Monthly Archives: May 2015

“The subway is so gross”

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Today in the elevator going up to my office, I’m standing with two women, both of whom do not live in the city and made that very clear. They’re both grumbling about how warm it’s becoming (New Yorkers never seem to be happy with the weather). This is the conversation I overhear:

Woman 1: It’s getting really hot outside (makes a face). Did you take the subway here?

Woman 2: Eww, no! I walked. The train is disgusting!

Woman 1: I know. It’s so gross. I walked here from Grand Central, too.

Why do people work and live in the New York City area if they are going to complain about how “gross” and “disgusting” the subway is? The New York City subway is one of the most extensive subway systems in the world, and we’re really privileged to have it and not be forced to drive everywhere in massive congestion and road rage. Some people seem to love reveling in their ignorance and ivory towers. Stop complaining, everyone. Just take it for what it is, or leave.

Mother’s Day

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Today, it is Mother’s Day. It doesn’t mean that much for my family or me given that my mom and closest aunt are Jehovah’s Witnesses, so I can’t really wish them a Happy Mother’s Day or send flowers or gifts. But it’s a reminder to me yet again about the hard life my mother has lived and all the pain she’s endured that I only know a fraction of.

She doesn’t celebrate Mother’s Day, but I know she thinks about it. She probably thinks about her life as a mother to Ed and me, and how Ed is no longer with us. I’m sure that hurts a lot to know that you gave birth to and were a mother to your son for over 33 years, and then he took his life by jumping off a bridge. That son is no longer here. He’s dead. I feel a lot of pain when I think about the sequence of events even on the day of and leading to my brother’s death. The more time passes, the less it’s really about pain for myself and my parents as it is for pain for Ed, to think about how he felt, his suffering, and how he just wanted all the pain and agony to end. He just wanted some quiet. When I think of this, I feel even worse and think I could have done more. I get angry at myself because I know I had only spoken to him briefly on the Friday before that Monday, and at length on the Wednesday before that Monday. I knew he was reaching his limit. It’s a terrible thing to feel powerless to help someone you really love. And it’s even worse to think that as a mother, you cannot help your child enough to save him and his life.

Being a mother – what a scary thing. I’m reading Elizabeth’s Warren’s A Fighting Chance now, and I just finished reading Wendy Davis’s memoir. Like they say, being a mother never “ends,” and it rarely gets easier, especially from a emotional level of attachment. Maybe when your child is a teen or a full grown adult, you won’t need to spoon feed him or change his diapers or rock him to sleep, but that doesn’t make him any less your baby. Ed will always be my mom’s baby, just like I am, even if he isn’t physically here anymore.

Recipe for love

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Yesterday, I was reading one of my favorite food blogs, Smitten Kitchen, and Deb, the blogger, says in one of her posts that the sour cream coffee cake she makes could be the dish that made her now husband realize she was The One. She said that after she made this cake for him, shortly after, he asked her to marry him. And so began their journey cooking and photographing together in their tiny Manhattan kitchen. The coffee cake became the reason he married her, or so she wants to believe.

I thought about this in the context of me and Chris. Since we have moved in together about three years ago now, I’ve made so many different things that I can’t really keep track of what has been his favorite. I’ve made more use of this teeny tiny kitchen than probably anyone else in the history of this building even existing. This kitchen has seen some crazy three-day process dishes, as well as complex pastries like croissant. I asked him if he could name a dish I’ve made for him that he’d say was the one he’d name as the The Dish, and he said that I rarely make the same thing twice, so it was hard to name. Now that I think about it, the only real repeats this apartment has seen are banh xeo, appam, Kerala chicken stew, banana bread, pumpkin bread, pad thai, and different versions of oatmeal and chocolate chip cookies and fried rice. Nothing else has ever been a repeat.

It’s hard to repeat a dish when there are infinite recipes out there on the internet that I’ve bookmarked, as well as too many cookbooks here in the apartment that I neglect as a result. I guess Chris can’t name a favorite dish because they’re all his favorite dishes since I made them. 🙂

DNA testing

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Chris and I are undergoing DNA testing via a DNA kit we are using from 23andMe. I was a bit skeptical about it at first, but I realized that it may actually be helpful and interesting to know for our future children and things they could potentially be at risk of. I’m already aware of things that they may be at risk of based on our family histories: heart disease, high blood pressure, prostate cancer, crooked and ingrown teeth, gum disease,near-sightedness, and potential depression and mental illness. That’s a long list of negative things to be at risk of and covers quite a variety of health areas.

