I know this is but a small part of what you said...but these are the words that struck me...

Mr Moi... I have to say... that you convey things very well!!! You seem to know just what to say... just when I have need to hear.

Many a times when I'm believing there is no reason to...well... you know... you post something or send a note... and all of a sudden I find a little more strength to continue on further....

Abbie

yikes...I am blushing here...

thank you, abbie...

and thanks snoozie for wanting to read about my venting and ranting...

I am not sure if it is cause it's the 5th anniversary coming up, or because I am at a different place in my life again...

I find myself more drawn to wanting to talk with my dad lately...the urge has been very strong that I have been talking to his picture....I know I sound crazy....

anyways...I only wished there were more happier memories...but I am not going to dwell on it...I can only move on and live life for him, for me....

thanks once again...

When I was five, my dad decided that he wanted to create a better life for his family.

So he left when I was between ages 5-10, I'd only seen him no more than a handful of times during those years...

Mom had pretty much given me the lecture on how being the oldest meant taking up responsibilities and chores around the house. I was to SET a good example for my brother and I was to be a good son and help her with whatever she needed.

I understood that. Mom was very busy and she was always working and helping others out. But I really really DID NOT like doing chores...I wanted to go outside and play all the time...

but mom was ambitious for me. I was enrolled in speech classes, piano lessons, school after school...life was too busy for me to even think about anything else back then...(yes, at age 6, perhaps I will explain this one day. It's NOT child abuse. LOL)( I do appreciate all of these now, though...it's helped me shaped parts of who I am)

One day, when I was about 6, there was a knocking on the door. Mom told me to go answer it and without thinking, I just opened it without asking who it was.

IT WAS HIM!!!

he looked very handsome and thin and he had a big grin on his face. He picked me up and swung me around. WHEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

I thought he was very happy to see me also!

Til that moment, all we'd gotten were letters and an occassional phone call from him. Long distance phone calls were so expensive back then.

But there he was, in flesh and blood! WOOO HOOO!!

My heart brimmed with such joy and delight that I thought it was going to skip right out of my big mouth!!

It was close to my birthday, and he brought back some toys for my brother and me. WOW! Our favorite robot toys that mom wouldn't buy for us(her excuse was that we were spoiled, there were children starving in Japan...or something like that...)

So off my brother and I went to play with the robots, forgetting about dad for the moment...heehee...

after the excitement and playing with the robots and catching up with dad, we both ended up sleeping on the couch where we'd just destroyed Tokyo with our robots.

I remembered him carrying me to my bed and I remembered asking him while I was droopy-eyed that if he was going to leave and that if he was, I wasn't going to go to bed.

He didn't say anything and just put me on the bed and I fell asleep anyway...

I woke up later to an incredible aroma..it was one of my favorite smells...stir fried garlic...

I jumped from out of the bed with my stomach growling and my mouth salivating.

I could already savor the taste in my mouth...

I woke my brother up and we both ran into the living room. We could hear dad in the kitchen, he was cooking!

All right! We danced around the living room like rockers.

He was going to "whip up something" for us, he yelled from the kitchen...

My eyes blazed and bulged with excitement while my lips curved upwards into a big toothy smile while I snuck into the kitchen to see what he was doing.

He had already stir fried the garlic and was now adding some ground pork to the skillet.

Pork was a common food for us back then cause it was cheap. Beef was rare because it was very expensive. But no matter, dad was going to make the pork taste as good as beef which I constantly craved!

As he sauteed the ground pork into the garlic, we can smell the strong crispening up of the hog.

It was going to be crispy in some areas and tender and juicy in other areas, oh my, it was going to be PERFECT!

Next, he took both out to let the juice drain.

Started the pan again and stirred in some onions using the left over hog juice...

The onions were "happy", he said (sheesh, he was way ahead of Emeril...)

the pungentness of the onion were soon replaced by the sweetness as it caramelized and he soon added some chopped up eggplants. One of his favorite foods...

As the eggplants melted into the pan joining the now softened caramelized onion, he started to tell me about what "eating" IS...

Not only essential as part of human life, but an enjoyment as well...

