Gut health

I feel like I am constantly consuming new information, and sometimes, it can be a bit exhausting. Sometimes, though, educational information can also be fun, as well, and good to help others understand things they may not have previously known before. One of the many podcasts that I’ve been listening to in the last year has been the Deliciously Ella podcast. Ella Mills is a British plant-based food writer and entrepreneur who has a London deli as well as a plant-based eating cookbook. Seven-plus years ago, the idea of “vegan” and “plant-based” seemed annoying to me, as so many delicious things exist in cultures across the word, so why would we need substitutes for already delicious and amazing things? But as I’ve read more and more about greenhouse gas emissions, climate change, the environmental impact of animal products, as well as their negative implications on our health, I realized that maybe reducing the amount of animal-based products I eat isn’t such a bad idea after all. It was Michael Pollan who once said: “Eat food — not too much; mostly plants.” I will always be a happy omnivore who won’t give up her Peking duck or pho, but that doesn’t mean that I won’t want to incorporate more plant-based foods into my diet and eat a little less meat.

Her latest episode on “How to Have a Healthy Gut” was especially interesting to me, as it discussed that so much of what people perceive as food allergies or celiac/gluten-intolerant diseases is actually a result of their bodies being overly stressed and thus rejecting the foods they could normally eat. So perhaps if one day, you are anxious from a work presentation you have to deliver and eat a banana, then immediately throw up, the reason you vomited is not that the banana actually was the cause, but rather that the stress in your gut affected how you ultimately digested that banana. The gut is truly the center of everything in our bodies whether we realize it or not, and that’s why it’s even more important in today’s high-speed, high-stress environments to focus on self-care, whether that means doing some form of meditation, yoga, exercise, or even just practicing breathing deeply to find a sense of calm and stillness in our lives. It really cannot be overstated, especially when you *think* you are getting sick from foods that are not actually making you sick at all. I wish that people would slow down a bit and instead of blaming the foods for these types of ailments to instead think about the lives they are leading and how they can either calm or slow down.

The other interesting thing the “gut doctor” who was interviewed in the podcast noted is that to have a well-rounded gut, each of us should be targeting to eat a variety of different foods (obvious, but oftentimes a challenge), but as a general goal, seek to eat about 30 different plant-based foods each week. So while it can be an easy routine or habit to always fall on whole wheat, spinach, tomatoes, or the same type of lentils, to instead mix it up: add wild rice or quinoa, mix some Swiss chard, kale, or red cabbage into your spinach. Roast some onions and chop some avocado to eat with your tomatoes. Vary up the usual green lentils with some red lentils or chickpeas. This would also include the little things you may even forget about, such as the sautéed garlic in your stir-fry, chia seeds, flaxseeds, a handful of cashews or walnuts, a few squeezes of lime, etc.

I was intrigued by the target “30” number and counted how many I had eaten in the last three days. I was at 33! How crazy!

What women spend to look good

An article by Fast Company recently noted that the author spent about 15 times as much on personal grooming products as her husband did, and this was not actually atypical in the average heterosexual relationship. This then prompted all kinds of questions about whether this was truly a choice that women made, or if the women who opted out from spending money on makeup or blowouts suffered professional consequences. One of the frustrations of women is looking too young or too old; sounding too young or old; dressing up too much, down too much; revealing too much or too little skin; is this dress too tight for that meeting? Are people going to take me seriously if I wear this bow or this style of headband? You name it; we’ve all been there as women in the workplace.

I usually indulge in only one facial a year, but given that I had treated myself to one with a friend earlier in the year, got a free one at the Ritz Carlton-Bacara resort for President’s Club in May, I figured, what the heck… Why not just get another one at the place I usually go to that is probably the most affordable place in New York City after work today? So I did and booked it in advance for this early evening. When I referenced a previous conversation from earlier this year with another esthetician and asked today’s esthetician about my old acne scars (which are quite faint, so if I really had to get annoyed with them, it would be safe to say that I am just nitpicking at myself), she said that a microdermabrasion facial would not be enough unless I wanted to get one every month for about 10-12 months; it would be gradual fade-away in this case. The only way to see a very dramatic improvement of the scarring would be to get 3-4 chemical peels spaced out about one week each; they’d definitely banish the scars once and for all. Here, as services are more economically priced, they are priced at $120 per peel… and at the average place in New York City, which I looked up, it could be anywhere from $250-350 per session.

