Category Archives: Hope

Happy 45th birthday, dear Ed

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Dear Ed,

Happy 45th birthday. I wonder what you are doing to celebrate… another year not around the sun?

Guess what? I managed to survive the trip to San Francisco this year, and it was actually quite enjoyable, more so than the last one two years ago! It’s likely because I had very small windows to have one-on-one time with our mother, who would likely use the time to complain about our dad or me. But all in all, it went better than I expected. Our dad actually had small spurts of a minute here and there interacting with Kaia directly, after our mom would hiss at him to get off his phone (which he had, up to his face, almost every time Kaia was around), play with, and talk to her! Was it pathetic? Of course, but it was still more than I expected. Our mom took my words to heart when I told her that she barely spent any time with Kaia when we came two years ago and instead, always made excuses to go clean or walk somewhere. So this time, she actually did make an effort to play with and talk to her.

I took a photo of our parents’ yard. It looks just as awful, if not worse, than two years ago: completely overgrown, weeds galore, and turned over buckets and flower pots everywhere. At least Kaia enjoyed rummaging through it and searching for big sticks. The one tiny thing that my dad did to improve the room going into the yard was that he actually put in mini blinds (ugh) instead of those ugly black tarps used in cheap housing. At our family dinner the first night, our uncle was showing the family his flourishing orchids (you know, the ones our dad got me one birthday that he failed to take care of, so our uncle took them off his hands… and then now, so much time has passed that now, he thinks they were his all along. He denied that they were actually mine…!), and our mom makes these ridiculous remarks about how — of course he’s able to grow things in Pacifica because the weather is better there. The weather in Pacifica, as we all know, is the same or worse as in San Francisco. How about we just say what this is really about: one of them was able to put the time and effort into the flowers blooming, while the others didn’t and so that’s why they have the yard of shame? I didn’t bother taking photos of the inside of the house. I think the outside yard says everything about what inside looks like. It’s the house where nothing thrives or grows, just as that dream I had in my senior year of high school so clearly illustrated.

Our mom whined to me and said that she spent so much time cleaning the house before we arrived. I don’t doubt she did. I know she probably spent a lot of time taking care of all the bedding and cleaning the bathrooms. But honestly, with everything else, you could have fooled me. There was not an uncluttered area to walk in a straight line through, not even from the living room to the damn dining room. All table surfaces in every single room were completely covered. The few surfaces of my book shelf in the bedroom I could see were covered with at least a half-inch of dust, which I actually cleaned off (but they’ll never notice). She said our dad is filthy and never cleans anything. How did he get like this? He was once a minimalist and always throwing things away. And now, he hoards like the world is ending. Is this what old age has done to him?

Chris, Kaia, and I went to visit you at the Columbarium on Saturday. When we arrived, Kaia had to go to the bathroom, so Chris went to take her (with her little potty seat). And in those moments alone with you, just staring at your urn in your niche, I started sobbing. I felt so terrible looking down at you, knowing you weren’t here to see and hold and play with Kaia. You’ll never be able to see her, and she’ll never be able to see you. I felt like she and I had been robbed. It didn’t seem fair to me at all. You should be able to meet your niece and enjoy her company. Kaia should be able to enjoy time with her jiu jiu; that was the way life was supposed to be for us. And it isn’t. I also felt guilt I hadn’t come back to see you last year, but I honestly just could not stomach it as I told you. But it felt like in not coming, I was also abandoning you. And that made me think about all the guilt I felt about leaving home, and leaving you to rot there under the constant bullying and criticism of our parents. I’m sorry I was never enough for you. I’m sorry I could not save you.

I told Kaia it was your birthday today, and she said, “Happy birthday, Jiu Jiu.” She has seen lots of pictures of you. She even recognizes your face when I show her photos of you. I thought about going to the Golden Gate Bridge to see the suicide barrier this trip, but a big part of me didn’t feel I was ready to see it myself. A former colleague had messaged me about it late last year when the construction had completed. It made me happy to hear it had completed, but I also just felt sad thinking about you. Maybe I’ll go see it next year. At least that barrier will hopefully save other lives.

I’m getting older every day and aging without you, Ed. We were supposed to age and get old together. You’re eternally 33, and I’m 38 going on 39 soon. I’m not sure how this happened or why. Kaia will get older every day and not know what it’s like to know you, and that will always be something I’ll be sad about. Though I will do my best to have her know you as much as possible. We won’t ever forget you or pretend your life did not matter. You will always, always matter to us and live on through us. I love you so much and hope you are feeling peace.

