“They Called Us Exceptional: And Other Lies That Raised Us”

Since getting pregnant with Kaia, I’ve thought a lot about the concept of intergenerational trauma or inherited trauma. I suppose my generation is the first to acknowledge that such a thing even exists and how toxic it can be. In previous generations, it was all about survival. Now, my generation is being more introspective about why we are the way we are, and how the way we are is largely shaped by how we were raised and what we were told was expected or “normal.”

I’ve read more books in the last several years about complicated parent-adult child relationships, dysfunctional ethnic family dynamics, and child-rearing in general. In the last year, I came across a book recommendation, a memoir entitled, “They Called Us Exceptional: And Other Lies that Raised Us” by Prachi Gupta, an Indian-American journalist who is my age. In her memoir, she details her parents’ journey to the U.S., their path to the “American dream,” and how the model minority myth fractured her family and even potentially even led to her brother’s premature, untimely death.

Prachi is exactly 18 months older than her brother. Her parents told her they had intended always to have two children, and for them to be close in age, because they wanted the two of them to be each other’s best friend; their mom said that they wanted them to take care of each other once they both passed. Prachi and Yush were basically like best friends up until their late teen/early adult years, when their relationship became unsteady due to their diverging views on men vs. women’s roles in society, as well as their family’s dysfunctions.

I really felt for Prachi reading this book; I finished the book within just a few sittings. Even though she specifically discusses the Indian American / desi experience, I could relate a lot to the complexities of the dysfunctions of her family, the verbal and psychological abuse she, her brother, and their mother endured. I could hear the same echoes and pressures of keeping things a secret or “having/losing face” in my own family. And I could especially feel for her in the moment she found out that her little brother was dead. All the things she so eloquently writes about in detailing her emotions around her brother’s life and death feel so eerily familiar, so similar to how I felt with Ed. The only difference was that Yush was a high achieving, outwardly “successful” Asian American, and well, Ed was not. Both were depressed and suffered from different psychological disorders; both felt that they were less than human beings in their on-earth-bodily states. This is a pretty good quote to summarize how she felt about her family in the world:

“I had once thought that I came from a line of Gods, and I had punished myself for failing to be Godlike. But we were not Gods, and I was not the avatar for our family’s unraveling. I was just another product of inherited trauma, unresolved grief, and reactive survival mechanisms, like everyone else who came before me. We were mortals who felt ashamed when we failed to appear omnipotent. Now I see that my job was to release my ancestors from this burden, to allow those who come next the freedom to be ordinary.”

The book ends with her having little to no contact with her parents. The memoir is written as a letter addressing her mother throughout, saying all the things she wish she could say to her, but her mom refuses to listen to. While she yearns to have a close relationship with her mom as she did when she was a child, it cannot happen without the meddling of her abusive, controlling, and mentally ill father.

Even though it’s been a few days since I finished reading the book, I’m still thinking about it a lot. The emotional rawness of it felt so real, so scarily relatable. As a review in The Atlantic wrote, “She explains better than any writer I’ve ever encountered how conflicts that may appear low-stakes—such as an argument over grades or extracurriculars—can tear open an unnavigable gulf.” People always say that certain arguments don’t matter or don’t mean anything — but my general thought is, well, actually, these seemingly little arguments can expose larger fractures that should very likely be addressed before they blow up. I’m happy to see people of color in my generation writing books like this, and also addressing exactly how complex and unpredictable “dysfunction” can look like.

Marriage longevity: what also makes you take your partner for granted

When I think about relationships, life, and the longevity of relationships, I think a lot about evolution. Yes, a lot about people, perspectives, and relationships remain the same, but what is more interesting to me is how people in long-term partnerships evolve together and somehow still manage to stay together — and actually stay happy together. Plenty of people stay in marriages and long-term partnerships and are miserable. Some stay because of the appearance of being coupled up or for financial reasons. Others stay due to laziness of restarting a new life. But regardless, the ones who remain together and are happy are always the ones I think about.