Really? I thought. Pass.

Yep, that’s what women are told: if we want to look “perfect,” we have to throw more money at the problem. Chemical peels are terrifying to me; they are basically one step away from Botox, which I am not an advocate for AT ALL.

Nobel Prize for literature

I’d been on the NYPL digital wait list to read Toni Morrison’s book Beloved for the last month or so, and have finally gotten off the waitlist. I’ve spent the last couple of days reading it on my Kindle and am so regretful that it took me this long to read any of her works. It is no wonder that she won the Nobel Prize for literature in 1993, as it was said that she is someone who “in novels characterized by visionary force and poetic import, gives life to an essential aspect of American reality.” I’m embarrassed to say that her books have been on my reading list since I was 14, but I haven’t gotten to them until now. I’m only 19 years behind, right? She is one of the most famous, well respected African American female writers in the world, and was even given the Presidential Medal of Freedom by then President Barack Obama in 2012.

When Morrison passed away this past August, Obama wrote a tribute to her on his social media, which included: “Time is no match for Toni Morrison. In her writing, she sometimes toyed with it, warping and creasing it, bending it to her masterful will. In her life’s story, too, she treated time nontraditionally.”

As I reflected on Toni Morrison and her legacy and thought about the pages I’ve read of Beloved, I thought about how I’ve always loved reading and used to dream about being a famous, respected fiction writer myself (that dream is dead now, though). And then I had this memory pop up from my college years. I once said in front of friends and their partners during college that having a Nobel Prize in Fiction would be such a great honor, to which a friend’s ignorant and narrow-minded partner once said, “A Nobel Prize in literature is the most useless Nobel Prize. Who cares about literature? It doesn’t do anything for the world.”

I already didn’t like this person. He majored in computer science and was pre-med. He would start medical school the summer after graduating from undergrad, but since he had the summer free, he took on a full time job in computer science just to make money for the summer, and quit at the summer’s end without being transparent about his intentions. He just wanted the money, he said, and it was a lot of money to pass up, even with only three months’ time of work. Everything to him was about money; the idea of learning and growing and trying to do good for the world seemed stupid and naive to him, and he oftentimes said it. He would eventually graduate from medical school and go on to be a plastic or orthopedic surgeon, solely because he noted that these were some of the best paid medical professions to go into.

I look back and realize what a good decision it was to not only stop spending time with that friend, but by default, her chosen partner. If you cannot understand the importance of literature, of good writing, then you probably are a shallow and ignorant person, likely greedy and superficial and not a person of substance that I’d want to spend time with. Literature not only describes reality, but also adds to it, as so many notable writers have stated. Literature is both reality and art at the same time; it forces people to consider other states of being, other mindsets, other lives and situations that are so vastly different from their own. It encourages creativity and imagination, and what would life be without creativity and imagination? If you have been exposed to great literary works, then chances are also high that you have also been privileged to get far above average educational opportunities, as well. Literature is an opportunity for growth, for self-improvement, for viewing the world with a lens that is not like your own. And that is an invaluable thing that cannot necessary be quantified.

Family-run businesses in Manhattan Chinatown

When traveling, especially in Asia, I’ve always really enjoyed seeing all the different food vendors in various markets and shops, each specializing in one or two particular dishes or food types, whether it’s tofu, soy milk, a certain noodle dish; it shows the level of craft and learned expertise that goes into specific foods and proves that food truly is an art form. In Manhattan Chinatown, I’ve enjoyed visiting certain vendors that specialize in fresh rice noodles, soy milk, tofu, grass jelly — it’s like a hint of what it’s like being at a bustling market in China or Thailand.

