Words of Innocence and Experience

Early one morning, I was roused by the thumping of the washing machine operating. Rubbing my eyes, Mother’s endless pacing in the living room relentlessly rushed into my ears.

“Mom,” I groaned, “it’s only 7:30. It’s Sunday and I wanna get up late.”

“No,” said Mother, her voice lacking the sleepy blurriness in mine, “I’m used to getting up at this hour, and you are, too. Get yourself ready and let’s go to the market.”

Mother is an indefatigable woman. Unlike most insomnia sufferers, she is not troubled by her sleeplessness by taking sleeping pills. Rather, the energy which merely a little sleep has brought her makes her both amused and oddly satisfied.

Her favorite recreation is shopping. I used to be extremely bored when I was dragged to various department stores and cosmetics shops when I was a little girl. Conversely, I have grown to like it with my aging and a growing concern for my appearance. Even studying in university now, I return to Taichung every weekend to go shopping with Mother, since I am the only child, and she, my only parent.

However, one thing bothers me immensely whenever I go out with Mother.

“Are you sisters?” the salesperson would ask when Mother and I skim through all the neat tops on sale.

“Why, you flatter me too much!” Mother would laugh heartily, the sides of her mouth twisting into a cordial smile. “We are mother and daughter, obviously.”

“Oh, but you look so young!” the clerk gaped.

Stunned by the frequency of hearing such compliments on Mother, I began to worry if I really looked older than I really was.

“When people comment that you and I look like sisters, they’re praising my youthful look rather than ridiculing that you look old,” assured Mother, seemingly sensing my insecurity, but soon, returning to her usual biting tone, “stop feeling sorry for yourself, you little ignoramus!”

Mother is a petite and slander woman. Her slim figure, on which she takes pride, compels her to check out the items in children’s clothing from time to time. Even with the 26-year age gap, she buys the same styles of clothes as I do, although most middle-aged women shy from wearing colorful and young-looking attires.

“I have the right to wear whatever I like,” she insists. “Besides, I don’t look half ugly in them.”

At her late 40s, her slim figure, childish curiosity, graceful movements (being a consummate dancer), and vivacious temperament make her charming for people around her. Time and experience have been eradicating her caprice, yet she is still ill-tempered and bitter whenever she is displeased. With the tendency to be careless and awkward, I am often victimized to Mother’s ill temper. Before the outburst of her rage, I always see the dreadful warning signs: her eyes turning wide, refilled with malice, her brows rising and knitted, her hollow cheeks full with her mouth agape, ready to hurl a retort. With her tiny frame, it is incredible for others to believe how powerful Mother’s yells can be, yet I never cease to be frightened by Mother’s precarious temper management and her bitter tongue.

“You stupid fool!” she cursed. “You are not good at doing nothing!”

“But, Mom, I just fail this one time…”

“One time?” she shouted violently. “You’ve failed many times and never learn!”

Her irritation and whim, surprisingly, are attractions for men. The guardian of the apartment where we live in, fascinated by her unique manners, often brings us fruits and tea leaves. Mother is a skillful social butterfly when interacting with people. She smiles, jokes around, and talks with good nature. When men are around Mother, I can feel the attraction Mother holds for them and how she manipulates their hearts.

However, Mother is not truly interested in trapping men as her captives. One miserable marriage has already shattered all her dreamy love fantasies. Moreover, a free spirit probably should not be caged in neither a relationship nor a marriage.

“In a way,” she said wistfully once, “I’m glad that your father isn’t around. I’m just not the type of person who would give herself all in a serving and pleasing her husband.”

As my memory serves, Father has never taken care of Mother and me. When I was a little girl, I seldom saw him since he had usually gone out for business or drinking. Bad-tempered as Mother is, I had witnessed them bickering fiercely with each other. As a little girl, I always burst into tears and ran between them.

“Stop fighting, please!” I begged, with tears rolling down my face.

Unfortunately, Father is an awful businessman and an irresponsible nuisance. Leaving his debts behind, debtors used to come to our old house all the time. Mother, after dealing with them with all her cunning and charms, cursed in exasperation, her gorgeous blouse stained with angry tears.
Eventually, Father left Taiwan and cast us out of his life for good. The house was in pawn to pay for Father’s debts. In the long, hot summer days, Mother rode on her motorcycle, carrying me, as we searched desperately for a dwelling place from one street to another.

“It’s hot,” I was already in school then, my mind clear as an excellent student. “Why are we going around the neighborhood like this? When can we stop?”

“Shut up!” Mother silenced me with her snap. “Do you want to be homeless? We must find an apartment to live in. It can’t be too far from the neighborhood. If we live too far away from here, you can’t ride a bike to school and there’ll be a lot more trouble to handle.”

I observed her through the rear-view mirror then. Her eyes were resolute, her expression apathetic but firm. Her skinny back looked quite fragile under the sinister sun, yet it stood straight. In the brief moment, I wondered if I was able to grapple with the mishap with such composure and confidence.

Finally, we did find a new house. We survived.

“You’ll never understand how happy I am to live in this house,” she said, her expression softened and merry. “I feel so free here, away from the control of your father and your grandma.”

It was freedom for her, perhaps, but not freedom for me. I will always be under her reins. Still, she is the only person who is always there for me and puts me on a pedestal.

“You will come home next weekend, right?” she asks me whenever I go home for the weekend. “We can go to Chung-Yo Department Store. I see a nice dress on their catalogue. Oh,” she points to a picture, “and the skirt should fit you.”

“Sure,” I answer, “I always go home. You needn’t to ask.”

Despite all the barricades and misfortunes Mother and I have gone through, we never fail to stay strong. We both belong to the unbeatable species in the world, yet Mother will always surpass me in her allure, charisma, dominance, and persistence. She is my compass star, my inescapable fate.