My mother and I went grocery shopping in the traditional market as we would do usually, if I was in Taichung. Traditional markets are wondrous places where one can get everything for his/her everyday life. It was a place where my mother would shower her love on me by answering whatever needs I had; it was also the only place where I could express my affection to her by accompanying her in the lonely journey that she made everyday.
After my partner and I were able to settle down in a house, it was the first time for us to have a double bed. My mother and I went into the market and searched for some bedding fabric to furnish the marriage bed. My mother loves exuberant colors, and we agreed to get this set of a mattress cover, a pair of pillow cases and a piece of duvet of the same pattern. The seller emphasized that, as I remember, it was made in Taiwan by a factory, which manufactured for an international brand, too. He emphasized that the price was a good bargain.
The set was brought to Taiwan, as if I could not get anything in Japan. In those early years when I just moved to Japan, I tried to compensate for leaving the country and leaving the parents behind by accepting whatever they would get for me. Those goods then travelled by sea to the new country.
Today, I resolved to cut it to pieces and dispose it. The house now carries the lives of four people and is loaded with the belongings of four people. I sorted through things during the spring break, realized and decided that this cover had to go because there is not any space to store it in the house.
Today, before I scissored through the fabric for disposal, I touched it and felt it with my hands. The fabric still felt very comfortable and silky (not silk). At the moment, I hesitated and began to imagine how to repurpose it, but all would take up a lot of efforts. So I had to stick to my original plan, and I said to it, "thank you for your hard work, and it is time to say goodbye." (お疲れ様でした。)
I knew well in my heart that the physical and mental spaces in me can no longer hold it. The color no longer speaks of my imagination about life and expectation. The physical space in the house no longer allows me to keep something whose practical use is not obvious. When I cut through the cover, the scissor also cut through me.