Fong Inn Too recently closed in Manhattan Chinatown, which was so sad; it was a multiple generations owned, family run spot that specialized in tofu, soy milk, and specific steamed Chinese cakes. I’d been there a couple times ages ago and enjoyed my rushed visits of choosing what I wanted, exchanging quick back and forths in Mandarin or Cantonese with a queue of people behind me, and stepping out to enjoy my delicious delights. So it was exciting news when I heard that a grandchild of the owners who retired and shut down their shop was planning to open in a new space and continue the family traditions. The new place is in a different location of Chinatown and is called Fong On. While exploring Chinatown today and noticing all the different shops and street art that have popped up recently, I visited Fong On and purchased three items: sweetened and unsweetened soy milk, as well as freshly made grass jelly. The soy milk was pure and clean (and preservative free, meaning I’d need to consume this within the next couple of days before it goes sour!), and the grass jelly texture was perfect – really firm, but soft and bouncy. It really puts grass jelly in a can to shame.

The prices have gone up, especially since they now take credit card and are trying to lure in more millennials into their shop, but I’m happy to pay an extra 50 cents or a dollar to support this family-run business to continue for as long as possible so that I can keep enjoying their lovingly made products.

When people slack off at the gym

I was at the gym yesterday after doing some long stretching, and our in-building gym trainer was between personal training sessions, so we had a bit of small talk, which included him suggesting some strength exercises to incorporate into my routine to complement my running (he tends to always come in when I’m on the treadmill). After just a few reps with his guidance and a resistance band around my thighs, I was already exhausted and feeling sore.

We exchanged comments and grievances about health and fitness, and I told him how frustrating it used to be going to the old gyms I used to visit before we had this in-building gym, and how frustrated I used to get when I’d see people sitting in the middle of the floor, talking on the phone or texting, or even just scrolling through Instagram. The gym is where you go to work out, to exercise, to get away from all the distractions of the day, I said to him. Why would you spend all this time and money to go to a gym and not do a real workout? That just boggles my mind.

He responded that a lot of people want appearances. They want to be able to say that they “went to the gym” or “had their workout.” In their minds, when they hear the saying, “Half of winning is showing up,” they are literally thinking that they have won just by going to the gym; whether they actually broke a sweat is another story.

“You know that saying — ‘All the world’s a stage?'” he said to me while I was doing my squats with the resistance band. “Everyone is constantly in a state of acting in this world: on the street, in the office, with their families at the dinner table. But at the gym, this is really your one chance just to be yourself, to be who you really are. No one is really watching you or keeping tabs on you. It’s just you and yourself. So what are you going to do when it’s just you? That’s when the real you comes out, and if you don’t want to actually do what you came there for, it reveals a lot about you. It’s why I love working as a personal trainer. I get to be with people when their true selves come out.”

That was pretty well stated, and he’s right: at the gym or during exercise, you have nothing to prove to anyone but yourself.

When your anger creeps up on you against your dead sibling

Since Ed’s passing, I have struggled on and off with feelings of anger towards pretty much very single member of our family, but especially our parents. However, I haven’t felt a lot of anger towards him, more frustration and sadness that he’d left me. But while at home earlier this week, and while I was dusting his dresser with his large, framed photo from his funeral and the koala stuffed animal I left beside it, I started feeling really, really angry towards him. It kind of crept up on me a little out of nowhere, and I started thinking to him, “Well, isn’t it nice that you aren’t here, and I have to deal with this cluttered, filthy house on my own! They have no one else to lean on except me! I’m here all alone!” I have to listen to her stories of alleged (and fake) victimization. I have to listen to his constant talking to himself. You don’t have to deal with any of this anymore. Well, isn’t that just convenient?!

Then, I caught myself. Why am I feeling angry towards my brother of all people? He was the one who suffered and was abused and misused. He only did what he thought was his last option. Surviving on earth was not an option to him because it prolonged his suffering. I’ve been able to experience a whole world of experiences and emotions and perspectives he’s never been privileged to. Of the two of us, I was always the lucky one. And then my guilt sank in and immediately replaced my anger. He’s gone, and I’m being a terrible sister.

As I thought that, my eyes welled up. Am I still a sister even though my one sibling is gone? Can I still call myself a sister?

Irritable

I came back late last night from New York and was groggy this morning when I woke up, thinking about all the events of the last week with work and family and feeling even more irritable. It’s as though every time I come back from San Francisco, I need to go through a few days of decompression to rid myself of all the tension and angst that has built up in me with all my family dysfunction. And with the work dramas of the last several days, that just adds to the overall angst.