To Eat, Is To Live (can you that in PIG LATIN, dad??) Otay, atEay, Siay Otay iveLay....

everything can be solved by good food, he said...to a man's heart. And men ruled the world. So marry a woman that CAN cook!

sure, he was sexist,but oh well. HA!

he added some salt, some pepper, and some anise seeds...the smells are getting better...especially when the pepper and anise's fragrance escaped the pan and right into my nostrils.

he added some sauce(which I had no idea what it was then) but it brought out the aroma even more...

and he blended them together carefully with the spatula...

never bruise the food, you have to treat them with respect...he would say

if you just go in and stir them, you won't have good eggplants...he would say again

To me, it didn't matter, it looked "runny" anyways, like big pieces of boogers...but I knew that they'd be delicious....

So please hurry dad, my stomach is making loud noises!!

As the eggplants neared its doneness...he married the pork and garlic to it and as he covered the pan and turned down the heat, he grinned: you don't want to burn them to death...

hey, I thought the hog was already dead???? I shrugged

you want to slowly marry them. A good strong marriage takes time to develope...

I could hear my mom in the back ground picking on him about working on his own marriage...

they always argued...I wished they didn't, I knew he wasn't going to be home long...and I wished they
would just get along...

but the eggplants and the pork were done. He topped it all with some basil and then stirred it in.

The herbs go in last so you can truly taste the full flavor.

I was too young to appreciate it back then, I wished that he hadn't added basil. I liked it just fine
without it.

the hog, the eggplants, the onions, the garlic, and the basil created a beautiful contrast as they were served over a bed of steamed rice. It was like a Picasso...or maybe a Pick A Saw...either way, it was a nice canvas...

My brother and I chowed down...Mmmmmmmmmmm...

I wasn't going to throw this under the couch, I thought, I love this!
I usually throw away onions cause my mom would make us eat it, she always cooked hers too raw...

dad cooked it just right...but I can't say that out loud...mom would not like that I liked dad's cooking better...

(mom is a good and wonderful person, but she gets very competitive with dad and dad WAS competitive also...it was like mixing oil and fire. They just weren't compatible...I guess that's what usually happens with arranged marriages...makes all deranged)

we asked for seconds...both mom and dad smiled...

laughter ensued as it filled throughout the night....

these days...I can't walk by a basil plant without smelling it...and da wife and I have planted some
almost every year since we've been together...

Love reading your memories, Moi. So vivid, it feels like I was there too. Thanks.

no, thank you...sincerely

I feel like I want to share about him, the GOOD parts, and the GOOD times...

and I am so sincerely flattered that you find it enjoyable...

thanks so much...

I could listen to you all day .......

I said that wrong and I am lousy at editing .......

thank you so much also, wren, and snoozie, and abbie, and roseblue, and goofy...and so many others...

I am just so flattered still...

I usually just cut up and try to be, goofy(sorry, goofy. LOL) but once in awhile, I guess I need to release things...

I want to explain why I think I am such a lousy writer, I am not being modest about that...

only a few of you here know that English, is my second language...

I started learning English at about 10 years old. I grew up in another country where it was very competitive for all children, the drill for education was hard and arduous

We went to school 6 times a week, Mon-Sat. We had school after school (to be competitive) Our high schools were consider colleges where we actually have to be tested in. And because my mom was a teacher, the non-top notch high schools were unacceptable...

we start getting prepped at a very young age. So you can imagine when we came to the states and found out that we didn't have to go to school on Saturdays and that we got out of school at 2:30pm...

it was like...heaven...LOL

anyways, So, I went from someone who was reading at college level in another language, at age 10....to someone who could barely understood when reading mother goose, in the states...


I remember turning in my first complete English essay after being in the ESL classes for a couple of years after we came to the states.

I spent almost 2 weeks on it, I used a bi-lingual dictionary and looked up almost every word and it probably took me 30 times as long to write a 4 page essay...I knew my grammar was not up to par (still isn't) and that I was really intimidated...but the one thing that I felt really good about was that I wrote it with my heart. I wrote about my grandmother...

I remembered the comment that my teacher made infront of the class...

she took my paper and read it infront of the class and told everyone that "THIS, is an example of BAD English...I hope you all would NOT write like this and I hope Mr. Moi will not be pursuing a career in writing..."

I was about 13 years old and was severely teased for other things already so I became so embarassed, that I took to heart what she said and it became my obstacle for so many other things as well...I guess one could say that I was "crushed"...

