Journals (2015)

“As we let our light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence actually liberates others.” — Marianne Williamson

March 30, 2015

Today is another day, as the morning sunlight slants through the blinds. But immediately, thoughts enter, yearning to feel worthy and to be seen. Heart is heavy again with that obsessive need for external validation. I breathe, hoping heaviness around my heart can be like smoke; puff, it’s gone. 

The church bell is striking 9. 

March 31, 2015

I hope I’ll fall in love and truly experience love, no matter what obstacles lie between love and me. Love unconditionally and let go of the attachment. Be free from the pressing of time, if there is love. Wouldn't it be amazing that I fall for someone? Is there one person who sees me in entirety? I am no longer dying to find that one person, but that longing still lingers. 

Fear of not having my own child and fear of having one. But please, no more fear about experiencing life as it is. Let the unknown be unearthed. 

This time I’ll fall 

for the sake of falling. 

On my way down, the invisible thick wall that’s been 

safeguarding my heart for so long is melted into tears.

The ungovernable heart, longing to dance

out of her ribcage,

to meet another ungovernable heart.

This time, I’ll fall

for the sake of falling…

April 1, 2015

 Isn’t it wonderful to feel free, to feel beyond, and to see the magic in all beings, including myself? Please, no more shame. Today I have the entire house to myself! I might just get lost in my own space and forget time. Insecurity. Why do I often feel insecure? Erase what's been imposed on me long ago—the societal standards of evaluating intelligence, worthiness, and even kindness. I want to just enjoy the wonder of life itself, breathing in, breathing out. 

My voice, my thinking, my trying, and all, one day, will be well revealed, unique in a universal way. Trust and accept. Now enjoy the wonder itself, no more comparison, only compassion and appreciation. 

April 2, 2015

While having breakfast, I again think of how I am living in a cocoon, yet desiring to come out, and yet am afraid to risk myself. Didn’t I weave one cocoon after another, chasing one goal after another during different phases of my life? But at the end, they are all the same, empty. And yet, without a cocoon, what would be my identity then? Will I be susceptible to anything, if I don’t hold on to something? As I float out of my cocoon and join the constant flow of life, how will I relate to my old cocoon? While persistently walking towards the unknown, I am caged by two almost contradicting longings, longing to feel valued and longing to feel peace. Meanwhile, I am afraid to take larger responsibilities by telling myself that I am unworthy. These are some of the things that unsettle me at night and during the day.

Sometimes I get tired of messages such as Be kind. Love is the answer. Selfless service. No matter how true these messages may be, I still need to deal with my own little voices: I am scared. I am not sure. I don’t feel loving now. Why am I so focused on myself? Shame on me. I am so pathetic! Can I just be bigger? Why am I such a slow learner of life? But deep down, I am sure of one thing that I want to continue to walk toward light.  

Have I ever truly believed in myself? Sometimes, those whose ideas or what they did or do impress me so much that I want to be like them. As I compare myself to them, I fall into the abyss where I feel lost and unworthy. I feel ashamed to face my envy of them and depression about my insignificance. I ask myself, “How can I be self-contained and be open at the same time? How can I gain and regain the power of thinking on my own, see things as they are, and take loving and fearless actions?” Though being loud and big is not the goal, when the time comes for me to be loud and big, I need to be willing to step up and put myself out there. 

The only way to live fully is to first listen to my own timid voice, to think on my own, and to be free…

April 3, 2015

 Fear and doubt fill every pore in the body of the cocooned lady. The cocoon is invisible to the flesh eyes. But in order to jump into that river of life, which is constantly changing, she needs to burst out of her cozy cocoon, which might lead to a dignified cocooned life in a separate pool on the riverbank. If she chooses to dive into the river of life, nothing is guaranteed, and yet it’s the only way to reach the Great. There is the risk of disappearing into the unknown, and yet who knows what magic might happen. Once in a while, the cocooned lady pokes a hole in her cocoon to grasp for fresh air that drifts from the river of life. Breathes in; breathes out. 