Is it really going to be like this every single time I go home? Are my parents always going to be their same miserable selves, constantly complaining about every person, every event, every restaurant they go to? Are they always going to view themselves as victims in every situation where there isn’t a victim? Are they always going to focus on the worst parts of the news, on the worst memories attached to places? When I mentioned I was going to MacLaren Park with my friend, my dad exclaimed, “I know that place! That’s the place where a woman was sun-bathing and then completely got mowed down by a truck who didn’t even see her lying on the grass!” That’s a typical interjection of my dad: something negative, tragic, or just completely awful. With the new Vietnamese restaurant we went to on Saturday, my dad said two days later to my mom, “I don’t think it’s going to last. What a ripoff!” That is yet another favorite outburst of my dad — it certainly does not bring joy into the house when these statements are made.

The house is full of clutter, and as a result of that, filth. It smells like mold downstairs. Even the backseat of his truck is just piles and piles of mess. I asked him when he was planning to clean this up, and he responded he just cleaned it a week before and that there used to be 10 times as much stuff back there. What am I supposed to do with all this?! One day, this is all going to be on me…

And their health is in decent shape, knock on wood. They’re able bodied, able to get around on their own and be self sufficient with each other. It’s terrifying to think what it would be like once they are not mobile and need more help, and what that is going to mean for me.

the worst evil of them all

At our Opticon conference closing keynote, our team invited Mae Jemison, a well respected and renowned African American female engineer, physicist, and former NASA astronaut, to speak. During her talk, she mentioned this famous quote from Helen Keller:

“Science … has found no remedy for the worst (evil) of them all — apathy of human beings.” – Helen Keller

Apathy. Apathy is evil. This resonated with me a lot, particularly in recent years when I’ve grown frustrated at the indifference or lack of care when it comes to all the terrible things happening in the world, whether it’s President Dipshit’s reign over the U.S., innocent black men getting shot and killed, the Amazon being on fire, and children being locked up cages. How can you sit around and do what you always do, live your life in your bubble, when all these things are happening around us that are just eating away at the world around us? If you aren’t protesting, raising money, and making your voices heard, then what are you doing to make the world we live in a better place to be? I feel terrified sometimes reading the news today, thinking.. is it a selfish thing to want to bring a child into this world, where even the vegetables we are eating have less minerals and vitamins than they used to because the soil they are being grown in has just been fully exhausted? I don’t know. But I think about it a lot and am concerned. While no individual can change these things on her own, it’s individual actions that can be bits of difference along the way. And it all starts with discussing the issues at hand.

Commentary on Hong Kong protesters

I was sitting at lunch today with my mom, aunt, and their miserable and depressing Jehovah’s Witness friend, who now, unfortunately, is living and paying rent for a bedroom upstairs with my aunt. Every time I see her, I get a little miserable myself, wondering how someone can be this outwardly morose every single time I see her. What exactly causes this to happen to someone?

I think I realized that I was definitely ready to head back to New York (tonight is my last night in San Francisco) when my aunt, who is originally from Toisan in Guangdong, China, who also lived in Hong Kong for 8-9 years, started complaining about the protesting happening in Hong Kong now. She has Hong Kong residency since she lived there for a good chunk of time, and because of that, she usually likes to go back a few times a year. Given the protests, she is not planning to go back until things calm down.

“All this protesting is so terrible,” my aunt said. “These people are ruining the country and causing so much destruction! It’s so selfish!”

My aunt is a sweet, kind, well-meaning person. At the same time, she’s uneducated, delusional, brainwashed, naive, and not particularly deep. Her mentor, a Jehovah’s Witness, was imprisoned in mainland China for over 20 years because she tried to spread the word of Jehovah, which is illegal in communist China. She looked up to this person, respected her and even wanted to emulate her (and actually does now by keeping her house as a hotel for all visiting JWs who pass through San Francisco from around the world). Yet, she is saying that these protestors are being selfish and their efforts are pointless? How can she possibly not see the connection here? The values she has are the same values that these protestors have; they want a free and separate Hong Kong.

Since President Dipshit got elected, it’s hard for me to listen to people who complain about protesters without feeling my blood pressure soar. The people who protest around the world, particularly in places like Hong Kong, are willing to sacrifice their lives so that future people and generations can have a better life; that is the complete opposite of selfish. I have nothing but respect and admiration for these individuals who are truly fighting for what they believe in.

