Category Archives: Gender Roles

June 2, 2026 · 4:19 am

The Secrets in the, Jasmines

The older generations of women, who caved in to their own, fates, this may be the way from back in the days, but thankful, this is NOT how we women are, socialized in present day, but the older generations still showed the resilience, as she kept her household, intact, raised her children on her own, without her loser, husband!  Translated…

Grandma wasn’t the Flowers in the Vase, She’d Used Both Her Hands, the Soil, to Set up a Home without a Man in Charge, Started on Her Own Patch of Field, Safeguarded Every Last Wall, Every Single Brick, Standing Against the Wind

Passing the window frames of the old property, grandma was humming her favorite tune, “Jasmines”, the milky white buds, awakened between the setting sun and her, finger, tips, with the aroma ironing the heat of the summer afternoon to smooth.

The clean aromas of the jasmine, like the dews of the early mornings, mixed with the laundry powder that grandma used on her clothes, stayed in the in-between spaces of my, memories, pure, not too over, it’d always reminded me of how she’d, watched over the, garden of, flowers.  She would tell me, “flowers have feelings too, you talk to it, it will, bloom more, beautifully.”, the gentle breezes brushed by, the petals of milky whites trembled, like they actually understood my grandmother’s, words.

Grandpa Who’s Sealed in the Aromas

After I’d drifted up north alone, the flowers became, that feel of, nostalgia to me.  One year, a small vendor had the potted plants, and I was drawn to that fresh green mixed with the milky whites, the buds so fresh, like that memory of childhood, calling me towards it.

illustration from UDN.com

I’d taken it back to my office, put it on the windowsills, and longed for the buds to, bloom.  Then, days later, the buds turned the pot aromatic, like the adolescent young woman, in those milky white earrings.  Like grandma, I’d placed the flowers inside that smaller dish, and allowed the aromas to freshen the indoor air, it’d felt like it was her, by me, humming that song, and that’s settled me down, as the workplace got too noisy from time to time.

Can’t imagine, that the way it’d left, silent, without a word of, goodbye.  When I’d found it, the branches were already, hardened to withier, and the scent only stayed with me, for half a, summer.

I’d remembered grandma, were there the regrets she couldn’t hide in her life that’s left, behind?

When I was younger, I’d found a black-and-white photo inside her closet.  She was a daughter of the notable clan of the western port of Taiwan, dressed in her embroidered dress, with that shyness about her, her eyes were glowing, her lips turned, upward, like the jasmine that bloomed toward the wind.  I’d guessed, if she’d set before her windows, like the jasmine that bloomed, waiting for her special someone to come to her side?

Back then I’d inquired, “Where’s my grandfather?”, she was trimming the jasmine’s branches, she’d halted for a short while, plucked a flower, put it behind my era, the air became, really heavy then, a memory of her past surfaced, but immediately, faded out.  She didn’t want to tell it, and everything was, sealed in the, aromas.

The man whom I’d called grandfather, left home after a huge fight that they’d had, and lost contact for over half a century.

Many years later, as I’d sorted through my maternal grandmother’s belongings she’d left behind, with that small expectancy.  I’d rummaged through all the cabinets, closets and drawers, nothing, only a name, that stayed there, silently, on the household registry, with no one knowing his, whereabouts.  I guessed, that she’d hated him, he’d gambled all the family’s assets, away, abandoned his wife and young, left her with providing for her four young children, all alone by her own, self, and exited out of, all their, lives.

My Grandmother’s Longing & Waiting, in the Song

Thankful, grandma wasn’t a flower inside a vase, she’d used both her hands, and the soil, built up a home without a man in it, set up her own grounds, against the wind she stood, guarding every single brick.

Not long thereafter, my mother went to the local land offices, to take her father off of the household registry.  As she returned home, she’d pulled at my hand, told me, “from now on, I have, no, parents.”

Later, my mother told, that my grandparents were really close to one another when they were younger, they’d worked together in business, saved the money, and purchased that property on Kai-Yuan Road, had it not been my grandfather getting addicted to gambling, maybe, the end would be, much, different.

I’d remembered how my grandmother always hummed “Jasmine”, with the sound flowing along in her, nasal passageway, she was seeing of the depth of the love of the one who’d planted the, flowers.  Or maybe, she’d stopped hating already, even if he never returned back, she’d still kept waiting on, like a flower, quietly.  At that very moment, I’d finally understood what secrets the flowers knew, it wasn’t the sadness, the sorrows at all, but the residual aroma that’s fermented by the long wait through the years.

And now, there’s nothing but the dusts that rose in the air, with what my maternal grandmother’s left behind in this, life, I’d closed my eyes, the dreamlike melody, the residual scent, were like the unfinished refrain of her, life.

Those words, she’d never stated out loud, I will, sing it out for her, hoping that the one whom she waited on and never returned, could, hear.