In the beginning of romantic partnerships, you’re generally trying to be on your best behavior. You don’t fart in the other’s presence. You tread lightly when calling out the other’s foibles or things they are absent minded about. Then as your relationship progresses, you get more comfortable being more honest and blunt with each other. You transition to becoming more open to disagreeing freely with them and arguing. You don’t hesitate to call out their mistakes and flaws, in hopes that they will realize how this impacts you and change… and then you get frustrated because instead of seeing how whatever quality/trait/habit negatively impacts you or your shared space, they double down and get defensive, attacking back. In the beginning, you’re always thanking each other, openly expressing gratitude, greeting each other warmly. Once you get comfortable, maybe even too comfortable, you barely say “thanks” in any noticeable form when they do something thoughtful for you, and you’re lucky if they greet you warmly and even look you in the eye when you enter the home after a while apart. This is what happens as you spend too much time with each other; you naturally just take the other for granted and just expect they will always be there for you — just like you do with your parents or siblings.

So, all of this is funny to me because while Chris has definitely improved with getting constructive feedback from me (I mean, it only took about 13 years…), to this day, he still does not seem to comfortably accept compliments from his wife. He always denies or deflects, says he’s a “regular person,” or sometimes just flat out tells me that I must be out of my mind. Here’s a case in point: I was discussing a story about a friend who is in a relationship that I think is like a slow-moving car crash, and there was nothing I could do to stop or help it. I was expressing that they had no plan. And Chris said to me, some people just follow others blindly and just don’t think or plan for the future at all. And that’s just sad, he said. We’re all adults living in the same world, so why do people do this?

So then I thought about it for a bit, and then I responded, “Well, Fuzzy, I love you. I know that you think through things a lot. So, I’d trust you wherever you took us. If you suddenly decided that you wanted to get up and move to a remote farm somewhere in the middle of France, then I’d be up for it.” Fuck this dumb ass country and these dumb people here!

“That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard!” Chris exclaimed in response. “If I get to that point of insanity, you better get a gun and just shoot me in the head!”

Then, he paused, realizing how abrupt his reply was, and said, “That’s a very sweet sentiment. But it’s still insane and would never happen! I would much rather move to Staten Island than move to a fucking farm!”

Welp. It doesn’t seem to matter if I bring up constructive criticism or compliment. Either way, my chosen life partner will not accept it.

“Daddy is SO mad at you!”

My mom called the other day to tell me that while she and my dad enjoy the videos I send of Kaia, my dad was apparently very mad at me regarding one specific video.

“Your Daddy is SO mad at you!” my mom exclaimed on the phone the other day. “What in the world are you doing giving Kaia a knife to use? She could seriously hurt herself!”

My mom was referring to the video I took of Kaia on Sunday while we were cooking together. I had laid out king oyster mushrooms on my cutting board and was getting ready to cut them. She saw that I was about to start cutting and got really excited, so she dragged out her stepping stool so that she could “help” me. I relented, and I took out her plastic toddler training knives (key word is PLASTIC) and let her cut some of them. She loves being mummy’s little kitchen helper. Yes, she does slow me down a lot, and yes, she doesn’t cut the way I’d like her to cut, but I love watching her focus, and I love seeing her face when she does a decent cut. She has to learn at some point, so I think this is a good time when she actually does want to help and shows interest. She was enjoying being my kitchen helper, constantly looking back up at me for my approval and response, and continued cutting. It’s hard to say “no” to such eager eyes.

I told my mom that they were both being ridiculous, that the knife was meant to be a toddler training knife and was made of plastic. So no matter what Kaia did, there was zero chance she could get hurt.

“It doesn’t matter!” my mom insisted. “She could still hurt herself!”

You could hear the logic in that response. Of course it doesn’t matter… because she doesn’t realize that she’s being called out for being wrong in her assumption, and she’s never wrong in her head, even in senseless moments like this. I told Chris this anecdote, to which he replied, “I’m not going to take advice from someone who has a dead kid and who only has a 50% success rate at raising kids.”

Conversations with mom = empty, nothing exchanges with no substance

The handful of times I’ve had really interesting, thought-provoking conversations with friends’ parents, Chris’s parents, and even a friend’s grandparents, I have often thought back to the bland, boring conversations I have with my own parents. Sadly, I have become one of those adult children who has parents who barely know her. They don’t understand me or know the “real” me, and I don’t really think they care to really know who I really am. I’ve tried to share and be more open with them, but this has only backfired. So, I’ve stopped doing any substantive sharing. We go about our obligatory relationship where I check in on them, and they check in on me, but we have nothing else that really bonds us other than blood, familial love, and history.

