Happy 87th, Grandma!

If you are stolen, please call the polrice.

As many of you know, my dad has been staying with me for the last few weeks to help me out with my hip surgery. While he's US educated, has lived in the US for almost 15 years and has worked for a number of American companies, he still sometimes gets his words ("R"s and "L"s) and idioms a bit mixed up. After five weeks in Hong Kong and spending time with my dad, I can report that the pictures on www.engrish.com happen more often than not.

Wow, other peoples' parents say the same things to them too!

M sent this website over to me, and I feel better.

Postcards from Yo Momma

It's good to know other peoples' parents say outrageous things to their children too.

Grandma got herself an iPhone

Remember when I said my Grandma was a cool old lady? Well, she went out and got herself an iphone. She saw a commercial on TV, and decided that she absolutely HAD to have a phone with a built in camera, so she got herself an iPhone the very next day. Nevermind that she doesn't even know how to use a microwave yet. I'm sure she'll figure out how to use the touchscreen and her new bluetooth headset in NO TIME. Just let me charge her batteries, put her phone together, sync her headset, and show her how to make phone calls first...

What Grandma really needs is a really simple, easy to use cell phone with REALLY BIG BUTTONS. Windsurfing buddy E once told me that one of his daughters has a cell phone with just three buttons, and each of those buttons were programmed to speed dial something specific so his child could reach someone in the event of an emergency. With the quickly aging baby boomer population, cell phone companies ought to develop something similar for old folks. Remember old-school cell phone technology (e.g. briefcase sized cell phones)? While I love that my phones keep getting smaller, sleeker and faster, there ought to be phones that are targeted towards people with shaky hands, bad eyesight and poor memories. Throw in a built in camera, and I'll be to put that phone on Grandma's wishlist. :-)

the menagerie at my parents' house

I'm at my parents home in Hong Kong, and I feel very much the tourist these days. When I lived in Hong Kong for three years before heading back to the States for college, my parents lived on Hong Kong Island, within easy access to the financial district, downtown and shopping. These days, they're located in the "countryside" (by HK standards) a good half hour from the hustle and bustle of a town center and at least an hour and a half (by buses and/or trains) from downtown and the financial district. The change in pace of life seems to agree with them and their pets.

Here's Mimi. She used to be the crankiest and vainest cat I knew, but now that she's gotten old, she doesn't spend as much time grooming herself. Instead, she suns herself during the day, and begs for table scraps during mealtimes. As she's aged, she's gotten smaller and smaller. I can now hold her tiny fluffy body in the palm of my hand.

From The Menagerie at My Parents' House

Swai Ge loosely translates to Handsome Guy in English. He's some shorthaired cat (I forget what kind of cat he is, but my mom's told me a million times), and he truly is a beautiful animal. He's lazy though and has gotten bit chunky in the middle since I last saw him. He has an engine-like purr, and is extremely affectionate, often seeking out people who'll pet him or scratch him under the chin. Don't let his friendliness fool you into trying to pick him up though. Swai Ge is scared of heights, and the second any of his paws leave the ground, he freaks. I have the scratch marks on my arms to prove it.

From The Menagerie at My Parents' House

Finally, here's Boby, my dad's favorite family member. My parents' neighbor found him as an abandoned puppy six years ago, and my parents adopted him. He's territorial and will bark at anyone that so much as walks in front of my parents' front gate, but he's a total scaredy cat. He's scared of Swai Ge, dogs that don't bark, and huskies. What he doesn't have in brawn, he makes up with smarts. He seems to understand anything my dad says to him, and when he feels like it, he'll listen. Alas, he's also a pervert. He'll hump the leg of any female (people) that walks through the gate despite lacking the balls to back it up.

From The Menagerie at My Parents' House

in hong hong, part 2...

My stepmother's vertigo is gone, and it's nice to have her up and about. She's happy to have me visit, and with her around, my dad lays off a bit. He still tells me several times a day how selfish I am because I won't get married and have children (selfish?), but at least it's only a few times a day.

It's a little backwards to have my own parent treat me like a criminal, especially when it's completely undeserved. Stepmom wanted to give me a piece of her jewelry, and dad told her not to since I'd never appreciate it. I just don't get my family sometimes.

I think Dad says and does the things he does because he thinks it'll help me. I asked why he always seems so dissatisfied and thinks I'm trying to cheat or rob him when I so rarely ask anything of him. He said that every parent wants to make sure his/her child is safe and happy, and this was his way of showing concern. Knowing that makes it easier to deal with it somehow.