April 4, 2015

In my dream last night, I was in a workshop for unleashing full potential. When the workshop was over, I still felt blocked inside. I wanted to continue with the workshop, but my time was up, and the next workshop was about to start as a group of younger males entered…  

Lately, I’ve been experiencing great disgust about what we humans have done to each other and to the Mother Earth. Anything could trigger my anger, such as seeing people carelessly throwing away the disposable coffee cups after their enjoyable conversation with friends at a coffee shop, or going shopping to buy their tenth favorite shirts. As the pain became more and more unbearable, I began to feel a growing bitterness in my heart that I wanted human species gone. But the other night, after hearing my rant about my unbearable pain and my wish of wiping out humans because we deserved it, a gentle-mannered man listened quietly and said, “I think this human life is beautiful and I hope to see it continue." He is a gardener and a poet and his words were non-assuming and soft, and I felt each word hit the core of my being and I was speechless for a while. Then another person in the gathering said, we are not carrying the planet on our shoulders; we are small beings living on the Earth.

Now I feel more peace as I see more clearly how we have been living with such a transactional mindset in this human culture of convenience. I can choose from moment to moment how I want to live. “The beginning of the journey is glorious; the middle of the journey is glorious; the end of the journey is glorious.” I devote to my own ever-changing and expanding truth.

April 5, 2015

I am still trapped by the measurement of worthiness based on intelligence and capability, as I consider myself, sometimes, not smart enough. In front of people who are able and smart, I feel small and envious. In my heart, I know deeply what I long for—the peace that keeps my heart rate steady as I interact with either the President of the United States or a high school janitor. 

May I be free. 

April 6, 2015

I am staring at the blank screen and struggling for words, feeling a little sorry for myself, my barren love landscape, a once young woman getting old, alone. 

I am tired. 

April 7, 2015

I am looking at the photo of the six-year-old me, wishing I loved myself more fully back then.

Met Diego Deleo at the reading event, Quiet Lightening, in the city. He sat next to me and shared with me one of his poems:

“When the earth

Rearranges its ornaments

Causing doubt and fear

The human spirit

Comes to the rescue

Restoring peace and faith”

He began to write poems when he was 76, shortly after his wife passed away. He often sits in Washington Square in San Francisco to share his poems with strangers. 

Rising up from within is important. Bring out the basic goodness in all. Music, stories, and poetry can penetrate human hearts more easily than protests and debates. How can I overcome my fear towards the homeless in the streets?

April 9, 2015
    推倒那堵看不见的心墙，让心自由出行 (Push down the invisible wall surrounding my heart; let the heart be free). Noticing myself unfolding from moment to moment is amazing. I no longer expect to know what will happen in the next moment. We never know what opportunity cost would occur when we plan. 

April 10, 2015

To taste the organic flow of life, let the mind be quiet.  

Sometimes I could be an overbearing person too. I might think that my opinion is brilliant, but why don't others get it. I feel hurt when they withdraw and ignore my brilliance. It’s a long journey before I really understand and respect others’ truth. I need to listen more, to see what I didn't see before. Try to understand others first before expecting them to understand me. Listen deeply and do not argue even within myself. :)

April 12, 2015

Last night at The Pollination Project salon, after hearing my thoughts on creating a co-storying community online, Sam from Casa de Paz said, if someone creates a beginning of a story, then sends it to multiple people, and then those people continue with the story and send to other people, and keep it going. At the end, the story with the same beginning would be completely different animals!

I am still sad and frustrated about my family in China. Why can’t they be gentle and real with each other? Meanwhile, I know how much I love Mother, and how much I need to separate from her thoughts too. If I could help empower Mother to stand up for her own life!

“Between stimulus and response there is a space. In that space is our power to choose our response. In our response lies our growth and our freedom.”   -- Victor Frankl 

April 13, 2015

Taking an inner journey by examining my own thoughts could be a drag. It’s like deep cleaning of my room. First it gets even messier after opening the hidden drawers and boxes before it's clean and fresh.

