Tonight, we went to see To Kill a Mocking Bird on Broadway. I’m embarrassed to say that even though I obviously went to school in this country that I never read this book in any of my classes. It’s not as though we didn’t read about race, though. If anything, we read books with far more blunt titles like Black Boy by Richard Wright, and others with themes of racism like William Faulkner’s The Sound and the Fury. But regardless of that, I always knew the story line of Harper Lee’s classic book.

The basic story line is that a young “white trash” girl named Mayella Ewell accuses a black man of raping her (she’s also fully brainwashed, abused, and molested by her Ku Klux Klan member father, but hey, that’s besides the point), and thus, this young black man is standing trial. The jury is made up of all white, rural farmers. You can guess what the verdict is going to be regardless of any “evidence” that is brought up during the trial. But the most striking part of the entire play to me is when the girl suddenly breaks her silence and inability to speak by rambling on and on, in a style similar to her father’s, about how she feels like she’s trapped “in a prison” with these “animals” (she’s referring to black people) roaming around, taking white people’s land that “don’t belong to them. How could she possibly continue living like this? How could any white person?

I felt completely nauseated after her monologue of shrieking and wailing was done. And I realized I felt that way because that her awful, hateful, racist monologue was pretty much what most Trump supporters and Fox News are saying today, just that that specific monologue was set during the early 1930s, whereas the hateful speech we hear today against black, brown, Muslim, or any person of color… it’s toned down and made slightly more nuanced and subtle by members of the Republican Congress, Republicans, and Trump Supporters who want to “take our country back” and “make America great again!”

If anyone in tonight’s audience could not see these sentiments of Mayella Ewell echoed in the news today, in the hate crimes that are on the rise today, in the insipid and hate-driven speeches by Trump, his supporters, and the majority of the ball-less Republican Party, then they had to have been absolutely deaf.

During my rigorous morning workouts of the last month, I managed to get a knot in the back of my butt… which then transformed itself into a sharp pain beginning in my piriformis muscle all the way down my thigh when I would do any butt stretch or butterfly stretch. I didn’t even know the muscle in the back of my butt was called piriformis until I looked up this kind of pain, but either way, I was not pleased. This is the fourth time I’ve been injured in the last year. They say this type of thing happens when you do not stretch enough before rigorous exercise, but I always stretch… maybe just not long enough? So I’ve been icing, stretching, massaging, and rolling that area with a hard ball multiple times a day in an attempt to release the toxins and get the tightness to go away.

These are signs that my body is changing and that I’m definitely getting older. There’s nothing else that can be said about this. Until last July, I’d never even known what a physical injury really felt like from exercise. I guess you learn something new every day, huh?

Today marks my two-year anniversary working at the company where I currently do. It has certainly been full of ups and downs, even ones that I would never have expected if you asked me to predict what would happen in the two years that have passed. I’ve likely met the smartest and most dedicated colleagues I’ve ever known here, some I would even consider “friends.” I somehow became the top performing person on my team last year and am on my way to our President’s Club trip in early May. Financially, I’m doing the best I ever have in my life.

Yet, despite all of those things, the things I’ve always known deep down will continue to be true: I’m still Asian and still a woman, and people will always see that first, particularly in a white-male dominated environment, where when women succeed, they are almost always white, and when they are not, frankly, they’ve had a mix of luck and politics on their side. And in the rat race, even when you are winning as they say, you are still a pathetic rat in the end.

So, I went back with my newly typed and printed visa application form this morning for the second time this week. The line somehow was shorter today, and it seemed to be moving so much quicker. And this time, the security machine scanning all our bags/coats was working, too, so no manual inspection!

A retired couple who travels to what sounds like a dozen countries every year was in line behind me. They’re planning a 2-week trip to China next month, and they got upset last week when they came in because their applications literally got thrown back at them because the woman reviewing all the forms said that they not only needed proof of hotel confirmations, but they also needed a letter typed in Chinese from the Chinese government saying they would be approved to enter the country.

