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Imi was born and raised in Europe, Hungary. After finishing his school years, he moved to Canada to search for a better life. He lived in Toronto for 13 years and currently resides in Vancouver. He is a romantic at heart with a strong desire to always do the right thing. He would like to give hope to the Chinese and Asian ladies with his story and send a message that love eventually finds everybody.
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While The Orchids Sleep, The Butterfly Emerges From Its Chrysalis (Part 1)    

By Imi
940 Views | 6 Comments | 5/8/2017 1:09:24 AM

The small shop was full of flowers every kind, in colors one could have never imagined of existing. Daffodils, tulips, lilies, gladiolas, carnations, orchids, and, of course, most people's favorite, roses were everywhere, on the floors, in fridges, on the walls, and in buckets. There was barely room for the customers to walk around. The flowers' scents filled up your nose with such a freshness that you could easily imagine standing in a meadow somewhere in the Alps, breathing in the essence of the virgin Earth.

 

At the counter, a young woman paid for her flowers, had a brief conversation with the cashier, and shortly after left the shop. Once outside, she stopped short and looked to her right, down the narrow street. The lanes were devoid of cars, and pedestrians only scarcely walked here and there. The city was apparently getting ready for the night. While the orchids looked beautiful and colorful in her hands, the woman had only a simple, blue, nothing fancy, everyday dress on. On her feet, shabby slippers scuffed. No handbag or purse of any kind, only a flowerpot with two orchids were in her hands. Judging from her appearance, she looked like someone who had just been cooking dinner and quickly ran down to the nearest corner shop to pick up a bag of salt to finish the meal. Fixed on the back of her head with two chopsticks, the woman's hair was in a bun. The light breeze that was trying to cool the city after a late, hot summer day was only able to play with her loose bangs. It fondly cleared her forehead, then veiled it again, displaying nicely arched eyebrows from time to time. She had quite a cute face, dark eyes, and bulbous lips. Still, to describe her, the word beautiful couldn’t have been the right fit in her case. All in all, she had a slightly above average look.

 

After the woman had searched the street with her eyes for a short while, she turned in the opposite direction and began to walk. She strolled slowly, leisurely, lost in thought, ignoring all the passers-by on her way, awarding them not as much as a fleeting glimpse. Her eyes were firmly fixed on the two pinkish-purple orchids in the pot. The flowers were swaying softly on their stems to the rhythm of the woman's footsteps as she kept the flowerpot against her stomach with her hands. She followed the flowers' movements with a somewhat blank, bored stare as if what she was looking at were not two beautiful flowers but the pendulum of an old grandfather clock swaying tediously from side to side.

 

Shortly after the woman had begun walking, she came to a halt again and sat down on a bench. She aligned her knees neatly, tugged on the hem of her dress, and set the flower pot on her lap. The two orchids each had a sort of long stem, and the flowers came in line with her eyes. The woman was looking at them, calmly breathing in and out the evening air. To someone standing in the distance, the orchids could have looked, under the faint glare of a streetlamp, like two cobras rising from their charmer's basket. However, unlike in India, where it's the snakes that are mesmerized, here, it was actually the woman who seemed to be hypnotized by the “snakes,” and not the other way around. For the longest time, she didn't move a muscle. She seemed to be all but unaware of her surroundings or the passage of time. Lost in the deepest recesses of her memories, rummaging around for something she apparently could hardly find.

 

While the woman took a break from the world, the evening had advanced and bit by bit gotten colder. There had already been signs of an upcoming season change in the air. The constant noise of the city began to fade as well, like the cry of a wounded animal in the wild, and eventually softened to a steady murmur. Noticing none of these changes around her, the woman kept still, staring a distant imaginary spot in the dark now with her eyes hard and fast. Some late passers-by slowed down to take a glimpse of her, out of curiosity, but all of them scurried on without trying to speak to her, looking puzzled. On another, later occasion, a dog, a black mutt, showed up out of nowhere and sat down on the ground close to the woman for a while before disappearing into the night again. During these occurrences, aside from the infrequent blinks of her eyes, the woman didn't show any signs of life at all. She just sat there, stock-still, her hands holding the flower pot. With this effort, if she wanted to, she could have sold an act in a circus as a lifelike statue.

 

With the advancing night, the light breeze slowly picked up speed. Gusts of wind came out of nowhere and began to sway the orchids with more force now and, at the same time, work on the woman's bun, undoing it tress by tress. Had the wind picked up enough strength and speed, there could have been a real chance of the woman quietly pulverizing in the wind like a sand castle on an isolated beach. Anyway, before the two chopsticks had fallen out of the woman's disintegrating bun, she regained her presence of mind, reached behind her head, and saved the chopsticks from hitting the ground. Her long, dark hair began to roll along in the wind on its own, immediately, ostensibly bothering her not even a little bit. With the stronger wind at present, the smell of the rain became apparent as well and was almost as thick as the scent of the orchids. The woman sniffed the air, looked up at the dark sky for a fraction of a second, raised to her feet, and simply went home.