The more I think about future children, the more terrified I become of all the things I hope they don’t have to deal with. I think about the mental breakdown my dad’s mother had when she was in her late thirties and how she was hospitalized for over a year when my dad was a little boy. I think about my mother’s traumatic experiences in Vietnam, and Ed’s initially gradual and then quickly escalated decline and eventual death. Maybe there’s even something dormant lingering in me somewhere, and it’s just waiting to unleash itself with a given external event that needs to happen. All of the mental illness that has been exhibited in my family stares at me grimly in the face when I think of having babies. No one wishes that their child inherits anything like this, but we have zero control over it. And while nurture has a strong role in shaping a child, nature does, as well, and the strength of nurture versus nature in a child’s upbringing in determining how healthy and happy and functioning he becomes is still quite hazy. So, it’s scary to do this testing because at some point I will be reading these results right on a computer screen. But it’s probably better to know than to remain ignorant.

Aftermath

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So the dinner with my parents, Chris’s parents, Chris, and even my aunt happened last night. From what Chris and his parents said, it was a “lovely” and “enjoyable” evening getting to know each other over some great food. Chris said all the predictable things happened in terms of topics of discussion and gift exchange, and I wondered what my mother would have to say about all this after I left work today.

So I called her, and one of the first things she says to me is, “Have you talked to Chris’s parents?” I told her that they texted me to say it was a fun evening. “Did they say anything? What did they say? Did they say anything about me or your father? Anything about how nice we are?” And so it goes. My mother is interrogating me because she was expecting Chris’s parents to write a full detailed report on the evening, how it played out, and most importantly, what they thought of my parents as people and as future parents-in-law to their precious first born. I felt tired hearing all the questions coming out of her mouth. No, they didn’t tell me lots of details. All they did was text me a simple line to let me know dinner was great! Why is this so hard to believe? I’m not withholding any information!

As Chris and I know, all of these questions and comments are coming out of my mom’s insecurity and lack of confidence. She is just so eager to be praised and to be told that she is, in fact, worthy.

So at the end of the conversation, my mom says that she thanks God that I am able to marry a boy who comes from such a good family. “It’s Jehovah’s blessing,” she said calmly.

She’s right. Well, sort of. It is a blessing from God. It’s a blessing from God that I am not marrying into a family anywhere in the universe of dysfunction as my own. It’s also a blessing that I am marrying a boy who is even willing to arrange a “meet the parents” dinner without my presence. As my friend told me the other day, “You’re really lucky with Chris because if that were me, I’d be outta there.” This boy of mine clearly has balls.

Questions

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My mother is clearly on edge because she knows she will be meeting Chris’s parents tonight. I can tell she feels pressured to make a good impression… because she thinks that if she and my dad do anything to offend Chris’s parents, Chris’s parents will then inform Chris that they don’t think this is a good match and force him to end the engagement. That sounds a bit antiquated given that we are in the year 2015, but hey, that’s what my mother thinks. We have to let her think what she thinks.

When I called her after work yesterday, she asked me so many questions that I had to keep a straight face and try to answer all of them patiently so that she wouldn’t yell at me. It went something like this:

Mom: So… is there anything you want to tell me?

Me: No, not really. Everything is fine. Nothing’s new.

Mom: Oh, well, I mean about Chris’s parents.

Me: Oh. What do you want to know?

Mom: Um… who talks more, the mom or the dad?

Me: Dad definitely talks more, but that doesn’t really matter, does it? They both talk! He just talks a lot more than she does!

Mom: Well, I don’t know! That’s why I’m asking. What do they not eat?

Me: They eat pretty much everything. Tony doesn’t really like to eat with his hands, but he can be forced.

Mom: Does that mean he won’t eat crab or lobster?

Me: He’ll eat it if Chris is there.

Mom: What does that mean? Why will he eat it only if Chris is there?

Me: Ugh… He’s just like that! (Note to self: stop telling her things that are too complex and have too much of a silly story behind them).