“If you don’t have that, then you aren’t going to be successful today, either!” the retired woman exclaimed to me.

I had a few seconds of panic. There was no way in hell that could possibly have been the case. Chris got in just fine yesterday! He just showed the usual forms and the hotel confirmations I have!

I held my breath as the working woman scanned my forms again and eventually gave me my ticket number. Nope, no government corruption, no stupid letter needed. I was finally in.

Chris and I went to the Chinese Consulate office this morning to submit our visa applications for our upcoming trip to Mainland China. Neither of us has been since our separate trips before we knew each other 2006, and for whatever reason, this visa trip seemed to be so much more cumbersome than it was back then. Chris prepared our forms… yet somehow, he typed his form and hand wrote my form. And when we got to the front of the line, the woman reviewing applications turned me away, saying they have just stopped accepting handwritten forms and that all applications need to be typed. So, I’d have to type the damn form, print it, and bring it back. I was NOT happy.

Somehow, going to my own fatherland is so much more exasperating than going to any other country to date. I wonder why that is.

In New York, where space is a luxury, it’s amazing to even say that you live in an apartment with a standard-sized refrigerator and freezer. In our last apartment, we didn’t have a standard size for either, so when we moved into this place, it was like we had a field day stuffing the freezer with as many things as we could. It’s a pull-out freezer, so unfortunately, we end up stacking things on top of each other… and then slowly forget what we’ve purchased.

The one thing I never forget I buy when I go to Costco is a leg of lamb. They sell Australian lamb only at Costco, and it’s always the best price out of any place. I spent five hours today slow-roasting the leg in Persian spices and got to use my new pomegranate molasses for the first time. When one leg of lamb gets eaten, on the next Costco trip, it inevitably gets replaced. But that usually means we only end up having a leg of lamb maybe 2-3 times a year.

It ended up turning out tasty, but I’ll be honest and say I couldn’t taste the sweetness of the pomegranate molasses or honey at all. I guess this just means we’ll need to experiment with another lamb leg I’ll get on the next Costco trip.

While in Chinatown today, we were looking for a Vietnamese place to eat dinner and came across a spot that had relatively recently opened, so I decided to check it out. We ordered bun bo hue and banh xeo, both which were quite tasty and would mean we’d have faith in coming back to try other things. One of the things that caught my eye on the menu was bo 7 mon, or Vietnamese 7 courses of beef. This is one of those traditional banquet-type meals for special Vietnamese events, or historically, government officials, that serves Vietnamese beef in seven different and delicious ways. The first time I’d ever had this was in Westminster, California, the heart of Orange County, where the biggest Vietnamese population outside of Vietnam lives. I loved every single part of it, and have wondered when I’d see it at other places. Gradually, we found one spot in San Francisco that serves this, a couple in San Jose, and that’s really been it. And given that New York’s Vietnamese population isn’t that big, it was quite a surprise to see this on the menu here. Next time, I’m definitely trying this. I did notice that no price was set on the menu, and it simply said, “S.P.”

I came in for my bi-annual teeth cleaning today to see my dentist and his wife, who is also a dentist, but does all the book work for him. I can’t even remember how long it’s been since I first started seeing them since Chris recommended them to me, but it’s been quite a long time. I usually feel quite comfortable with them, and we tend to chat about all kinds of random things as though we are all old friends, everything from leisure travel to their dog to their remodeling project going on right now. They are always chatty with me, and at the end of my visit, they usually will give me a dental kit to take home.

This time, they actually gave me two sets. The toothbrushes were particularly sturdy, perhaps the latest innovation from Oral-B. So when I got home and unpacked it, Chris noticed it and asked where I got it. I told him that our dentists gave them to me, and he said, “Oh. They never give me anything when I go see them.”

Maybe all the friendliness and chatting pays off?