Love,

Your little sister, Yvonne

Pandora’s box gets opened: the endless piles of letters from my middle and high school years

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A few months ago, one of my close friends from middle/high school said her mom was cleaning out her garage, and she noticed that there were two boxes with my name on it. My friend retrieved the boxes, messaged me, and asked if I could take them back the next time I was in town. I remember asking my friend to store these for me back in high school: it happened after a very painful and excruciating episode of my mom going through all my belongings (even my electronic files on my computer) and reading things that people had written me, as well as things I had written. My mom even went so far as to call one of my friends and ask what she meant when she wrote, “I don’t know how you deal with your parents.” My mom never wanted to have conversations with me about life or how I felt; instead, she always went through my things and claimed that she had a right to given that she birthed me, raised me, and put a roof over my head. We screamed and yelled. I even considered suicide for about a minute. I felt trapped in that prison of a house. I felt angry and violated, and I wanted to remove anything that could be spied upon or read far away from my parents’ house and in a place where they would be safe.

Fast forward 23+ years later, most of these letters and their contents are completely meaningless to me. Though there are a handful of funny and sentimental gems, nothing here could possibly be “used against me” today. Though I will say: I am truly amazed at the sheer volume and quantity of letters and cards from a number of friends who still remain and are close to me today. After spending a lot of time reading and sorting through old cards and letters this week from middle and high school friends, I realize that I’m really lucky to still have a handful of those friends still in my life in a meaningful way. As life goes on and people mature, have different experiences and priorities, move away and come back (sometimes), have intense jobs and have children, people evolve and grow apart. Yet, we’ve managed to stay friends and make the effort to keep in touch. Not everyone is as lucky as me in this regard. I went through the piles and piles of letters, each organized by the letter writer, and I could not count with all my fingers and toes how many letters (and even more pages) were all handwritten just for my reading pleasure. I admired the cute stationery (ranging from Tare Panda to Hello Kitty to various other Japanese characters I no longer know the names of) and the still-in-tact writing done by endless glittery and sparkly Sakura Gelly Roll pens (one of our teen obsessions!). Some letters were painfully emo. Others were more on the mundane side obsessing over SATs and grades. A handful were so heavy with then-current slang and Asian ghetto expressions that I could barely understand what the point of the correspondence was.

Of course, I couldn’t go through everything; to save time and effort, I immediately discarded all piles from former boyfriends, guys who were interested in me, and friends/acquaintances I no longer keep in touch with. Some of the letters were absolutely atrocious to read (oh, the teenage angst I had managed to block out of my memory all these years!), but some of them were truly endearing and laugh-out-loud hilarious. In one letter, my friend wrote: “You are like my mommy, always scolding me and making sure I stay in line.” I laughed to myself reading that.

I also had some cards from people I had completely forgotten about: a good friend of my mom named April, who she knew from work, would regularly send me very fancy (for me back then, anyway) birthday gifts every year along with a card. She gave me beautifully wrapped and packaged gifts, things like wallets and watches, in brands I never thought I’d ever own. In one card, she wrote, “I’m so sorry that I am late, but happy belated birthday!” I laughed, thinking, why are you even apologizing? You don’t need to send me anything or acknowledge my birthday at all! Then, there were a few birthday cards (which likely came with accompanying gifts) from my mom’s former boss Chris(tine), who she got along with very well. And lastly, some of my most treasured (and all beautifully handwritten) letters came from my sixth grade English teacher, Mary Rudden, who I still think of today as one of my all-time favorite teachers in the world. She was the one who made me feel like I had a voice, a real talent in writing and expression, and as though I actually mattered as a kid. I look back at my childhood, and I truly credit her plus two other teachers for my general confidence and self esteem. Adults who speak to young children like their voice and opinions matter can truly help children grow into good, self-confident, well-meaning adults who contribute to society. These are letters that I am definitely not tossing into the recycling bin.

The rest got ripped up and tossed into the recycling bin. I re-read them, wished them well and thanked them for their place once in my life, and bid them adieu. I don’t want to hold onto the past… well, maybe just a handful of them.