My mom called late last night when I was about to sleep, so I called her back after work today to see how she was doing. The usual inane conversation ensued: she asked whether Chris and my cousin had found new jobs (negative to both, but also, Chris isn’t looking as I’ve said many times before, so why is she still asking this?). She asked if all my closer friends were employed and what jobs they did. I asked her why she felt the need to ask about any of their jobs, as their employment statuses had zero impact on her own life. She responded, “I just want to make sure they all have money to support themselves!” Then, she proceeded to ask about friends who have “only” one child and ask whether another one was on the way (again, not her business). I told her that if any of my friends were pregnant again, I’d eventually learn this, and then she would eventually learn this, but again, it’s none of her business. Her response: “Two is better than one!” She then inquired about another cousin and randomly said, your father thinks he’s arrogant. I plainly said that this cousin absolutely was NOT arrogant, and I had no idea why he’d even think something so stupid. “Well, he could be arrogant because he has a good job!” she said. “What do you know about his job?” I retorted. “You know nothing about his job or company!”

It was just a pointless conversation of meaningless questions that had no answers that she’d deem satisfactory. For my mom, people seem to only be deserving of “status” or “respect” if they are gainfully employed, which is funny to think about since she hasn’t worked since I was in high school. She constantly wants to know what people do for a living, then takes it upon herself to make huge, baseless assumptions about how “good” or “stable” their jobs are and what kind of money they make. It sounds like a pointless, empty exercise, a sign of how superficially she sees the world and judges people in this world.

The truth is that I have no idea what brings “meaning” or “happiness” to my parents’ life. I think about this a lot, especially after every similarly annoying conversation we have like the above. They have empty relationships with the few people they associate with. My mom loves to put on a guise when she’s around her JW friends and acquaintances. She also loves to state that her health is poor when in fact, she’s actually in pretty good shape… but perhaps not in mentally good shape. They only seem to think the world is getting worse and more dangerous and scary. They don’t really do anything that would qualify as a “hobby” to keep their minds and bodies active or occupied. As far as I am concerned, they are an example of how not to be when in my 60s and 70s.

Kaia, her books, and mine

At three years and three-plus months of age, Kaia still very much loves her books. Time really flies; I’ve already given away a lot of her “baby” baby books via our local buy-nothing group. I’m also starting to put aside another set of books she’s outgrown for my friend, who is due for her first baby in August. I just scored a huge set of older toddler books for her via our buy-nothing group, so she’s been pretty excited to have lots of “new” books to read, including on characters she’s familiar with, like Frozen/Elsa and Peppa Pig. As she’s getting older, she’s been showing more interest in my books, whether it’s my cookbooks, my Kindle, which I’ve explained to her I use for reading, and also the occasional hardcover book I have. Right now, I am currently reading and totally obsessed with Abraham Verghese’s The Covenant of Water, which is quite a behemoth at over 700 pages long. I’ve been using a magnetic bookmark to hold my page. Kaia has been intrigued with both this book as well as the magnetic bookmark and constantly wants to flip the pages and (ugh) remove my bookmark.

Last night, she was struggling to sleep in her own in bed. I had left the book on the couch, where I had planned to do my bedtime reading. When I reappeared after she snuck out of her bed, I noticed that not only was my bookmark missing, but the page where the bookmark was had been torn. Lo and behold, she flashed my bookmark at me with a devilish grin and said, “Look, mummy! Look!” It was as though she was trying to say, “Look what I got! Catch me if you can!”

I struggled to get her back to bed. Chris eventually came over, instilled the fear of God in her, and she finally stayed in her bed. I wasn’t able to read as much as I wanted to last night. But I will admit: it is cute to see that Kaia is not only into her own books, but also her mummy’s.

To my mom, “work travel” = free meals

Ever since I first started working, my mom always gets excited whenever she hears I go on business trips. For her, all she seems to hear is “free hotel and food,” and so she thinks it’s extremely luxurious to have the privilege of free lodging and meals. While yes, it is very nice and convenient to have your temporary housing and food paid for, it’s not like it’s just a “you take” situation. You are getting free food and housing in exchange for your professional services that you are offering on behalf of your company. It’s very much a transactional expectation.