Are those your real teeth?

Mom, Dad and I accompanied Grandma to get fitted for her new dentures today. For someone born in 1928, Grandma's a pretty cool dame. She still works at looking her best, getting her hair dyed, keeping up to speed on accessories, wearing ballet flats instead of sneakers. After looking at me intently, she turned to my mother and said something in Chinese. My mother laughed. Grandma had been admiring my pearly whites and wanted to know if they were all my own, if they were dentures or if they were some combination of the two. I'll leave it to you to figure out the answer to that one.

Er, have you seen my teeth?

Grandma lost her dentures, so tomorrow, we're going to get her a new set.

In one ear and out the other

Dad's stressed me out so much that I wasn't sure if I could stay the full five weeks. Fortunately, my brother K helped me put things in perspective:

"We all know dad is dad. We know that dad wants what he believe is best for us, all parents are like that. Parents believe that their children are a product of their life, teachings, etc, so we just need to recognize that. I think all dad ever wanted for us is that we have a good education, get a good job, get married, have children, live happily ever after. I don't think he would ask for anymore... and well based on that criteria we both know that you aren't batting very well at this very moment. So from his perspective it's personal to him and he probably feels like he is failing as a parent.

Dad is getting old ,so i think you just have to let him talk sometimes. ...Afterall they are just words. How much harm could they possibly do right?"

K's right. Just in one ear, and out the other.

in hong kong...

I haven't been here since 2004, and it's different now. It could be because my parents now live all the way out in Tuen Mun now, but I also think that the government has developed the heck out of the islands since I last lived here in 2000. Plus, the SARS scare has made Hong Kong so germaphobic that all public areas are disinfected several times a day. The impeccably clean public bathrooms, elevators and wet markets are a far cry from the Hong Kong I knew growing up.

I flew EVA from SFO to Taipei to HK. I haven't flown a non-American airline in so long that I was completely blown away by the amazing service on EVA. There's more legroom in the economy seats, and each passenger gets a blanket, pillow, slipper and headphones. I didn't even KNOW airlines still give out slippers, blankets and pillows! Wow, remind me to fly EVA more often.

It was a LOOOONG flight, but I made it. I've been here for 1.5 days, and the drama has already begun.

We had to take my step mother to the emergency room today. She woke up with a terrible case of vertigo and couldn't move without the dry heaves. The hospital couldn't find anything wrong with her and just gave her some medication that I assume you take whenever you get seasick. She's sleeping it off now. I feel so bad for her. My dad says this happens to her about once a year, but they don't quite know why.

While it's good to see my family, my dad stresses me out. My relationship with him is always really good from a distance when all we do is chat briefly over the phone or exchange emails. I forget what it's like to be around him all the time. When it comes to me, he's always been hypercritical, and since I've been home (it's only been 1.5 days, but it feels like years), it has felt like I can't do anything right. I've received numerous lectures about how my life is destined to be unlucky, which is why things have turned out the way they have so far, and there's nothing I can do about it. On the flip side, I've also been harangued non-stop about my ability to control my destiny on fun topics such as: I'm a failure at everything I do, I'm too materialistic (not sure where that one comes from, since I don't want to own or buy anything), I lack ambition (because I don't want to own or be responsible for anything), I don't work hard enough, I've made terrible life choices (this should cancel out the unlucky destiny lecture, right?), I'm way past my prime and need to marry asap.

Thanks to my brother's fiance who told my parents that the last two times my good friend P went to NYC it was to see he if had a shot at dating me despite the fact that I barely saw him both times (wtf?!?), I also received a long lecture from both dad and step mom about how I should have married P when I had a chance. In typical Chinese fashion, it's more important for my family to see me married than to see me happily married, as both parents disregard the fact that I'm not attracted to P, I don't want to marry P, and more importantly, P and I as a couple would be a complete disaster.

As much as I love my family (and I really do), I'm suddenly reminded of why I prefer to keep an ocean between them and me and haven't visited since 2004. My step mother is usually around to act as a buffer when my dad gets too insufferable, but without her, being around my dad makes me want to run for the hills. If it weren't for the fact that I've had 15 years to become comfortable in my own skin, my dad's Debbie Downer influence could make even a saint an insecure emotional wreck.

Ah well, old Chinese people are what they are, so this is the way things will always be with my dad. While waiting in the ER, I asked my dad why he always seems so dissatisfied with me. After all, I've never killed anyone or committed a crime. I pay my taxes. Heck, I even pay my parking tickets. His response was that I wouldn't have made it as far in life if he hadn't been so critical. I think he believes that he's responsible for who I've become.

