Bruised

After my course of antibiotics ended for my whooping cough, I read that a convalescence period is to be expected for the following two to three weeks, when I would still have cold-like symptoms of coughing, stuffy and runny nose, and phlegm. What I was not actively thinking about was that my back muscles and ribs were sore and bruised from all the coughing and vomiting, which was all exacerbated by the constant laughing from the Jacob-Barber family Christmas celebrations of games and food. Since Christmas festivities typically begin in the family from Christmas Eve through the last full day we are in town, that’s five days of nonstop talking, laughing, and coughing induced by laughing. By last night, my muscles and ribs had flared up so much that it hurt just to speak, so I had to lie down, use Deep Heat and tiger balm, and take anti-inflammatory pills. Then this morning, I woke up at 3am feeling like someone was stabbing me in the right side of my ribs, but it was just the pain of the rib bruising and the desire to vomit that woke me. I coughed up a lot of phlegm over the toilet and wondered what terrible things I’d done in a past life to have this feeling. The center of my throat felt like something was stuck in it, but I couldn’t vomit it out because it hurt my ribs too much to exert that level of effort. It’s like I was stuck in a state of pain that I couldn’t rid myself of, and it was all ultimately exacerbated by laughing and having fun. How masochistic. These are the things you learn about your body when you are really sick. I never thought that I could bruise my ribs or make all my back muscles sore just by coughing before, but here it is.

 

 

 

Menace

Last night, I dreamt I was at home, and my dad was showing Ed how to do something in the kitchen. My dad has a lot of good qualities, but teaching is not one of them. In fact, he’s probably the last person I know who I’d ever ask to teach me something because he gets extremely impatient and frustrated easily when showing anyone how to do anything. He thinks people can read his mind when he has explanations that he chooses not to verbalize because they are simply “common sense.”

Needless to say, this session was not going well, and my dad starts criticizing my brother, saying he’s doing it all wrong, that he’s useless and can’t do anything right. Ed immediately walks away from the kitchen and goes into the back room of the house. I follow him and start running after him. Ed is facing the window, and I said, “Hey… turn around. Let me give you a hug.” He reluctantly turns around and looks at my face and then opens his arms towards me. I hug him and hold him tightly, and then I start crying. “It’s okay, Ed,” I said to him, rubbing his back. “You’re not useless. You can do lots of things well. I know you can. I love you. You’re going to remember that, right?” He says nothing, but I can feel his tears dripping on my back, and he tightens his grip on me.

And a happy Boxing Day to you, too.

Choosing health

When I was a junior in college, I took a development economics course that explored economics and its complexities in third-world countries (I learned in that class that it could be perceived to be politically incorrect to even use the term “third-world,” so instead in our discussions, we had to use the term “developing” countries to differentiate from “developed” nations like the United States or the United Kingdom). In our very first session, our professor asked us a simple question: Take any developing nation in the world where the great majority of people are struggling and living on $1 USD/day or less. If you could choose one area of concern to tackle first, which would it be and why?

A few areas were given as examples, such as education, defense, health, water supply (in terms of cleanliness and ability to drink). I didn’t hesitate for a second and immediately jumped on education and started to build out a case for it. We got into small groups (our class was only about 20) and were organized by issue, and in the end we fought it out. And as important as education was, as much as we all strongly believed that every child should be entitled to formal schooling and learning how to read, write, do math, and learn about the rest of the world, my team lost. Why? Because you cannot succeed in educating a child if the child is too ill or even dying and cannot attend class.

I realized during this debate how naive I was and how I had taken my own life and life’s privileges for granted. Sure, I’d had a cold or a fever or an infection here and there growing up, but access to clean water, nutritious food, and basic healthcare have never been a problem for me. I never had to worry about issues like bugs eating away at my skin at night to the point that my bones were exposed, or suffering from endless infections due to being tested HIV positive at birth, or constantly vomiting hour after hour due to some fatal illness that no one could diagnose for me because I had no doctor within driving distance. At that point in my life, I’d only traveled to one other country — China, and even there I spent the majority of my time in the major metropolitan area of Shanghai and was never exposed to extreme poverty. I didn’t even know what it was. It wasn’t until I traveled to Vietnam two years later and went out to the countryside in the central part of the country when I really saw poverty stare at me in the face.

The reason I thought about this now is that the last two days, I’ve been stuck at Chris’s parents’ home, bed and couch-ridden with extreme respiratory infection symptoms. Every few hours, I’ve had to spend time kneeling in front of a toilet, vomiting up what felt like endless food and phlegm. I’ve actually been sick for the last almost two weeks, but it wasn’t until earlier this week when I realized the symptoms could be far worse than just a cold. People with a common cold don’t wake up three times during the night to violently cough and vomit for ten to twenty minutes at a time. They also don’t break capillaries under their eyes from coughing so hard that it feels like their faces and eyeballs are going to pop out of their skulls. Every time I got in front of the toilet and had tears running down my face because of the severity of my cough and vomit, I thought about how stupid and naive I was to choose education in that development economics class debate and completely disregard health. Would I, in my current state, be able to attend class and learn about World War II or organic chemistry and actually be able to pay attention and take all this information in? Sure, I’m not dying (at least, I don’t think I am). With my current illness, there’s absolutely no way it could be compared to the ill children in sub-Saharan Africa. But I feel terrible every time I think back to that course and think that I disregarded their basic human needs of health because I subconsciously assumed that would be fine (by choosing education), even if consciously, I knew it was so far from it. Times like this are when I check my privilege and remind myself of all my developed world comforts and how I take them for granted, even with broken capillaries and vomiting through the night.

