Now I realise the importance of a title
It helps to unify writing so that it doesn't become emotional garbage. I realise that I'm in love with what Edith Wharton calls "dumb sorrow". And one good thing mum is doing right now is to prevent me from indulging in memories, fantasies, possible encounters that realise this state of emotion.
2nd day of cold war between mum and I. I'm just using the term for lack of a better description. Being the intellectual, I harbour every distaste against a "war", aggression instead of rationality. I have mustered every fibre of logic I possess to speak to my mum in a way that can enlighten her to "common sentiments". She professes to be deeply acquiesced with both "common sense" and "common sentiments". But I can't see how she is so under most circumstances.
This is my explanation of her life. Grandma was poor and bitter. She has been through too much hardship. While Grandpa wasn't as capable as a man could have been, she earned the bread of the family. Mum was a helping hand to Grandma. She has always been obedient. Did needlework under kerosene lamplight; gave up joining school activities and societies to come home to help out. They've been through some stuff. Mum was never in the habit of realising her desires and was happy to always run life as a present steady state process. When changes and turning points take place she still tried her best to keep in touch with the past. She went down to the poor farmlands but got lucky enough to get back to Shanghai for college. Her coming back could be because of her parents, but she herself has the devil of a will sometimes and she does not select targets for her vehemence and (suppressed?) defiance. Such as now.
I know that every major event in life made her unhappier. Labour reform must have settled her social ineptitude. Marriage was a total mismatch, needless to say - although I can't imagine my mum being humble enough to marry lowly. There's an air about her that, if not smothered by the education of poverty and bitterness exercised on her innate tenderness, could make her come out as a vivacious, creative being (she's not bad-looking). But that education must have been extreme. She's never been through courtship. And dad is not one who'd encourage reticence, embarrassment and reservedness of a maiden to flourish healthily into romantic goodwill. Further suppressed desires. And this type of desire, above all! The desire of the most noble nature, of the poets.
What could she have thought when she desired anything of her own? It is very hard to get access to her thoughts when she's rational and self-conscious because, being smack in the middle of the virgo months, she probably never felt comfortable at expressing a direct thought. Direct thoughts must have been rebuffed heartily by Grandma under the kerosene lamplight. (That was all the detail I can picture with some accuracy, to the point that the detail has to become symbolic. If only Siobhan knows about this.) She never could bring herself to admit she has desires. She's not at ease even with her own body. Not even after marriage.
The next question is could my mum have ever had a moment of rebellion in her life. Once there was a fleeting moment when she mentioned ambitions or desire to be a writer. It's hard to think of why those desires transformed today into those for planning of meals, correcting radio DJ's Chinese, etc. Once I write this down I realise it sounds like the lifestory of a typical lady. Which concerns the issue of my conscience. The lack of consciousness of her present state of mind, and the refusal (or inability?) to link her present consciousness to that in her past and develop a logical, sequential process to explain about her being, baffles and frustrates me a great deal. Why? Why? Why? It scares me also. Not exactly for the fact that I might become numbed and desire-less like mum under her influence or in the general future, or in fact like the description of old people in the book "Alive" ("to have lived the years on dogs"), but for the possibility that being intellectual isn't of any use when it comes to the actual process of living out the life. That I'm really the one who's being silly at requiring mum to develop an understanding from the point of view of western philosophy. Then again, how does dad do it? Can you call mum "peasant-spirited" then?
The major events up next that totally upset mum's life are the eye accident and immigration. I should say that the damage to her eyes can be the single-most upsetting incident out of all the hardship she suffered. It gave her justice to feel totally victimised. Talking in the language of Dr. Greg Boyd, she had no freedom of choice at the moment of hitting the cement ground and sustaining eye injuries (not exactly, if you insist on a comparison to little girls who get raped and arms cut off by madmen). Loss of vision and medical leave was followed by leaving her workplace altogether, in a rather messy way. It was a hurry, a pity, which transformed into vexation, vehemence of uprooting a home. The possibility of securing pension even upon resignation could have dawned on her later and added to regret. Come to think of it, immigration was indeed a hurried choice. This kind of action is characteristic of dad. Sort of on-the-heat-of-the-moment.
In Singapore, poor vision, linguistic inconveniences, natural shyness and vulnerability for social interactions all worked to kill the last spark of desire she could have harboured within; for lack of ability she trains herself to live with lack of needs and wants. She has become totally out of the world. And by doing this she becomes even less able to get into it. A vicious cycle really. Through the radio, adventures out to neighbourhood markets and her kindergarten work experience, she makes her own interpretation of the world. She's admittedly right most of the time about the Singapore society and often exhibit wisdom when I'm the least on my guard. But there's a sense of futility about these wisdom gained. No satisfaction for understanding new things; no desire to understand more, except for some trivial, easily achievable things like a recipe, when she's in a good mood. Mum ought to develop a course of study called "Effective Lifestyle After Kidney Failure". Or you name the disease. Patients are less likely to act in a woe-begone manner if they take MML (for My Mum's Life) 101 to remove consciousness. If mum reads this she'll think (or rather, speak) that I mean to curse her with kidney failure. Therefore I have to clarify that it's not the point, which I forgot how to say in Chinese.