We are starting a revolution from within, that’s the way out, instead of being dragged by one problem after another which share the same root causes. The inner revolution and the outer revolution in the culture of convenience are one. 

Wisdom from the Poetic Pilgrimage Class, taught by Pratho Sereno:

“Singing off key shamelessly to let music out.”

“Music starts without sound, poem without words. Transition starts before music starts…”

August 4, 2015

I am Pisces, but still can’t swim. How can fish live without water? No, she can’t. Every summer in the past 10 years I said to myself, “This summer I will learn to swim.” But not a single summer I stepped into water. 

Have a firm handshake with my fear of water.

This summer,

I mean this very summer,

 I will learn to swim.

In memory of a poet, Patrick Hock, from the Poetic Pilgrimage Class, I share below his own words:

“Free of all that upward thrust and spiraling downward

I descend into a kinder world

Where my opinions matters a little

And my fears were given a bed to lay upon”

October 5, 2015

My love letter to you, yes, you!

Why are there so many layers that prevent me from connecting to you, from feeling your heartbeats, your pain, and your deepest longing? How can I lift that mystical veil off me with a fresh air of chutzpah? Could I let go all the layers that have enveloped me in false security for so long?

Every day, I am different, different from last year, last month, yesterday, even as I am writing this sentence, I am different from that "person" who wrote the last sentence. I so so so want to set out on my pilgrimage to unclutter my mind, purify my heart, and cleanse my soul, so that I can connect to myself, to you, and to this thing called life on Earth.

I am still in search of the right questions to live by. Meanwhile, the pain becomes unbearable of the separation I feel from you! Shall we take that quantum leap together?

Love,

Xiaojuan

October 28, 2015
I was walking to a literary event in a cool autumn night in San Francisco. Ahead of me, a homeless-looking man, maybe in his 60s, was pushing an empty shopping cart on the sidewalk in my direction. He pushed the cart left and right, seeming to intentionally block the pedestrians. The pedestrian walking ahead of me avoided him. My heart raced. As I was about to walk to the side too, the cart-pushing man stopped and spoke loudly, "You can't pass by me without a smile!" I happened to be standing right there, surprised. I smiled. He gave me a big child-like smile! Or maybe it was he who smiled first. We looked at each other, eyes to eyes, as we passed by, smiling. We were both innocent kids again. Before he walked across the street, he turned and said, 
"Have a great night!" 
"You too!" I said. 
A large dose of happy juice was shot into the chambers of my heart and then pumped out traveling all the way to my toes. Magic is everywhere if we allow it to happen. 

November 1, 2015

The Work (by Byron Katie): One-belief-at-a-time worksheet with A.T. Lynne

My Belief: I feel powerless to change the condition of the old world.

Rewire my old belief:
I am empowered to change the conditions of the old world with a deep sense of content and gratitude. The chair which holds me is held by the floor, the floor by the building, the building by the earth, and the earth by the universe, and the universe by...
The old world is powerless to conform me. I am free to think, to speak, and to act. I am light. The only thing I can really give to this world is the light that’s within me. Let it shine through all the dark corners of shame, fear, and guilt. The light connects with light. The light lights up all light. I travel to light up the world. 

I am light. 

November 21, 2015

You may grow leaves on your limbs; you may be coated with lichens; you may grow pedals; you may have four feet; you may think like me, or you may not. Let me meet you. 

Hiked with Mark Dubois in the Marin Headlands. He mentioned a quote from Marianne Williamson:

“As we let our light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence actually liberates others.”