I would write later but mostly just for technical stuff like getting my grammar correct vs. trying to let it flow...so my writings became very stiff...but I no longer cared...it was just all school projects now...

it wasn't until I was in 10th grade that I had a wonderful English teacher that encouraged me to write. I will always adore her deeply...but even then, I didn't listen to her cause I was so very afraid...

anyways, I don't want to bore anyone with my fear but thought that might explain a few things...

but these days, I write for myself...it is a release for me...I don't like talking on the phone and I only talk a lot when I am really tired...LOL

but when I write, I feel....alive....

anyways, I will keep on writing, for myself, but I have to thank all of you that have been reading my writings and have been encouraging me. It means the world to me...I really really really sincerely appreciate it...

thank you so very much, from the bottom of my heart...

I must say that da wife has been encouraging me for years...and I have her to thank for even starting to write again...

I wrote this for my father's first anniversary. Tomorrow is father's day...I'd like to post it in honor of him...

to you, dad...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Gardening: I am, the fruit of my father..."

When I was growing up, well into my adulthood. I could never understood WHY people loved gardening. I mean, I enjoyed the beauty of the flowers and the bushes and plants and I enjoyed eating the fruits of people’s labors. But I just couldn't see myself getting down knee deep into the dirt (hey, that’d ruin my jeans!); nor made myself digging with my hands into the dirt (the thoughts of worms crawling beneath the dirt would make me shiver. And hey! I’d get dirt under my nails!! Yuck!); nor pictured myself wearing those silly sun hats or holding a tiny shovel that looked like something that belonged to Alice in Wonderland, where it should be the "Queen."

Images of Rosa, a neighbor that lived two doors down from me when I was in college, clad in her flowery sunhat, kneeling on her one bad knee (actually, I think both knees were bad), while holding up her tiny spade that I called a spatula (she’d always correct me," that’s a mini-spade, not a spatula!") in one hand and waving while the other hand clinging to a sunflower, or a bush-twig, or some sorta plant along with her dirt covered face as I drove by her house, always made me smiled, AT her.

I’d always nod at her and yell out my window, “hi Ms. Rosa! What are you planting today?” She’d often smile and yell back at me for me to come and help her get up because of her bad knees. That image never left my mind beyond my college years.

I’d often thought, what a sweet but DUMB lady? She had bad knees and fair skin, what the heck was she doing in dirt and out under the hot sun? What kind of life was that??

Me, I'd rather sit inside insulated by the cool air conditioner with a tall glass of iced tea. Now that, is life!

I could remember neighbors or friends that gardened would always bring us the product of their labors: veggies, fruits, flowers. And I was always amazed at how fresh the veggies and fruits were, or how much prettier the flowers were compared to the ones you’d find at the florists.

But I sure was glad that there were someone out there that were willing to get down and dirty! "Better them than me!" I'd often thought to myself, " I’ll just sit here and enjoy THEIR fruits of labor."

My father passed away on July 5th, 2003. He died a miserable and lonely man. Congested heart failure and diabetes robbed him of his health and made him weak and emaciated.

In the last 18 months of his life, I saw an otherwise healthy man, losing over 80 lbs almost overnight, sleeping only an hour or two a day, falling into a major depression that he didn’t even realized he had, turned into someone that looked like a total stranger to me.

This was NOT the man that I knew?! The muscular, strong, often times smart-alec, and sometimes mean father? No, not this frail, pathetic looking man?? It was like watching a flower withering away right in front of me…

My father shared the same philosophy toward gardening as I did. He hated dirt. Now, He loved to dig dirt for worms to fish with cause he looooved to fish. But digging into dirt to plant something?? Forget about it…

But before he became so debilitated, he, GARDENED…

About three years before he passed away, I saw my father and my mother planted a tiny vegetable/fruit garden in their backyard. He’d just gotten news of his congested heart failure and was forced to quit his job.

This was a man that had ADHD and couldn't sit still for one second to save his life. So, my mother suggested to him that they’d garden to keep his times occupied. Besides, the benefits of eating his products appealed to him.

So, there they were, planting and sweating and I would just watch and smile and shake my head. I was working nights plus extra jobs; I could barely keep my head above water.

So, "don't even bother asking me to help," I'd thought.

The man that was my father, changed in front of my eyes…he’d go outside religiously and watered daily, pulling weeds while getting down and dirty. And whenever I’d see him bring in the “children.” He’d have such satisfaction over his face that I’d rarely seen as if he had won the lottery...

The youngest of 10 children, his father had him at a late age and seemed to have abandoned him emotionally.

He was raised by mean dogmatic brothers, and canonistic sisters. He seemed to have searched his whole life for a sense of belonging but never seemed to have found.