The Oh Crap! potty training method, in progress with the Pookster

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Late last year, I was the lucky recipient of the Oh Crap! Potty Training book by Jamie Glowacki via my local Buy-Nothing group (it was a random number generator win of at least 10 hopeful parents!). Multiple parents, mostly colleagues and friends, had told me that this book was the only book/resource I needed to potty train Kaia. Many online summaries and knock-off methods existed, but this book was an absolute must, the parents all insisted.

I didn’t finally open it to read until a few weeks ago, and I was pleasantly surprised that I actually enjoyed reading the book itself. It wasn’t a boring “manual” that felt like a chore to read. It breaks down potty training into theory, methods, and steps, along with data-backed advice for what to do any time certain challenges or regressions came up. There’s a lot of empathy expressed for the child in terms of their attachment to the diaper/nappy (I mean, from their perspective, a diaper is all they’ve ever known since minutes after birth, right? So cut them some slack!). The part that I really did not expect (I read no reviews prior to opening the book) was the author’s humor. The author swears a lot (a lot of people negatively review the book because of this – it’s a style of humor, so they can get over themselves). She makes a lot of jokes about parents over-parenting, over scheduling, micro managing their kids (if you are upset by this, you are probably guilty of one of these offenses and should, again, get over your snowflake self). She is happy to call out bad parenting practices (over indulgence, coddling, letting children not get potty trained until past kindergarten, etc.) and how they can be harmful for children’s overall development. She can be very blunt. And I love ALL of it. There were a number of times I’d read this book before bed and chuckle out loud to myself. So when a close friend told me that this book gets slammed by a lot of parents and has endless negative reviews, I wasn’t the least bit surprised: people take things way too personally, especially regarding children and child-rearing, that of course a book like this was going to offend a large handful of parents out there. What ever happened to… reading a how-to book (written by someone who has thousands of data points to reference, as in clients she has personally potty trained herself, plus parents she’s consulted with through 1:1 and through her potty training classes), taking a grain of salt when applying it to your own life and child, and moving on? One review said that her husband was “in tears” after reading the book because it kept referencing “mothers” and only had “cliff notes” at the end for fathers, and he felt very left out. Oh, cry me a fucking river. The entire world has been targeted to men for all these centuries and left out women, and not until very recently were women included in the conversation (or research!). So get over yourselves.

We finally started her classic Block 1, three-day method on Saturday. Kaia ran around the apartment naked and will be through Tuesday morning, when we send her to school (ideally with no diaper or pull-up, just in shorts/pants, which is what Jamie calls “commando”). Each time she shows signs of wanting to pee/poop, we prompt her (or push her) onto the potty, so she gets the message/socialization that pee/poop is supposed to go in the potty. Amazingly, she actually has been self-initiating a LOT. This is what the first two days of data looked like:

Day 1: 8/3

Pee:

Potty: 8.5

Poop:

Floor: 2.5

Potty: 1

Floor: 0

Day 2: 8/4:

Pee:

Potty: 2.5

Floor: 1.5

Poop:

Potty: 0

Floor: 0

We’re also trying to night train as well, which means we have to estimate when she will pee, lightly wake her up and suggest she get on the potty to pee. Unfortunately, it’s been two nights of wetting the bed and missing her actual pee windows. But the good news is she doesn’t fight getting on the potty and goes willingly in the middle of the night. And to protect the bed (and keep from excess laundry), Chris has placed her play mat on top of her bed as a barrier, PLUS the hospital waterproof cover we had when Kaia was born. Chris’s creativity is paying off with less laundry loads. And Kaia is on her way to becoming diaper-free. I didn’t expect to feel sad and emotional at the thought of her getting to the next stage of development and becoming diaper free, but here I am. I am getting a little teary eyed that my little baby is growing so quickly into a big girl who no longer needs diaper changes. She loves to scream “JIA YOU!” and “I DID IT!” after a successful pee in the potty, and after she dumps her pee from her little potty into the toilet.

Giving away breast pumps and supplies – the end of a (motherhood) era

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This week, I took a look at my closets and decided that now was the time to finally give away my two breast pumps, their associated supplies, and my maternity clothes that don’t fit right now that I’m no longer pregnant. It was a weird feeling. At first, it felt uncomfortable, but when I packed them up and brought them downstairs to our security desk to facilitate pickup from eager members of our local Buy-Nothing group, I got over it. I always hoped to have another child, but I’ve come to terms with the fact that Chris won’t budge on his ridiculous “one-child policy,” and that unless I divorce him and miraculously meet someone else suitable ASAP, I’m probably not having another kid. So there’s no reason to keep extra stuff in our space for something that is a highly unlikely future.

