated you before, and now you don't, you're, making, progress." Seeing how I took up reading and writing, she'd, commented, "my classmates' moms, they aren't like you, loving learning so much.", I couldn't stop the hardships of her life from heading her way, I'd, felt scared, allowing her to use her own way to cope with the ups and downs—that sort of, a balance, between her personality, and how she'd, handled the trials of her, life, becoming, who she's, destined to, be.
My mother in her eighties, still kneaded down the dough for the traditional Chinese buns, the salted bacons, and helped the locals collect the recyclable materials too. My mother-in-law who's the same age as my mother, would often, stroll in the plum garden of Chingwha University, taking in the fresh scent of the flowers. I, sit in front of my keyboard, with a hazelnut latte, recorded the songs of my own, life.
The mothers passed the values to the daughters, not only are we similar in injuries, in personality traits. Through the turns of our lives, there's the light in from the cracks, allowing the brokenness of life, to find something that's brand new—growth.
So, this is the stories of three generations of women, how they all walked down different paths of their lives, but, they all made their own lives, count.
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