The Life Tapestry Woven with Stitches

“Life is like embroidery; you have to do it stitch by stitch, no rushing.” Grandma Qiaoming Li said with a smile, the wrinkles at the corners of her eyes stitching out like embroidery patterns.

Grandma Qiaoming Li

When I first met Grandma, she was wearing a green - colored ethnic costume with colorful patterns, and a traditional black hat. A few black tassels hung from the edge of the hat, swaying gently as she moved. The colorful embroidery on the green cloth was like a flowing galaxy. The silver ornaments at the neckline and cuffs glowed with a gentle light, swaying slightly with her movements, as if telling the stories of the years. The embroidery patterns on the blue cloth bag were bright and vivid, as if all her stories were inlaid on it. Her face, carved by sunlight and years, had deep and shallow wrinkles, yet there was a kind of peace after going through vicissitudes. Her silver hair, set off by the black hair, added a bit of kindness. When she smiled, her eyes would curve into crescents, hiding the tenderness and tenacity towards life.

Grandma was originally from the Bai ethnic group. After marrying into a Yi ethnic village from another village, she integrated into this land. When she was young, she came to work in Pingzhang Village and was attracted to a local man. Little by little, letters became the bond to convey their feelings. 

“Back then, when writing letters, every word was full of anticipation. The days of waiting for a reply were harder than embroidering a pair of shoes, but the moment I got the letter, it was more joyful than finishing embroidering a new pair of shoes.”

When Grandma recalled the past, there was a gentle light in her eyes, and the smile on her lips grew stronger. The wrinkles at the corners of her eyes rippled out, as if she had returned to those days of waiting for letters.

Now, Grandma’s husband is 64 years old. Except for one minimally invasive surgery, he is in fairly good health. But when Grandma was 44 years old, she suffered from a severe kidney disease, and her kidney was almost atrophied.

“Back then, there was no hospital in the township. It was very far to go to the city, and the fare was expensive. The family couldn’t afford it, so we could only pray that I wouldn’t collapse.”

Grandma let out a soft sigh, then quickly cheered up. Her rough hands, with calluses, unconsciously rubbed the embroidery on the bag, as if reconciling with the hardships in the old days.

“Later, a Chinese doctor that my husband knew treated me, and I gradually got better, but some sequelae remained. Now, I can only pray not to get sick often, exercise every day, and hope my body can hold on.”

As she spoke, the blue veins on the back of her hand throbbed slightly with her movements, but her eyes were always firm.

When we asked what their family depends on, she answered that their daily income comes from cutting grass, farming, raising cows, chickens, and pigs.

“The younger generation loves to eat free-range chickens. Piglets can be sold at a good price, but cows are just so-so in price.”

The wrinkles on her face quivered gently with the rhythm of her speech, as if keeping time for the little bits of life. And what she loves most is embroidery.

“Nature and the things in daily life are all inspirations for my embroidery. Embroider a pair of shoes and give them to relatives. When they put them on and praise how nice they are, my heart is as sweet as honey. Every time I embroider a new pattern, I feel that this life, just like the embroidery work, is colorful and full of flavor.”

She looked down at the embroidery on her clothes, her fingers gently touching those fine stitches, as if touching the warmth accumulated over the years. Her fingertips slid across the embroidery patterns, causing slight wrinkles, and then slowly smoothed them, as if having a conversation with her past creations.

From the romance of exchanging letters in her youth, to the tenacity in fighting against the disease, and then to the open-mindedness of embroidering the flavors of life into the stitches, Grandma’s life is really like an embroidery work that unfolds slowly. Each stitch is resilience; each thread is tenacity. In this remote mountain village, with her hands, she has embroidered the hardships and beauties into the scenery of

life, letting us see that the most touching power is hidden in the ordinary days.