Mom: I will invite them to come over to the house after dinner. Is that okay?

Me: That’s fine, but it might be a bit late after dinner, and they will be tired and will want to go back to their hotel. It’s out near the airport, remember?

Mom: Well, it’s rude if we don’t invite them to our house. You have to show respect and invite. They came all the way over here. We must at least ask.

Me: I never told you not to invite them! I just mean that if they decline, you shouldn’t be offended.

Mom (voice sounds shrill now): They told you they don’t want to come to our house?

Me: MOM! I never said that!

And so we begin a night of Cantonese dining on the edge of the Richmond district in the lovely City by the Bay tonight, without me.

 

 

The Fault in Our Stars

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I just finished reading John Green’s The Fault in Our Stars tonight. I will be honest and say that I was skeptical about the book when I first heard about it and after it became a movie. I originally thought what most adults might think — why do I want to read some teenage angst/tragedy book? What I’ve realized, though, after reading it to the end, is that it’s so much more than a teen tragedy or a “cancer book,” since as Hazel Grace, the protagonist says, “cancer books suck.” It’s a book that fairly accurately depicts young people who are so unlucky to be forced into a terminal illness, which also pushes them into a world of thinking about their own mortality far sooner than the rest of us do. When we are forced to grapple with our own mortality, we are also required to mature quicker, which makes us unlike the rest of our peers. We ask questions that others may never think to ask. We are also hurt by statements that other people wouldn’t think twice about. I was really moved by the depth of the writing and the development of these characters. They exhibit a maturity and understanding of the world at their age that only someone with a terminal illness would have.

When Augustus dies, Hazel reads through messages that friends and family write to him. She is very upset by one comment, where the friend writes something like, “Your memory lives on with us, dude.” Why would she be so offended by this? But then before she explained why, I already knew. Augustus had to die, but the assumption this friend has made is, you had to die, but I will live my life forever and ever in this world without you here. Don’t worry, though, you’ll be with me in spirit!” It takes a certain level of experience with death to be able to relate to this sentiment.

In the book, Green writes, “Grief does not change you. It reveals you.” It was a very emotive moment in the book. Grief reveals many parts of a person that may be unknown to others. It reveals strengths and weaknesses and areas of vulnerability that may have been hidden for a long time. I didn’t tear up when Augustus died. I teared up as I was reading Hazel’s reactions of anger and sorrow to those responding to Augustus’s death, to her anger around people who wanted to write for the sake of showing they were writing to him after his death, but who had never bothered seeing him in the months leading up to his death — not even once. “I’m sorry I didn’t get to see you, man,” one boy wrote. Hazel was pissed. And I was, too. Well, he’s dead now, so I guess you don’t have to worry about going to see him… or at least, saying you had the fake intention of seeing him!

As sad as it is, whenever I think about death and terminal illnesses, I always think about Ed. I think about how I prematurely lost him, how he prematurely lost to the world. The grief really never goes away. With cancer, you can say you died of a terminal illness. It’s “acceptable” in society’s eyes. If someone hears you died because you had a mental illness and committed suicide, it’s not acceptable and stigmatized. I’ll be long gone from this world when the day comes that suicide and mental illness are no longer denounced.

Regular banter

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It’s been an interesting last few days with Chris’s parents. I got to witness a pretty heated debate on our way to Montauk yesterday between Chris and his mother, as they debated “welfare” and who “welfare” really benefits in society, the rich or the poor. I was amused by Chris’s dad’s assumption about my dad regarding his experience being drafted for the Vietnam War. He suggested that because my dad had traveled to Vietnam for the war that perhaps it would have peaked his interest in international travel. The funniest thing about this comment is that it probably did the opposite and only furthered the American superiority complex that so many Americans have. America is so great, right, so why do we need to travel outside of it? Actually, if we had to be more accurate about this, people really think, “my neighborhood/city is so great, so why do I have to leave it?” It’s why Chris and I have been labeled freaks while trying to visit every state in the country.