He was always the life of a party. Always the first one to start a game, or sing, or clown around. He wasn’t shy to take the microphone during a tour bus ride when the tour guide asked for a volunteer to sing other tourists on to ease the long hours on the bus.

He was always the show-off and was considered the comedian of the group. Some said that I have gotten my sense of humor from him. I didn’t realize that until after the end of his life.

Yet, he died lonely and without friends…none of his “friends” showed at his funeral. No co-workers, no one…

only his family (one brother and one sister and some nephews and nieces showed) and immediate family and the friends of ours(that didn't even knew him) showed. The man, whom tried become popular, or in a better sense, loved, died an irony of what he thrived for…

But I saw the joy on his face whenever he’d take in his “edible kids".

Especially the eggplants, he just loved them.

He’d sauteé them ever so gently and sniffed and whiffed the aroma while his eyes closed as if he was in heaven.

When I’d watch him sit and eat them on occasion. He was like the proudest father of all and the savoring of the flavors would flow all over his face. And I’d grin to myself and go back to bed.

Unfortunately, he got sicker and sicker with dementia and he became dangerous in the kitchen. We wouldn’t let him get near it for we’ve had too many close calls with fire. The utmost fear was that he might’ve burn himself to death if none of us were around, although we tried to make sure that someone was always at the house watching over him.

His depression took over and he became thinner and thinner, emaciated to the point of a stick. This was a man, whom, at one time I thought could take on Ali; now, wizening and dying, right in front of my very eyes…

and as he deteriorated, the garden he so loved, shared the same fate...

A few weeks before he passed away, we became closer like we’d NEVER been before.

I’d cook for him (he actually looked forwarded to my cooking). I’d spent almost all my free waking hours talking to him, trying to make him exercise, trying to boost up his spirit. I even got down into dirt…I planted a tiny rosemary bush outside the steps where he could see when he’d do his breathing exercises when he was outside.

In my heart, I had hoped that he would be able to see the rosemary grow up big, green and strong. I wanted him to have a sense of hope, to see some sort of “life” thriving in front of him. I wanted him to smell the aroma in front of him. To awaken that brain that had long been hibernating and given up.

The rosemary bush was actually given to me a year earlier by a dear friend, Tam, that passed away 6 months before my dad’s death. She loved rosemary. And when she visited me, we talked about plants and how I love to eat them but hate to plant them. So, she got me a pot of mixed herbs, with rosemary being the center piece.

The herbs came all pretty and adorned and I didn’t have to get dirty. All I needed was to water it daily. But when Tam passed away, I gave up on the plants. And they all faded away.

Interestingly enough, few weeks before my dad died, I saw the rosemary peeking its tiny green arm out…and I thought to myself, “it is a sign…” So I replanted the rosemary in hopes of a good sign.

But all signs turned into a dead end. The rosemary withered, my father wizened. And now both are underneath dirt… dirt that I have been avoiding, afraid of getting into most of my life…that’s where my dad now resides…

I was so angry the first few weeks…I was full of confusion, resentments, but most of all, questions…

“WHY???” I'd ask...

“I DON’T KNOW…” I'd answer...

“I Don’t know??” That was my answer?? I can’t accept that as my answer…I HAVE TO HAVE SOMETHING!! Look where he is, in dirt!! IN DIRT!!!!!! MY FATHER!! Whom was alive, and now, he is beneath dirt!!! And the only answer that I have is: "I DON'T KNOW???" Oh, CURSE YOU!! Ole Creator, curse you…and believe me...I cursed...

I wanted to go with into the dirt with him…my heart was beneath the dirt already…it had always been, battling my own depression and suicidal thoughts, it was buried long ago…perhaps that was why I was afraid of dirt, afraid that I would not have been able to resist of wanting to be one with dirt...

But now, I physically wanted to rip my heart out and shove it in there with him…to show him…
Show him what…that I have a heart?? That I wished I could’ve tried harder? That I wished we could’ve had more time?? That we could’ve….this and that and whatever???

TOO LATE!!

Wait…

"DIRT…"

The flowers we’d bring to him, always seemed to attract insects…butterflies and crickets and bees…

One time, I sat in front of his marker and was blinded by tears…then, I asked the WHY’s and was left with the I dunno’s… but then, when I wiped my eyes, I saw…

“LIFE…”

Wait, how could there be life at a cemetery?? It was full of dead people!! DEAD DEAD DEAD, everywhere I glanced were DEATH!! Death and DIRT, that was all I saw!!

