When I first started speaking at the late little age of around 2, I spoke a mix of English and Toisan at the same time. Everyone spoke to me in both, but my grandma, my dad’s mother, only knew Toisan, so that’s the language we spoke together. One of the first things she said about me as I was growing was, in Toisan, “That girl doesn’t eat!” I don’t really speak Toisan anymore since she died in 1995, but I can understand basic everyday conversation, and sadly, this is one phrase I can still hear ringing in my head in her voice as though she were standing in front of me yelling it. When I was young, I rarely finished my plate or bowl of food. I was the kid who picked at the food and always said I wasn’t hungry or was full. They used to force feed me because they thought I was too skinny.

My dad loves to remind me this, and I always hate it. He loves to say that I still don’t have much of an appetite, and he especially loves commenting when I’m about half way done with a meal when out, and asks if I will be at the restaurant until midnight to finish my food. In my family, no food should go to waste. There shouldn’t even be half a bite of food on your plate when you are done because then you are just a spoiled child who doesn’t even know what it’s like to go hungry through a night or not have enough dinner to eat. The irony here is that my parents tend to always over buy and cook too much food, so a lot in the end gets thrown out by them. I suppose this is the classic situation of, “Do as I say, not as I do.”

I thought about this because this situation’s already happened twice during this trip, and if it happened once more, I probably would have ended up snapping at him. No one should be eating the full portions you get in these Westernized restaurants, and if you are eating it all, it very likely isn’t that good for you. He doesn’t get that, though.

My mother has been clutching her big hand bag the last two days of this trip, and it’s been driving me crazy. It’s a big purse with long handles, and I have no idea what the heck a little person like her does with such a big bag (she’s only 4 feet 8 inches tall, and perhaps even shorter now since as we get older, we tend to shrink). I know for a fact she’s got a lot of cash in that bag since she never carries credit cards and is on vacation, but she’s not even letting the bag dangle on her shoulder as she should. She’s holding it like a baby with both arms everywhere — on the ferry, all over Butchart Gardens, and then at Granville Island Public Market. She looks like a nervous wreck.

In the last two years, my mother has become even more distrusting, paranoid, nervous, and negative about the world. Part of it is because about two years ago was the point when Ed’s life started escalating in a negative direction, which ultimately led to his tragic suicide. Since then, my mother’s smile in photos has changed drastically. It changed a lot for the first time when he got into legal trouble in May 2000, and then for a second time in 2013 when we lost him forever. Now, her attempt at a smile is like a mix of a confused, shocked, hardened stare, one that would be completely quizzical to those who know nothing about her. “Smile!” we say in photos, and her confused stare is the result.

It’s sad to see her like this, to see what her hard life has done to her and how she has responded to the many circumstances she has faced. Part of it I’m positive is because she herself has a mental illness that just has not been properly addressed, mostly out of her own choice, but we can’t do anything about that in our society since she is an adult who needs to make her own decisions. When I look at the photos of her confused frown or see her clutching her bag as though it’s her life, it breaks my heart a little because I know there’s really nothing I can do to help her be more at ease and actually enjoy life.

My dad’s turning 67 this year, and I’ve finally managed to haul him over the border to Canada for the first time in his life. My mom has been in the U.S. since 1972, so that’s 45 years of living in the U.S. also without ever stepping foot into Canada. In general, my parents don’t travel and dislike it, particularly because they hate being out of their comfort zones, possess no curiosity of the world, and because of the poor conditions in which they grew up, tend to think that only “rich people” travel. Last year, Chris and I took them to Phoenix and the Grand Canyon, and this year, we’ve decided to take them to Vancouver. It seems to have everything my parents like — fairly temperate weather, a Western environment, and lots of Asians everywhere.

So far, other than the bit of rain we’ve experienced (well, we are in Vancouver after all), the trip has been going pretty well. My dad as per usual gets bored very easily, so he’s constantly asking what we are doing and where we are going next. They’ve also been stubborn about getting a debit card that allows them to withdraw money in a foreign country without a transaction fee, so they are constantly asking me where they can exchange cash. My mom asks me two or three times if I’m sure that they don’t accept U.S. dollars here. Nope, they don’t. Canada isn’t like Cambodia, where they don’t value their own currency and prefer U.S. dollars and coins. We’re encountering all the questions and frustrations with my parents just as I predicted. That’s how predictable my parents are.

After my client meeting this afternoon, my colleagues and I decided to ask our Uber driver to stop by the nearest Publix supermarket so that the three of us could grab their famous subs before heading to the airport. I got my much coveted roast beef and provolone sub sandwich, and because we so conveniently hit traffic, I got to the airport with only 20 minutes to spare before boarding was to begin. And lucky me, the Fort Lauderdale airport so conveniently decided to close the TSA pre-check line 40 minutes before I got there (“due to peak period being over”), so I had to get in the regular line. The only consolation I got was that I didn’t have to remove my jacket and shoes. I still had to take out my laptop.

What is the point of paying for TSA pre-check when these TSA agents arbitrarily decide to close the TSA pre-check line whenever they feel like it? I get that FLL is not a major airport, but they can’t just shut this down when there are customers who actually paid money for this speedy access. What else do they do all day, anyway? They clearly don’t do their jobs since I’ve gotten past security in the regular lines not just without taking out my liquids, but even with a bottle that was over 3 ounces large. Got to love their thought process.

I ended up getting through security 10 minutes before boarding time. What a mad dash – the crazy lone Asian girl running through the airport that has little to no Asians in it.