Laundry stripping

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Well today, I can say that I honestly feel so productive and like a super adult. Or rather, I feel like a true domestic goddess, as Nigella Lawson once discussed. Why? You would ask. Well, it’s because today, I have finally tried out LAUNDRY STRIPPING.

I had no idea what this was until earlier this year, when I came across a mention of laundry stripping on Instagram. I’d read that TikTok had popularized the idea of laundry stripping, which is a term that is used for filling your bathtub up with really hot water, using a 1:1:2 part solution of borax, washing soda (NOT to be confused with baking soda! It’s more alkaline and far more powerful), and laundry detergent. You mix it all up until everything has dissolved, and then you place bulky items of a similar color, usually towels or bedding, into the water and swish them around about once an hour for about four hours, or until the water fully cools. You wring out all the items, throw them into your wash for a rinse and spin cycle, then dry as usual. The idea behind this is that in your washing machine, your washed items never fully get clean because of laundry buildup, grease/body oils/etc., so this method gives your bedding and towels a true “deep cleanse” and takes all the excess grime out that your machine wasn’t able to do.

So I gathered a large bunch of our white/off white/beige towels as my first attempt at laundry stripping. I made the solution, filled the tub, dumped all the towels in, then swished. I swished a total of five times, then did the whole method of wringing them out and adding them to the rinse/spin cycle. And WOW! Just after five minutes of sitting in the water, you could see how gross the water had become. It was already a deep, murky grey color. And that was just after five minutes! This is all the dirty and nastiness the washing machine couldn’t take out!

I’ll be honest: I did feel a happy sense of cleanliness and accomplishment after seeing this. I just hope that the towels actually look and feel a bit better after all this. See? You can never fully trust your washing machine to *really* get your stuff squeaky clean.

Before the Coffee Gets Cold – time traveling to see the deceased

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I just started reading the book Before the Coffee Gets Cold by Toshikazu Kawaguchi. It’s the first book in a series of of novels that was originally an award-winning play. The idea behind the story is a simple premise: time travel in a nondescript cafe. The customers of the cafe Funiculi Funicula can travel back in time, to any time they like and to see whomever they choose, but there is one basic rule they must all follow, above all: they must return before their cup of coffee gets cold. A few other caveats are thrown in, too, to make things a bit more challenging: you can only time travel when sitting in a designated seat in the cafe. You cannot get up from the seat at any point of this time travel session. And lastly, whatever is said and done when you go back to the present time, nothing will be able to change the future. The present will still be the present, and all will be unchanged.

The beginning is painfully slow. I wasn’t actually sure I would continue reading because of how slow and annoying the descriptions were in the beginning. It also is extremely annoying to read about all the cultural stereotypes of how Japanese men vs. women are. Japanese society, like most Asian cultures, does not like to express emotions openly. They are sexually repressed and can never fully say what they think to others out loud, even people who are supposed to be their closest friends or family. So that repeatedly happens throughout the stories in the book. But my general rule with all books is that I have to read to page 100 to decide whether I really want to continue or not. Some books are just slower than others, and that’s how stories can build.

But then I got to the second story in the book about two sisters. One runs a bar and runs a pretty casual life, but we later learn that she left home and got cut off from her parents because as the oldest, she was expected to take over their family business of running an inn, which she didn’t want for herself. Her younger sister is left to to take over the inn. The sisters got along as children, but as they get older, they drift. The older sister is constantly pushing the younger sister away when all the younger sister wants is to be close to her big sister. The younger sister dies in a tragic head-on car collision. The older sister finds out and is struck with so much grief. After over a decade of never going home, she finally goes back to the family house, where she finds her parents mourning her sister’s dead body, lying in an altar-like state. Her parents ignore her and pretend she isn’t there. Later, she goes to the cafe in an attempt to see her late little sister one more time. Another caveat is introduced: when you time travel back to see someone who is deceased, a little alarm goes off at your table to warn you it’s almost time to leave… because the cafe knows from experience that in tragic reunions like these, the person time traveling never wants to leave their deceased loved one.