It’s like a semi-official closed door to that stage of my life: recovering from child birth, breast feeding and pumping, and all the anger, frustration, tears, and hope that came with it. It’s a little funny to think about exactly how much time and energy I devoted to breastfeeding: the 1,430 hours over 14 months that I recorded having my nipples connected to a breast pump doesn’t even capture all the time that I spent researching, reading, testing, discussing, measuring, storing, and cleaning all my supplies. And THAT does not even include all the head space time I spent actually thinking and obsessing over it all. While there was a lot of pain and frustration during this phase, I also had a lot of highs and times when I’d stare into the fridge and be amazed at all the full breast milk bottles lined up. I remember the nanny phrasing my milk production and all the effort obsessively extended into feeding my baby. And for a few moments, I’d just look at all the bottles and smile, proud that my body was finally capable of producing so much milk… more milk than I thought I’d produce when that idiot lactation consultant at the pediatrician’s office insisted (with no evidence) that I had low milk supply. I’d daydream about potentially freezing the milk and using it for things like diaper rash or even in Kaia’s solid foods, like oatmeal or smoothies. It seems very far away now even though it was just over a year and a half ago when I weaned. That’s what motherhood is, though: lots of highs and lows that are quickly forgotten once you move into the next stage of your child’s development.

It’s okay, though. Although I do miss a lot of those moments in Kaia’s development and my own motherhood journey, I love her stage right now. I love that we can communicate in two languages, that she can surprise me with new things she can do and say every single day. I love how affectionate she is. I hope she is always this affectionate. I hope she always knows how much I love her.

After bedtime stories each night, I always say the exact same lines to her: “You are the best thing that has ever happened to… mummy. Mama loves Kaia more than… anything. Mama is grateful for Kaia… every day.” I also tell her in Chinese that I will always love her, no matter what. In the last two weeks, when I have said this to her before bed, she finishes my sentences with the last word. And it warms my heart. The very first time this happened, I teared up and just squeezed her and laughed, which elicited big smiles and giggles from her. I always said it her entire life, but I wasn’t sure if it was registering with her or if she understood me. But this just made my day the first time she did it. I just love my baby so much and am so grateful I have her.

11 years.

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Dear Ed,

Can you believe it — somehow, I’ve managed to get through 11 years without you earth side. Eleven years ago, I had no idea what life would be like today, without you, but alas, here we are.

Some things are still the same and have not changed: our parents are still miserable and still not treating their only living child very well. They have zero relationship with their one grandchild, your niece. But they seem to think this is all okay, and that they must be doing exemplary work!

Kaia is here, though. Even during her “terrible twos” tantrums and whining, I still look at her and see her as my life’s greatest gift and blessing. She makes me unbelievably happy and gives me hope for the future. She is adorable, smart, cheeky, and very opinionated. I still can’t believe that at age 2.5, she has opinions on what she wears! If you were here, you’d likely spoil her rotten with all her favorite dresses. She far prefers dresses to shorts and t-shirts this summer. She especially loves the big twirly skirts and tutus.

I told you, but I skipped going home last year because I didn’t want to deal with our parents’ drama and constant anger and resentment. This year, I am going back to San Francisco for a work offsite and extended it to the two surrounding weekends. I still haven’t spoken with our parents about the visit. I’ve only texted them because I really cannot stomach listening to our mom speak. I already know she’s going to be rude and nasty when I eventually have to call. Part of me is just wondering what it would be like if I went home for nine days and just didn’t have any contact with them at all. It might actually be glorious, but I’d eventually feel guilt and cave in. Our mom accused me of not calling her as often (this was back in February) because she said she “knew” the reason: it’s because she didn’t send money to Kaia. It was unbelievable — completely false, and just filled with venom. She doesn’t understand how poisonous her brain is. And since then, I have refused to call her. She is never going to understand that she cannot just say and do awful things to me and expect zero consequences. I first texted our dad to let him know we were coming back. He simply responded, “Aren’t you supposed to notify mom?” Typical, emotionally immature, idiotic response. What else did we expect, anyway?