And so, this is, how a traditional valued woman kept her homefronts, despite how her husband abandoned her and their children.  This still showed how the women in the times before, long, long ago, didn’t have a choice, because in modern day times, in these situations, a woman would’ve divorced this LOSER, and took her kids, and moved, on with her, life, but the grandmother wasn’t born in the modern day era, that’s why she’d tried by her own, fate.

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Filed under Awareness, Cost of Living, Expectations, Fate, Gender Roles, Issues on Gender, Life, Properties of Life, Socialization, The Fate of a Woman

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May 21, 2026 · 4:30 am

The Illness of the Female, Role

The traditional GENDER EXPECTATIONS passed down from the former generations to the younger, and not this SHIT all, ends!  From the writer’s own, family interactions here…translated…

As the Woman’s Status of Wife Gets to Too High a Place Than She Could Have a Say on, Then, She Has to, Watch Her, Steps……………

I’d been made aware, that my mother had an illness, I’ll call it, “wife-ill” for now, the symptoms include, fractures, confusions, and chaos in her, cognition.

The illness, so-named, “wife-ill”, suggests that she only becomes symptomatic, when she’s working as a wife.  At when I was about ten years of age, my father slowly, gotten into the custom-made trap of investment that his friend set him in, it wasn’t that my mother wasn’t aware, she’d noted how my father’s hometown “friend”, “Ming”, had been shady on a lot of things.  My mother warned my father, that “Ming” can persuade anyone into anything.  My father got upset, that he had yet to set up his career, and, his wife had, rained on his, parade, he’d not only didn’t heed her warning, he’d even, corrected her, that as his wife, she shouldn’t curse him with the bad luck when he’s about to, do something, great.  There are the conditions that all illnesses get, triggered, like how heart conditions, high blood pressure comes often after the patient went into the sauna for the soaks, as for wife-ill, it occurs, when a woman’s role as a wife, got pulled to a high that she can’t control, then she needs to beware.

And just like that, my mother’s wife-ill began, as she felt more and more worried over things, the more silent she’d, become.  Up until Ming caused the economics to fall into the abyss, my father went from being a small business owner to a cabdriver.  My father never admitted to his misreading, misjudging his “friend”, and continued diverting himself, hoping toward the next economy bloom, to cancel out his debts automatically.

illustration from UDN.com

While my mother took two jobs to pay up my father’s debts, one in the daytime, the other, that began at nine at night, after supper, she’d taken a short, rests, as my father went to drive his cab, she’d, gotten into the bathrooms, to clean herself off from the cooking smells, put on the mascara, a little, perfume, with her clean shirt on, she’d gone to a restaurant, where the music flowed, she’d, served the dishes to the group she once, belonged to, the small capitalists.  Before she went to work, she’d come to my brother and I, to say goodnight to us, we lift our faces and told her, goodbye, mom.  Then, the two of us, were all we had, for the entire, long, nights.

The Wife, a Role We Can’t, Escape, From

Once, my brother and I felt too hungry deep in the, nights, we’d, rummaged through the fridge, and only found a small bowl of, clams pickled in something.  The small servings of clams, they couldn’t fill us up, we still felt very hungry after we’d downed the entire bowl, and I’d, poured some water into the bowl, and, swirled the soy sauce and the chopped up garlic in the bowl, and I’d shared that with my younger brother.  Don’t know if it was the mind playing tricks, or the saltiness that killed off our, appetites, I’d felt a bit, bloating afterwards.  later, I’d reported our creativity to my mother, she didn’t look pleased at all, but there was that look of sorrow from her eyes that came out.

My father who’d had a misstep, that made him fell hard, became someone who needed to declare his power, and my mother became, the target of his, upset.  The reality is, nobody would hear the words of those down and out, but, wife is an inescapable, role, even if my mother wanted to just leave, the rumors would’ve weaved into that web that will, cause a ton of, damage: how can you desert your husband when he’s like this?  My mother’s condition of “wife-ill” got worsened, she’d wanted to, blame my father for believing that he was too capable, that’s caused the family to borrow the money to make our ends, meet; but at the same time, she’d felt that she needed to, keep her responsibilities toward the family, toward him, as a, fitting, wife, that love is eternal patience, with the grace and the, mercy.

As I got into high school, I’d begun, being able to, weigh the distance of interactions, my mother turned me into her, confidant, kept pouring her heart out to me: how she’d given her all, and she received my father’s, words or anguish, and ordering around.  Back then, I had the sharpened edges of the adolescence on me, and I used the fact, that I got into my father’s top choices of schools for me, that my father grew tolerant toward me.  My good grades somehow, covered for his, failure, proved that the genes of the family was still, excellent, enough.  That it was only bad luck my father was, conned by his, friend.  I’d mentioned to my mother, why don’t I go and discuss with dad, to have him not abuse you anymore.  And my mother grabbed my arm hard, told me, no, no child should, correct the father.

in a male dominant, world…cartoon from online, NOBODY hears our SCREAMS!