The next breakage in her life is coming like something dark and unknown about to peep out from behind a corner. That's me. I've been a beast to her. The fact that she is comfortable in the role of a victim justifies my status. Something new and interesting that I've realised is that she's incapable of imagining me sad, even after I've told her all about my experience in US. She'd tell me to get a grip on myself and forget about the past. It does not come to her that when I'm not openly expressing sadness I'm doing just that - getting grips and forgetting. Or it does come to her but she doesn't want to say a consoling word. When I'm positive about something, on the other hand, she expresses reserves. Or is encouraging in a way that shows she understood the issue in a different light. It's as if she's out to work out an antithesis of things around her, to set up oppositions, such that she can fight and be defeated, and sink back to being a victim.
She's incapable of imposing herself into the experience of other people and draw parallels - an ability that's definitely a nameable philosophy. I can't say the inability is a handicap because being overly intellectual results in something just as monstrous.
It all winds down to the question of whether mum is just one of a kind, or whether she does know "common sense" and "common sentiments" but distort both when she expresses herself due to bitterness, suppression and hardship she's suffered. I made the former assumption when I told her the night before, that she and I have different weltenschauungs. Taking the latter assumption is a lot of twists and turns in logic, but enables me to be kind. I need more energy though to cut through all the bitter and biting remarks my mum uses when she's out to hurt. I know how it feels to hurt people on purpose. I can just see Si Young's frown and mouth hanging open when I do that. It's equivalent to wrist-cutting. You can feel the hissing, hair-tearing frustration drain. (Wrist-cutting, being self-destructive, is less socially acceptable; but rationally speaking it's less destructive to people around you and is way more effective for relief. And it gets into a habit less easily than hurtling venom)
I know this is rather anti-climaxical but I absolutely gotta get into lab or I'm gonna get it from Effendi. Somebody help to translate these into Chinese please!
It helps to unify writing so that it doesn't become emotional garbage. I realise that I'm in love with what Edith Wharton calls "dumb sorrow". And one good thing mum is doing right now is to prevent me from indulging in memories, fantasies, possible encounters that realise this state of emotion.
2nd day of cold war between mum and I. I'm just using the term for lack of a better description. Being the intellectual, I harbour every distaste against a "war", aggression instead of rationality. I have mustered every fibre of logic I possess to speak to my mum in a way that can enlighten her to "common sentiments". She professes to be deeply acquiesced with both "common sense" and "common sentiments". But I can't see how she is so under most circumstances.
This is my explanation of her life. Grandma was poor and bitter. She has been through too much hardship. While Grandpa wasn't as capable as a man could have been, she earned the bread of the family. Mum was a helping hand to Grandma. She has always been obedient. Did needlework under kerosene lamplight; gave up joining school activities and societies to come home to help out. They've been through some stuff. Mum was never in the habit of realising her desires and was happy to always run life as a present steady state process. When changes and turning points take place she still tried her best to keep in touch with the past. She went down to the poor farmlands but got lucky enough to get back to Shanghai for college. Her coming back could be because of her parents, but she herself has the devil of a will sometimes and she does not select targets for her vehemence and (suppressed?) defiance. Such as now.
I know that every major event in life made her unhappier. Labour reform must have settled her social ineptitude. Marriage was a total mismatch, needless to say - although I can't imagine my mum being humble enough to marry lowly. There's an air about her that, if not smothered by the education of poverty and bitterness exercised on her innate tenderness, could make her come out as a vivacious, creative being (she's not bad-looking). But that education must have been extreme. She's never been through courtship. And dad is not one who'd encourage reticence, embarrassment and reservedness of a maiden to flourish healthily into romantic goodwill. Further suppressed desires. And this type of desire, above all! The desire of the most noble nature, of the poets.
What could she have thought when she desired anything of her own? It is very hard to get access to her thoughts when she's rational and self-conscious because, being smack in the middle of the virgo months, she probably never felt comfortable at expressing a direct thought. Direct thoughts must have been rebuffed heartily by Grandma under the kerosene lamplight. (That was all the detail I can picture with some accuracy, to the point that the detail has to become symbolic. If only Siobhan knows about this.) She never could bring herself to admit she has desires. She's not at ease even with her own body. Not even after marriage.