Luckily, as I reflect back on the last eleven years, I realize that I have grown emotionally in terms of how I deal with our parents: I am better able to compartmentalize my anger against them. I don’t let it seep into all my thoughts throughout the day and before I go to bed the way I used to. Isn’t that amazing – I have grown! So when I don’t have to or want to think about them, I just don’t, and I feel completely fine, of sound mind, and healthy. But when I do think of them, I just wish they didn’t exist, as sad as that is to say. They have caused so much anger, sadness, and disappointment in our lives, not to mention damage, that I’ve had to spend most of my life trying to get back on course and fixing it all.

And then, there’s you: they try to go on with their lives as though you never existed. And that angers me. Granted, they treated you horribly when you were here, so it’s not like they would venerate you after death, but come on — deal with the fact that you had two kids, and one of them died by suicide. They are emotionally and psychologically incapable of accepting that they make mistakes and taking responsibility for them.

So while we are connected by family and blood, you and I are also connected by our wounds. As the great Japanese writer Haruki Murakami once wrote: “One heart is not connected to another through harmony alone. They are, instead, linked deeply through their wounds. Pain linked to pain, fragility to fragility. There is no silence without a cry of grief, no forgiveness without bloodshed, no acceptance without a passage through acute loss. That is what lies at the root of true harmony.” But Kaia Pookie gives me hope for the future… not for them, but for the future. When I look at her face, especially her nose, I see you. And I know I have to do right by you and try to be the best mother I can be to your niece. I at least owe you that much.

I miss you. I hope you are doing well wherever you are up there. I thought about you when I watched the Snoopy show on the plane ride back from Buenos Aires. In my mind, you and Snoopy/Peanuts/Charlie Brown are forever interconnected. Can you believe I am in my 39th year of life? Chris very nicely reminded me a couple times this past week that I am “middle aged.” It’s strange, though. When I thought about aging when I was a teen, I never thought that I’d be aging without you. You’re supposed to be turning 45 this year. But that will never happen. I am still aging, though. These stupid sun spots on my face keep reminding me of my aging process. I do not like them and am considering getting them removed. But that is a story for another day for you. I thought a lot about death when we were doing our will and estate planning earlier this year. And I thought a lot about what I hope Kaia will remember about me once I’m gone. I try hard to be good to her and to be a good human so that I can be a good role model to her. Anyway, as far as I am concerned, while I may be in my late 30s, I feel quite spritely and know that my health is that of someone much younger. And I suppose in my head, I’ll always feel a bit like a child — not sure if that is a good or a bad thing, or maybe a little of A and B.

See you on the other side… and I do hope that the other side is quite far from today. I need to see Kaia Pookie grow up and become her own person. Wait for me patiently, will you?

With all my love,

Yvonne

“Reclaiming mental health as Asian Americans”

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After I got the advice from a friend to re-join a second library system, I used my Manhattan address to confirm access to the Queens Library last week, which I hadn’t accessed since 2012, when I lived in the borough. I always had Queens Library access and New York Public Library access since I first moved here, as it was one of the very first things I did once I got set up in this new city; Queens covers just the borough of Queens (since it’s so freaking huge!), while New York PL provides access for Manhattan, the Bronx, and Staten Island. As an avid reader, I figured it would be wise to continue getting access to books that my tax payer dollars were covering. Until 2018, I was borrowing hard copies and picking them up/dropping them off at the nearest library. But since then, I access the library fully electronically via the Libby app. This then allows me to either listen to audio books directly from the app, or send the electronic book from the library directly to my Kindle. It’s been amazing: I cannot even count how many books I’ve read this way, and I’m obsessed.

The first book I got off the wait list for in Queens Library that NYPL did not even have in its catalog was Permission to Come Home: Reclaiming Mental Health as Asian Americans, which is written by psychologist Jenny T. Wang (who I actually started following on Instagram during the pandemic!). I already knew by page 2 that this was going to be a good book after I read this line:

“Our suffering and well-being do not exist solely in overcoming major crises or managing diagnoses, but also within the conversations held behind closed doors, in the tears we shed alone in the shower, and in the deep emotions that we cannot ignore despite our best efforts.”

I think when the average person thinks about mental health, they do define it based on crises and diagnoses; they don’t think about the everyday interactions and how they have such an impact on us. I think that is especially lost on older Asian generations like my parents, who think of “mental health” being a concern just for people who are “psychotic,” “crazy,” or “mental.”