My Mother Who Started Coming to, After the “Stand-Off”

There’s been, dozens of times that brakes were, slammed like this, my mother’s pouring her heart out to me made me feel, helpless, I’d felt that her carrying the pains wasn’t, worth it, but, at the same time, she’d, stubbornly ordered me, not to argue with my own, father.  And after long, it’d felt like I was, falling ill too, because I’d, gotten really well, coping with the two, completely opposite thoughts inside of me.  In the day, I’d learned to stand up for dignity, but at home, I was told, that sucking it up, is a wisdom that’s encouraged  by history.  And one day, I’d finally told my mother, either you stop complaining to me, or you let me go ask my father something, otherwise, if you keep going like this, I may get, psychologically, ill.  My mother fell, completely silent after she’d heard me.

Afterwards, I’d thought back, that as I’d told my mother off, her wife-ill started, getting better.  She began, reducing the times she’d told him that her husband wasn’t, fitting, and what replaced this was, she’d, gone to my father, to bust him.  Her words to me then were, “I’ll have a showdown with your father”, her words, shocked me, but, I’m glad that she’s finally, awakened, that face-off we’d had on that day, it seemed to make her realized, that if she keeps on going like this, I will, one day, turn into, a younger generation of this illness of, hers, bowing down, watching someone’s moods constantly to live.  Just like how my mother was infected by her own mother’s, means.

I’d had conversations with my friends of late, and we’d, gotten into the, deeper, discussions.  Once, she was really pressed by her mother’s pressing her to marry, she’d asked her mother, “didn’t you forget, that you’d told me from when I was younger, that dad would, beat you?”, her mother was shocked, but she’d, turned the argument around, her face looked ashen, and rebutted, “Yeah, so I got beaten up, but at least, I am, someone’s, wife.”  Putting aside if this made sense (I’m thinking that it, doesn’t!), but, life is hard to come by, don’t we have some other, hobbies we want to, keep, other than getting repeatedly abused?  My friend and I began discussing, if her mother’s words are, out of anger and, was it, how she’d really, felt, but something is, certain, this twisted illness, got cured in our, generation.

And so, being raised under these conditions, we naturally would LEARN, what fits us, and what doesn’t, what doesn’t is, being like our own mothers, keeping their men happy, doing AS we’d been told, when our men tell us to SIT, we shall all sit, when they tell us to strip so we can FUCK you, we do as we’d been, told, is that it?  Yeah uh, I don’t think so, OBEDIENCE to OUR HAS-BEENS (almost EXES) is NOT what WE, new and younger generations of women, go, by here!  So losers, get OVER yourselves already!!!

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Filed under Awareness, Domestic Violence, Family Dynamics, Gender Inequality, Gender Roles, Issues on Gender, Life, Observations, Properties of Life, Self-Images, Socialization, Vicious Cycle

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May 11, 2026 · 2:03 am

She Shouldn’t be Criticized for Getting Her Manicure

Because we’re, ALLOWED this, for ALL the HARD WORK we’d pulled, and, it’s OUR right, to LIVE on the “more luxurious” (it’s actually NOT!) side of things, am I right, ladies???  Translated…

Once, I was watching a T.V. show with my son, a family with five children, with the father working as a quality control in the factory, the mother, a homemaker, the family of seven wasn’t well-to-do, but from the way they interacted, it was natural, warm, and the family was living in, bliss.

In the interview, the father was in a pair of suspenders with holes on it, and opened up his closet so the photographer of the show could film.  He’d told, that to save on spending of the families, he usually wears the hand-me-downs.  His tone of voice was without any complaints, and the crew was touched by his sense of responsibilities toward his, family.  The mom, worked all day long, busied herself in the house, and took care of the young children, the children were still quite young, she didn’t have any time to herself, life is fast-paced, rarely anytime that she could squeeze into just, breathe freely and easily.

And still, I’d caught her nails, that she’d gotten her manicure.  At that very moment, an unspoken shock surfaced up to mind.  After all, manicure wasn’t a necessity of life, besides, they’re already, living right on the poverty lines, and her husband wore those hand-me-downs, the clothes with holes in them.  I couldn’t help but whispered, “her husband is dressed in clothes with holes on them, why did she spend the money on manicure?”, and my son immediately asked, “the wife is her own, so is the, husband, his.  Who says, that if the husband dressed in torn clothes, the wife has to, give up the right to make herself feel or look, beautiful?”  I’d felt a bit, challenged, “it costs a lot to get the manicures, wouldn’t it better, if she saved what she’d spent, and use it on the, family?” My son didn’t back down, “she works around the house, and doesn’t get to go out that much, maybe, her manicure gives her that door to the outside world.  Dealing with the household chores all day long, she’d spun around the needs of her, families’, if she doesn’t treat herself to something small, wouldn’t she get, ill?”

she IS, entitled, because she DESERVES to! Photo from online

I’d not said another, word, if we keep on going at this, it will only, cause the air to, freeze.  And yet, afterwards, as I’d thought back to our conversations, maybe, I’m too traditional in my, beliefs, growing up in a farming village, I’m used to seeing all the woman, not spending any money on themselves, just to give their husbands, their children, the best, and that form of sacrifice had been taken as, matter-of-fact.  And, in the unknown, I’d somehow, assigned these, values to my own self, and others, too, my son’s words were like that mirror, reflecting against the shattered thought of the depth of my, mind: as if, that the husband doesn’t have that much extra, then wife should, keep herself in check, more.