San Bernadino shooting

It’s sad to know that I now live in a country where mass shootings are an everyday occurrence. It’s gotten to a point where they are so everyday that people aren’t phased by hearing the news via radio, TV, or the internet. Mass shootings are part of American culture now in the same way that pop music and Saturday Night Live are. And this time, the San Bernadino shooting appears to have been done at a facility that helps persons with disabilities. How can you be more cruel than to hurt those who already have harder lives and are suffering more than the average person? The gun lobbyists don’t care that all these people are dying; they are pushing irrelevant concepts like mental illness. We can’t even require background checks for people who want to buy guns, which is completely senseless. And it’s become trite when you read articles like this and you see lines about these mass murderers being calm, good, upstanding citizens. In that sense, many of these people are first time (MASSIVE) offenders. How do we identify those who just want to start killing people for the sake of killing without any past history of crime or mental illness? In the mental illness case, many mental illnesses are undiagnosed and unrecognized. The debate could go on and on, but what we are inevitably doing as a society is turning a blind eye to the problem of guns. Easy gun access here is a huge problem that cannot be ignored. Yet it is. People will continue dying – the young, the old, and everyone in between.

Because just as a very succinct Tweet I read yesterday said, “In retrospect Sandy Hook marked the end of the US gun control debate. Once America decided killing children was bearable, it was over.”

Seeing that in black and white on my Twitter screen was like pain to my eyes… because it is true.

Disagreements

Tonight, a friend and I had a disagreement, which completely got blown out of proportion because we were lazy and decided to debate back and forth over text rather than just call each other and talk it out. Part of the reason for this was that I was in transit from one location to another and took the subway, so it would have been impossible for me to call her, but the longer the disagreement went on, the more ridiculous and futile I realized it was becoming. In the end, it all got resolved, but it just further proves how poorly tone comes across in writing rather than over voice or in person. We’re products of the technology age, though, so our laziness to not call each other is partially due to our heavy reliance on speaking through machines rather than being human beings and using our voices.

But the more I thought about it, the more I’ve realized that it’s not just technology that has made us more distant and prone to not understanding each other. It’s the fact that we rarely have deep discussions about really important topics, whether it’s current events, our opinions on life values, etc. It’s frustrating because then you realize that this person who you think is supposed to be close to you doesn’t really know you at all. And what is equally bad is that you don’t really know her, either.

I guess that’s why a lot of friendships don’t stand the test of time, especially when they may relocate and move to areas far away for work, family, or some other reason, and they meet other people and their lives and values evolve. We get sucked into the thought that we don’t have time to invest in the people who are not convenient for us to talk to or be near, and then gradually, friendships start fading away. We meet other people who are more in physical proximity to us who may be at similar life stages, and we end up bonding and growing with them instead.

I am lucky to say that I’ve had friendships that have lasted almost two decades, but I know people who are still best friends with their friends from age four or five. What I always wonder about them is how their friendships may have evolved. Maybe at age five, all you thought you wanted in a friend was someone to play tag with. Then at age ten, you wanted someone you could do math homework with and watch your favorite TV shows Then at age fourteen, you needed someone who was like your Siamese twin, who you thought knew all your darkest secrets and could even complete sentences for you. But at age nineteen, you’ve realized that your best friend who who you thought could be your best friend was “failing” at certain areas. Maybe she no longer knows all your deepest secrets. Maybe she doesn’t share your love of surfing or travel. Maybe she doesn’t know how to empathize with you when you share your family problems and she just tries to throw a blanket over it and say all families are dysfunctional and yours isn’t unique.

But then you meet someone else who does love surfing. You meet another person who listens to you when you are crying about that stupid argument you had with your mom and talks to you like she has gone through the exact same argument with her mom… except you know she definitely didn’t but just is able to convey a deeper understanding of you and your feelings. And that’s okay. Everyone you choose has a reason to be in your life and a different role to play. Not everyone can check off all the things you crave and need in a friend; in fact, no one probably ever will. But as long as they can check off at least a couple of them, then they can be a friend of some sort to you. And that’s enough.

We don’t seem to get this until after adolescence. Some people never get that. I’m still reminding myself this all the time. I wish I knew this when I was a teenager.

Mom’s take on terrorism

I talked to my mom on the phone today, and she asked me if I was aware of the attacks that happened in Paris last week. Of course I know, I said. Everyone knows.

“You’re really lucky that it didn’t happen while you were there,” she said in an admonishing tone. “I’m telling you right now. It’s dangerous to be traveling.”

I reassured her that it didn’t matter where in the world I was because terrorism could happen anywhere, at any time and any place. And lo and behold, New York City has just received ISIS death threats! I had to add in that last part because, well, how can I not be where I live and work?!