I’m about halfway through the book now. It’s an easy to digest read, but it’s definitely extremely triggering, especially once we got into the section called “Boundaries.” So I can’t read too much of it at once and need to give myself breaks, which is what the author actually suggests, along with questions to stop and ask yourself. Other than the sexual and physical boundaries subtitles, my parents have basically violated every other boundary of mine:

They regularly would go through my belongings, from reading letters addressed to me without my permission to my school binders and notebooks to my closet/drawers; my dad has even gone into my electronic files on the shared computer, which resulted in quite the family drama.

They eavesdrop on my conversations and then would gossip about it later/yell at me for what I discussed with others.

Whenever I come home, I’m constantly being asked to do this, do that, with zero regard for what I might be in the middle of doing. I get yelled at if I don’t come right away.

When I come home, I’m expected to drop any plans I had made with any friend/relative so that I can spend time with them… most of the time doing nothing, just being under the same roof. She used to insist that, “(Insert name) is not that important… tell them you are sick and can’t make it,” or, “You already saw (insert name) a couple days ago. Why do you need to see them again? WHAT IS SO IMPORTANT OVER YOUR FAMILY?” And, if I don’t cancel the plans, then I’m “disobedient and against my parents, which means you’re against Jehovah!”

When I was in middle and high school, my mom used to regularly call my friends and ask them to be spies, to “report back” anything “inappropriate” I might have been doing. A friend I used to go hang out with after school at her house was one of these people. She told me my mom would regularly call her to “make sure” I really did go to her house.

Once I started working, I knew something was very, very wrong with my mom’s demand that I only take time off to come home and see her. If I took time off for a trip, it had to be with them. I was not permitted to take time off for myself, to take a trip with friends, or god forbid, a trip with a boyfriend/partner. So when I did take small trips to hang out with friends or travel to new places with them, I just didn’t tell her. The first time I finally admitted to taking a week off to go to Mexico with my then-boyfriend, the fireworks went on for two days. All she did was scream and yell. She said I was betraying her; I was not to supposed to take trips with a man I wasn’t married to; I wasn’t supposed to take time off unless it was to see her. How could I be so selfish…?

My mom has “tested” me by asking to me to write her checks for thousands of dollars… for dental and health procedures that she didn’t even need or follow through with. It was all a test to see how “loyal” I was to her. After sending her one of the checks (and after she cashed it), she told me she ended up not proceeding with that dental procedure. You can imagine how annoyed I was (and how infuriated my husband was…). She just wanted the money and likely had zero intention of ever getting the procedure done from the beginning.

My mom used to say to me regularly, “I control you until you get married, and then when you get married, your husband controls you.” That was fun to hear. I guess it’s no wonder why I made a goal during my senior year of college to get a job out on the East Coast, far out of her control and constant spying. And once I moved to New York, I vowed to never live anywhere close to my parents ever again.

She also used to tell me regularly that Ed and I “have no right to get angry at your parents! You have NO right! We do everything for you, and you get angry with us?!”

It took me a while to figure out that being angry at one’s parents, or at anyone, is completely fine and healthy. All feelings – happiness, sadness, anger, frustration, whatever – they are what they are. There is no such thing as a right or wrong feeling. It’s just a matter of how you deal with them and move forward with them that matters. To tell someone they aren’t allowed to feel is pretty inhumane… and quite sad, when you think about it.

My first therapist once asked me, “Do you think you will ever move back to San Francisco?” I paused for a bit, and then responded, “I’m not sure. I don’t think so? Maybe I could. But only after they’re both dead.” It sounds like a very harsh thing to say, but I really meant it. The truth hurts. I don’t think my mental health could handle being that close to them. They have no concept of boundaries or how to treat me (or really, anyone else) respectfully and with true kindness. And like any other human being, I deserve to be treated with respect and kindness. I’m not asking for that much.

It’s hard to think about the fact that I will never have a good relationship with either of my parents. In an ideal world, we’d get along and be much closer. But it’s not meant to be. Ed was the same way. But his life has already ended. Mine hasn’t… not yet, anyway.