Strangely, he might be right, because so much of me is a reaction to seeing my family as they are and thinking to myself that I don't want to be like that. Which is why I am who I am from the tip of my stubborn, drama-abhorring, twinkie head through my "I-don't-want-to-own-things-just-to-own-things" core on down to my "commitment-shunning-I'll-marry-and/or-have-children-if-and-when-I'm-good-and-ready-even-if-that-means-I-never-marry" toes. The irony is that my father thinks his hypercriticism will make me more of the obedient deferential daughter he wishes he has, but instead, it has made me the daughter he believes is inadequate.

Despite my dad's dysfunctional and crazy behavior (what those of us who have parents like this might also describe as typical Chinese parenting), I realize that it comes from a place of concern and care, so I try to just roll with it. I'm a little tired from all the emotional browbeating, and I wonder if this is the way it'll be for the entire five weeks I'm going to be here. I better settle in for a long ride...

my american dream

my parents were the first people in their families to finish high school and go to college.
for dad to finish high school, his older sisters had to drop out of school and go to work so they could support his studies. mom finished high school, but didn't go to college until years later, when dad had finished getting his degree here in the US. by then, k and i were already in grade school.

we immigrated to the US when i was 6 and k was 2. i often ask myself why we moved to the US. dad tells me it's because he wanted to provide a better life for his family, which is why he decided to apply to schools in the US. although it still stumps me why he happened to apply (and get accepted) to a university in one of the most intolerant and fundamentally religious states in the continental US, because that was probably not the best start to a better life for his family.

our first eight years in the US weren't really the better life dad envisioned. we scraped by on the grace of the Salvation Army, food stamps, the National School Lunch Program, ramen noodles, inexpensively priced overripe bananas, boiled potatoes wrapped in foil so we could take it with us whenever for when we needed a snack, and roadtrip vacations sleeping in our woody station wagon at inexpensive campgrounds.

when mom would get mad at dad over some perceived infidelity that happened over 10 years ago, it would start with yelling. when dad wouldn't respond, she'd throw things. usually dinner. and when that didn't get a rise out of him, she'd start to throw dishes and appliances. i always knew the outcome of those fights. inevitably, she would kick dad and me out of the small cinderblock box that the university called graduate housing. dad and i would spend what my small child-brain thought were weeks but were in reality probably mere days showering at the university gym and sleeping and studying at the university library.

the university library had a small selection of childrens books, Highlights, and Jack and Jills, so while dad studied, i read and reread every single child's book i could find. my favorite story was the one of pocahontas. not the real story of pocahontas, because if i had known of the crappy things that the white people did to the brown people-that-lived-in-North-America-before-white-people-came-and-screwed-things-up and how women were treated like property, i would have probably felt differently about pocahontas.

the story that i read and reread was of the indian chief's daughter who falls in love with a white person, marries him, goes back to his country where she meets the queen and is a success, thereby sticking it to the man. it was a girl empowerment book full of adventure and romance. for a chinese girl who barely spoke english and was ridiculed for her accent and clothes, it embodied the american dream.

I was born a pain in the ass

Parents are so funny.

Since I was rightsized at the beginning of last month, my Dad has called me every Friday night to "chat." He inevitably asks me if I've found a job yet. Of course I haven't found a job yet, as the economy is on the verge of a financial meltdown. Every firm is job cutting, not job creating! His question adds to my general sense of discomfort and anxiety over the uncertainty of my future income stream. I mean, how will I pay for rent or feed myself???



When I spoke to my Dad last Friday, I promised him that he'd be the first person I'd call once I found a job, but only if he would stop asking me about it every time we spoke.

I think he understood because when he called tonight, he made no mention of my job search or employment status. Instead, he asked, "Any news?"

I chuckled at his question. To give him credit, he "technically" didn't ask me about employment. He's purposefully literal. Wily.

I must be my father's daughter, because I can be stubbornly obstinate. I "misunderstood" his question and filled him in on the mundane details of my life. We both knew what he was dying to ask.

I appreciate Dad's restraint, even if he couldn't quite seem to let go of his concern about my ability to support myself. I guess parents can't help but be parents even when their children are full grown.

As for grown children? Well, I guess I can't help but be the same ornery pain in the ass kid I once was either.

It looks like Dad and I will probably keep having our weekly "chats" where both of us will continue to ignore the proverbial employment elephant that's the third caller on the IP phone with us. At least until I find a job, that is.

