Marriage and children, again

We caught up with a couple of Chris’s friends separately before heading over to Chris’s cousins’ house for our last family get-together before leaving for Hong Kong tomorrow, and as I was chatting with his best friend, we watched his three-year-old son play in the children’s play area of the mall we were having coffee at. He said that although he loved his son, he was looking forward to time away from him in March for our California wedding, and even more so if his wife would be able to come, since her attendance was still pending due to employment uncertainty. He said he’s been spending a lot of time catching up with a mutual friend of his and Chris’s, who has been with his wife for years now, and they have a few children together. He was troubled when his friend said to him that without the kids, he wouldn’t know what he would talk about with his wife. That made me feel troubled, too, just hearing that. It seems to be a common thing with new parents, forgetting why they got married in the first place and having their children be their number one priority in their lives, before even each other. Children should of course be the priority of their parents, but the parents can’t forget about each other as husband and wife, wife and wife, life partner and life partner – whatever the pairing is. I don’t think most of us get married thinking that our number one reason for getting married is procreation – at least, I hope it isn’t. I don’t think it’s a selfish thing for married couples to want to have time away from their children and just be together; if anything, I think that is a human need. And those types of needs should not be ignored.

Hen’s night

Today was Chris’s buck’s day/night, which is British/Aussie slang for bachelor party. He decided to have a multigenerational celebration, so his uncles and dad came, as well. While he was away with his male family and friends, his mom treated me to afternoon tea at the Hotel Windsor, one of the oldest and most glamorous hotels in Melbourne. On weekends, they have a special treat for afternoon tea guests, as they serve you a glass of French champagne and have a full dessert buffet in the middle of the tea room that includes a tall chocolate fountain, in which you can dip various chunked fruit and cakes, a Christmas pudding station, a custom crepe station with a server making each delicate crepe from scratch, and what seemed like an endless variety of petit fours, French sweets, and other individually portioned cakes, pies, slices, and desserts, everything from mango cheesecake, crème brulee, vanilla mille feuille, pistachio and raspberry cakes with intense pistachio flavor, fruit mince pies, multiple flavors of macarons, and mousses.

The usual tiered afternoon tea stands were gracefully presented at our table with a layer of crust-less tea sandwiches, little savory eclairs, mini meat mince pies, and savory pumpkin tarts, and topped with these perfect little scones, some plain, some with dried fruit. The variety of mango and passion fruit desserts made this experience uniquely Aussie vs. American, as well as the fruit and meat mince pies. The savory use of pumpkin was also more expected of the Aussie use of pumpkin in food, whereas I’d never seen this before at any afternoon tea spot in San Francisco or New York. Another thing that made this experience more Aussie was the subpar service. At afternoon tea at a five-star hotel in the U.S., such as the Plaza Hotel in New York, where I’ve had tea once, they present your tea almost immediately after you choose your leaf selection, and they eagerly come to refill your tiered trays as soon as they are even just half empty. There, they constantly come to dote on you and ask you if you need anything else. Here, a server came to ask to replenish only once, and our individual tea pots came out almost 20 minutes after our tiered trays came out, which was pretty ridiculous. No one came to replenish our hot water until almost an hour and a half into our dining session, too. And when I exclaimed in excitement, “Wow, there’s a custom crepe station?” when I saw the crepe chef in the middle of the room flipping, she grunted, “Yes, there is,” with the most surly facial expression possible. The servers here really seemed to hate their job and hate serving.

We came back home, and in a few hours, all of Chris’s female cousins, aunts on his dad’s side, and mom’s cousin and daughter in the area came for a semi-surprise “hen’s night” party in honor of me. We enjoyed food, conversation, a game that included a video of Chris, another around clothes pins, and Loaded Questions, and so many laughs that triggered the lingering effects of my whooping cough and further exacerbated the aches and pains in my back muscles and ribs through the night. We were all together for just over five hours, yet when I think back to my original bridal shower and bachelorette weekend back in San Francisco and Monterey in September, I realized I probably laughed more and harder tonight than I did at my own event with my own friends and family then. I guess it makes more sense since everyone here knows each other really well and we have a connection to each other, as opposed to the people back home who didn’t really know each other at all and were meeting for the first time, but it was just an observation and take away I had at the end of the night. We did have Chris’s mom’s cousin and daughter come, the daughter I met once last year and really liked, and the cousin I was meeting for the very first time tonight, and somehow they fit in straight away and got into all the inside jokes.

I guess if I really had to sum it up, the group of ten women tonight vs. the group of six in Monterey and about 16 in San Francisco are just more laid back and easy going. Uptightness doesn’t seem to exist in this group (a smidgen with Chris’s mom, but even that is so mild compared to my circle back home), and everyone truly does go with the flow and doesn’t take anything that seriously. I don’t know if uptightness is a disposition that one is just born with or something one is conditioned to be or not be based on nurture and environment, but it’s a relief to not worry so much about what I am saying or doing, fearing that I may offend someone in the room. I know if we were ever to play Loaded Questions or listen to Chris on video answering questions about himself and then me answering and comparing, a lot of my own female family members, if not ALL of them, would decline or refuse to partake in the activity, and some, like my mom, may even get offended at Chris’s answers or some of the Loaded Question questions. What will be really interesting to see is how all these women get along during our wedding week coming up in March, and if my side will even make the slightest effort to get to know these women traveling so far over beyond “Hi. How are you?” and “How do you know Yvonne/Chris?”

