Tonight, Chris and I had dinner at a modern Korean restaurant with his mom’s cousin and her husband visiting from Toronto. They’re currently in town for a medical conference that the cousin’s husband is attending, and so of course since they’re here, they wanted to catch up with us and check out a few lovely restaurants that this city has to offer. We had the usual discussion of things like what they were planning to do outside the conference, recent travels, Chris’s parents (including Chris’s dad’s disgust of using his hands to eat), and reflecting on our wedding back in March.

Every time I sit at the table with Chris’s relatives, particularly the relatives in the generation before us, I always wonder why they are so freaking normal. It’s as though I am subconsciously (or maybe even consciously) waiting for a moment when I can think, “aha! There’s a hint of dysfunction! Gotcha!” But it never seems to come. They seem like normal, optimistic, ambitious, hard working people, people who love life and their families and their friends, people who trust that the world is actually a good place and that their neighbor or neighbor’s neighbor is inherently good. We can have normal conversations about everyday things. I can’t even do that with my own cousins (at least, the three of my dad’s oldest brother); it always feels so forced and fake even when I try.

God, I love these people. They should visit more often.