DinoRules
Dec 31, 2014
Undergraduate / Jade Bracelet - "It's not even modern! Why should I ever wear that!" [7]
EDITED:
I turned on the TV to stream Pretty Little Liars. In a prom, Emily laid down on her mother's shoulder as her mother caressed Emily's forehead, whispering: "I love you Em. And I hope we could always be together." Phew, that was cheesy.
But I longed for it, for my mom hardly said, "love" to me.
Two years ago, my mom gave me a bracelet with three lethargic molted jade beads connected by a clumpy red string. "It's not even modern! Why should I ever wear that!" I contended, yet knowing that she wouldn't yield. "It's good for you." She simply left it there, highlighting factually that it was an order, not a proposal. This was my mother, a "bull" born in 1972, always intransigent and old-fashioned. I sighed as I reluctantly put it on, picturing in mind the bleak future of not being cool anymore.
One night last summer, I took off the bracelet before a shower. Just then, my friend Michelle called. As we were doing little chitchat, I wandered around like a flappy warbler. Suddenly, my elbow knocked down the bracelet. Bang! It directly plunged onto the floor. One of the beads had irrecoverably broken apart.
On hearing the sound, My mom rushed to my room, and I knew I was to be lambasted. But instead, her countenance suddenly turned to vacantly wan, as if she were caught by the spirit and fell, losing her soul. As she collected the scattered fragments, there were no tears in her eyes, but loss and sorrow that tears could not adequately express. She was not the mom I thought I knew closely. She looked twenty years older.
"I'm sorry. I wish I hadn't been so reckless." I apologized to my mom with my downcast eyes fixed on the floor. She said nothing, and we just stood there silently for roughly five minutes. Suddenly, she turned to me and gave me the tightest hug I'd ever had. I was utterly dumbfounded, and a sense that I hadn't experienced before was rolling in my body. I felt the warmth of love, not in words, but in the language of the heart. Somehow, we both burst into tears, with a mixture of tenderness and sentiments.
That night, we talked a lot about the bracelet. My mom told me she picked it for me for the same reason my grandma picked one for her: to remind us of our family. The three beads represent the father, mother, and son. As long as the beads stick together, no matter how far away we are from one another, our souls are always linked.
Before that night, my interpretation of the bracelet was entirely different: superstition and superstition. I could hardly understand the environment in which she was brought up. Without smart phones, computers, and such modern world gadgets, she saw the world in a different dimension. We, therefore, represent two different generations, each having its distinctive culture on the same land. We speak the same language, still lost in translation.
But after that night I understand that the spiritual heritage is way more than superstition. Beneath its seemingly unfathomable facade are universal values such as love and kindness, but rendered in a different way. These values are materialized in real objects, because words are fleeting, while tangible things last longer and remind better.
Perhaps never the twain shall meet, but the overlap has the power to connect us, transcending time and space. And this universality also intrigues one to seek understanding in dissimilarities, and to approach another culture without condescendence or despise. So although sometimes I'm still confused certain points about my mother's culture, instead of resisting, I try to understand and embrace it.
Once in a dream, I saw the bead fragments came back together as one. In the moonlight, it shone so vibrantly, emitting its splendor to the goodwill embodied in my jade bracelet.
EDITED:
I turned on the TV to stream Pretty Little Liars. In a prom, Emily laid down on her mother's shoulder as her mother caressed Emily's forehead, whispering: "I love you Em. And I hope we could always be together." Phew, that was cheesy.
But I longed for it, for my mom hardly said, "love" to me.
Two years ago, my mom gave me a bracelet with three lethargic molted jade beads connected by a clumpy red string. "It's not even modern! Why should I ever wear that!" I contended, yet knowing that she wouldn't yield. "It's good for you." She simply left it there, highlighting factually that it was an order, not a proposal. This was my mother, a "bull" born in 1972, always intransigent and old-fashioned. I sighed as I reluctantly put it on, picturing in mind the bleak future of not being cool anymore.
One night last summer, I took off the bracelet before a shower. Just then, my friend Michelle called. As we were doing little chitchat, I wandered around like a flappy warbler. Suddenly, my elbow knocked down the bracelet. Bang! It directly plunged onto the floor. One of the beads had irrecoverably broken apart.
On hearing the sound, My mom rushed to my room, and I knew I was to be lambasted. But instead, her countenance suddenly turned to vacantly wan, as if she were caught by the spirit and fell, losing her soul. As she collected the scattered fragments, there were no tears in her eyes, but loss and sorrow that tears could not adequately express. She was not the mom I thought I knew closely. She looked twenty years older.
"I'm sorry. I wish I hadn't been so reckless." I apologized to my mom with my downcast eyes fixed on the floor. She said nothing, and we just stood there silently for roughly five minutes. Suddenly, she turned to me and gave me the tightest hug I'd ever had. I was utterly dumbfounded, and a sense that I hadn't experienced before was rolling in my body. I felt the warmth of love, not in words, but in the language of the heart. Somehow, we both burst into tears, with a mixture of tenderness and sentiments.
That night, we talked a lot about the bracelet. My mom told me she picked it for me for the same reason my grandma picked one for her: to remind us of our family. The three beads represent the father, mother, and son. As long as the beads stick together, no matter how far away we are from one another, our souls are always linked.
Before that night, my interpretation of the bracelet was entirely different: superstition and superstition. I could hardly understand the environment in which she was brought up. Without smart phones, computers, and such modern world gadgets, she saw the world in a different dimension. We, therefore, represent two different generations, each having its distinctive culture on the same land. We speak the same language, still lost in translation.
But after that night I understand that the spiritual heritage is way more than superstition. Beneath its seemingly unfathomable facade are universal values such as love and kindness, but rendered in a different way. These values are materialized in real objects, because words are fleeting, while tangible things last longer and remind better.
Perhaps never the twain shall meet, but the overlap has the power to connect us, transcending time and space. And this universality also intrigues one to seek understanding in dissimilarities, and to approach another culture without condescendence or despise. So although sometimes I'm still confused certain points about my mother's culture, instead of resisting, I try to understand and embrace it.
Once in a dream, I saw the bead fragments came back together as one. In the moonlight, it shone so vibrantly, emitting its splendor to the goodwill embodied in my jade bracelet.