But thinking more closely, no matter how hard life gets, one still, shouldn’t, reduce the kindness one has toward oneself.  In the ordinary, even, the trying days of our lies, if we can, put that glow, add some extra color in, it isn’t extravagant or wasteful, but a sort of a, replenishment.  To let the world outside know, that other than the roles of mother, of wife she plays, she’s still, her own, person.

Life may not be affluent, but, the heart can, be.  So long as it doesn’t affect the family’s basic needs, why not go for that manicure?  It seems, that I need to, change my, ancient, beliefs now.

And so, this is how most women had been raised, that it’s our duties, responsibilities, to SACRIFICE ourselves, ignore our own needs, just so our families can have what they needed, but hey, IF we don’t take good care of ourselves, how the FUCK (don’t pardon me!) can we have the spare mind, to care for, those who need us, our families?  And, the son was right on telling his mother, that the woman’s getting her mani-pedi “pampering session” is NOT wasteful, it’s WHAT she deserves, after all, the woman works EQUALLY hard as the man, caring for her children, her husband, and she DESERVES to treat herself with the BEST!

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Filed under Cost of Living, Gender Inequality, Gender Roles, Life, Observations, Perspectives, Properties of Life, Social Awareness, Socialization, Story-Telling, White Picket Fence

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April 25, 2026 · 2:19 am

When I Couldn’t Do a Thing, Right

The “general consensus” is that because we are staying at home, we’re NOT making any contributions to our families?  Yeah, give ME a break here, those of us who don’t work outside our homes, we do a hell of a lot more than all you guys who are working your nine-to-fives, and our workhours are 24/7, and we don’t get paid a cent, don’t even mention ANY of the overtime that we’re doing, on the weekends, because we work through those days too…and this is still bullshit, believing how women who don’t work outside their homes aren’t contributing to their families’ welfare…translated…

First time I’d watched “Kim Ji-Yong: Born 1982”, I’d not resonated, it’s just that my heart sank as I watched the film.  It wasn’t like a work of fiction, nor movie, like the days that played back to me.  The screen wasn’t overly exposed, the plot moved slow, but frame by frame, it’d spread the fears of the life of a woman living, her fatigue, her panic, her shock right in front of, me.  The emotions without their names, they’d felt, so very, familiar to me.

Like looking into that mirror, it’s not another, but someone I’d known too well, someone I’d dodged all this, time, me.

So, a lot of times I’d felt so fragile, that I wasn’t, strong enough, it wasn’t that at all.  I just got, pushed onward, with no one pointing me to the direction, nor allowing me to stop, to ask: why.

and women are still being BLAMED, for “not making ENOUGH contributions”??? Illustration from online

I’d once quit my job to stay at home with my young.  During that period of time, my body was still living in the world, with my heart, retracting itself inward, little, by little every day.  Until later, I’d learned the meaning of the term “worm mother”.  It’d sounded offensive, but it’d become, a label that stuck itself to my, head.  It wasn’t an insult, but it’d, made me, unable to, lift my head, up again.

I’d stopped going outside.  Taking the kids out, it’d felt I was doing something wrong.  The stroller took too much space, the kids were too loud, I was standing in a place that was an eyesore to others.  The gaze of others didn’t say a single word, but, other people made it too clear to me—that was a sort of a disgust, an impatience, a “why are you hear” that was asked without asking out loud.

And so, I’d, learned to, shrink my own physical form down.  Reduced my itinerary, kept my voice lower, and, minimized my own, sense of, existence.

The three of, mother and children, got placed quietly, at home.  When the sun is shining brightly out, I’d often, stood by the door, reminded myself repeatedly: I’m just going out for a walk, I’m doing nothing, wrong.

At the time, I’d thought, if those around me could offer me a little more empathy, understanding, a few words of “hey, you’d been working too hard, you need a break!”, then, would my days go, easier?  But, reality always, pulled me, back to, right where I got, stuck at.

The kids, I’d looked after, so do the chores around the house, left for me to handle.  Holidays, coming and going, the interpersonal relations, no room for being absent.  Whenever I’d looked a bit tired, someone would always ask, with her/his look of confusion—aren’t you not working right now and staying at, home?

The words weren’t high in volume, but they were, too, heavyset for me to hear.  More words, they’d sounded, mild, but had, slowly, drained me, out—women are naturally better at childrearing than men; no need to go to the regular nine-to-fives, how blessed you are; being a mom, you need to hang in there.

