Member Bio: Judy An
Judy is a resident of Markham, a mother of three, a wife, a daughter, a teacher, and the thing that holds it all together: a lover of words and stories. When not pursuing life’s large and small obligations, Judy is always on the search for great stories. The books that would be found in her library of choice are categorized as modern literature, science fiction/fantasy, and any scientific research on the brain, its functioning and potential. She finds that language is musical and writing is much like composing. The words are the notes; the images and story lines, the melodies and harmonies. Finding the right combination is a matter of craft, emotion and art.
Life’s Raft
By Judy An
On a raft, in a river, a woman sits low, flung back against the rim, staring up at the sky, gripping the ropes. The raft is docked, awaiting any remaining passengers to board.
A portly man, with a goatee gone a little wild, in charge at this station is congenial and concerned about this woman. He signals to me to come over, to tell me to get on the raft, take the ride, and reassure this woman. I agree to this. After I climb on, the raft drifts its way down the river.
I am seated next to the woman, but in a more upright position to see the river unwind as the raft travels through it. Tall grass frames both edges followed by small bushes and trees fronting the dense forest. It is a mild waterway at this point.
I bend over toward her ear and whisper of the magic that surrounds us.
The water moves slowly here. If you look carefully, you can see the waterbugs dancing and skating. They carve lines of life and breath on the silver surface. A circle here, a cross there. Lines that join and others that break. It is a dance of the living that disappears as quickly as it is drawn.
Come, sit up. See them in action.
Listen. They are calling. Can you hear them?
They are so quick and fast. You will miss them. Before you know it, they will be gone.
And then it will be one less thing to love. One less thing to remember, to cherish. And how sad that would be.
For what is life but a composition of memories?
Hold on to the ones that add another dimension. They will anchor you in life’s swells and torrents of trouble and fear. They will be the oxygen by which to purify and intensify a life worth living.
Be not afraid and embrace the wonder that is all around.
Sit up and take a look.
Through this, the woman’s eyes slid down from staring fixedly at the sky to my eyes overlooking the river. Slowly, her back straightened and her head rose, freeing her shiny hair, as her eyes followed my gaze at the dancing water bugs. She breathed in and breathed out. And she smiled.
Golden Boy
By Judy An
A month-long cleanse to detoxify, to purify, to balance, to function,
And then to down one litre of ice cream before going to sleep for the night,
A dulled sleep.
Followed by a super-sweet pancake of a cookie before lunch,
Only to bear a sugar ache that throbs into the afternoon.
This is a boy who seeks order, rules, predictability,
But somehow, he loses the ability to make tea.
Making tea comes with rules.
Some ceremonies dictate material goods, quality, quantity, utensils, environment and order.
All require the boiling of water.
And this is the step in which he gets lost.
For he lives with an automatic-off switch that malfunctions,
So instead of the kettle of boiled water,
He has an empty kettle, hot and dry.
Difficult to make tea with.
Frustrating and tiring,
Wondering when is it done, when is it enough?
Always, a little, on the edge.
Although, sometimes, he dances in the steam,
Inhaling, savouring, devouring,
Skating on chemical interactions.
Yes, no wonder order and predictability are sought.
Otherwise, there might be some dangerous freefalling from mountain tops,
Instead of from the little hills in this flat land of ours.
Is it that you get in the grip of something and you cannot get off?
Is it that you are seduced by the body’s silent siren song?
Instead of lines and grids, comforting though they are,
Lives lived in paths that curve and turn to slower rhythms,
Found in the blueness of the sky and the morning’s dew sailing through the air,
Find the buzz of the beauty and miraculous all around,
Magnified and greater within.
A new way to move and live,
And, perhaps, a different drink to sip.
April 15th, 2010 at 5:25 pm
I loved The Best Man, partly because I am ‘getting up there’ myself, but also because it was so full of emotion, tenderness, understanding and caring, and I know the writer must possess the same qualities, so thank you for a beautiful story told with genuine feeling. Sincerely, Betty