 

In her apartment, in the living room, the woman's cat was idling on the top of the backrest of the sofa. As her owner came in, the tabby cat lifted her head, gave a long, bored gaze at the orchids in the woman's hands, then went back to idle some more. At the door, still holding the flowerpot, the woman stepped out of her slippers and put another pair—the same style but not so shabby—of slippers on. Obviously, she used those only at home. She then dropped her keys into a bowl on the top of the shoe rack and went into the kitchen.

 

It was late already. On the wall, the hands of the clock in the woman's kitchen showed 10:55 pm. Hastily, the woman washed the price sticker off of the pot in the sink, watered the soil, and then carried the orchids to the balcony. That not-small, not-big-either balcony was the woman's sanctuary, a place that reminded her of home and the people in her hometown. She grew up in a small town, far from any major city, surrounded by plants and animals all day long in nature's hard but fair ambience. Moving to a big city had taken a toll on her, to say the least. After two months of leaving her hometown, she was still homesick, missing everything about her earlier life. There were a few vegetables and spices in plastic containers that she was able to grow on her balcony, but they were like the scarce rainfalls of the Sahara. They were just not enough to make a difference in the lack of nature's presence in her life.

 

The orchids were the woman's first flowers that she'd bought in the city. Her brand-new husband didn't like flowers. He said he was allergic to them. He only allowed her to grow vegetables and herbs on the balcony. It was very strange for her to hear that. How could someone not like flowers? Since moving into the apartment with her husband, the woman had asked that question in her head umpteen times. That same question had also come to her mind in the flower shop when she had bought the orchids, as well as: What will my husband's reaction be, when he sees the flowers? Will he let me keep them? Will he really have an allergic reaction by smelling them?

 

Before leaving her hometown, her mother had told her always to be obedient to her husband. She was raised that way. The words dutiful, industrious, and compliant had been her mother's preferred words when it came to verbally disciplining her as a young girl. The woman had heard those words all her life. She learned to be all that and more just to satisfy her mother and her family. And yet, when she had seen the orchids in the flower shop and smelled them, she had felt that she had to put an end to being all of that. It felt as if the fragrance of the orchids had made a hole inside her, in the foundation of her ethics. And an entirely different person started looking through that opening now, viewing the world for the first time in an altogether different way. It was as if the world had only been in black and white up until she smelled the orchids. Despite being aware of how much her husband and mother were going to criticize her disobedient behavior, the woman decided to buy the flowers.

 

 

Copyright owned jointly by Author and CyberCupid Co., Ltd. Breach of copyright will be prosecuted.
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(Showing 1 to 6 of 6) 1
#2017-05-08 01:07:34 by JohnAbbot @JohnAbbot

First, my sincere apologies to Imi and a couple of other bloggers who have recently posted new blogs.  For some reason our administration area wasn't showing them, and until I received letters from both Peter and Barry indicating there seemed to be a problem, I was not aware of the issue, and had to get our developer to find and fix the the problem. So thanks for the letters, guys. Your posts will be up next in order posted.

Imi, yours sat unnoticed the longest, so I hope you didn't think I was intentionally ignoring you.

Everybody has their own tastes in reading fare, as we all know to well from previous unpleasant discussions here on the blogs, and for sure some members/readers will not appreciate the depth you have gone to here to reveal both the soul of this woman, and the incredible leap she is in the process of taking to change her life forever. I, for one though, immensely enjoyed this blog.

Unless I missed it, you have not revealed the country or culture in which the story is set. Because this is ChinaLoveMatch or AsiaLoveMatch, we naturally think it must be China, but the only real hint of that is the chopsticks in her hair, and that is hardly conclusive proof, since that style has been licked up and used by women around the world.  This could have occurred in many countries around the world, perhaps all countries. I suspect it could easily have been set in your native Hungary.

But I have chosen to read it as if set in China, because I have met so many Chinese women who were raised as your heroine was, to be forever second to their husbands; never an equal, never a partner, always a servant. Some I have known to have broken free of their bonds, but at least as many have never even recognized that they were held in bondage, choosing to accept their fate blindly and without question.

Because I have met these women, and felt for them, and wished them the strength to overcome their shallow, unrewarding existences, I am captivated by your heroine, and I can't wait to read about her upcoming confrontations with her oppressors.  I am pulling for her to find her voice and gain her freedom.

You've made this woman very real for me, Imi. Well done.