Hang in.  The words sounded like air sucked in, and couldn’t get, exhaled, back, out again.

The character in the novel started blurting out words that weren’t her, own.  Her speech became incomprehensible, her body out of, order.  Other people diagnosed her, but I’d always felt, that that was the thing she still could do for her own, self.  When someone had gotten used to keeping one’s own trials of life to oneself, disallowed to tell about it, the words, they’d still found their own, outlets.

Her name, so ordinary, ordinary to that it’d not sounded like a protagonist.  There’s no major ups and down of her life, only the time and time repeated moments of her, getting shoved back into her character.  These moments, barely noticeable, to the point of, getting, neglected a whole, lot, but were enough, to alter the way the individual perceives the, world.

the trailer from the movie…off of YouTube

KIM Ji-young, Born 1982 | Official Main Trailer | INTL

I’m not her.  But at the certain pauses in her, life, some silent moments, I saw my own, self.

Later, more and more women started voicing out loud.  I’d not felt that it was noisy, just that they’d started telling their stories a bit, late.  The words weren’t, accusatory, but the women were merely, spitting back out those emotions they were once told, and forced to, swallow, back, down.

Those days when I get accused of breathing too loud, I still remembered them clearly.  And because I’d remembered those days too well, I’d stopped pretending that it was just my problem solely.

It was a long period of, silence.  And now, we’d only begun to, learn to, voice it all, out.

This is, from the mind and heart of a woman, who was going through, post-partum difficulties, she’d had her children, and, quit her job to stay at home, and, that made those around her talked TRASH about how she was not contributing to her household economics, and that is the “general consensus” in today’s society, because the FUCKING (so???) world FAILED to realize, that the stay-at-home parents ARE doing MORE than their shares of hard work, and they don’t even get PAID a single CENT.  They have to be the cabdriver (taking their kids to school, chauffeur them to soccer, band/orchestra practice, along with whatever EXTRACURRICULAR activities the kids are involved in), they work as grocery shoppers, cooks, cleaners of the houses, and if that’s not enough work, these women who quit their jobs after their young were born, they’d become, disconnected with the outside world, because their worlds, SHRUNK from before when they worked, to now just the family, and you tell us women, that we’re not doing ENOUGH???

Why don’t ALL you 9-to-5s work without pay for a week in these women’s shoes, oh yeah, the drains are clogged, you need to call the plumber, the lights are flickering, you need to call the electrician, oh, and the dog need its vaccines, take it to the vet, the kids are due back at five after club meeting, and you better have all our suppers prepared, because we want to eat when we come home.

Try living around the clocks like that, then, you come and tell us that we (stay-at-home parents) aren’t doing enough!

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Filed under Attitude, Awareness, Expectations, Gender Inequality, Gender Roles, Issues on Gender, Observations, Perspectives, Social Awareness, Socialization, STUCK in a Cookie Jar, Women's Issues

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April 18, 2026 · 5:45 am

When a Woman Lives for, Her, Self…

When a woman lives for, her, self, she’s called, too, selfish…but, WHY?

I mean, don’t we got our rights, to LIVE life however the HELL we choose?  So why is the world, so keen on, beating us down, when we pursue our own dreams, desires, and goals?

As opposed to when men strive for that higher up position, he’s called ambition, but, when a woman, does the same, she’s called, “unfitting” and “not knowing her place”…

So, basically, the world is still, putting our sex in its, place, below the male gender.  Despite, how we are all, extremely, capable, UN-reliant (save for maybe the need for that, TADPOLE, when we need to, “procreate”…) on men.

And yet, there’s still, this, bad rep over us, when we try to, compete for that, higher up position, that will bring in more money for our selves, our, families…

Because this IS, still, a male-oriented, male dominant, world, and it’s not going to change, NOT anytime, soon.  So we should all just, SUCK it up, and TAKE it like WOMEN!

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Filed under Awareness, Cost of Living, Gender Inequality, Gender Roles, Observations, Perspectives

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January 16, 2026 · 2:58 am

Time that’s Stolen, from, Me

How this woman had, RECLAIMED the RIGHTS to her own life, BACK, something we can all, learn from, as SACRIFICING ourselves, should NO longer be what we live, by…translated…

My time is, communally, owned, anyone can have a piece of my, time.  Six in the morning, still early, before my alarm sounded, my brain was already, listing out my to-do list for the, day: breakfast, packed lunches, waking the kids up, signing their school assignment books…………all these things, became like invisible, thieves, silently, stolen my, minutes and, hours, away, leaving the room clean, those around me, full, and fed, but me, drained.