Workplace appreciation: holiday gifts

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Two nights ago, I was getting ready for my nightly candle and reading time before bed when I was going through my small candle collection. I came across a candle that was gifted to me by my former boss at my current company (she’s still at the company, and we still chat all the time). It was a soy candle with a pleasant floral fragrance. I remember it came as part of a larger gift set that she sent as a holiday gift just over two years ago, created by a company that is women-owned and run (of course, she would have the forethought to research this before choosing team holiday gifts). It arrived beautifully packaged with a heartfelt card she sent to thank me for all my hard work over the last year. I also remember I was on maternity leave when I received the gift.

A lot of people in general take for granted corporate gifts and holiday gifts; they’re just things that are given and done as a generic token of appreciation. But since I started at my current company, it suddenly dawned on me that for my entire career to date, which spans five different companies, that my current company is the only company I’ve ever worked for that did company-sponsored holiday gifts for employees. It’s the only company that thought that giving a token of appreciation at the end of year to employees was valued and necessary, and so the expense was deemed worth it. Two companies ago, when I was a manager, I became a manager in my third year at the company. In that year, management decided that managers would be responsible for choosing team gifts for everyone on their teams during the holiday season. The catch? The managers of the teams were responsible for paying for the gifts out of their own pockets, so I had to pool money with the two other managers on my team to buy gifts for my direct reports. I don’t remember how much I was forced to pay out of pocket, but it was at least $110-150. That’s on top of any holiday/Christmas gifts I spent on my own family and friends that year. And it was not fun. Why should individual managers be responsible for paying for holiday gifts on behalf of the company when the employer is too cheap to foot the bill for these things? The individual contributors aren’t working for the managers; they’re working for the company.

So I lit the candle that was gifted to me by my former boss that night and gave thanks for working at a company that values its employees and shows it through these gifts. I’ve gotten a lot of gifts while working here, not just during the holiday season, and I’ve never taken any of them for granted. I have a lot to be thankful for where I currently work. There are so many terrible companies that don’t value their employees out there and do nothing to give thanks for their hard work. I’ve worked for many of them. And these companies all need to go evolve or die.

10 years of fundraising for AFSP and remembering Ed

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Today was the Manhattan American Foundation for Suicide Prevention Out of the Darkness walk for this year. 2023 marks the 10th year that I’ve fundraised in honor of Ed’s memory. It’s been an interesting ten years fundraising. Each year, I share my personal story, which has evolved each year. And each year, I’ve somehow managed to elicit the support of not just my friends and family who have been repeat donors, but even new donors every time. Most of those new donors have been colleagues, new and old. Some have been friends or family members of my own friends and family. Others have even been complete strangers who found out about my brother’s story through an acquaintance or family member and felt compelled to donate. In all of these cases, I’ve always been touched that people would spend their hard-earned money to support this cause… all because I chose to share and be open about my brother’s story and ultimately, my family’s loss. It’s been a humbling experience to share his story and see who has felt something when reading it. I’ve lost count of the number of people who have told me they’ve personally been affected by suicide or struggled themselves. But this is how people start opening up, and I am proud to be a part of the journey of destigmatizing mental health and suicide ideation and prevention.

2023 is the first year I haven’t met my fundraising goal, though. I raised $4,790 out of a goal of $5,000. I’m still waiting on a match from my company, which would add another $100, as my company matches donations up to $100 each year per employee. I think I am waiting on one corporate match. But I guess it’s hard to expect people to donate year after year, especially when there are so many other charities and crises that need our attention. So I’m grateful for even the smallest contributions.

This is also the first year when Kaia has walked with me. Well, we pushed her in her stroller, but she did attend the walk, and she loved the Top Fundraising Team sign that we had for Ed. We also had Chris’s cousin and his daughter come from London, who also accompanied us at the walk, as well as my friends and their young daughter.

Each year when I am listening to the remarks at the opening ceremony, I cannot help but tear up while listening to all the stories of loss. Someone’s teen daughter died from suicide. Someone else lost their dad to suicide. The stories just keep going on and on, and I can feel the pain. It’s just so gut wrenching to hear these stories and see that this keeps happening over and over. But while it is sad, it makes me feel better knowing that I’m doing a little something for the community by fundraising each and doing this walk.