Significant Emotional Events

Memory believes before knowing remembers. Believes longer than recollects, longer than knowing even wonders. -- Light in August, William Faulkner

Dad loves loves acronyms. Probably because he’s a product of business school since he also uses words like supply chain logistics and total quality management, but whatever it is, there’s an acro he likes to use whenever we have big-picture-meaning-of-life conversations. He calls it SEE, short for Significant Emotional Events.

The idea is that people are creatures of habit, capable only of changing for short periods of time before reverting back to old habits. This is especially true when change is imposed externally. The only exception -- the only time people undergo real and permanent change -- is when they are faced with a SEE that forces them to take a hard look at their lives, themselves and their priorities. And, despite the fact that it’s an acronym, Dad’s theory has some value.

*******************************

Around the end of September, I become pensive. I think about who I am as a person, my development, events of the past year, my relationships and goals. While it could easily and rationally be attributed to a multitude of factors -- the end of summer, the change in weather, the beginning of the holiday season, daylight savings -- it’s something that's only happened the past two years and always around the same time of year.

I’m weirded out by the idea that my brain might have some internal alarm clock. Those who deal with me daily will attest that my memory has more holes in it than a sieve. I rely heavily on reminders like B, my address book and calendar to function on a daily level, and yet, my mind can recall an annual event without prompting. It remembers that three years ago, my life made an abrupt and unexpected ninety-degree turn and left me where I stand before you now.

It was then that I came to the difficult and unpleasant realization that I didn’t know who I was anymore. Coming to terms with that and re-finding myself was one of the scariest and most difficult things I’ve ever faced, but it's one of the best things to have ever happened to me. It forced me to pay attention to what my mind already knew but I refused to acknowledge.

I realized that what I want is sometimes different from what I think I want. I started paying more attention to my intuition, to how I really feel instead of how I think I ought to feel. I used to ignore my emotions or instincts in favor of empirical evidence and logic, but I’ve learned to temper logic and rationality with my intuition. My intuition usually notices things way before I do and it takes some time for my mind to catch up.

I’ve come to appreciate and embrace the fact that life is messy, irrational and uncertain. There’s no such thing as a “right answer.” One of the benefits (or curses) of being human is that I can change my mind or opinion when I want to or if I want to. My life and my circumstances are what I choose to make of them, and if my current plan of action doesn’t work out, there are other options to choose from. For a long time, fear of being unable to achieve perfection and indecision from not trusting my intuition paralyzed me. I was so afraid of making the “wrong” decision, I often couldn’t make decisions at all.

I set boundaries and learned to ask for help. One of the things about going through a tough time is how quickly I lost friends. My true family and friends loved me even when I had nothing to give. They stuck by me even when I didn’t agree with them. We told each other things we knew the other wouldn’t want to hear, and our relationship became stronger for it. I needed my family and friends to be there for me. I had nothing of myself left to give and couldn’t play my usual role as the person who was always there, who never said “no” (even when I wanted to). I was empty inside. Their support, concern and strength helped me tremendously.

I stopped lying to myself and being neurotic. I used to tell myself that things didn’t bother me when they did and that it was “ok” when it wasn’t. My inability to recognize and resolve the things that were on my mind caused me to act out in strange and unpredictable ways: I would get disproportionately upset at small things unrelated to the issues on my mind, and the more upset I got (or the more I felt obligated to give more of myself than I was wanted to), the more perfect everything had to be, the more I controlled my environment by cleaning and organizing. Since I started listening to myself more and articulating my feelings, I no longer exhibit the same patterns of behavior. It’s unfortunate, since my apartment is a mess, and I’m constantly losing things.

I learned to say I love you. I realized the importance of showing the people who are important to me how much I care about them, how highly I think of them, and how special they are. I cut ties with those that demanded much from me but gave very little in return, and I haven’t noticed the loss of any of them from my life. Instead, I’ve been unburdened of the weight of obligation or the need to be considerate to those who wouldn't do the same for me. There is no such thing as unconditional giving or love. Relationships are predicated on the idea that “we’ll continue to be friends provided we treat each other respectfully” and both parties need to give and get back what they need.

Three years ago, I received a long overdue wake-up call when several things happened within a short period of time and none of them were positive. It was a blow to my already tenuous emotional state; I had spent too long giving more than I could give to compensate for the shortcomings of others. By the time September rolled around, I had been emptied of all the things that made me me. I felt brittle and wondered if I might break if I received yet another piece of bad news. Having been through a dark period in my life, I now know that I can handle them, and they'll eventually pass. In hindsight, my mind had been trying to tell me that everything was not okay for quite some time, but I ignored it.

