Memories are made of these!

A dash of HOPE
seasoned with something you desperately covet
turns into WISHES!

These silent Wishes
baked with mixture
of prayers and longings
turns into DREAMS!

DREAMS lived in reality
no matter how short-lived
registers as MOMENTS!

Many such moments
entwined in wishes
and fulfilled dreams
lives to become MEMORIES!

Quarrels and Names

I try to think of names that my mom called me as a kid and I think of all kind of weird names. I mean if you take the names literally, one would feel that the moms those days didn’t love their kids. Just come to think of it, who would call one’s own kid ‘yongmin’ or ‘yongba’? There are countless names like tsumpi, pentang, kapchi, kaptong, etc.
I grew up in a household filled with cousins of all ages and both genders. A house full of kids is never free of funny incidents. But back in those days, it would have been serious business of hurting eachother’s sentiments. Kids can never cease to be kids I guess. In my household we had this whole system of name calling things whenever we had quarrels. I remember a particular incident that happened between my cousins, a male and a female.
My male cousin (in foul grunts) to my other cousin(female): Towmo
They were fighting over the Tv remote control and my female cousin retorted: Tow po
Male cousin: Girmo
Female cousin: Girchung
M.C: Tirmo
F.C: Tirpo
(by then both were fuming in anger and were totally into name calling. Can’t list all the names they christened eachother with but the ending had us all rolling on the floor).
M.C: kokti (sorry for using this term….literally translated it doesn’t sound good. But I guess they were too angry to notice that their foul mood was hampering their language too. But just listen to my female cousin’s answer to this. Having been born and raised in the southern part of the country her sharchokp was poor, so I guess she took this heavy bulky word as lightly as any other female names that she was being showered with, so here is her answer:
F.C( in full retaliation mood): Kokta!
I was the mute spectator to their name calling quarrel till this. My ears couldn’t help it, I roared with laughter. Both of them gave me dirty looks for having brought an end to their dirty quarrel but amidst laughter when I explained to my female cousin what set me into that bouts of laughter she also joined and we all had a hearty laugh.
Well, for someone like me, as my friends say, ‘One who is trapped in a particular time zone’, I can’t help but think of incidents such as this from my childhood days and still laugh like it’s a brand new incident.

My Fate was sealed !!!

It was a beautiful day; all the Gods had gathered for a celebration but in a corner there was a small gloomy cloud where sat the young apprentice God. He was not to take part in the celebration for he had unfinished task on his table which he had to complete if he was to enjoy the merry celebration. The flying banners and crazily spread streamers did not subdue the foul mood he sat with.
The apprentice God was left with the task of writing my fate for he was studying to become the God of fate. He looked at the empty desk filled with clean white papers flooding. “I could have been dancing out there with that beautiful Angel instead of writing this dull person’s fate,”he grumbled eyeing the Sun God shaking sideways with the Angel he had his eyes on. His hands went on scribbling with no care whatsoever for the person who was to go to Earth with what he was scribbling.
The early part of my life was written with so much anger and grudges that when I ultimately came on Earth I was also filled with his grudge and anger. Maybe now that I think about it, that young apprentice was also filled with so much love in his heart that he had my fate sealed with ache for the same too,sigh!
And owing to his youthful age, my fate was sealed to have the heart of a young person. No wonder even when I choose to act my age, I land up being childish. I need to remind God, whoever they are, to keep some sensible, aged and ripe with wisdom person for this task. (Tsk!tsk! Can’t even trust Gods to be mindful at times).
Maybe, then that young guy was mesmerized with the dreams rather than the reality that all he gave me was dreams, illusions, hallucinations and delusions.
Sometimes he was so filled with so much of sadness for being left out that he wrote tears but his agile youthful heart overcame the tears in a jiffy and he sat, eyes dreamily eyeing the thing he coveted while sealing it in my fate paper. In some paragraphs he pressed the letters very hard that try as hard as any other God may, they could never lighten those moments in my life.
Sometimes, it was careless scribbling that meant nothing but sheer frustration and nothing else. In some places, he wrote some of his ideal dreams, the kind of life that happens in movies and books only but I was to live those moments too for he was sealing it tightly affirming it with his grip on the quill.
For bad or worse, for good or best, Now that I’ve pondered up on it for sure, the person writing my fate was that young apprentice who had to forego the jubilation of celebration of life while dreaming of the same. Hence, I live with my life with so much of frustration yet I let go of these frustration as a young lad in his frailty would.
(Note: not to demean any GOD, but written in jest for all the crazy things I need to live in this lifetime, unable to explain my crazy life, the best I could do was this, all in good fun!!)