10 years of fundraising for AFSP

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2023 marks the 10th year that I’ve been fundraising for the American Foundation for Suicide Prevention in honor and memory of Ed. In the beginning, I set my goal really low, at $1,000, because I wasn’t sure how much, if anything, people would donate. I got totally blown out of the water that year and raised far above $1,000. Each subsequent year for a number of years, I kept raising the goal by a thousand dollars. Then, the pandemic year hit in 2020, and I realized it would be too much of a stretch to keep going on that trajectory. So I scaled it back. Since, my goal has been $5,000, but which each year, it feels like more and more of a stretch to reach. In the last two years, it’s been especially tough with a poor economic climate, seemingly endless layoffs, and crazy inflation. It always feels like it’s a lot to ask of people to keep donating, year after year. It’s tireless and exhausting. I’m 10 days away from the Out of the Darkness walk and still haven’t hit my goal. I am currently ranked 6th for fundraising in Manhattan.

But then I have a friend who has been fundraising for breast cancer research since we were 18 with her sisters in memory of their mother, who died suddenly from breast cancer (caught just 3 weeks before dying). She’s been doing this fundraising for almost 20 years now and never gives up. I took a look at her donation page today, and she’s barely raised $400. It kind of goes to show that people tire of these asks after a while, and we can only expect so much.

It’s rough. Losing someone you love prematurely is hard. Trying to keep their memory alive is hard. Fundraising and asking loved ones and colleagues to donate year after year is hard. It’s hard to know when it’s actually too much to ask. But at that point, are you letting your loved one’s memory essentially die?

Mid-Autumn Moon Festival, aka time to eat mooncake

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Growing up, I had no idea what Mid-Autumn Moon Festival was, but I did know that at around the same time of year every autumn, I could expect to eat moon cakes. Around September of every year, my grandma would buy boxes and boxes of Cantonese style moon cakes as gifts for family and friends. In return, we (surprise surprise) also received endless boxes of moon cakes, as well. I never understood the cultural importance of the Mid-Autumn Moon Festival then. I just enjoyed eating the moon cakes. Since our family is Cantonese, I was really only ever exposed to Cantonese style mooncakes at home. It wasn’t until I was in college when I realized that there are many regional differences across not only China, but different parts of Asia, for mooncakes. Just a couple weeks ago, I finally had Thai style moon cakes, which are really more like mini round flaky pastries with a filling. And apparently, Shanghainese moon cakes are similar to these Thai ones, as well! I feel like I’m always learning new things about my culture and variations of the food I grew up eating.

It wasn’t until college that I officially learned what “Mid-Autumn Moon Festival” even was. Historically, the festival marked the time of the year, in autumn, when families would gather to enjoy the fruitful reaping of rice and wheat, and they would mark this with food offerings made in honor of the moon. The day that Mid-Autumn Moon Festival falls is always an evening of a full moon. So today, families will typically gather and have a delicious feast. And at some point of the day, they will cut moon cakes into small pieces and eat them together with tea. The moon is a symbol of harmony and unity, and so it’s considered auspicious to eat moon cake during this time of year. Moon cakes are always round, just like the moon (not unique, but you get the idea). Families eating moon cake during the Mid-Autumn Moon Festival is basically signifying that their family is unified and complete.

Since my grandma died, our family never really did anything for Mid-Autumn Moon Festival other than buy moon cakes around the same time each year. But I would like for Kaia to understand the cultural significance of these Chinese holidays since they are part of her culture. This year, for the first time, I actually went down to Chinatown specifically to buy moon cakes, specifically ones that I special ordered via email from Kopitiam, a Malaysian cafe/restaurant that was making snow moon cakes based on demand. I ordered five: two durian, one taro, one black sesame, and one white lotus seed paste (the last one is the most traditional Cantonese filling, and my favorite one growing up that I was exposed to).

Snow moon cakes, in the last several years (as long as I am aware), have become all the rage during Mid-Autumn Moon Festival. They’re basically like the modernized version of moon cakes: they have the same round shape, the same beautiful molds, but instead of a shortening or butter-based crust on the outside, snow moon cakes have a “shell” that is made of mochi or glutinous rice flour. They are instant eye candy and are just stunning to look at. And the moon cakes that are being made by places like Kopitiam — you know for a fact that they’re not taking any shortcuts or using artificial anything. I cut two, the durian and the taro, and Chris and I shared them. I offered a bite to Kaia given the holiday, though I’d normally never give her anything with added sugar. Initially, she seemed intrigued, but when she got close enough and watched us eat, she said she didn’t want any. It’s okay: I still want her exposed to these things, and at some point one day, she will be tempted.