Domestic violence and grudge holding

I haven’t even been at my parents’ house for three full days until I realized my mom’s hatred and jealousy for my aunt has really reached an all-time high, or maybe she’s just being even more open with me about it than ever. My aunt had a difficult marriage; she was verbally (and maybe physically, unsure of this second part) abused by her husband, my late uncle. Their relationship got so violent that he started threatening to kill her, and finally one day, she truly feared for her life and called the police to report him. They arrested him and put him in jail… until my parents bailed him out. My aunt ran away, eventually relocating to Boston, where her mother lived. She stayed with her until she passed away about 3-4 years later. She moved back after her mother’s passing, and then about a year later, my uncle passed away suddenly from a heart attack in his bed one morning. That basically marked her complete freedom from treachery and abuse.

My mom has always been jealous of my aunt. My aunt was always the favored daughter-in-law of both my grandparents because she was Chinese from China and had lived in Hong Kong; she knew the culture better than my Vietnamese mother from Vietnam. The rest of my family also had racist tendencies toward my mom, so in general, everyone always preferred my aunt whether they explicitly said so or not. It wasn’t fair, but what in life is? It was terrible and racist, but that’s the world we live in. My aunt has been known for her generosity and kindness, which somehow lent itself to a random elderly woman up our block in San Francisco leaving her entire inheritance, including her three-unit San Francisco home, to her. This old woman had no children and no next of kin she really cared about, so she bequeathed everything to my aunt. And so, that adds to the list of endless reasons for my mom’s jealousy; why did she and my dad have to work so hard for their money and comfort whereas my aunt just had it “handed over” to her? That house marked constant future rental incomes that were essentially “free” until the present day.

My mom complained no less than three times in three days about this. “She got that house for nothing!” she fumed. “Your father and I worked for everything we had, and she just gets it for free! And she used to give food we gave her to that woman!” I always assumed she was implying that she believed my aunt should have shared some of that inherited wealth with my parents, but that idea is completely ludicrous to me.

“What kind of wife throws her own husband in jail?” she continued on. “She’s a terrible, selfish person! Only someone terrible would do something like that!”

Once we touched upon the domestic violence, I couldn’t keep my mouth shut anymore. I was literally just having this discussion with a friend a few weeks ago about exactly how prevalent domestic violence is in homes across this country, and now my mom is saying it is no big deal?! “He threatened to kill her!” I raised my voice back to her. “That’s illegal and wrong! What is wrong with you? Do you think that is okay?!”

My mom laughed. Truly, it was a cackle. It sounded so evil that it actually shocked me. “He just threatened with words,” she responded. “That’s nothing. It doesn’t mean anything! He didn’t kill her, so what is she complaining about?”

Wow. I couldn’t even say anything for a moment. I just stared at her, suddenly realizing the exact depth of her hatred and jealousy of my aunt. She truly has brainwashed herself into believing my aunt is a horrible human being who does zero good in the world, and she’s resorted to this type of thought and talk. I told her she was wrong for saying all this and that I refused to hear anymore.

And if he killed her, she couldn’t complain anymore, could she?

How can hatred and jealousy be this deep? I’ve certainly had moments and periods of anger against old friends and of course, members of my own family, but I don’t think it has ever been this ongoing, this lingering, this deep. After Ed passed away, I realized I had to start re-examining a lot of things about myself, including the things that bother me about the world and realizing what I had to let go, and what was actually worth keeping my life, whether that’s people or feelings about certain things. I find it nearly impossible to hold a grudge. Holding a grudge means you are holding onto anger, and holding onto anger means you have to hold on to so much negative energy and resentment, and it just isn’t worth it mentally or emotionally. I still find myself getting ticked off by things that friends repeatedly do that I think are stupid and senseless, but I forget them much more easily now than I used to. It’s a tiny improvement, but it’s still something.

I suppose what worries me the most in my parents’ case is that whether it’s my mom’s hatred and jealousy of my aunt or my dad’s resentment against both of his living siblings, I am most fearful that their hatred of others will worsen their overall health and life outcomes, and possibly even cause a premature death. Therapy will never be an option for them.