Reflections After the 2016 January Earth Activist Training

It’s been two weeks since I returned home from the 2016 Earth Activist Training (E.A.T.) in Black Mountain Preserve in Cazadero, CA, but some part of me still lingers there… It feels like a “hangover” from taking in too much the goodness from an overwhelmingly enriched collective experience and I found it hard to put down in words. What really happened there? Where should I start if I am to recount that experience? How can I piece together such a rich experience that’s impacted me on so many levels, known and unknown? Then everything began to boil down to one word--connection. 

Connection to Self

“Xiaojuan, the only thing you need to worry about is studying. I would do anything to support you going to school, even if I had to climb the mountain that’s sharp as a knife or jump into the sea that’s full of fire. So when you grow up, you will not be like me, a peasant.” Mother’s words accompanied my growing up in China. In the '80s and '90s, peasants in China were not only excluded from enjoying the social benefits that the city or town residents enjoyed, but also had to pay heavy agricultural taxes. Being a peasant’s daughter was my biggest shame in my early years. 

My parents valued education and sent me to the best school in town to study. From the 1st to the 9th grade, I was the only country bumpkin in my class. I never invited any friends home or let Mother visit my school. Getting away from the dirty soil was the only way to leave shame behind. 

During the Earth Activist Training course, getting my hands dirty in soil and compost was homecoming to me. What an honor to be the daughter of a peasant Mother who knows how to grow food out of the soil! Though she didn’t want me to be a peasant, she has never stopped planting seeds, growing vegetables and flowers in her life. During the course, I finally knew the name of the small orange flowery plant that she used to grow all around my childhood home. It was Calendula! 

One rainy afternoon, we layered a composting pile by alternating between one layer of wood chips and one layer of food scraps and yard waste. Then we began sheet mulching over the soil near the entrance of the retreat center. We laid down the cardboard and then covered them with wood chips and bio-brew. While wheelbarrowing the wood chips to the sheet mulching spot, I could barely open my eyes as rain water splashed off my face. But working in a collectively high spirit in the rain injected so much buoyancy in my gaits, despite that my feet were soaked in my shoes. The day before, when we were making bio-brew during our morning circle outdoor, the rain started pouring, but we continued to sing and dance... 

I am a little proud to list here what I took part in during the E.A.T. course: composting and sheet-mulching, building graywater system, making A-frames and digging swales, seeding and propagating, pruning and grafting, making biochar and biobrew, inoculating mushrooms, making cob and refurbishing a cob oven, making hydrosol, and more. The nature view from the outdoor toilet at Golden Rabbit Ranch was breathtaking. Plus, the human manure would be put into good use. What could be more empowering than living off the land using wisely the harvested "free" energy sources? 

The most common interaction between the students and the teachers sounded like this:
"Is it the best way to..."
"It depends."

Making cob (Golden Rabbit Ranch). Photo Credit: Brooke Porter

Returning to the land is reclaiming my roots, returning “home,” my eternal sanctuary, where there is no shame, only dignity and freedom. 

Connection to Others

We were a diverse group, consisting of different ethnicities, ages, genders, orientations, backgrounds, hearing and non-hearing, and beyond. As in plant guilds, diversity creates resilience, which was proven true as we powered through difficult discussions in our circle. At the end of the training, we felt so close to one another and knew that we would forever remember those 14 days of learning and unlearning, staying open and growing close in 50 circles of sharing, and culminating with team project presentations and our very own talent show.

Before every meal, we joined hands and gave blessings to the food and thanks to those who contributed their labor of love. Every morning, we held an opening circle; every night, we held a closing circle. We circled to welcome the four elements from four directions, the air, the fire, the water, and the earth, and the spirit from the center, and we sang and danced. We spiraled in and out, looking into each other's eyes while passing... 

I learned a few signs from our interpreters who signed for the deaf students. I was amazed by the way the words being translated into such animated signs. How could I ever forget what the deaf students shared with us the noble deaf culture and their bumpy yet rich journeys of arriving where they were in life at that moment. “If there were a hearing pill available to me, I would not take it,” they said. It has remained as one of the top highlights of the E.A.T. course for me, and it continues to inspire me to claim my own noble nature. 