When had it happened, that my given name was replaced by “mom”, “wife”, my time became a communal property to help the family run functionally, on call 24/7, with the fastest response, time.  Until one day as I stood in the checkout, the cashier asked, “what do you need?”, I’d, become, dumbfounded right then and there, for five whole, seconds, I’d become, needed by habit of others, and not known to tell what I’d needed.

what our lives, consists, of, photo from online, constantly taking care of our own, families, neglecting our own, selves…

That afternoon, I’d, decided I was going to, “steal time”.  Not someone else’s, but finding the misplaced, tiny pieces of me, back, from the cracks in-between my household chores.  First time I’d stolen was at 5:30 in the morn.  The alarm vibrated gently, I’d slipped out of bed, like a sacred ritual, I’d gone to the kitchen sink, poured my self a cup of, coffee.  All was silent, only the sounds of the water, mixed with the grinds, the aromas rose up.  Not in a hurry to down the cup though, just, carrying that hot cup of coffee with my two hands, stood before the window, watching, the skies turn from dark blue, to white.  In these thirty short minutes, nobody owns me, and I was returned back to the self that loved reading poetry, stared into space, the me that needed the, moments of, serenity.

That was, a lifesaving ritual to me.  Like following the safety instructions on the flights, we need to put the oxygen masks on our selves, before we help someone, else.  Those thirty minutes of alone time, turned me from “provider” into, the “alive”.  Sometimes, I’d read a couple of pages out of that book, sometimes, doing nothing, just stared into, space, to slowly, savoring a cup of yogurt, with no, interruptions to me.  This time became like an enchantment, to prevent me from evaporating into thin air in the day after day of, offering everything I have to my, families.

When I’d begun, “stealing time”, my family started learning to respect my boundaries.  The kids found that mommy’s “coffee time” is sacred and inviolable, my husband came to understand, that the investment of those thirty minutes, he’d received my softer tone of voice toward him, and more clarity in my, eyes.

and this is, WHAT we all, need…taking the time needed, for our own, selves…photo from online

And now, I’d, understood, that it wasn’t my families that’s stolen my time away, but the me who didn’t, fight for my own rights, who’d been living on the tightened windup gears.  The housewives don’t have a set time that they clock out, so we are in more desperate need of these, boundaries.  Those thirty minutes I managed to steal, served as the life raft, the reset I need for myself.

If you feel that your times are also, ripped to, shreds, do be brave, and steal the time also.  Between giving everything you are, and your “me time”, that period of time we’d stolen will become what helps us, survive.

Because it’s customary, that we women give everything we have to our, families, and to the point that we’d, neglected our own, needs, put others before us always, until we’d, crashed, and realized that we need to reset these, priorities, and we do, and it still might not go so smoothly as this woman’s experiences.  Sometimes, we have to, DEFEND what was originally OURS, to NOT get taken for granted by those around us.

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January 15, 2026 · 5:09 am

Thank Heavens, Grandpa’s DEAD

How our past generations’ marriages, have an, enormous impact on how we view love and marriage ourselves, because we watched how they interacted with each other in the marriage, and we don’t want the same thing to happen away, so we stay the hell away from love!  Translated…

In my childhood year, to differentiate between my maternal and paternal grandmothers, I’d called them Grandma in Taipei and Grandma in Kaohsiung.  And as I’d went through school, I’d started referring to my grandmother in Taipei as “paternal grandma”, and the grandmother in Kaohsiung as “maternal grandmother”.  But I’d only, differentiated, unwillingly, when I’m holding conversations with others, because the one I was closer to was my maternal grandmother who lives in Kaohsiung, and if it didn’t matter to her, I’d not wanted her to feel, that there’s a difference that I carried between her and my dad’s mother.

I’d wanted to talk of my maternal grandfather though, he was born in a fishing family in Penghu, and as he married my grandmother who was from Pingdong, all his family owned was a, rundown fishing boat, he couldn’t sail too far away to make the catches, can only, stay afloat in the raging waves close by to the island.  “Fishing in the seas” became synonymous with my maternal grandfather, with that pair of weathered hands, that expected to, hold on to, something.  My mother told me, the stories of “her father gone fishing”, it wasn’t from what she’d learned in the Chinese texts, but how the wind never stopped howling on the islet, and the echoes of the wind didn’t mind the school children’s worries for their father out on the seas, some of her classmates’, and friends’ fathers, they never came back, neither did my grandfather.

Grandpa used his nets, to trap the living things in the waters, but his whole life, was it not, held hostage by the same nets he was, using?  Back in the forties and fifties, when there’s no knowledge of birth control yet, he had seven children with his wife.  Day after day, he’d opened his eyes, found that there are, so many, fragile lives that relied on him to live.  It’d become, etched into the inner cores of people from his era, supported him to not break, but, he started, breaking down, with the debts that skyrocketed too high, as they weren’t able to, afford the most basic living need with what he’d made from fishing.  And that was when grandpa started resisting going out to seas, like his children and wife weren’t worth his risking his life, for, he’d sold his will to the booze, when he got drunk, he’d become, abusive physically.

illustration from UDN.com

My grandma was first on the beating fields, second was my mother, who is the eldest daughter, all the misbehaviors of my younger uncles and aunts, all hers to, pay.  At age thirteen, my mother, to take care of the livelihood of her younger siblings, my aunts and uncles, she’d arrived by boat to Kaohsiung all by herself, became a tiny screw, in the export mills, she’d sent the money she’d traded with her blood and sweat by the months back home, and of the amounts, partially it’d gone to my maternal grandfather’s vices, his getting lost in the bottles.