It has not always been that luxurious, though: at one company I worked at, I only had a $75 per diem, so that was challenging when I went to larger, more expensive cities, especially once you factor in tax and tip. Today at my current company, I have $125/day, which is the highest I’ve had anywhere. It’s a nice and reasonably generous allotment, but again, dinner time tends to be challenging to stay within guidelines if you’re in a larger city.

Sometimes, I feel sad that my mom doesn’t know what it’s like to travel for work. She worked hard her entire life in a white-collar setting, but she never had the opportunity to “move up” out of the equivalent of an admin role. She looks at me going on work trips, and she thinks it’s all fun and games, wining and dining. She doesn’t quite see the “work” part about it; she focuses on the “trip” part of it. At the same time, I also get a little annoyed that all she focuses on is the “free” stuff I get. My mom grew up quite poor, as did my dad. Today, they have far more than they will ever be able to spend on themselves. Yet somehow, they are still obsessive about anything that is either extremely cheap or free; they are like the millionaires who jump at free stuff and hoard everything they humanly can. I can see how that’s the poor person’s mentality, especially with immigrants like my mom, people who had to work very hard to get to their comfortable standard of living today. But in my parents’ situation, they erroneously believe they are still poor or are at risk of being poor any day, so they try to take anything they possibly can that is free or cheap to make their money last even longer. I grapple with what to make of it. I would like for them to be comfortable, to enjoy life, to acknowledge that they have far more than enough and are quite privileged with all that they have (and have earned), but I doubt they ever will.

Wisdom teeth removal and a liquid diet

In the U.S., it’s pretty normal to have your wisdom teeth removed when you’re a teenager or in your early 20s. The logic the dentist tells you (and has you believe is true…) is that your mouth will be overcrowded, that the wisdom teeth growing in later will start pushing up against all your other teeth, and thus they will ruin any orthodontic work (read: braces) that your parents (and their dental insurance) so heavily invested money in. They tell you that wisdom teeth serve no purpose other than to be a nuisance, so they must be removed! However, it seems like wisdom teeth removal is likely a reason why our mouths have gotten smaller over time, which have led to issues such as teeth grinding (bruxism), breathing problems, and a plethora of other issues that only the modern human seems to have experience with.

Chris never had orthodontic work, nor did he have his wisdom teeth removed as a young adult. But alas, this past week, he’s been having a lot of pain back there, so he went to a dental specialist yesterday to get this checked out. He ultimately made the decision to have all four of them removed. Let’s be clear here: removing adult teeth or wisdom teeth is no small feat. It’s not like when you’re a kid, and you’re pulling out a teeny tiny baby tooth with zero roots. Adult tooth roots, and especially wisdom teeth roots, GO DEEP. It’s a surgery, not a simple extraction. They are large, deep, and leave huge holes in your mouth. Those holes can trap food, and they need to be flushed out.

So when Chris came back with four holes in his mouth, plus a little post-surgery care kit, Kaia immediately noticed something was wrong with Daddy. “Daddy, what happen to your mouth?” Kaia said. “Are you hurt? You can’t talk?”

Chris’s mouth was stuffed with gauze getting soaked with blood gradually. He was coming off of numbing medication, and he was very understandably lethargic and slow moving. After procedures like this, it makes sense to have soft or liquid foods, so I suggested he have some oat porridge. I made some, but he said it was too “grainy,” so he had one bowl, and I left the other bowl for myself today. Then, he suggested that I could get him some “thick” soup at Whole Foods. I ended up going to the hot bar and picking up a large container of wild seafood chowder. Unfortunately, he was so uncomfortable eating the solid food pieces that he ended up picking out almost all the salmon and potatoes. Today, he seems a bit better. I made some vegan white bean soup and pureed it for him. But he’s getting cabin fever given he hasn’t been able to go anywhere. Plus, outside of soup, soup, oats, tea, and yogurt with jam, he hasn’t really had much else to eat.

