Reflective Writing and Poetic Musing by Condemiang + Stories About the World

This year, “Autumn” left a little later than usual. Following behind, “Winter” arrived with a feisty temperament, sprinkling snow throughout last week. It wasn’t heavy, more like a teasing flurry—until Saturday the 24th, when it poured down all at once, as if Winter were making a grand entrance. The leaves on the fence trees were unusually persistent this year. Perhaps due to Autumn’s late departure, they seemed caught off guard by Winter’s sudden greeting. It wasn’t just the fence trees—other trees clustered around the neighborhood were the same. "The leaves hadn’t fully fallen yet."   Last Christmas, I had strung LED lights around the eaves of our house. Something about that season always lifts my heart. My wife and I had hung them together, hoping to bring a bit of comfort to close the bleak, oil-crash-stricken year of 2019. The lights stayed up well into February 2020. Joseph, our neighbor across the street, passed away in March 2018. This past March marked his second...

Stories of Little Happiness - 02 The world was reeling from the shock of COVID-19. Everything, except essential services like grocery stores, came to a halt. Parks, playgrounds, public facilities, shopping malls, restaurants, beauty salons—places we once took for granted—were suddenly off-limits. Yet here in Canada, people remained calm, composed, and considerate, weathering it all with quiet resilience.  Looks a lot like me—same face, same frame. There’s a guy I know—well, a few of them, actually—who hadn’t had a haircut in over two months. Their hair had grown wild and unruly. But cutting it themselves? Too risky. One wrong move and disaster strikes. Asking a family member? Just as risky. If the cut goes wrong, the blame game begins. Better to just live with it. But me? I had nothing to worry about. For the past 12 years, my wife has been our family barber. Mine and our kids’. She took a crash course in men’s haircutting—a whirlwind three-day program—and never looked back. Of c...

Stories of  Little   Happiness – 01 In this place, there are only about thirty days a year—or sometimes even fewer—when the temperature rises above 25°C. So even when winter has passed, we don’t necessarily tuck our thick clothes deep into closets or drawers. Sometimes, in May or even September, mad flurries of snow still pile up. Still, taking out clothes of different thicknesses, shapes, and functions with each changing season brings a small happiness—a kind of quiet excitement. Even though they are the same old clothes we’ve worn every year, they feel like a fresh find when seen again after a long while, offering a little thrill as if we’ve acquired something new. As winter rounds the corner with a determined stride, there is a certain sense of relief in gathering those heavy clothes once more. That simple act is enough to lighten the burden of having to embrace a long, cold season. My little happiness is found even in old clothes, even in the freezing winter.