But wait, I was WRONG!!

There IS life!! A beautiful forest rested on the backdrop of his gravesite. A beautiful garden sat in the center of the cemetery. And birds were singing in the distance, insects were chirping. Flowers were blooming. I rubbed my eyes…I smiled…

"LIFE…"

(cont. below)

(cont. from above)

A few months after he passed away, a dear friend of mine(who is now known as, da wife) talked to me about how her mother and the her neighbor shared the duty of a garden every year…and I felt myself interested, wanting to learn more…I had planted a couple of things since that discovery of dirt/life. But I have always managed to kill whatever I planted…

This dear friend(da wife) lived close enough and her schedule seemed to match mine. So, we talked of a garden behind my house. Then one sunny day, we digged and dugged and dugged some more…we haul, hauled, and hauled some more…until we have a tiny veggie garden in the backyard. It was simple enough, with just 6 tomato plants, a row of soybeans, 6 eggplant plants (hard to say eggplant plants, good thing we didn't plant Piter's Pickles), and a little cilantro and spearmint bush.

After we were done that day, we watered it and when the sun’s rays gleamed down and reflect the beads of water and made our plants shined…we hugged, shouted, and yelled in ecstasy.

The plants green leaves bursting with energy, every stalk raising its head to the heavens above. And there I was, knee deep into dirt…hands deep into dirt. The worms that crawled through my hands were no longer gross…they showed signs of life. The green of the plants and its sweet aromas enlivened me inside. My heart was at another dirt house, where my father resides now, telling him what beautiful "life" my friend and I have planted. It was showing me answers…

Every week, I found myself expanding the garden. And bless my friend’s heart, she never complained and only helped. I even started to plant the front of the house with flowers and bushes. She jokingly said that I was going to turn the whole backyard into a garden. If she only knew…

The satisfaction didn’t just end on planting. Every day, I found myself out there; sweating, pulling weeds, and feeding them accordingly. I was often sad when I’d accidentally kill one or step on one…but thank goodness for my friend’s patience. She'd just say to me, “others will flourish…”

I don’t have children, but I act like an over protective father, always watering and looking outside whenever I’d get a chance. And if I see any squirrels or rabbits or moles, I would be terrified with paranoia…that they were gonna eat my kids!!! But my friend taught me to relax, to understand that is nature…I could say that my biggest fear was that I was afraid the eggplants would elope with the tomatoes without my eating them first....

And as the garden bloomed, all signs of life came about. Beautiful dragonflies I had never seen before hung around the house. All sorts of insects, good and bad came and hung around the stalks and leaves. Spiders, frogs, even toads paid visits and I’d find them throughout the yard.

I found myself finding beauty in all life…

The motley colors of different spiders that I was oblivious to before because all I wanted to do was swat them and get them out of my face, are now the catchers of the annoying mosquitoes.

The toad that had gotten a bad rap in the fairy tales, is now a prince in catching my pests.

The bees and the different dragonflies, darting from bulb to bulb as if dancing an air ballet.

The butterflies adorn the flowers with their magnificent beauty. As their wings flutter up and down and about the garden. My smile flutters with it.

Gardening has taught me about life.

Whenever I killed something, it taught me that there are others that will come to life. Whenever something was harvested, it taught me the sweetness and the satisfaction that came and after labor. It taught me that dirt not only took in the dead, it also sprouted life. Most of all, it taught me that life is a cycle. A cycle of balance. Watering is a balance, too much or too little can kill plants easily. Same thing with feeding them too much or too little.

Life amongst the insects world also taught me about life. It showed me that wherever life flourishes, it attracts another life.

A flower of an eggplant is a flower of an eggplant. It isn’t like the roses I have planted out front, but I have seen bees hung around both. There was no need for the eggplant flower to be funny or pretty to attract the bee. And the eggplant flower is just as beautiful to me as the rose.

A spider isn’t picky about where it is either, it has webs wherever the wind takes her. And it isn’t picky about her dinner. It is whatever may fly into her net.

It's shown me that I only have to be myself; that I’ll attract those that will come. I think my dad may have learned that toward the end. And in looking back, none of those friends he’s made in his life were worth anything…

There are so much to say about gardening…I am just glad to say that I am lucky to have found it earlier than I have expected, not old and decrepited.

So, to my father, who is lying in “dirt,” I know you are NOT alone…and I AM, the fruit of your labor. And I hope to prosper, bloom, and make you proud one day...

I love you, papa...