Pomo and Miwok friends, whose ancestors settled on this land way before anyone else, shared their profound inner world and outer conditions, from the past to today, from traditions to current food sources, from dance to music… and how they transformed anger into love and generosity. As I breathed in the wisdom words, my heart opened more.

As we journeyed further, besides discussing organisms, we included other “isms,” such as audism (discrimination based on one's ability to hear) and racism. We spoke our truth in big and small circles, together and separately. We rode on the roller coaster of our raw and true emotions, up and down, holding tightly as an elastic circle. Our circle did not break; instead, it was strengthened and cleansed by our tears and laughter. Our facilitators Starhawk, Pandora, and Charles held that sacred space and time for us to dive into the discomfort zone of anger and hurt, and then return with an expanded heart and mind that would carry us on in our shared meaningful future. 

Thich Nhat Hanh’s poem Please Call Me by My True Names offers a great reminder for us to see our human potential in forgiving and loving, and recognizing the basic goodness in all. 

Time warped during our E.A.T. course because our experiences were so intense that our awareness amplified more memories than usual into a short time interval. My brain was tricked into thinking more time had passed, especially during the first half of the training, three days felt like three years and we had known each other for a long time in an intimate community.

Together we planted on the hugel kultur bed we made (Golden Rabbit Ranch). Photo Credit: Brooke Porter Photography 

"Merry meet, merry part, merry meet again."

Connection to Nature

As a Chinese proverb goes, “Fallen leaves always return to the roots.” When one gets old, he goes back to where he was born. Now this ancient proverb is ever more visceral to me, as described in the book, The Earth Path, by Starhawk. 

“Imagine that you are a leaf, hanging tight to a twig on a high branch, waving in the wind… feeling what it’s like to feed from light, effortlessly… And now time passes. Imagine the first cold winds of winter beginning to blow... a freeze comes into your veins… And you take a deep breath... you let go and fall, letting the wind take you, and you swirl and dance and spiral... falling down and down and down… Until at last you come to rest on the earth… but the earth…is porous… alive with a billion hungry beings. And you take a deep breath and give yourself back to the earth, and she reaches up to embrace you, and a billion hungry months open wide to take you in… You descend, through great caverns and chasms… [passing through aunts, beetles, worms, soil bacteria, fungi…] long arms of the mycorrhizal fungi that stretch between the root hairs of the great trees… pass you from one tree to another… [Take] a deep breath, feel yourself sucked into the root hair, and up into the root, rising and rising on a current of sweet sap… higher and higher… you become part of a green bud that opens with the warmth of the spring sun…”  

Walking on a tree-shaded trail covered with soft brown leaves, I imagine being a walking tree, lifting my feet but staying connected to the ground. Through the tree branches, the gentle breeze brushes my moving body, lifting me upward until I feel like flying away, through light and shadow, like a bird. Above, a flock of small black birds are holding a community meeting on the fly, this way, then that way. When one topic is raised, the group echoes in chorus, “Agreed!” “Not agreed!” Or maybe they are just laughing at us, ignorant four-limbed erect creatures. 

Standing on a wooden bridge over a creek, I watch the water moving towards me from one side, then under me, then away from me. It is constantly flowing… 

When I see a garden, I am in awe, feeling the life force calling to me from way below the dark soil. I walk closer to a fruit tree, a flower, or a vegetable, I touch them gently to feel their vibration that resonates with mine. One day when my time comes, I desire to journey down and be part of that magical life cycle.

Every morning when I open my eyes, the birds fly by my window, calling me, “Outside! Outside! Outside!” 

Going Forward

I stayed at the Golden Rabbit Ranch for 3 more nights after the course. On the last day, as we raked, wheelbarrowed, dug and picked to flatten the parcel where Starhawk visioned to hold circles next to where a Chinese medicinal garden would be, I asked if she knew anyone who does related work in China. “John Liu, a filmmaker, documented land restoration projects around the world,” she said.

