============================================================== To reach ALL SJD members, please send to sjd@satjadham.net ... Do NOT include any other addresses when sending to the list... Include as LITTLE of the original messages as possible........ Message sent by: PomOutama@aol.com *** Announcement: *** Please register for SatJaDham Fifth Annual conference at the website http://www.satjadham.org/sjd5sd/ ============================================================== Dear SJD members, First, I would like to send warm welcomes to all new members. May you find in SJD a second home where thoughts and ideas are being shared and discussed freely and objectively. Welcome! Second, my apology for this late posting. I didn't realize it was end of April already! Time flies! Pom ---------------- Please Kindly Rewind After Reading by Chittraphone Pom Outama My grandmother had always been a prominent figure in our family. She was very petite, not taller than 5', but her posture commanded full respect, and her gray eyes pierced right through your soul. She spoke very softly, almost like a whisper but her tone firm. Her words were meaningful, her demands sacred. She had been central in keeping the traditions flowing in our veins. She refused to speak any other languages but Lao to her grandchildren and great-grandchildren. Never once in the coldest of winters have I seen her in pants or stockings. She proudly wore her sinh and high bun everywhere she went. I remember her dry comment one time when we were about to leave the house to a party about our above-the-knee skirts. I can safely say that it pretty much ruined half of the fun that we have anticipated. At the same time that she told us to be Lao women from the tip of our toes to that of our hair, she never tolerated much of our moments of weakness. We were too soft, crying for nothing and whining at the slightest of problems, she said. Then she would start with "when I was your age..." episodes. We were expected to cook, clean, tend to the male members of our family, study, and excel in everything we did. And how do you suppose we do all of that? If we failed, we would hear series and series of lecture. But if we succeeded, we would receive mere recognition. We were raised with discipline, almost like an army, or a special task force. At times, we would joke at how easily we could become spies with our light footsteps as if walking on clouds, how we could probably crawl faster than we could run and, how our neck and back would hurt when walking pass older relatives. Because my grandmother only had daughters and mostly grand daughters, her worries seemed to us almost justified and legitimate. Being the youngest of the girls, however, I have always had it the most difficult. I was supposed to be spoiled I thought. Little by little, I started to resent the "don't" without explanations. I questioned the "do" without obvious reasons than just "because". After a while, I was left with more questions unanswered than responses. I was called the "rebel". I took too much after my dad, I was told. The pressure seemed to grow as the days went by. So, often, I would get into these rhetorical debates with the supreme authority, not that others didn't try it. But my challenges caused more noise because I was the youngest. We were taught to always take into consideration the other person's feelings. "Put yourself in their shoes". So we were to take other's mean acts as a result of their having a bad day and accept it? We were always asked to forgive and let go. I thought it was outrageous to not be able to fight back. For example, I was driving my grandmother to the temple one day. We were going just a little over 20 mph in a 45-mph zone. Some young guy decided to cruise around at the expense of my patience and obviously enjoyed it very much by waving at my furious face, steaming head, and smoking ears! She said "Think as if I was the one driving, or perhaps your mother. Would you still be upset?" I didn't think the comparison very funny, but decided to give a semblance understanding nod because after all we were heading to the temple. I just wanted to vent my frustration. On the contrary, I was forced to hold it in. After graduating from high school, I moved away to college. I would come home from time to time, hoping that my relationship with my grandmother would be get better. But it seemed as though our usual inquisition sessions were becoming deeper and deeper. We never really came up with anything that would satisfy either one of us. With me becoming a little more vocal with my thoughts and independent with my life, she grew more and more silent. We would depart farther and farther away from one another with our way of thinking and dealing with our emotions. But somehow, every time, feeling guilty, I would always end up with giving in to her demands, except this one time. For some reason, I do not recall her exact request that had always befallen me as an order, but I will always remember the end result. After she proclaimed her verdict of a firm 'no', I gathered all of my strength, stood up very straight, walked pass her with my head high my eyes directly looking into hers. Never have my footsteps sounded louder. It was the ultimate confrontation. The whole incident was closed by the resounding slam of the entrance door behind me. I bit my lips to bleed. I knew my act would be irrevocable. She knew, too. Being busy with finals and graduation, I didn't go home for almost two months after that. On the morning before my commencement, I received a phone call urging me to go home. My grandmother had just passed away in her sleep. I packed up the best I could, grabbed my keys, and drove off. My last encounter with her kept on flashing before my eyes. Torrents of tears were running down my cheeks. I cried out loud. I thought that maybe she would forgive me for this moment of weakness at times like this. I remembered picking up the phone and calling my mother. I remembered my mother's pleading voice. I remembered every time rejecting the idea of asking about my grandmother or to speak to her and ask for her forgiveness. It was too late. Suddenly, I heard someone honking at me. I have just realized that I was only driving 45 mph on a 60-mph zone. The car behind me must have honked so many times, but I didn't hear a thing. He sped up to pass me on my left at the same time that I sped up to the speed limit. Then in less than 5 seconds, he cut in front of me, slammed on his break, and sped away leaving only a trace of smoke. Panicked, I slammed on my break and went spinning 2 rounds before coming to a full stop. I was facing the oncoming traffic. I closed my eyes and waited to wake up from the nightmare. I slowly opened my eyes while I could not feel any part of my body, to see cars stopped on the shoulder of the freeway and people running to see if I was OK. Luckily the traffic was still light for it was still early. No one was hurt. I cried hysterically, not knowing at this point whether it was because of the shock of the accident, or because of my grandmother's death. Though we didn't see eye to eye on what really being a Lao woman was all about, I have found within myself the belief that she had forgiven me. After all, she had saved me. Up to today, I still play this experience again and again in my life. I have never forgotten the accident or my grandmother's words. I was subject of a road rage because the driver didn't think that his grandmother was driving, or that I was just having a terrible day… _ ***************************************************************** Visit SatJaDham Homepage at: http://www.satjadham.org (or .net) *****************************************************************