The next question is could my mum have ever had a moment of rebellion in her life. Once there was a fleeting moment when she mentioned ambitions or desire to be a writer. It's hard to think of why those desires transformed today into those for planning of meals, correcting radio DJ's Chinese, etc. Once I write this down I realise it sounds like the lifestory of a typical lady. Which concerns the issue of my conscience. The lack of consciousness of her present state of mind, and the refusal (or inability?) to link her present consciousness to that in her past and develop a logical, sequential process to explain about her being, baffles and frustrates me a great deal. Why? Why? Why? It scares me also. Not exactly for the fact that I might become numbed and desire-less like mum under her influence or in the general future, or in fact like the description of old people in the book "Alive" ("to have lived the years on dogs"), but for the possibility that being intellectual isn't of any use when it comes to the actual process of living out the life. That I'm really the one who's being silly at requiring mum to develop an understanding from the point of view of western philosophy. Then again, how does dad do it? Can you call mum "peasant-spirited" then?
The major events up next that totally upset mum's life are the eye accident and immigration. I should say that the damage to her eyes can be the single-most upsetting incident out of all the hardship she suffered. It gave her justice to feel totally victimised. Talking in the language of Dr. Greg Boyd, she had no freedom of choice at the moment of hitting the cement ground and sustaining eye injuries (not exactly, if you insist on a comparison to little girls who get raped and arms cut off by madmen). Loss of vision and medical leave was followed by leaving her workplace altogether, in a rather messy way. It was a hurry, a pity, which transformed into vexation, vehemence of uprooting a home. The possibility of securing pension even upon resignation could have dawned on her later and added to regret. Come to think of it, immigration was indeed a hurried choice. This kind of action is characteristic of dad. Sort of on-the-heat-of-the-moment.
In Singapore, poor vision, linguistic inconveniences, natural shyness and vulnerability for social interactions all worked to kill the last spark of desire she could have harboured within; for lack of ability she trains herself to live with lack of needs and wants. She has become totally out of the world. And by doing this she becomes even less able to get into it. A vicious cycle really. Through the radio, adventures out to neighbourhood markets and her kindergarten work experience, she makes her own interpretation of the world. She's admittedly right most of the time about the Singapore society and often exhibit wisdom when I'm the least on my guard. But there's a sense of futility about these wisdom gained. No satisfaction for understanding new things; no desire to understand more, except for some trivial, easily achievable things like a recipe, when she's in a good mood. Mum ought to develop a course of study called "Effective Lifestyle After Kidney Failure". Or you name the disease. Patients are less likely to act in a woe-begone manner if they take MML (for My Mum's Life) 101 to remove consciousness. If mum reads this she'll think (or rather, speak) that I mean to curse her with kidney failure. Therefore I have to clarify that it's not the point, which I forgot how to say in Chinese.
The next breakage in her life is coming like something dark and unknown about to peep out from behind a corner. That's me. I've been a beast to her. The fact that she is comfortable in the role of a victim justifies my status. Something new and interesting that I've realised is that she's incapable of imagining me sad, even after I've told her all about my experience in US. She'd tell me to get a grip on myself and forget about the past. It does not come to her that when I'm not openly expressing sadness I'm doing just that - getting grips and forgetting. Or it does come to her but she doesn't want to say a consoling word. When I'm positive about something, on the other hand, she expresses reserves. Or is encouraging in a way that shows she understood the issue in a different light. It's as if she's out to work out an antithesis of things around her, to set up oppositions, such that she can fight and be defeated, and sink back to being a victim.
She's incapable of imposing herself into the experience of other people and draw parallels - an ability that's definitely a nameable philosophy. I can't say the inability is a handicap because being overly intellectual results in something just as monstrous.
It all winds down to the question of whether mum is just one of a kind, or whether she does know "common sense" and "common sentiments" but distort both when she expresses herself due to bitterness, suppression and hardship she's suffered. I made the former assumption when I told her the night before, that she and I have different weltenschauungs. Taking the latter assumption is a lot of twists and turns in logic, but enables me to be kind. I need more energy though to cut through all the bitter and biting remarks my mum uses when she's out to hurt. I know how it feels to hurt people on purpose. I can just see Si Young's frown and mouth hanging open when I do that. It's equivalent to wrist-cutting. You can feel the hissing, hair-tearing frustration drain. (Wrist-cutting, being self-destructive, is less socially acceptable; but rationally speaking it's less destructive to people around you and is way more effective for relief. And it gets into a habit less easily than hurtling venom)
I know this is rather anti-climaxical but I absolutely gotta get into lab or I'm gonna get it from Effendi. Somebody help to translate these into Chinese please!
posted by Azzurra | 2:00 PM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home