When there is a person who comes to the cafe to time travel, they need to pinpoint a specific point in time they want to go back to, and who they want to see. And usually, they have a purpose: they want to re-phrase something they said. They want to share a letter that they failed to give. They want to take back something they said. This particular sisters story was particularly touching to me because I think about what it would be like to time travel to the past to see Ed again, and which moment I would have chosen. Of course, this is a bit different: this younger sister did not die by suicide; her death was 100 percent accidental. At first, I was unsure when I would have chosen. But then, I thought… I would time travel to March 2013, when I was home for a long and painful two weeks on my own, without Chris. Endless arguments and snips from my parents happened that trip. But I would time travel to the day I suggested to Ed that we take a walk and get bubble tea at 23rd St and Clement in San Francisco. I would have had a different conversation with him. I still remember the conversation we had: I shared with him that I was worried and wanted him to get therapy. I would have come with a better plan to help. I would have reassured him with stronger words how much I loved him and wanted him to get better. I would also have reiterated to him that he needed to get the hell out of our parents’ house and move out on his own. I would have asked him to commit to a plan and reassured him that he had so much more potential.

Like in the Funiculi Funicula cafe, the present would not change. He’d still be gone. But maybe if I’d had a firmer, more reassuring conversation with him about how deeply concerned I was and how much I loved him, maybe I’d feel a tiny bit better about what I did. I suppose I will never stop regretting what I did and didn’t do with him. But regardless, the world keeps turning and we must go on. I wonder if I had had the conversation I really wanted to have if that would have elicited different words from him. Maybe he would have shared something with me during that conversation that would give me more closure today. Even though it would hurt a lot to see him again, I would jump at the chance to time travel back to see and talk to him again.

Response from the executive director of the Manhattan Chapter, AFSP

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Last week after I sent my email to the executive director of the Manhattan Chapter of AFSP, she responded. She was really kind and thoughtful in her response and said she appreciated my feedback and heard everything I said. She wanted to invite me to lunch in the next month so that we could get to know each other, and also to ask me to join the Manhattan Walk committee for next year.

I immediately said yes to lunch. I think it would be a good idea to sit down with her to see what her role is about, how she got into this since she’s new to the organization, and to see what the future of the AFSP Manhattan Chapter looks like. It would be a good learning opportunity for me. Plus, her work is paid work; she works for AFSP. I’d like to see her perspective on all this. Honestly, as terrible as it sounds, I do not speak much with people who work at not-for-profit organizations. I did tell her that while I was flattered to be asked to join the Walk committee, I was not 100 percent sure given the time commitment. The idea of dealing with politics and bureaucracy at a job I’d receive zero pay for does not necessary delight my senses.

It made me feel good to know that she cares and was quick to respond. This is supposed to be a community, after all, so I’m hopeful about the future for AFSP.

Kaia, the Chindianese eater

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Like every toddler, Kaia has her moments with food. Although relatively speaking, she is a very adventurous toddler and loves a large variety of foods, I suppose it’s also helped that I was extremely rigorous with exposing her to as many flavors, foods, and cuisines as possible before she turned age 1. I am proud to say that she loves many of the foods of her cultures, whether that is various forms of tofu (she is particularly fond of pressed smoked or five-spice tofu), gai lan and other Asian vegetables, dal, many different curries, cha lua, and pho broth. And her absolute favorite food, noodles, certainly defines her as my sweet noodle slurping baby. Today, she gobbled up a large amount of stir-fried pressed five spice tofu with celery and bell peppers for both lunch and dinner.

Sometimes when I watch Pookster eat, I am reminded of a conversation I overheard between my aunt (my dad’s younger sister) and one of my cousins shortly after he and his wife had their two kids. My aunt was asking my cousin what his kids like to eat. When he named a bunch of generic American junk food like chicken tenders, fries, and pizza, my aunt, clearly not happy, asked why he and his wife let their kids eat all this junk. “Do they eat Chinese or Filipino food?” she asked. My cousin said they did not, and my aunt goes into a rage, pressing him as to why. My cousin insisted they “just don’t like it.”

