Tag: Memoir

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A new ambition

This entry is part 8 of 28 in the series Goldfish

Father refused to follow the tradition of using sweet and feminine words when naming a girl.  He named me 志新 (“aspiration” – “new”).  I was reminded my entire life of achieving a new goal.  Neither of my parents ever hesitated to “structure” me so I would think for myself and act independently. Yet, they were not entirely responsible for having created a person who’s particular about almost everything.

Mom told the story of my shoplifting attempts before I could talk:  We passed by a fabric shop near the market one day.  I grabbed a piece of fabric with cute patterns.  She put it back.  The next day we passed by.  I grabbed the same fabric again and held on to it this time.  That piece of fabric became the cover of my stroller.  In our photo album, there was picture of me sitting in the stroller happily pointing at the cover.  Legend has it that I repeated the same strategy with a doll.

I didn’t want to be fed and began to grab chopsticks very early.  It probably explained why I didn’t hold the chopsticks correctly for years.  I won my first fight for independence.

Then I began campaigning for my early education:  I might have seen other children playing at a kindergarten.  For days, I asked to “go to school.”  Eventually, mom gave up and sent me to a daycare, 薇薇幼稚園, when I was about two.  It was a small privately-run place located in a Japanese house like ours within walking distance (of a child).  I didn’t remember much about my experiences there but remembered the damp smell of its mossy backyard.

Later when mom opened a pharmacy further up the road, she transferred me to a better organized kindergarten 成功幼稚園 to be closer to her.  It was near a compound where many military veterans lived.  I liked my teachers and was happy there.  It was there I learned the sadness of separation for the first time on my graduation day.  Mom managed the pharmacy reasonably well.  But, dad missed having us around.  The shop was closed before I entered elementary school.

Because I was too young to enter public schools, my parents opted to send me to a private school instead of keeping me at home for another year.  I passed the entrance exams for the top two schools.  One of the schools, which my brother later attended, considered me “under age”—for a few months.  I became a first grader at 新民小學 (Xinmin Elementary).

Looking back, private school education provided me a solid foundation in learning and thinking.  Strict academic requirements aside, it encouraged me to seek information independently and to shape my own ideas.  However, I also became a plant in a greenhouse with little contact with the natural elements.  It would take me years to break the glass dome and to breathe the fresh air.

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Summer evenings

This entry is part 7 of 28 in the series Goldfish

It has become that time of evening when people sit on their porches, rocking gently and talking gently and watching the street and the standing up into their sphere of possession of the trees, of birds’ hung havens, hangars. People go by; things go by. . ..
James Agee, A Death in the Family

Samuel Barber: “Knoxville, Summer of 1915”

Those were the years before television and air conditioning.

In summer time, we would have supper in the garden where the evening breeze made the hottest days tolerable.  There would always be a few cold dishes, such as fresh tofu drizzled with soy sauce and sesame oil or cucumber salad.  After enjoying watermelons and other seasonal fruits, we would take a long walk with mom and dad.

There was an old aqueduct near our house.  A major thoroughfare ran along its two sides.  Large willows on the banks formed a canopy over the water.  A tea shack stood under the trees at the intersection.  Its store front opened to the street.  Awnings extended out toward the water in the back.  From time to time we would stop by there during our evening walks.

Other times we walked the other direction toward National Taiwan Normal University.  Near the front gate, there was a fountain with sleeping lilies of various colors.  Mom would let us sit by it to cool off.  On the other side of the road, there were grassy grounds and shrubs.  We sat at the benches watching other people strolling by. Children like us ran around playing games.

We learned to roller skate there.  My brother was a natural.  I, on the other hand, never quite found the balance.  He was also better with flying kites. . . Mine would always dropped down to the ground.

When the fireflies were out, we would gently cup our hands when they touched down on the grass.  We could see their little lights shining through our fingers.  If we remembered to bring a jar, we would bring a few of them home.  Mom or dad must have released them out to the garden after we went to bed.  They were always gone in the morning.

Those were the years when families shared their evenings together.  Those were the years when street lights were not as bright as now.  Those were the years when stars crowded the nightly sky.