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At the age of three, I always sat on my grandma's knee, watching her embroiding on a fabric. At that time, I thought my grandma's hands had magic because after a couple of days, the fabric turned out to be my new year's gift - a new stuffed pillow with sophiscated decoration, sometimes a red peony, sometimes a white camellia. .
When I was six, I started my first needlework. I asked my mom to teach me knit. It wasn't easy for me at first. The wool always entangled and it confused me a lot. I knit all day, effortlessly trying to conquer the two scaffling darning needles. After a couple of months, I finished my first masterpiece: a striped scarf which can hardly tied around my neck.
The year I turned nine, I decided to stitch a trinket of a key chain for my mom's birthday. Every evening when the whole family sat around the table, watching the latest television series, I would sit on a corner of the sofa, embroidering the design on the java canvas. Once I proceeded a stitch wrong and it took me more than two hours to do over the stitching. Finally I successfully completed the pendent with a bee patern on it before my mom's birthday. Mom still dangles all her keys on it today.
When I was thirteen, my elder brother had a crash on a beautiful girl. He took physical training, learned to write love letter and went on a date every day regardless that it was a time when China was in threat of an epidemic(Crazy, huh? Guess what? I would have done the same thing if I had been him.) Finally, as a generous younger sister, I spent a week and a half embroidering a scarve with a image of love story. He sent it to her that winter and that girl is now my sister-in-law.
Last summer, as a volunteer of the Chinese Cultural Experence Camp, I spent eleven days with my buddy - a ethnically Chinese girl from Singapore. I intended to bestow her a embroidered purse as a surprise. During the daytime, I took her to travel around Chinese ancient palaces and try Beijing snacks; at night, I locked myself in the bedroom, kniting one, purling one. It was in a evening of homestay that my mission was unfortunately exposed. She was amazed when she saw the half-finished purse with the Chinese traditional blue-flowered ceramic pattern and asked me to teach her to embroider. We joined efforts to finish the purse in the rest days of the camp and she took the purse with her back to Singapore after the camp ended. At that weekend, I was surprised to receive an email from her stating that she had also fallen in love with the art of embroidering.
I finally find the meaning of embroidery. It is not a requirement to label myself as an elegant woman. It is not a dazzling skill to impress others. It is not even a media to express myself. For me, it is something to share. Embroidery came alive because I shared it with people around me - not only share the Chinese traditional technique which has been forgotten by most modern people, but also share my emotions of love and the tranquility of the soul in this much more impaintient world. When I was doing a stitch of work - it felt right.
At the age of three, I always sat on my grandma's knee, watching her embroiding on a fabric. At that time, I thought my grandma's hands had magic because after a couple of days, the fabric turned out to be my new year's gift - a new stuffed pillow with sophiscated decoration, sometimes a red peony, sometimes a white camellia. .
When I was six, I started my first needlework. I asked my mom to teach me knit. It wasn't easy for me at first. The wool always entangled and it confused me a lot. I knit all day, effortlessly trying to conquer the two scaffling darning needles. After a couple of months, I finished my first masterpiece: a striped scarf which can hardly tied around my neck.
The year I turned nine, I decided to stitch a trinket of a key chain for my mom's birthday. Every evening when the whole family sat around the table, watching the latest television series, I would sit on a corner of the sofa, embroidering the design on the java canvas. Once I proceeded a stitch wrong and it took me more than two hours to do over the stitching. Finally I successfully completed the pendent with a bee patern on it before my mom's birthday. Mom still dangles all her keys on it today.
When I was thirteen, my elder brother had a crash on a beautiful girl. He took physical training, learned to write love letter and went on a date every day regardless that it was a time when China was in threat of an epidemic(Crazy, huh? Guess what? I would have done the same thing if I had been him.) Finally, as a generous younger sister, I spent a week and a half embroidering a scarve with a image of love story. He sent it to her that winter and that girl is now my sister-in-law.
Last summer, as a volunteer of the Chinese Cultural Experence Camp, I spent eleven days with my buddy - a ethnically Chinese girl from Singapore. I intended to bestow her a embroidered purse as a surprise. During the daytime, I took her to travel around Chinese ancient palaces and try Beijing snacks; at night, I locked myself in the bedroom, kniting one, purling one. It was in a evening of homestay that my mission was unfortunately exposed. She was amazed when she saw the half-finished purse with the Chinese traditional blue-flowered ceramic pattern and asked me to teach her to embroider. We joined efforts to finish the purse in the rest days of the camp and she took the purse with her back to Singapore after the camp ended. At that weekend, I was surprised to receive an email from her stating that she had also fallen in love with the art of embroidering.
I finally find the meaning of embroidery. It is not a requirement to label myself as an elegant woman. It is not a dazzling skill to impress others. It is not even a media to express myself. For me, it is something to share. Embroidery came alive because I shared it with people around me - not only share the Chinese traditional technique which has been forgotten by most modern people, but also share my emotions of love and the tranquility of the soul in this much more impaintient world. When I was doing a stitch of work - it felt right.