Mum meetup

After coming back from Tassie, Chris and I met up with his two good friends from college who are both his age, and also married with two kids each of their own. Both had their youngest children just this past year and were sharing their stories about expensive childcare, au pairs, and how being parents has changed their life (and eliminated most of their free time). I told them the horror stories I’ve shared with everyone about how even farther away I felt from motherhood after seeing Chris’s cousin’s wife not being able to enjoy her brother and sister-in-law’s France wedding as much because of her two screaming children, and they insisted to me, “Oh, no! Don’t let that put you off. Children are so cute and fun! You will love it once you have them!” They asked me if we were planning to have children soon after the wedding (I’m sure they just assumed I was closer in age to them and Chris), and I immediately said no.

We spent most of the time talking about their children and their experiences with being parents in general. They are both intelligent, interesting people outside of being parents. But listening to them talk about their parenting experiences made me feel so bored. I know that sounds mean, and parenthood and raising children are very important and certainly not things to take lightly, but I wanted to hear more about them and their own lives. Oh, wait. Their own lives are all about their kids now. I forgot. They did say that they wanted more outside of being mothers, and that they would continue their careers even though of course, it would be a challenge. It’s always a challenge, whether external or internal, to have children and then have a life outside it. You always feel guilty because you think, what if I did more for my children and spent more time with them — maybe that would make the quality of their lives better? These are endless thoughts for a topic that has no definitive answer.

Asianized Sydney

Chris has to be in Sydney for work the next two days, so I decided to go with him and explore the city on my own. The last time I came, it was almost three years ago when we came at the end of 2012 to see New Year’s fireworks at the Sydney Harbour Bridge.

The city seems even more Asian than it was when I was last here. Chinatown looks as though it’s expanded quite a bit, and there is an even wider variety of Indian, Chinese, Japanese, and Thai shops, ranging from simple grocery stores to clothing boutiques to even milk bread shops. There are stores along George Street that advertise selling just beauty and home items exclusively from Japan and Korea. And when I stepped into the Din Tai Fung off of George Street just past lunch time, there was a decent number of non-Asians dining there. Sure, the table of white people next to me made sure to order fried rice and generic noodles, but hey, they made sure to order the xiao long bao and other dumplings that Din Tai Fung is famous for. The “Asianizing” of Sydney seems to be rampant.

Leaving on a jet plane

We’re leaving today to go home, as in home to Melbourne. I actually caught myself saying “I’m going home” to a colleague, before I added in that I’m going to Chris’s original home since I am obviously not Australian. I had this same thought last year when we flew back to Melbourne, that Melbourne was my home away from home (New York City) away from home (San Francisco), but this time it feels even more like going home because this will be my fourth time coming and staying, and my fourth Christmas in Australia. It’s like a real tradition now, a real “home coming,” and it actually feels comfortable and “normal” to say “I’m going home” when I come here now. I have a family and Chris’s friends here who eagerly look forward to my arrival, who actually want to have real conversations with me about what I am really up to and thinking, and who want to feed me and shower me with hugs and kisses when I walk through their doors. I have more love and affection here than I have ever or will ever have in San Francisco sadly, collectively across family and friends there. That is kind of a sad feeling that in my “real” place of origin I have less love, but I think as time is going on, I’m slowly getting used to it as my reality.

Thanksgiving 2015

I spent Thanksgiving this year traveling with Chris east on a Swiss rail train from Geneva to Zurich in the morning, then wandering through the old town of Zurich and its Christmas markets through the afternoon and evening. As we walked through this beautiful city, I thought about all the Thanksgivings in my past.

The last time I was home for Thanksgiving was November 2003, my senior year of high school. That seems like a hundred years ago even though it was just 12 years ago. Those were the days when my cousins, Ed, uncle, and I would have a Thanksgiving meal together, mostly prepared by my oldest cousin and me. Some sides would be brought over by my uncle, some crappy leftover food and chips from my second oldest cousin and his wife, who were always in a rush to leave our dinner to go to the wife’s family’s dinner in Vallejo, and a turkey that was painstakingly made by my oldest cousin. For some reason, we never called turkey gravy “gravy,” and instead my cousin insisted on calling it “au jus.” I don’t really get that even until today, but maybe that was his attempt at sounding fancy.

Family Thanksgivings for me are sadly a thing of the past. After I graduated from college and started earning an income where flying cross country to go home during a “peak” season wouldn’t break the bank, I realized I had little desire to go home during that period anyway. We were a broken family. The only reason I ever thought even for a second of going home was because I always felt bad about not seeing Ed that day, and his not having a “family” to have Thanksgiving with. After a while, the cousins stopped getting together, which meant my uncle stopped coming, which finally meant Ed had no one that day. Guilt is pretty much built into our DNA. Before he passed away, I thought, maybe I could go home for Thanksgiving in 2014, or he could come here, and we could have a meal together once again. Well, that never happened. I was too late.