These are the times you really realize how important food is to you (okay, well, us). It’s not only a source of sustenance, but it’s also a source of joy given how lucky we are to have such a vast variety of food available to us. We had ordered Filipino food from a nearby spot on Friday, yet he’s not going to be able to eat any of it given the texture, so Pookster and I will have to eat the rest. Adult wisdom teeth surgery stinks, even if it is necessary.

Dried scallops – a mother’s show of love

Growing up in an Asian household, I rarely got complimented. Though I did get told “I love you” quite a lot from my mom, a lot of the time it was hard to really hear and digest that when it was in the midst of a lot of criticisms and comparisons. I will say, though, that the one area where my parents have never, ever failed my brother and me is around feeding us. We’ve always, always had more than plenty of food to eat in the house and lots of variety. And it is always one of their very first questions they ask me when they see or talk to me: “Have you eaten yet?” It’s a classic Chinese/Vietnamese way of greeting someone you care about.

When I graduated from college and moved to New York City, one really sweet and generous thing my mom would do is pack me a one-pound, carefully wrapped box of super premium, extremely pricey dried scallops. They would always be huge, fat, uniform, and perfect. She’d check in with me on calls to see how my stash was going, and when I told her it was getting low, she’d go to her favorite herb shop in San Francisco Chinatown and buy me another pack. She would either have it ready for me to pack when I came home for the holidays, or if she were coming to visit me, she’d pack it in her suitcase and cart it over to me. If you know what I am referring to, you know that this product is likely one of *the* most expensive foods you can cook with in Cantonese cuisine. The highest quality, most beautiful and unblemished dried large scallops, oftentimes from Japan, can be sold for as much as $80-110 USD for a single pound. They are truly worth what they cost, though: dried scallops bring an incredible seafoody, umami burst to anything they are added to. There is really nothing that tastes like them that can mimic the richness they bring any single dish. I would always use them to make Chinese sticky rice, Chinese turnip cake, or savory taro cake, would occasionally add them to stir-fry dishes, and oftentimes would even add them to my jook/congee as a decadent treat. Some particular friends used to tell me that adding dried scallops to congee seemed a bit wasteful given what a premium item they are, but because my grandma and mom would always add a little to their congee, I continued doing this with mine when I had them on hand.

Well, since Kaia has been born, my mom hasn’t bought me any more scallops. In fact, she hasn’t even asked me once how my stash has been looking. Her whole focus now, predictably, is on her only grandchild. All the gifts she packs when I see her are all for Kaia. I’m not complaining — it is what it is, and I get it. Well, I finally used up the last bits of the last box of dried scallops she gave me this time last year to make Chinese sticky rice and radish and taro cakes. So this year, I had to go to a specialty shop to pick up my own because there was no way I was going to make Chinese turnip cake or sticky rice without it. I hesitated when I saw how much the fattest, plumpest, and most beautiful ones in the shop cost: $98/pound. Ouch. I looked at the next tier: $80. And the tier after that was $68. Okay, it’s okay, I told myself. I only need a small amount to make my dishes, so I’m just going to buy a quarter of a pound. I asked for 1/4 pound, the employee measured it out on a scale, priced it out and handed me the bag of my dried gold.

Well, that just did it: that is the single most expensive item I purchased for my Lunar New Year celebrations: about $17.50 for a quarter pound of semi-premium Japanese dried scallops. And I am pretty sure if my mom examined these, she would say these weren’t that good and that I probably got ripped off.

Lunar New Year’s lunch party – lots of food, and lots of people at our place today

Chris used to have this arbitrary “six person maximum” policy when we would host friends over for meals in the past. I decided to do away with this and basically invited all my friends I could think of to our Lunar New Year party today. I invited 14 people to our place today; two were out of town, one had a baby shower, and one had to work, so in the end, we had 10 guests plus the three of us. This is the most number of people we’ve ever had in our place at a single time.

“It’s going to be a zoo!” Chris grumbled the night before.