I looked him up upon my return. In his film Hope in a Changing Climate, John D. Liu captured the transformation of the severely degraded land in Northern China after the Loess Plateau Watershed Rehabilitation Project.

Loess Plateau (黃土高原) covers a vast area in the upper and middle reaches of the Yellow River. In ancient times, it was fertile and easy to farm, which contributed to the development of early Chinese civilization around the region. But Centuries of deforestation and over-grazing, exacerbated by China's ever-growing population, have resulted in degenerated ecosystems. Its silty soil, the “most erodible soil on the earth,” is deposited into the Yellow River by wind and water, which causes frequent floods along the Yellow River, also known as “China’s Sorrow.” The success of the restoration project proved that the ecological balance can be restored. 

Loess Plateau, early September 1995. Photo Credit: Kosima Weber liu, EEMP

Loess Plateau, early September 2009. Photo Credit: Kosima Weber Liu, EEMP      

                                          

As John D. Liu said, “The entire planet is functional. If we understand how the natural evolutionary process worked... we emulate those and don’t disturb... we can live in the garden of eden.” He has come to see Ecological Restoration as the “GREAT WORK” of our time. 

As Masanobu Fukuoka wrote in The One-Straw Revolution, "The ultimate goal of farming is not the growing of crops, but the cultivation and perfection of human beings."

As Lao Tzu, the Taoist sage, says, "There was something formless and perfect, before the universe was born... It flows through all things, inside and outside, and returns to the origin of all things... Man follows the earth. Earth follows the universe. The universe follows the Dao." (Dao De Jing, chapter 25)

As I continue to ponder the balance in the universe that's yet to be restored, I think about joining my mother to plant together next time when I visit China. Maybe I'll plant that scarlet runner bean that was shared in our circle at E.A.T. 

To connect is the first step to heal. We are part of the earth; healing ourselves and our communities is part of healing the earth too. Knowing that the relationship between nature and humankind is a delicate and eternal dance, I'll learn to continue to spiral, "with no beginning, and never ending."

The garden my mother grows (Jiangsu, China)

2016 January E.A.T. Class. Photo Credit: Brooke Porter Photography

Thanks to:

Our amazing facilitators: Starhawk and Charles Williams  with Pandora Thomas 

Earth Activist Training (E.A.T.)

The Earth Path by Starhawk

Starhawk’s blog about the 2016 Earth Activist Training
Permaculture Skills Center
Black Mountain Retreat Center

E.A.T. course photo credits: Brooke Porter Photography
Mother(s)

All Participants of the 2016 E.A.T. 
YOU ROCK!

River Crossing (Memoir)

“River crossing!”

“River crossing!”

I was six. Mama and I were doing a duet, calling for the boatman. He lived in the small mud hut on the other side of the Dragon-fighting River. We were on our way to see Grandpa and Grandma. The wide river shimmered in the morning sun. I shook my head to feel my two pigtails dangling from the top of my head. I looked up to see Mama. She looked straight ahead, holding her big black bicycle with both hands. I was happy to visit Grandpa and Grandma, but I was more excited to see Auntie Two.

Auntie Two was Mama’s younger sister. When my parents were both busy working in separate factories and rarely home, Baba took my older brother and Mama left me with my grandparents when I was one. Auntie Two was still living at home then, so she babysat me. Every time during meals, I ran around the table, not wanting to eat. Auntie Two squatted down with a bowl in one hand and a spoon in the other. Sometimes she would say, “If you don’t eat it, toads will come to eat it.” When I finally opened my mouth, she put a spoonful of short noodles or rice into my mouth, smiling with her big yellow teeth.

I had been Auntie Two’s confidante since I was four, or maybe even before I could remember. One time she showed me the bruise on her forearm and said, “Your Uncle pushed me to the corner behind the stove and hit me with the cooking spade.” That uncle was her stuttered brother.