While it was arguably one of the most difficult periods of my life, it couldn't have happened at a better time. It forced me to look hard at where I was headed, at my priorities, my values and at me. I was forced to pick up the remaining pieces of myself and rebuild, and I had to decide if I wanted to continue down the road I was already on or make some life-altering changes. I'm thankful it happened when it did, because I haven't looked back since. Life has been great, and I don't plan on living it cautiously or with any regrets.

I didn't know you liked dog food

My pilates instructor showed me a picture of her dog last week. It's a great dane - lab mix, 100 lbs, has a head like Mocha's, the coloring of a hound and the body of a dane. I love big dogs; they're great companions and very huggable.

Thinking about dogs got me thinking of my folks. Then again, I was thinking of my folks before then -- it's the start of the holiday season, and family is always on my mind about now. Probably because I only see them every three years or so, and everyone thinks about their folks around this time of year.

...

Mom started with one cat.

A cat made sense. We needed a low maintenance pet. There were already too many people -- Mom, Dad, Grandpa, KC (bro), the housekeeper and myself -- living in our apartment overlooking the heart of HK.

We had had other pets, but with little success. There were the tropical fish in a ginormous aquarium. They weren't very interactive and needed a lot of care, so once we tired of them, Mom donated the whole kit and caboodle to my high school Biology department.

There were the birds. They were smaller than my palm and came in shades of yellow and white with the occasional peep of green. Like most small birds in HK, they lived in tiny cages that could be moved from room to room whenever we wanted the company. However, we never took our birds for walks like some of our neighbors.

The birds brought color and song into our red silk and gold brocade, rosewood, lacquer, glass and porcelain Chinese home. They were there to greet the mahjong players on the nights Mom or Grandma hosted. They kept Grandpa company in the early light of morning and fading hours of the afternoon when he sat on his small stool on the balcony overlooking the harbor, cultivating clippings he'd collected on his daily walk and pruning plants so they grew into tiny, graceful, perfectly shaped bonsai trees. Afterwards, he'd perform his daily tea ritual. Those were my favorite moments with Grandpa. Since I can't speak Chinese and he can't speak English, tea was the one thing we could do together.

Then, the birds were gone. The cage doors had been left open while they were on the balcony. Mom feared the birds would die unless we got them back right away -- they weren't bred for the wild. We left the cages on the balcony with the doors open and feeders full, hoping the birds would come back, but we lived on the 18th floor of a 28 floor high rise apartment building. Birds smaller than my palm can't fly up that high. Eventually, Mom gave up, and we gave the cages away.

So, none of us protested when it became two cats. We put up with cat hair all over our clothes, the occasional cat "accident," the frequent cat poo in the tub (a nasty habit), the unexpected and traumatizing scratches and the hissing catfights that broke the silence of the night whenever two or more cats encountered each other while prowling the dark rooms of our home. We put up with it because we knew it made Mom happy, and we wanted her happiness.

Eventually, we had five cats.

After the Asian financial crash in the late 90s when Dad was let go from his joint venture (and joint ventures in southeast Asia fell out of favor for a long time), Grandpa had passed away and KC left for college, Mom and Dad moved to a duplex in the suburbs (New Territories). They had a garage for the car and a small yard where Dad grew papayas, mangos and lychees. To keep him company in his free time, he got a dog. After all, Mom had five cats.

I went home over Thanksgiving three years ago, and Dad and I went hiking, sightseeing in China and hung out at home while Mom was at work. We spent countless hours walking the dog, playing with the dog, and occasionally, we'd water the plants.

So, it came as little surprise when I got a call from my mother a few months after I had returned to New York, "Your father! That man! He spends hours with that dog. He's spent so much money on toys for that dog. He comes home from walking that dog and acts like it's a contest between his dog and other dogs, saying things like, 'Guess what, our neighbor said our dog was the best looking one in the neighborhood. Even better looking than the Chu's dog down the street.' He treats that dog better than his kids!"

When Dad got on the phone, I teasingly feigned offense and jealousy, "Hey Dad, how's the dog? I heard you treat him better than you treat your kids. You got him toys and you play with him a lot? You never bought us toys or played with us when we were growing up."

There was a moment of silence. Then, "Well, I didn't know you liked dog food or I would have gotten you some years ago."