Category: Language

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節 [jié, ㄐㄧㄝˊ]

節

  • 段落、單位
  • 時令的區分
  • 有特殊意義，值得慶祝或紀念的日子

Jié (noun)

  • section, segment
  • division of time, season
  • special days, worthy of celebration or remembrance

In Chinese lunar calendar, a year is divided into twenty-four “jié” (solar terms).[1] Many traditional holidays coincide with certain jié: New Year’s Day is the first day of 立春 (lìchūn); Qingming Festival (清明, Memorial Day for ancestors) takes place on the fifteenth day after the Spring Equinox 春分. Since jié often synchronize with changing of seasons and climates, they are believed to be challenging times for elderlies or people with illness. As 節 is homophonous with 劫 (disasters), the older generations often say, “過節；過劫.” (Passing through the changes of jié—holidays—is like surviving calamities.)

Mom was in critical conditions when I went back to Taiwan at the end of December. We were told by the doctors to be counting days. Several friends comforted me as she regained some strength in early January. They said that mom had made it through a jié. When I decided to return to New York, I was wondering if she would be strong enough to welcome the lunar New Year with us.

節

  • 限制、控制、約束

Jié (noun)

  • to limit, to control, to constrain

節哀順變 is a traditional expression of condolence, meaning “to constrain one’s sorrow and to adapt to the changes.” It seems to me an impossible thing to constrain something illimitable.

Just when I thought that, having made it through lunar New Year, mom might stay with us for a while longer, the end—a peaceful one—came suddenly for mom. It was a shock. But it was neither the end, nor the beginning of grief for me.

In the last few years, dementia slowly and silently corroded mom’s spirit. Watching the mother that I knew gradually fading away, I felt a sorrow that started like a slow drip, gradually became a pond and, eventually, an ocean. Sometimes, I wondered if mom, on the other side, was troubled by the increasing distance between us.

In December, news of mom being hospitalized, and her conditions turning critical put my life in a stand-still. Flying home on Christmas Day, I prayed that mom would wait for my arrival. The air was suffocating, and any sounds surrounding me alarming. In the weeks that I stayed on her bedside, I struggled with letting go. Some people found it incomprehensible how and why I decided to return to New York. I found it difficult to negotiate with myself. The reality that my departure would not hurt mom further allowed me the courage to say good-bye. I left feeling grateful that I had a chance to share some peaceful days with her.

Her final departure to this physical world brought me bittersweet sentiments. I am relieved that she is no longer struggling with any worldly troubles and illness. I felt proud to have been part of her long beautiful and, sometimes, adventurous life. I am sad that I will not be able to give her another kiss on the cheek. This time, the lost is forever and tangible.

節

  • 志氣、操守

Jié (noun)

  • morality, integrity

Growing up, mom was very strict with us. Instead of lecturing us, she simply set goals for us and guided us along the way. She allowed us to make our personal and professional choices. For her, integrity was more important than success. I am not sure if I have lived up to mom’s expectations. I would like to continue to try my best on everything. Hopefully, mom will give a gentle nod of approve to my thoughts.

[1] Solar_term_Wiki

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Scorso

I love the Italian word “scorso.” It is often associated with time, e.g., “l’anno scorso” (last year), “il mese scorso” (last month), “l’estate scorsa” (last summer). It is the past participle of the verb “scorrere”—to run, to flow, to fly. . .. As a noun, it denotes an unintended mistake, most often a typo, made while one rushes through things. I love the word because its sense of fluidity, which is often lost in translation. I am thinking of the word as goldfish odyssey turns one.

My sister’s passing in spring of 2018 brought back lots of memories of my childhood. The images of yesteryears seemed livelier than ever; the colors more vibrant and the sounds sweeter. Dementia haunted my father decades ago. Now, it is gradually stealing away mom’s vivacious spirit. I wanted to preserve my memories of treasurable moments, of people that loved me, and of those who I held dearly while it was still possible.

During the summer months, while friends and colleagues left the city to escape heat and humidity, I began writing. I heard my own voice narrating in English, a language in which I had been thinking and dreaming for decades. I saw images from another place and time, through the eyes and mind of a tiny me—full of curiosity and hope. Gradually, I realized that those beautiful years were only the beginning of my cross-cultural journey. I felt obligated to link the culture that shaped me as a young person and the culture that fulfilled my dreams.

Since my graduate school days, I have kept up with technology sufficiently for my work. On the other hand, social media had (and, for the most part, still has) little to do with my life. The idea of setting up a blog made me uneasy at first. As I continued writing, I consulted with close friends before taking the final steps. I clicked the “publish” button for the first time on August 4, 2018 and never looked back.

Turning my thoughts into words has a calming effect on me. It feels very much like talking to a trusted friend. I am not concerned of who my readers might be. I write about things that are meaningful to me, hoping that it might have some effect on others. Sometimes, I had so much to say and didn’t know how best to start. Sometimes, my fingers moved on the keyboard effortlessly. Those were the moments that mistakes were made—scorsi!

I am very thankful to friends who continue to encourage me, give me advices and gently point out my mistakes. One year ago, I wrote in my introductory page: “. . . the journey has just begun.” Now I should say that the journey continues.