When I turned six, Mama took me home across the Dragon-fighting River and sent my brother and me to the best elementary schools in town. In the same year, Auntie Two married a hunchbacked waste picker, who was fifteen years older than her and made a living by scavenging through waste piles in villages to find things to sell. The married couple lived in my grandparents’ old house, a single mud house on high ground half a mile away from the rest of the village. Mama said it was good that Auntie Two found a husband because Auntie Two was a little different. She couldn’t walk until she was twelve. I thought it was good that Auntie Two married too because my stuttered uncle could not hit her any more.

“River crossing!”

“River crossing!”

Mama and I became a little impatient. More people were waiting for the boat now. Finally, the boatman walked out of his hut, unhooked the anchoring rope, and strode onto the boat. He picked up a long bamboo pole, and pushed against the riverbank, then the river bottom, with both hands holding the pole. One push at a time, the boat came closer and closer. Everyone waiting for the boat stopped talking.

When the concrete boat reached our side, I jumped on and called to the boatman, “Grandpa!” He had the same family name Wang as my grandpa. Mama told me if I called him Grandpa, it would make him happy. Next time he might not have us wait so long. It was not very crowded on the boat. I walked back and forth near the edge of the boat and dodged the boatman’s bamboo pole when he switched sides. I was fascinated by the fast moving water underneath the boat. I felt dizzy after looking at the water too long. Two black cormorants--birds that catch fish--squatted on the bamboo stick on one side of the boat. I didn’t remember seeing them before. They were free except for a string tying to their throats. The boat slowed down. One cormorant suddenly dived into the river. It propelled in the water, dived further down, and then came back to the bamboo stick with a fish in its mouth. The boatman laid down the bamboo pole, took out the fish from the cormorant’s long beak, and dropped it into a small-mouthed basket. The cormorant spread out its wings in the sun, when the other cormorant dived into the river. I wondered why the cormorants did not run away.

One push at a time, the boatman transported us to the other side of the Dragon-fighting River. “Bye, Grandpa!” I waved to the boatman when we were getting off and saw him reward the cormorants with tiny fish. I climbed onto the crossbar of Mama’s bicycle. She began to pedal on the dirt road, winding and bumpy. The top of my head felt warm when Mama breathed out and cool when she breathed in. Soon my legs fell asleep.

It was a long bicycle ride. When I saw the narrow cement bridge, my heart raced. I could see smoke coming out of my grandparents’ kitchen chimney. Mama and I walked across the bridge before we got back on the bicycle. On the right side of the dirt road was a massive green ocean of rice fields. On the left were similar one-story houses lining a small river. In front of grandparents’ grey brick house, I got off the crossbar and ran into the kitchen.

“Grandpa! Grandma!” I called.

The smell of cooked rice filled the kitchen. Grandpa was cutting vegetables on the table in front of the tall white stove made of quicklime, which had two big woks fixed on its top and a chimney connecting to the outside. Grandma was adding straws and twigs behind the stove.

“You are here! Lunch will be ready soon,” Grandpa said.

Grandma smiled.

“I am going to see Auntie Two,” I said. “I’ll be back soon.”

I dashed out of the door. Big Yellow, the neighbor’s big yellow dog, galloped towards me. He jumped up and down along my side. Before I moved away, every day when I walked home from the one-classroom school in the village, Big Yellow waited for me near the narrow cement bridge. When he saw me, he ran to me and walked me home.

Auntie Two’s single thatched mud house stood on high ground at the far eastern end of the rice fields. I walked on the narrow footpaths between green paddy fields. Spring breeze brushing over my face and sunlight warming my right side, I smelled the wet mud of the field beds in the sun-permeated air. My body felt so light that I opened my arms to run like an airplane.

“Cuckoo!” A cuckoo flew over in the sky.  

“Cuckoo!” I echoed.

I ran all the way to high ground.

“Auntie Two! Auntie Two!” I called before I reached the door.