“Experts” always say in those articles about grieving that everyone grieves on their own timeline, that it can take months to years to decades to let go of the regrets you have about things you wish you had done or not done or said or not said to those who have passed. That is all true. It’s hard to think of a major holiday like Thanksgiving or Christmas and not think about my brother, which then leads me to wonder what else I could have done to have helped him. It’s futile since nothing will bring him back, but I always think about it anyway. He loved turkey, especially the dark meat, and we both loved the canned cranberry sauce we grew up with. It would be really great to have a Thanksgiving meal with him once again. Now it can only happen in dreams.

Quiet night

Tonight has been a quiet night of eating, cooking, letter writing, and Christmas card making. I thought back to the last two Christmases when I didn’t make Christmas cards. Last year, I ran out of time since my dad suddenly had to get heart surgery, so I flew home to be with him. The year before that, I had no desire to make cards since Ed passed away just months before. I didn’t really have the desire to do much of anything then.

I wouldn’t say that things are “back to normal.” “Normal” is a weird word in itself, and the world will never be fully okay to me because he is gone. Sometimes when I am alone, I think about the deep loneliness he felt, and I wonder if I have ever felt even a fraction of the loneliness he experienced. My version of feeling lonely is probably nothing compared to his. My aunt used to tell me that there’s a big difference between being alone and being lonely. Ed was both most of the time. There was no separation of it for him.

I’m doing a lot of the same things again like card making and scrapbooking. I’m also doing new things like volunteering and mentoring since he died. I wonder what he thinks of my life now that he has left.

Radiologist

I am not even 30 yet, yet I have seen a radiologist twice. This is either a sign that a) my gynecologist doesn’t know what she is doing, or b) I just exhibit psychosomatic symptoms. No one wants to see a radiologist. Not even radiologists want to see radiologists. I’d been experiencing weird discomfort in the left side of one of my breasts, and I expressed this to my gynecologist last week. So she had me make an appointment for a second ultrasound. The first one I had was just over two years ago, a few months after Ed passed away.

This time, I went through the same procedure again — filled out forms, explained my symptoms, undressed and put on a sad little gown, and then plopped myself on the examination table and had the assistant gel up my breasts. The assistant Jackie is very chatty with me about New York, weather, and life. But when she is scanning and taking imaging of my left breast, she stops speaking to me and just keeps taking photos on her screen. Her face is suddenly very serious. She cleans me up and says the doctor will be in with me shortly.

She comes back with the doctor, and the doctor discusses the symptoms with me and says I am completely fine. The discomfort I am feeling must be because of hormonal changes in my body, which really are just from getting older.

I didn’t think it was anything serious, but I felt relieved to get my cleared pass to leave and go on with my life. I was reminded of the time a former boyfriend told me about his friend in grad school who was really nervous about getting her first HIV test, and when she tested negative, she threw a huge “I Don’t Have HIV!” party for her friends and friends’ friends. I kind of wondered what it would be like to throw a “I Don’t Have Breast Cancer!” party for my friends.

Fundraiser appreciation gift

This weekend, I was sent a fundraiser appreciation gift for the money I raised for AFSP’s Out of the Darkness Walks this year. Last year, I received a solar charger that I still have yet to open and use, and this year, I got a big, sturdy red hiking backpack that has multiple pieces. It looks like a really high quality backpack that could potentially be very useful for someone, but probably not me. I don’t go hiking that often, and when I do, I definitely would not want to carry around a backpack this large. I’ve been trying to give it away, but no one seems to want or need it.

I felt really spoiled staring at it today. It’s a really good backpack. I just don’t need it. Our apartment is small, and we already have so many things we don’t use. We have too many things because we are first world privileged snobs to the point where we get given things when we don’t need them and definitely don’t ask for them, and many times don’t use them. I don’t want to give it to Goodwill or even the secondhand shop near the apartment I usually donate things to because I don’t really want these things to be resold. This is brand new. I want it to go to someone who will really appreciate and use it. But who is that going to be?

Vegemite

Tonight, Chris’s cousin’s friend came over for dinner, and we caught up over channa saag, chicken chalna, rice, Christmas pudding with brandy sauce, and wine. When Chris went to Australia for work in September, his cousin sent him back to New York with a container of vegemite for this friend, and so tonight, she got to take it home with her. I figured if she was sending it back to her friend through us that her friend must really like it. Needless to say, she was very excited when she saw the jar.

“Oh, wow! It’s vegemite!” She exclaimed, laughing. “I was just about to run out of my jar and got so worried!”

She truly is an Australian. She said that vegemite was a comfort food to her, on toast with butter. We have a little jar of it in our fridge, but it’s for guests, mainly. Chris never eats it and doesn’t really care for it. I won’t touch it unless I’m having breakfast at his parents’ house in Australia and there is brie cheese on the table.