“They are Chinese and Filipino! This is their culture!” my aunt cries. “How can they not eat their own cultures’ food? This is your fault! You are their parents! You have to teach them!”

As much as I disdain my aunt, she had a valid point. It’s really on parents of children to lead by example and teach them how to eat, what to eat, and what their heritage is about. The easiest way to appreciate culture is through food, and so if you cannot teach your child to enjoy their culture’s food, then what luck are you going to have with your child embracing other parts of their culture?

An imperial family dream

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It’s almost as though since my college friend came to visit that all these vivid dreams have started. I know I dream every night, but in the last several months, it’s been harder to remember them once I’ve woken up. Last night, I dreamt I was part of an imperial family. I was in a huge banquet hall with a lot of other people, who I presume were my family members. We were all dressed in elaborate gowns and suits. I had an elaborate and large hairdo with endless pins in my hair. The only person I recognized was my mom, who was seated at the head of the table. She was discussing in an “I am very important” tone of voice my betrothal to someone I was not particularly fond of. As soon as she mentioned this man, I felt a bit of disgust and a bit of annoyance. But I said nothing. I suppose that was just my future that someone else would be determining for me, I thought to myself. I simply sat there and stared, mindlessly eating the food that I was served by a fleet of servants. As I got up from the table, one of the servants caught my eye, and I could see his eyes glimmering. I turned the corner, and he discreetly followed me and tried to brush his hand over mine. I was confused and looked up at him, and his face came right up to mine. We were so close that I realized he had a hard-on and was trying to show it to me. I felt even more confused and at that point flustered, so I pushed him away and quickened my walk away from the banquet hall and all those people, including him.

So what – in my dream, I’m a part of a wealthy imperial family where the servant tries to make a pass at me? What is that about, anyway?

No Stupid Questions Podcast: When do you become an adult?

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In the last year or so, I’ve gotten into the No Stupid Questions podcast, which is a spinoff of the very popular Freakonomics books series. Research psychologist Angela Lee Duckworth and tech and sports executive Mike Maughan ask a lot of questions, some that can, at a glance, appear to be “stupid,” and so they ask each other these questions and delve into them. Many of the questions are suggested by their listeners.

The latest one I listened to that made me think was on “When do you become an adult?” and how it’s been fairly arbitrary that 18 has been the designated “adult” age. Why shouldn’t people ages 16 and above be able to vote? Why can you legally drive at age 16, vote at age 18, but then you cannot drink alcohol until age 21 in the U.S.? They go through all these questions and the historical reasons behind them in this episode.

One of the things that really made think was what Duckworth called the “life history theory,” which says that these things that you think are just fixed, or are on some cellular clock, they are actually profoundly influenced by experience. There’s an evolutionary reason behind it: if you sense that you are in some chaotic, uncertain, and/or dangerous environment, you had better get to adulthood fast. “Get to adulthood, reproduce, and get the hell out of there! You don’t have a lot of time!” Duckworth says. Life history theory says: what if you have the sense that you are in a stable, rich environment where you will live years and years? Then you have an incentive to forestall puberty and whatever line you want to give yourself for adult roles. This theory says you can procrastinate on adulthood if you live in a secure world because then, you have time to learn from your parents, get more educated from your peers and develop skills.