Auntie Two’s door was open, but she was not home. Her home was small. The darkened lime stove stood on the right near the door, with straws and twigs stacked behind. In front of the stove stood a clay water tank, a small wooden table and two tiny benches. Several pieces of clothing lay on the dirt floor. A twin-sized wooden bed occupied the left corner near the door. A blackened quilt and two pillows rested atop. I knew that in the belly of the bed was stored unhulled rice.

“Auntie Two!” I called out to the green ocean.

Auntie Two emerged, carrying a bamboo basket and walking up with a small digging spade in her right hand. She wore the peach-colored shirt Mama used to wear. She looked thinner. Her short hair covered her forehead. She smiled with her big yellow teeth.

At her home, Auntie Two scooped water from the tank with a bottle gourd and drank. Her little finger was bent. She was born with two bent little fingers and I had tried to unbend them before. Auntie Two put down the bottle gourd and picked up a small basket. We walked to the back of the house where the big apricot tree was. Orange apricots cuddled under the leaves all over the tree and many had fallen on the ground. We collected the good ones from the ground.

With a tree branch, Auntie Two knocked more apricots off the tree. The moment they hit the ground, I chased them and put them in the basket.

Back in the house, Auntie Two picked the best apricots and wrapped them in a cloth.

“He beats me every day. It hurts here,” she said. Her left hand pressed her lower left belly. For a moment, my mind froze. I saw her hunchbacked husband only once. He had big wrinkles on his forehead. He seemed to have lived a hard life. I even felt sorry for him. He beat Auntie Two? Why?

Before I walked out of the door, Auntie Two put the cloth wrapped apricots in my arms. She stood in front of her thatched home, watching me walking back to my grandparents’.

I walked between the rice fields again. While walking, I wondered if Auntie Two was still there watching me. I looked back. There she was! I walked again and then turned again. She was still there, but looked smaller. I kept on walking and turning until she looked so tiny. I must look tiny to her too. I stopped. Auntie Two and I were standing there, tiny face to tiny face, as if we were the only two people living in that land, bathed in soft spring breeze and warm sunlight. I thought that when I grew up, I would be Auntie Two’s protector. I would invite her home, change her into nice clothes, and make her delicious fried rice.

After lunch, I waved goodbye to Grandpa and Grandma in front of their grey house. I climbed onto the crossbar of Mama’s bicycle. Big Yellow followed. Before the narrow cement bridge, Mama and I got off the bicycle. Big Yellow tagged along with us to the other side of the bridge and continued to follow. Mama and I both yelled, “Big Yellow, go home!” Big Yellow stopped. But when we got on the bicycle, he ran after us again. Mama got off her bicycle to stop him several times, but he continued to follow.  

I sat on the crossbar, while Mama pedaled. Big Yellow ran by our side, and then fell behind. After a while, Mama turned to look and said Big Yellow was still following. Suddenly, I was excited that Big Yellow was following me home! I began to imagine how Big Yellow was galloping on the dirt road. He must be hanging out his tongue while running. Did he stop for a quick pee? Did he smell the grass and the wildflowers before he peed? Did he have to speed up to catch up with us? What a fun race! He ran and ran. Nothing could stop him. He had never run this far from home before. What an adventure! The wind whistled by his ears just as it whispered into mine.  Big Yellow must be happy. He was far from home. He was free! He ran and ran. Then there appeared the Dragon-fighting River. I bet Big Yellow had never seen such a big river before.

I got off  the crossbar. Big Yellow was panting with his tongue out. I patted him and asked Mama if Big Yellow could get on the boat. Mama said we shouldn’t take Big Yellow and he knew his way home. Big Yellow walked with us to the riverbank, but someone kicked him away. I heard his painful moan and began to cry. The boatman pushed against the riverbank with his long bamboo pole. Big Yellow paced on the bank, and then sat there watching us going away. I cried out loud. 
When we reached the other side, Big Yellow was still sitting there. He looked so tiny on the other side...

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