My Grandma died when I was 17 years old.
I remember that my grandma always wore the color white –her clothes were always ironed and always clean – with her hair pulled tightly back, wound tightly, and fixed with pins tightly. She was small, slim, standoffish, rigid, and quiet. She had small eyes widened with determination and stubbornness, putting a distance to others always. To me, she was unlike her hardhearted expression, she was my warm and loving grandma who shared her indigenous wisdoms with me. My grandmother’s name is HongChun Yi, meaning ‘Spreading springtime all over’.
A quiet story teller, who lived with “wait and hope” as her philosophy, she was always waiting for her ‘Spring’ to come so that she could spread it all over.
Now, through me, my grandma intended to record onto my body, my mind, & my heart, her story of pain and resentment at losing everything to multiple wars.
The exercise of retelling her brutal experience began when I was 9 years old. She expected me to repeat her life story back to her until I got it right. If I recited differently, she would correct and ask me to begin again and again. I would often fall asleep in the middle of a recitation with words in my mouth. I never complained then, that there were too many repetitions because I loved talking. When I was 12 years old, I was able to tell my grandma’s story without her stopping me.
Through soooooooo many repetition, I learned to convey her alchemy—how she converted her resentment into compassion for perpetrators of wars—those stories were repeated in me and recorded in my heart, my body, and my mind. Her intention was to convey to the world, through me.
I love retelling my grandma’s experience.
I remember that my grandma always wore the color white –her clothes were always ironed and always clean – with her hair pulled tightly back, wound tightly, and fixed with pins tightly. She was small, slim, standoffish, rigid, and quiet. She had small eyes widened with determination and stubbornness, putting a distance to others always. To me, she was unlike her hardhearted expression, she was my warm and loving grandma who shared her indigenous wisdoms with me. My grandmother’s name is HongChun Yi, meaning ‘Spreading springtime all over’.
A quiet story teller, who lived with “wait and hope” as her philosophy, she was always waiting for her ‘Spring’ to come so that she could spread it all over.
Now, through me, my grandma intended to record onto my body, my mind, & my heart, her story of pain and resentment at losing everything to multiple wars.
The exercise of retelling her brutal experience began when I was 9 years old. She expected me to repeat her life story back to her until I got it right. If I recited differently, she would correct and ask me to begin again and again. I would often fall asleep in the middle of a recitation with words in my mouth. I never complained then, that there were too many repetitions because I loved talking. When I was 12 years old, I was able to tell my grandma’s story without her stopping me.
Through soooooooo many repetition, I learned to convey her alchemy—how she converted her resentment into compassion for perpetrators of wars—those stories were repeated in me and recorded in my heart, my body, and my mind. Her intention was to convey to the world, through me.
I love retelling my grandma’s experience.
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