This made me think about two individuals I know. One is a former colleague from my last company who was essentially the biggest child I’d ever known who was my age. Let’s call this person Amber. Amber came from a wealthy, prominent Bay Area family with all the resources and support you could ever ask for. Yet somehow, when she started working at my last company, Amber came across as the most needy and insecure 30-something-year-old adult I’d ever met. She was constantly trying to make friends with everyone and get everyone to like her. It was really confusing to me, and I kept my distance from her. But eventually, I found out that she seemed jealous of the role I played in the office. I was effectively the culture queen in the office and organized happy hours and gatherings, and she did not like it since she wanted that role. She tried to get people to call her the “office mom,” as ridiculous as that sounds. Since Amber was the first and only recruiter in our office, she was the land line to HR in our San Francisco headquarters, and she kept tabs on and falsely reported goings-on and “moods” in the office. I will forever and always remember this stupid incident that happened: She had the balls to report me to HR for not wishing her a public happy birthday message on our team Slack channel. Amber knew I had an office birthday list, and when I happened to forget to ask her when her birthday was, she got upset and actually reported me! On top of that, because I had recently co-organized a happy hour event for a departing employee (who left on awkward terms), she also reported me for being “exclusive” and not inviting her (even though 1) another colleague was helping me organize, who she never reported, and 2) I purposely didn’t invite her because I knew she would be out of town for a work-related conference). Instead of HR looking at this as some senseless, childish, and elementary-school-like behavior and dismissing it, they actually took it seriously (since HR at my last company was full of toxic, drama-instigating individuals who substituted activity for achievement every day). Our “People Partner” (what a joke of a title, by the way, as she couldn’t have been less of a “partner” but an trouble maker who abused her “power”) asked my manager to have a chat with me about it. My manager, who was relatively new at the time, seemed a bit helpless when he confronted me about it. It was clear he thought it was dumb, but he shrugged and said he was simply delivering a message that HR had asked him to share with me. In general, people at the office despised Amber; endless people would say she was childish, bratty, and lacked self esteem (one former employee who was on her way out said to me in disgust, “She is a child! She tried to force me to hang out with her after I left!”), but they were generally afraid of Amber since she was like a pseudo HR-representative in our satellite office.

The second person I think about when I think of this life history theory is a friend of mine who is currently on her second divorce. We met in college and connected over our love of Chinese language and culture, food, and travel. Throughout college, I got to meet and hang out with her parents multiple times. They used to visit at least a couple times a year and were so generous to take me out to many delicious meals together. We talked about all sorts of topics that I’d never dream of discussing with my own parents. They treated me and my opinions with respect. I’d never felt so intellectually stimulated by another person’s parents in my life at that point. I always envied her relationship with her parents, and I had wished my parents could be more like hers. My friend married for the first time in 2011, then got divorced around 2015. The guy was literally a clown, as he was a professional clown artist and apparently a bit of an unstable fraud. She got married a second time in 2017 (to someone who, from any outsider’s view, was the total opposite of her, morally and politically), had a kid with this second guy in 2019, and then filed for divorce last year. Somehow, she has dug herself into a hole where she not only gave up her house that she is still paying bills and mortgage payments on, but she is also paying for a Christian private school that she didn’t want her child to go to. Because medical related decisions need both parents to sign off on them, he rejected my friend’s request to get their child therapy for how to handle the divorce. Their child is struggling and hating the separation, and she’s acting out because she doesn’t understand what is going on. Her ex-husband, who is unemployed, is making no attempt to work again given that he’s essentially living for free off my friend’s hard-earned money. She is so short of money now that her grandparents, who are well off, are paying for her rental payments for her apartment that she escaped to.

I wonder about the two of them, though. Is it possible that both of them were so loved, so supported, so coddled by their parents and grandparents and all the money and resources they had, that they are basically like living examples of people who never felt truly compelled to “grow up”? No one wants their children to feel unsupported or unloved, but according to life history theory, we may need to find ways to instill grit in our children so that they do not feel like they have all the time and endless resources in the world to “grow up” and be independent. No one will really respect you when you are in your mid-30s and crying to mommy when someone won’t wish you a happy birthday. Few people will respect you when your grandparents are paying your rent payments as a nearly 40-year-old.