“Yes, I know about New York,” she said. “That’s why I told you not to go anywhere at night! It’s dangerous! Just stay home!”

Yes, because terrorists would never think to be out and about, bombing and shooting random people in the morning or during business hours Monday through Friday. They have to wait until the evening when it is dark to start shooting and killing people.

I stopped responding. I need to get better at not responding and just nodding my head.

#PrayForParis

I was working from home yesterday afternoon when I found out that Paris was experiencing terrorist attacks in the very neighborhoods that we walked through just weeks ago. Innocent people going to sporting events, concerts, eating at restaurants were dying, and for those who were lucky enough to survive, they are likely to live with the intensity and paranoia of post-traumatic stress for the rest of their lives. We contacted Navine and her family to see if everyone she knew was all right, and luckily, they were. The saddest thing about doing that is that sure, perhaps Navine’s family and friends in Paris were fine, but that would mean that someone else’s family and friends were not fine and were dead or injured.

It was sickening to read the reports and see photos from the scenes. Every time a tragedy like this has happened, I get knots in my stomach. My insides feel hurt. I have moments when my eyes water, and I don’t really know what I am feeling. My sensitivity to pain, death, and loss has only intensified since losing Ed. Every time a shooting has happened, a terrorist attack, or a plane has unfortunately gone down in the last two years and I find out about it, the first thing I imagine is the reactions of the people who have died or lost the ones they love. How will they cope with this? How do you really go on with your life when such horrid tragedy so closely affects you? Life is hard, unfair, and cruel so many times. It’s a challenge to move forward some days.

I am sad and scared for the future sometimes. With the whole recent talks I’ve been having on children and procreation in general, I think that all of us (who’d like to be, anyway) as future potential parents want to bring children into a world of love and hope and safety. It is terrifying to think and see that this could potentially be their future, a world of terrorism, killings of innocent people in the supposed name of God, and random mass shootings everywhere.

Gynecologist visit

I went to see my gynecologist this afternoon for my dreaded annual exam. I feel like in the last several years that I’ve gone to see her, she’s been waiting for me to tell her that I am either trying to get pregnant or want to get pregnant, or maybe am pregnant!

“So, thinking about babies soon?” She asks, smiling warmly with eager eyes.

“No, not yet,” I said, smiling even more warmly back, thinking, thank God I don’t have any brats screaming around yet to ruin my peace of mind.

“I’m sure your parents must be asking or wondering,” she said. My gynecologist is Chinese American. “Asian moms always love to put the pressure on!”

“Yes, they certainly do, and she does do that quite a bit,” I responded. And what I didn’t reply with and was thinking was, and so do Asian gynecologists!

It’s like the world is waiting for me to announce I am pregnant or want to be pregnant. I’m turning 30 in about two months, and they all want to remind me in some way or another. Why don’t men have to get this type of pressure?

 

Vegetarian

This Sunday, we’re inviting Chris’s cousin’s friend over for dinner. She recently moved to New York City from Melbourne to do a masters in journalism at NYU, and I’ve seen her twice since she has moved here. She’s very friendly and we’ve gotten along quite well, but the one thing that is a bit different that we have to deal with in hosting her for dinner is that she is vegetarian. She’s not pescatarian — she really is vegetarian. So she won’t eat any seafood or meat, or their products (so fish sauce, oyster sauce, and kimchi are all out). At least she can eat eggs and have milk. So yesterday, I was trying to brainstorm things to make in the Thai and Vietnamese categories, and I realized that everything I could think up would violate one of her food restrictions (hello, fish sauce everywhere!). I eventually settled on a chickpea spinach curry (channa saag) with rice. I told Chris this, and he was very displeased.

“Why can’t you just give her a head of iceberg lettuce to eat while we eat the real food?” he whined.

It’s not a big deal to me if we have a chickpea curry. I really like channa masala and all forms of vegetarian Indian curries I’ve had in the past.

“I’m not eating bullshit food,” Chris insists. “I will get fried rice.” That is, fried rice with some meat in it via delivery.com. There is no way I’m letting him order a side of fried rice while the rest of us eat food I have cooked. No way.

So the compromise is that I’ll make another curry with chicken in it. This is what happens when you have a meat-eating and stubborn life partner and a vegetarian house guest.

Thanksgiving after thoughts

I grew up with Thanksgiving as a tradition and greatly anticipated it every year in November. Granted, we never had the most gourmet of meals, as I would always expect Stovetop stuffing and gravy from a packet to be served, but it was still a meal that Ed and I loved and looked forward to.

After everyone left last night and we were cleaning up the apartment, I suddenly started to feel sad about the future and my own kids. They’re never going to know what it’s like to have a big family all together at a table here, enjoying Thanksgiving food every year on the same day. At most, they’ll see me scrambling to get all this food together and not really understand what the big deal is. My parents will never be involved. Ed isn’t here anymore. And it’s highly unlikely any of my cousins will be there. Chris doesn’t care about Thanksgiving since he didn’t grow up with it, and he doesn’t embrace it and could care less if we had a Thanksgiving meal to begin with.