Sheer joy of being home!

daughters are truly remarkable creations of God, I like to believe so. Can't help falling in love with every word that they utter. After uniting with them I have been left with my mouth agape in many instances and I am sure I have gained weight, if not from the diet at home,then from all the laughs I get to laugh.
Two days ago my elder daughter approached me with her book and she was showing off her reading skills. There was an exercise at the end of the story where she had to circle the things that we can purchase from market. She perfectly cicled all except turnip. Awestruck by the flawless reading I stood smiling beside her. She was almost rushing to the next page when I realised that she had left out the turnip. The teacher in me emerged with a sound reasoning in my head,"she doesn't know what a turnip is." So as not to offend her I took my finger towards turnip and said,"baby?"
"No,mama, we don't buy that in market," she spoke in effortlessly flawless sentence in English. I almost went to the extent of explaining with a picture what a turnip is when she added," Silly mama, Bajey doesn't eat turnip so we never buy that!" I was left stumped by that. Just the other day my mother in law had told me that owing to his illness my father in law doesn't eat any of the roots( potato, carrot,raddish or turnips.)
Indeed silly me!!
Then my little one joins us. I don't understand her fascination for the National dress worn with full accessories (pearls and other neck pieces). After fully clad in kira, wonju,tego and matching juru(I like the way her mouth pouts when she says 'juru,mama').She is ready for her role of a MUMMY. "Baby,baby," she calls out to me. I am still admiring her elder sister's skills,unaware of the fact that her little heart with mighty ego is inflated with pure jealousy. "I'm going, won't ever come back," she snaps and is seen leaving the room. I am too engrossed to notice that she hasn't returned. Then my Mother in law tells me with a gesture,"Tatu(the best her infant tongue can pronounce her name "samdrup' is 'tatu',so we all call her that) is upset!" I go to the other room and find her standing all alone in the dark room.
Well!wonders!wonders! A two year old with such pride. "You didn't say sorry," is her first sentence while I lift her in my arms. "I am sorry mummy!" I coo and kiss her winter- sun- kissed rosy cheeks.
She giggles and the role of mummy is resumed. While I have to be baby to my Li'l one, I have to play a student to my elder one. So much of wanting to play the role of a perfect mama after getting back home. Home! Ah! Isn't this a heaven!

I Miss my MOM

Mom! I’ve watched movies on the kids crying for their mom and I’ve equally shed tears with those kids but little do the people around me realize that I am crying for my own mom and not the mom missing in the movie.
I am ten years old this year, officially a ten years old this coming September but I’ve no kisses waiting for me as I enter into the wider world of girlie life. No hands to guide me into my adolescent years. No knowing heart to share my teenage secrets. No soft cuddles to comfort me as I shed my first tears of broken heart. No shield from the coy realities of ‘girlie world’.
Seven years ago, suddenly I found my bed cold. The newly purchased thick tulip comforter didn’t comfort my cold heart. Instead of hearing,”Hush little baby, please go to sleep” during my nightly hours, I had to listen to the silent sobs of my dad, trying his best to stifle his sighs. I remember questioning my dad about the whereabouts of my mom, but all he told me with tears in his eyes was that she is gone for her further studies. I believed him for my best friend’s mom, our next door neighbor had also gone across some big ocean to study. I don’t remember the details but I do remember that when her mom returned, she was filled with goodies that she found a week too short a time to show off.
Unlike my friend’s mom, years gave way to another new year but my mom never graduated from wherever she had gone to study. I waited more for the goodies than my mom (honestly) earlier but as years gave birth to another year I forgot the goodies I could show off and waited eagerly for my mom to return. But she never came.
During the day, I stopped casting sideways glance to the dusty road climbing uphill towards our rented house that my dad and I called our home whenever I heard the roar of a car. For none of these car brought my mom. At night, I closed my ears that wanted to hear the soothing lullabies that my mom sang for me. My father never tried to learn any of the nursery rhymes but I learnt to fall asleep to his rhythmless “resem ferrere,resem ferere…”
A year ago, my deceased mom’s elder brother too decided to join him and it was on that unfortunate moment that I realized I had lost not one but two very important branches from my family tree. My Grandma sobbingly broke my already scarred heart by breaking the news about my mom’s departure to the heavenly abode where she would be joined by her brother.
Time moves with a slow dance mocking my very existence. I laugh watching various characters in the entertainment channels meant for kids of my age but seriously, I don’t follow the clownish character. I rather prefer the serious movies where kids my age cries for their mom, for I can openly shed my tears yet let it remain hidden from my dad that I am actually crying for my mom and not for the kid in the movie.
Mom! I’ve watched movies on the kids crying for their mom and I’ve equally shed tears with those kids but little do the people around me realize that I am crying for my own mom and not the mom missing in the movie.