The life of Gen-Zers / Zoomers portrayed in Maame

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“We grow up fast. Not by force, but because we are needed.” – Maddie Wright in Maame

I recently finished reading Jessica George’s debut novel called Maame. I had it on my bookmarked reading list for a while, but a friend told me she recently read it, and that it was one of her favorite books she’s read in the last year. So I finally decided to read it and am so glad I did: from the very first page, the writing grabs you because it’s so approachable, and I found myself staying up late at night because the writing pulled me into the life of Maddie Wright, the protagonist, so much. When I’d read the description of the book being about a 25-year old British Ghanaian woman navigating career, complex family dynamics, and caregiving for her dad who has Parkinson’s, I wasn’t sure how much I’d be able to empathize given the generational difference – would I find her point of view relatable given I’m 13 years older than her? I did want to read it since it’s unusual to read stories of any 20-something-year-old caregivers of their parents, especially from the point of view of women of color. Given I stayed up late three nights to read it, I’d say it’s likely one of the best books I’ve read this year.

The story is touching, heartbreaking, light-hearted, and funny all at the same time. I really feel for her being the only one in her family burdened with taking care of her father (other than the primary hired caregiver), as she has a useless mother who is having an affair all the way in Ghana with her high school sweetheart, and an equally useless and selfish brother who spends as much time as he can working and avoiding all family members despite being in the same city as his ill father and stressed sister. I loved the frantic Google searches and Reddit rabbit holes that she went on, as that is what pretty much all of us do in this day and age, regardless of age, when we have a question or are worried about something where we don’t know how it will end. I enjoyed how she handled the topics of mental health, depression, racism in the workplace, and family dynamics. I also loved the scene towards the end of the book when she starts screaming at her mother and brother after her father died, as these monologues finally made it crystal clear to the mother and brother exactly how much they hurt her and ultimately abandoned her and their father in a true time of need. I found her sexual encounters funny, as they highlighted that even with Gen Z, men of younger generations still prioritize their own sexual satisfaction over women’s — when the hell is this ever going to change?! Talk about sexism in literally every form…

But I am also a sucker for happy endings. I love the end when her dad’s will is shared, and the cheating mother just assumes that any money the father had would be left to her. The sum that he had been investing was a huge shock to all, especially the end amount. Her father made it explicitly clear in the will that all the money, every last cent of it, should go to Maddie, and only to Maddie. It would make logical sense, right, given his wife and son abandoned him when they found out he had Parkinson’s disease?

I suppose I also related to Maddie because despite being the youngest, she was the most responsible, the one everyone relied on to get things done and to make sure things were taken care of properly. Like her, I was always told from a young age that I was “wiser beyond her years.” Frankly, that’s a heavy burden to carry on your shoulders, and it gets tiring. It gets tiring when everyone assumes you will always be the strong one, the “put together” one. Through this book, I also got to learn a bit about Ghanaian culture, which I’d previously had zero exposure to (though I was familiar with a lot of the foods being cooked, especially cassava, groundnut, and jollof rice). “Maame” in Twi means “woman,” and it is often used as a playful or loving term when given to a daughter. But at the same time, it can be a burden because of all the responsibility it can entail, especially when people in your family start calling you that at a very young age, like in the case of Maddie.

Maame is the 15th book I’ve read this year. Reading in the evenings has been a nice escape and quiet time for my mind to not think about everyday life and instead, to enjoy (what is hopefully) good writing and complex character development.

Caregiver Workshop: Developmental milestones for ages 3-5

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This morning, I attended a caregiver workshop on developmental milestones for ages 3-5. It was hosted at Kaia’s school (the larger location a few blocks down), and the presentation was done by an instructional coordinator and a social worker who work for the Department of Education. Chris said he didn’t think it would be worth going to since he’d likely be able to find out all the information via a simple Google search. While that is likely true given the endless parenting resources that are available online, I thought it would be good to go for several reasons: 1) it’s nice to have in-person interaction, especially since I work from home 100 percent of the time), 2) it would be an interesting forum to discuss questions and concerns in a group format and have back and forth conversations, and 3) given these are done by the DOE, we’re lucky we even get access to this type of thing, so if we don’t take advantage of it and the turnout is low, they may end up discontinuing these, which would be to the detriment of those who don’t have the same resources we do.

