Dear Lady with the lovely nails,

It was a delight for me to have a chat with you in the temple. It was a bit unexpected how our conversation started with nails and jumping to other topics.  I always worry that my comment might not be welcomed by a young person, but I hope that I didn’t bother you.

In the temple, I found myself talking about how pretty your nails were without even thinking, and after saying goodbye to you, I felt a bit embarrassed about how much I had talked to someone I didn’t even know.

While looking at your nails reminded me of the bitter joke I used to share with my friends. There’s a saying that women with nail polish don’t have to do household chores; they’ve just a good fortune. And I was never fortunate enough to have such pretty hands.

I’ve been in this town where the temple is since I settled here after the war swept me away from my homeland. Back then, I had nothing. All I could do to survive was to rub things with my hands; the floor, dishes from others, and leftover chilies from the market…

One day, a door-to-door saleswomen applied red nail polish to my swollen hands. I still remember how my heart was pounding seeing the fresh colour on my nails that day. But seeing the nail polish peel off after a few hours made me feel disheartened… 

Watching it fade away until it completely disappeared, which was unable to remove it, made me even angry. I couldn’t help but feel annoyed, thinking, ‘shouldn’t she have come back to remove it if she applied it?’.

But at the same time, I was surprised by the presence of the saleswoman in this hilly town where there’s no one to buy such a product. Perhaps she realized her mistake and decided never to come back.

When I was raising my daughter, we lived in a house with two tiny rooms surrounded by vineyards. And on the other side of the hill, there were cow farms.

My daughter wanted to marry into a wealthy family, but ended up marrying a son of one of those farmhouses. She made him promise that she wouldn’t have to do any farm work, and then she accepted his marriage proposal.

But soon after, my son-in-law shutted down the farm, and traveled to China and Southeast Asia for business in a nice suit. A few years later, he left my daughter as a young widow with two kids.

My daughter didn’t want to live like me. She hated having tanned skin under the burning summer sun while picking grapes, or the smell of cow dung while living next to a cowshed.

When I prayed to Mazu at the temple for my daughter’s life, my daughter went to church every Sunday, dressed in modern clothings and shining shoes, to pray for her family. But, like me, she became a widow at a young age.

We prayed to both Mazu and Jesus, but it seems that being a widow is an unavoidable fate for us, like the return of a bill due date, no matter how broke you are.

My daughter, who wants to be a modern lady, and I, as an old fashioned woman, seem unable to escape this fate, the paying the debt; is the debt for survival? I don’t know.

Do I envy women who wear nice nail polish? No, I wish the young lady would be happy seeing those pretty nails.

My daughter always wears nail polish. She paints her nails the same red colour as the sales woman painted on my dry hands.

Sometimes, the colour peels off the tip of her nails. Seeing those faded tips always fills me with guilt… so, I pretend not to notice and just rub the mop, the dishes, the floor, whatever is close to me with my dry hands…

My daughter, who didn’t want to become like me, still lives in the same town as I do. Despite the town being wealthy with tall buildings, to me, it remains a countryside town that never becomes a city, as long as I live here with the memories of the ruralness, the poverty and the survival.

And my granddaughter left for a European country because she didn’t want to live like her mother, my daughter.

I hope my letter doesn’t sound too scattered, but your nails, your story of living in Berlin, and the community of women lead me to these thoughts I wanted to share with you. Perhaps, I wanted to share them with my granddaughter, also this letter. 

But, one day, I might have a chance to ask her: is she living happily in a European city like a modern lady?

Is she living the life her mother wanted, and finally free by repaying the debts from me and her mother, who is my daughter?

I wish you alway keep those beautiful nails.

Sincerely,
The lady in the temple