This was what I made and served:

Starters:

Luo bo gao – Pan-fried Chinese turnip cake slices

Goi cuon – Garlic shrimp summer rolls with Vietnamese herbs, dipped in nuoc cham

Nem nuong cuon – Nha Trang-style pork paste sausage summer rolls with Vietnamese herbs, dipped in peanut-hoisin sauce

Mains:

Burmese tea leaf salad

Thit kho – Vietnamese braised pork ribs and eggs in coconut water, with a side of pickled carrot and daikon

Chinese whole steamed black sea bass with fermented black beans and garlic

Nuo mi fan – Chinese sticky rice

Yi mian – Longevity noodles with carrot, bell peppers, chives, and king oyster/shiitake mushrooms

Stir-fried garlicky gai lan

Desserts:

Hei zhi ma tang yuan – Glutinous rice balls filled with sweet black sesame served in a brown sugar-ginger soup

Black sesame-swirled ube nian gao / Chinese New Year sticky rice cake

Chinese almond cookies

Other than the cha siu in the sticky rice, I made everything myself, from scratch. It was an endeavor, but I loved every minute of it!

It was boisterous, chaotic, loud, and lots of fun with lots of food, people, and laughter. Kaia had her little friend over to play and run around with. Everyone had plenty of savory and sweet food. I was shocked repeatedly when I found out how much people enjoyed dishes like my black sesame tang yuan; even people like my friend’s husband, who usually scoffs at Asian sweets for being “not too sweet” (“Desserts are supposed to be ‘too sweet’; it’s DESSERT!” he exclaimed). I had people who either don’t eat dessert or don’t eat Asian desserts ask for seconds and even thirds. In the end, I had to boil a second batch of tang yuan! I thought I’d have a ton of frozen tang yuan left over, but I actually only have about six or seven left.

I love preparing food for my people. I spent the last week cooking and preparing food for this. I devised my menu about a month ago with my list of ingredients and action plan. And I loved hearing the comments people made, which included:

“This shit is terrible (referring to my black sesame tang yuan), but if you have more of this shit, can I have some more, please?”

“I don’t normally like desserts, but these (black sesame tang yuan) are incredible. Can I have some more? (Then, when asked how many more): “How many more do you have ready?”

“This sticky rice is so good. It’s like being at dim sum, but even better because yours is packed with all the good stuff!”

“These almond cookies are so addictive! Could you share the recipe?”

“The sea bass was so good! It tasted like the steamed fish I had with black beans in Flushing when I went!”

“I just couldn’t stop eating! I can’t even decide what I liked best!”

“If I ate any more, I definitely would have regretted it. It was like being at a restaurant!”

It was a smart move to get disposable paper plates; it made cleanup so much easier. At the end of the night, the dishwasher was mostly filled with utensils, small serving bowls, and glasses. Now, I’m wondering when the next time will be when I can host another meal at home…

Lo bak go / luo bo gao / 萝卜糕 Chinese turnip cake transition from taro cake 芋頭糕

For many years once I started living on my own, and as an ode to my paternal grandma, I would make a whole yu tou gao 芋頭糕 or Chinese savory taro cake around Lunar New Year. Since I was very young, I always loved taro. I also have fond memories of my grandma making it around Chinese New Year every year. She would fill her savory taro cake with generous amounts of Chinese sausage, shiitake mushrooms, dried shrimp and scallops, then steam them and top them with scallions and cilantro. Unfortunately, having lived with just one roommate, and then one partner and now husband, we could never get through the cake in time before it would start drying out and feeling very dense. Taro is a very starchy root vegetable, and as such, once you cook it, it doesn’t really retain too much water. And after it’s cooked and you let it sit there, every day that goes by means more moisture loss, resulting in a dryer and denser cake. My grandma also made luo bo gao 萝卜糕 or Chinese turnip cake, but not as often as taro, likely because she preferred the taro one herself. One year, I told Chris that I was going to make the turnip cake. This is a bit misleading because no turnips are in the cake; the base of the cake is radish, usually daikon, which is high in water content. He didn’t seem too enthused by it… until after the cake was steamed and he had some pan-fried slices. He declared that it was much lighter than the taro one, predictably. And given the radish has more water in it, it also didn’t dry out after day 4 or 5 the way the taro cake did. So from that point forward, I started making the turnip cake more often or alongside the taro cake. And so it stuck.

I spent some time this morning grating and cooking the daikon, folding it into my rice flour batter with all the generous fillings. It steamed on the stove for an hour. And as usual, it was a beauty, one that I will be sharing with 13 other hungry people on Sunday when we host our Lunar New Year lunch.