And as I learned during the session, while data and general guidelines are useful and can always be obtained from pediatricians, medical professionals, and reputable online resources, it’s nice to be able to hear anecdotes about what social workers are actually seeing in the field. This format of nonfiction, “self-help” type book is also what I like the best: opinions backed up by data, as well as personal anecdotes peppered throughout. I always love hearing personal stories because our entire life is a continuous story. The social workers shared some scary anecdotes about developmental milestones getting delayed. They said that in the last five or so years, there have been an increase in cases of children as young as 2-years old who need occupational therapy referrals because they are somehow unable to turn a page of a book. They have no exposure at home to physical books, so instead, they get an iPad. They are so used to the motion of “swiping” up, down, left, and right, that their fingers just do not know how to pinch together to turn a paper page. That was mind boggling to me and made me feel so sad.

The families who don’t have the resources to buy their children physical, hard copy books, and/or the families who are so strapped for time that they cannot sit down and read a real book with their child — those are the families that need workshops and resources like these most. And I hope they are able to get access to them sooner rather than later.

First butternut squash of this autumn season, and first butternut squash soup (!)

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In my mind, there are three things that personally ring in fall / autumn for me: making my first pumpkin dessert (usually pumpkin bread since it’s easy and delicious), my first apple dessert (as first started during the pandemic year of 2020, when I made a German style apple cake (apfelkuchen) that was inspired by the amazing apple cake we had during our first trip to Germany, and 3) my first butternut squash purchase, followed by peeling and cutting up my first butternut for cooking, and SOUP!

I made a quick pumpkin cake with maple cream cheese frosting for our New Jersey play date in late September. Then, when my friend just came to visit, I made an apple fritter cake, which tasted just like an apple-laden apple cider donut, just without all the oil from frying. Yesterday, I peeled, cut, and roasted my first butternut squash of this autumn. Today, I used it to make a quick butternut squash and white bean soup. I had leftover white beans from cooking last week, and so I decided to puree it into my soup, which worked extremely well! I’m looking for more ways to incorporate beans into our diet for added protein (and just because they’re SO good for you), and this was a perfect way to get them in. The white beans added a velvety texture to the soup, and it gave the soup even more body, thickness, and creaminess. I definitely did not make the same mistake I made last year by using a crappy cartoned vegetable stock from Trader Joe’s; this time, I used some dashi I had made from last week, and the umami flavor really complimented the squash and beans well. With my three items checked off, it’s definitely and officially fall in our kitchen!

I’m looking forward to cooking with even more butternut squash and other autumn squash favorites, like buttercup and kabocha, very soon. Autumn/winter squash is truly the best squash. Take THAT, zucchini and yellow summer squash!

AFSP follow-up

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I decided to write a letter to this year’s AFSP Walk director. I decided against writing anything in previous years because I didn’t want to make a big stink, a “woe is me” plea. I recognize that they’re a nonprofit, that their team is quite small and lean, and that things can slip through the cracks. They aren’t some bloated organization where people are just twiddling their fingers all day. But this time, after 11 years, I feel like my voice needs to be heard about all the little slights over these number of years.

I drafted a letter, which is currently in my inbox. I tried to word and format it carefully so that it didn’t just sound like a bunch of complaining, but was actually speaking to flaws I think the walk and overall organization has. And this is coming from someone (me!) who has been involved quite actively for over a decade. I’ll probably sit on it for another day or two before I send it and make sure to proofread it for coherency. My friend suggested that after 11 years of being a top fundraiser, I really have already earned my seat at the table whether they are willing to give to me or not. He suggested I join the board or walk committee. I doubt they will offer me a board seat, but maybe a committee seat. I’m sure there are all kinds of road blocks to pass before getting an actual board seat. But the truth is that I’m not really sure what I want as a result of this. I suppose I just want them to hear a voice from their community and address how corporate they’ve become. Even if they offered me a board or committee seat, I don’t know if I want to spend that much extra free time, of the little I have, for AFSP. It’s mentally and emotionally exhausting to think about suicide and mental health awareness all the time. And it will likely just feel like another job, just one that I’m not paid for, and that likely will not bring me joy or fulfillment. We shall see how this goes.