#2017-05-08 07:40:57 by Barry1 @Barry1

Writing about a subject such as this is difficult.  Why?  Because nothing really dramatic or exciting happens.  There are no brawls, no car chases, no ax murderers lurking behind the bush to attack the lady that you've so aptly described.

 

But yet you've pulled it off, Imi.  Your story is well written and captivating in its own way.  It possesses an innocent charm that entices the reader to learn more and more about what will happen to this somewhat sad yet suddenly defiant soul.  

 

You've spun a craftily created tale like a spider spinning an elaborate gassamer web.  All the CLM readership has been involuntarily caught within your finely weaved web of words and now lie trembling and helpless, impatiently awaiting the conclusion to your seductive story.

 

Well done, Imi!   (clap)(clap)(f)(f)

#2017-05-08 15:20:52 by melcyan @melcyan

A great start to your new blog Imi. I am looking forward to reading the next part.

#2017-05-09 09:39:13 by Imi5922 @Imi5922

John, you know me well, that's exactly what I thought, that you have intentionally disregarded my blog for a week. Actually, a part of me hoped you wouldn't post it for some reason. Reasons like it's fiction, not based on real events or it doesn't belong to CLM because, as you pointed out in your comment, it is not set in China. Though the woman I describe in it is actually a real person. I saw her in China.

When visiting my wife in China, I saw this woman coming out of a store. It was late, but the streets were full of shoppers because it was Mid-Autumn Festival. She was a very ordinary looking woman, but there was something--aside from the pot of flower that she carried--about her that made her stand out from the crowd. She made up for the lack of beauty and the simple clothes that she wore with something extra that draws your attention, but you can't really describe what it is. I'm sure you, John, know what I'm talking about. She carried herself through the crowd, proud and noble, as if she were wearing a fancy dress and shoes of Italian leather instead of a pair of faded slippers. As my wife and I followed her, she made me wonder why it was so important for her to buy those flowers--actually, it was a plant--with the pot late at night. Couldn't have it waited until tomorrow morning?

So witnessing a short one minute of her simple life made me write this story. However, I'm still unsure about posting the following parts. I'm not really sure if it would fit with CLM. There is no bloody scene or anything of that sort in it, you don't need to worry about that, John. Still, it's not a blog that you can ordinarily read on CLM. Anyway, I'll see what it'll come to when the time comes.

 

@Barry1

Barry, thanks for your comment. To me, watching someone sitting by herself on a bench is never dull or being difficult to write about. It's like looking at the sea. You can only see the surface, but under the surface, as you know, a lot is happening. Not seeing things can make you imagine things. If you read my comment to John, you'll understand me. By the way, it's good to see you back. 

                          

#2017-05-09 12:15:16 by JohnAbbot @JohnAbbot

Imi - this is a blog about a certain type of woman who men on ChinaLoveMatch, and AsiaLoveMatch, will frequently encounter. These women have been raised as you describe, to be obedient, submissive and less than an equal partner when they marry. Our male members will encounter such women, may fall in love with them and then will have to deal with these character traits later on if they marry.

Some Western men may be looking for these character traits. What they need to understand is that down the road the woman they have married may change, and when she does they had better be prepared to deal with it. This change is almost inevitable if she moves to her husbands home country, where she will come to be influenced by new friends and acquaintances who will begin to teach her about the huge steps women in the west have taken to free themselves from exactly the kind of influences that have held these Chinese or Asian women back.

I personally have never been interested in any woman who was not totally independent and always expecting to be treated as an equal in every way, although I admit I quickly lose my patience with those women who have taken feminism beyond the right to equality and turned it into an expectation that men should now bow to their every whim.

But I find this type of blog, be they based upon fiction or on real life experiences, essential to the blogs. This is what the blogs were meant to be all about. As the subtitle on the Blogs header says, they are about "Chinese Women, Asian Women, Online Dating & Things Chinese and Asian". Even if your blog was set in some other country or culture, it would still be very relevant to all of those listed subjects.

And as you can tell from the other comments, you're going to disappoint a bunch of us if you fail to tell the rest of the story.

#2017-05-10 21:07:45 by Barry1 @Barry1

"For the longest time, she didn't move a muscle. She seemed to be all but unaware of her surroundings or the passage of time. Lost in the deepest recesses of her memories, rummaging around for something she apparently could hardly find."

Upon rereading this passage, it reminded me of the eerie scene in the famous 1954 "Lord of the Flies" novel by William Golding that I studied so long ago at school.  In it, going from memory of forty years ago, one of the principal characters sat down and became mesmerised or transfixed by an awful pig's head covered in buzzing blowflies.... a haunting scene indeed.

 

Great stuff, Imi.

 

 

 

 

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