The greatest thing about being around Chris’s parents is that you can have regular banter about really odd things and opinions, but also have heated debates, and in the end, no grudges are held. This may seem normal to you, but this is not normal to me. I come from a family that is the king of grudges. If you started arguing about politics with my uncle or aunt or anyone in my family, it would likely end in a swearing, name calling shouting match, and people would likely not be on speaking terms after because both sides would think the opposite side was just an uneducated, uninformed moron. People in my family aren’t capable of having healthy debates where once the debate is over, so is all of the potential yelling or arguing; they only end in sourness and insults. I’m still getting used to this, and this family still isn’t real to me. It’s like I’m waiting for something scary and ugly to come out, but it never comes out. I try to embrace it while I continue to pinch myself and convince myself that it’s all real.

Tangra

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We ended our long day trip out to Long Island today with a stop at Tangra Masala, one of my all-time favorite restaurants that specializes in Indian Chinese food in my old neighborhood in Queens, Elmhurst. As we are ordering and eating, I am remembering how I wanted to take Ed to eat here when he came to New York, but there was no way that my mom or dad would have been able to eat it. My mom would have been annoyed it was Indian anything, and my dad would have passed out from how hot and spicy the food was. So in the end, I never got to take him. Ed loved hot and spicy food. He and I both got our mother’s pretty considerable heat tolerance. He also loved Indian food, but as a family we never ate it together unless it was just the two of us.

I thought a lot this evening about Ed and all the things he never had a chance to do, things he was pretty much robbed of because of our parents and how they prevented him from evolving and growing into a true adult. Something as basic as eating at this restaurant, or as frustrating as not being allowed to go to a cousin’s wedding because he would, in their opinion, shame the family, or as terrible as not being allowed to drive the family car into his thirties — the stories just get more and more ludicrous as I remember them and write them all down. Some of these things have been forced on me as well — I rarely got to drive despite being licensed to drive. My mom praised other people my age for driving and being independent, yet she refused to give that opportunity to Ed or me. Without being aware of it, they just didn’t want us to become adults, even though they thought they did everything they could to make us into adults. “Just be an adult! Can’t you do that?!” My mom would scream at Ed a few times a year in his 20s and into his 30s. Most of the time, Ed never yelled back. He knew he was powerless. Neither of them would ever empower or imbue him with the confidence and self-respect he needed to have a fair chance at life. My life at home is full of painful memories, all of which end in Ed’s premature and untimely and unfair death. These memories always seem to creep into my head at the most random times.

Walk

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We had a long day with Chris’s parents today, which began with breakfast at the apartment. I prepared artichoke gratin toasts with some of our Korean leftovers, and Chris made bellinis. We walked through Central Park, to the northernmost areas, and walked west to the Upper West Side, taking the train down to Chinatown, where we had a late lunch of dim sum. We continued walking around the Lower East Side, Alphabet City, East Village, stopped by a wine bar near Union Square for some South African wine, and then walked along the High Line to Midtown West, where we had a quick Japanese meal at our theater night staple Tabata before going to our Agatha Christie show.

Every time I am around his parents, I’m always a bit amazed at exactly how willing they are to do pretty much anything we want them to do, within reason. It doesn’t seem to matter how much walking or wandering or uncertainty there is in our plans. In the way they move with us, they really define the idea of “go with the flow.” As we are wandering around East Village and Central Park and the Lower East Side today, not once did they complain about being tired, or wanting to stop or go home or just sit down. I was reminded of the walks we did in Vancouver with my parents, where my mom was constantly asking where we were heading to, saying she was tired and didn’t want to walk anymore even when we were in the middle of Stanley Park, and there would literally have been no other way to get out other than to walk. When we took them to a major lookout point in Queen Elizabeth Park where you can see the entire Vancouver skyline, five minutes hadn’t even passed until my dad said, “Okay, where are we going next?” I snapped at him and said we took them up there for the view of the skyline, so go look at it. And dad said sheepishly, “Oh,” and then moved towards the view. My parents can’t seem to appreciate a walk for what it is — a walk just to have an experience, to take in one’s surroundings and the beauty that exists. Who goes up to a lookout point and within minutes wants to leave?
Chris’s parents aren’t like that, though. They appreciate a flower just for what it is, or a walk as a walk. It doesn’t have to have a destination in mind. They enjoy the walk for what it is as an experience. They enjoy a flower just for its beauty and little else. They don’t make comments about how that bud probably would cost $5 if you bought it, or how much one market might rip you off for it versus another. They appreciate the bits of life for what it is.