In my diminished memories, grandpa is that slim shadow, in the corners of the, living room of the house, I can’t recall that he’d ever, spoken a, single, word.  It was when I was six or seven, that he’d, died, it was told, that he’d fell asleep in the living room, and never woke back, up again, after grandma made the supper, and called to him, no response, and when she checked, he’d, passed, in that, relaxed, position on the, couch.  The death of this man didn’t leave a deep mark in my, life, perhaps, because my mother had, intentionally, consciously, distanced herself from, him.

In my high school, one day, I’d received a literary journal’s letter, said that they wanted to print a submission of mine.  I’d used my mother’s last name, and the name I’d thought for a long time to use, as my, pseudonym, to show my thoughtfulness.  But there was no joy radiating from my mother, instead, she’d said to me, with that seriousness about her, that she wanted me to use my name to live out the rest of my life.  after all, the man whose last name I took, loved, me, and she’s not as blessed as I’d, been.  I’d come to understand, little by little, that although my mother became someone I look to for answers when I have them, she still carried the wounds of being someone’s child deep inside of her.

celebrating her husband’s death, and you still can’t blame her! Photo from online

After grandfather passed, there’s that ritualistic that our family followed, every New Year’s on the second, the daughters who married would come back home together, and my mother’s side would drive as a whole unit to the place where my grandfather’s ashes were kept, at the temple.  Grandma told, “Grandpa is now, with Buddha.”, there’s that lack of emotion, that she’d sounded, very flat as she’d told us, like she was talking about someone whom she’d, slowly, drifted apart from.  One day at sunset, I saw her prepare the fresh fruits she was taking to the shrine the following day, she’d made sure that the exterior was without any blemishes, that the fruits were plump enough and looked juicy.  I’d misread it as how she’s still connected with my grandfather in her heart, and asked, “do you miss him?”.  As she’d checked the fruits, without raising her head, “no, thank heaven’s he’s dead already, otherwise, we would’ve never had our better days like, these.”  And despite how I’d read in the literature of how the wives cussed their husbands out of hatred, it paled by comparison to what I’d encountered on that, day.  So, the words of “sometimes, a person’s death is another’s parole” of the writer, Lee in “The Book of Geese”, has some truth to it.  On the verge of my grandmother turning sixty, her husband had died, and she’s, finally, free!  More than two decades later, the book by the Japanese writer, Miki Kobayashi’s “Why Doesn’t My Husband Just Die” became a hit here, but to my grandmother, all had already, passed.

Not holding any expectations of love of marriage, is why I was classified as pessimistic in my nature, but, I don’t believe that I that is a, bad, thing.

And so, this is, how the former generations’ marriages had, impacted ours, because we’re all, watching how our adult counterparts are relating, interacting with one another, and that’s shaped our own views of love, marriage, etc., etc., etc., and there’s nothing wrong with that, that’s just how we got, socialized by the families we were, born, into.

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October 11, 2025 · 2:46 am

Wife, Invisible…

Why the FUCK (your point being???) should I be, invisible?  Because I’m your wife, and I’m supposed to, take that BACKSEAT to you, was that it?

Because I’m your wife, I have to take care of the kids, stay at home, give up my own already established career, getting grease, oil, smoke covering up my face (‘cuz I got STUCK in the kitchen, making all our meals?!)

Well, I’m tired of being this, wife invisible!  I want to return my self back to the visible states again, but I’m finding it real hard, I got detached from the society outside (of these four walls!), and, every time I tried to get over these fences, I found that I couldn’t, cross over, that invisible, barrier (kinda like that invisible fence you put in your yard to prevent your dogs from going over to the neighbors???), and I got, STUCK.

and, these aren’t close to ENOUGH ARMS we are in need, of in our, lives! Illustration from online

Wife invisible, I have to find my own self again, and I can’t do that, with you, with the kids around me, and so, I walked out (really?  You sure you can, leave your children behind???  Think again!)…and then, everybody started talking about how BAD a woman, a mother, a wife I am, for wanting more time to my own self, for self-care…

What nobody taught us women, was that WE should NOT put everybody else’s needs before our own, because if we don’t take good care of ourselves, then, how the FUCK (put me down for swearing again, why don’t ya!) can we take care of anybody else?  And yet, we’re still, criticized for this, why is that?

Oh, because this is still a MALE-ORIENTED word that we are all living in, where MEN rule over our houses, where we are nothing more than cooks, maids, and, baby machine………even to this, DAY, and this IS the TWENTY-FIRST (hello, hello, hello!) century, NOT the DARK AGES!!!

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September 11, 2025 · 1:48 am

She, Who Worked Her Way up the Ladder in the Environmental Department’s Cleaning Crews

A woman who began working as a trash collector, who’d worked her way up to managerial, and she’d, weathered through her share of discrimination, until her hard work paid off, and then, everybody respected her for her abilities…translated…

Five years ago, my niece, Sam told that she was going to a job interview as a trash collector for the Environmental Protection Bureau.  I was stunned, a cleaning crew?  We can’t even withstand the stench from the lids of the garbage cans lifting up, and she’d, wanted to, spend her eight, nine hour work days with the smelly, garbage, trucks?

I asked her in my, confusion, “the garbage trucks smelled awful, aren’t you afraid that others will say that it’s a, dirty, and lowly, job?  Although, we see now, that there are, many, female crew members too, but, are you sure, you’re, up for this?”, Sam responded back, “I can do it, the biggest problem is my mom, she’d said, she’d worked hard, sent me to school, and now, I’m a member of the, cleaning crew, she is ashamed of my work.”

I’d originally thought that Sam was going to, back away, but, out of our expectations, after she’d graduated, she’d gotten an interview with the Environmental Department, and passed the tests.  At first, she was, isolated and discriminated against by her fellow male coworkers as well as the higher up managerial, to getting verbally and physically, harassed too, later, she’d found a way to handle it, and now, I’d heard that she’s, getting along very well with her, coworkers.

Before May first Labor Day this year, there was an article commending the group of women who works as the garbage collectors, and there was an interview, on a very first district captain, who’d worked hard for years on end, her work ethics was commended by the members of the local districts, as well as her, superiors too, who’d, gotten promoted to the district captain for the locality—just so happens, it was, Sam.

I’d called her to congratulate her, she’d told me, that at the start, this job wasn’t easy, at the time, she’d had to cope with the mockery, the bullying day after day after day, she’d felt helpless, and upset, but with the passing of time, her persistence in working, changed everything, and now, she and her other female colleagues, are working in the field, like it was, natural, to them.

Surely, says who jobs are only designated to men?  Women operating bulldozers, truck delivery drivers, bus drivers too, police officers……………they work in these careers, as they all, should!

So, this is how, this woman had, risen up from below, and got to the top, of an originally, male-oriented, career option, and, this woman proved, that there is no sex specification to the occupations, that man and woman can, work in the same occupation, without gender discrimination!

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August 14, 2025 · 3:45 am

The Toughest Force of Life

We women are, SOCIALIZED by the gender expectation on us, to become, ALL-CAPABLE, and that made us all, tough and outstanding, more capable than ALL you, MEN, combined!  Translated…

Back when I was younger, I’d always felt, that in this vast universe, there must be some forms of extraterrestrial hidden somewhere, although I’d never seen it with my own, eyes, I’d never doubted this.  Up until I grew up, entered into the vortex of reality, crushed by work, family, and life to suffocating, I’d started, questioning, that my aging mother whom I’d lived with for over thirty years, must be, an extraterrestrial being, with extreme high level of, intelligence and, wisdom too!

She’d played multiple, parts, in the days, she’d worked in the corporate offices, putting herself out there, gone through the meetings, the conference calls, overtime, as she got home, she’d still needed to shape-shift into a housewife, a homemaker, plus cleaning up our home, care for young and old of our home.  What’s more incredible was, she seemed to have the powers of telekinesis, the sports meets, the graduations, or our sudden onset of fevers, getting sick, my mom had never missed out any of these important moments in our, lives, she’s the one, holding our universe, together.

what we are! The ability to MULTITASK and, handling each and every task to perfect too! Illustration from online

Back when I was a child, I’d looked up into the night skies, guessed at the mysteries of the, galaxies, imagined the existence of extraterrestrials, and now, thinking on this seriously, maybe, the truly great, magical force of extraterrestrial life is the one who’s, sliding on her cell phone, nodding off, while using that laser ray from the universe, keeping watch over that pot of soup she’s, cooking on the stoves at the same time.

You want to see a high intelligent, extraterrestrial?  Look nowhere else, just go home, and see your mothers, no need to fly on the flying saucer, into the vast, universe.

So, this is what made woman so, outstanding, because we are “groomed” to handle one too many things, despite how the preaching of equal rights, that both men and women are supposed to take care of the household together, with everything SPLIT down the middle, fifty-fifty, we women still see is as our duties, responsibilities, to take care of inside the households, the kids, our husbands (still don’t got one!), and many of us still work our five-to-nines (‘cuz nine-to-five ain’t gonna cut it for us!  It’s more like 24/7 if you ask me!), around the clock, that’s why we ARE EXTRATERRESTRIAL, beings, because no earthlings CAN handle what we have to handle.

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