South Indian in Curry Hill

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Tonight, I met with Chris’s cousin’s friend from Melbourne who is doing grad studies at NYU, her friend from Melbourne who is interning temporarily at the Council for Foreign Relations, and my good friend for dinner at a restaurant that specializes in South Indian cuisine in the Curry Hill area of Manhattan. I’ve made a number of South Indian dishes, including masala dosa and appam, and these were things that were on the menu tonight. I ordered the kal dosa, which according to Chris’s mother is the most basic everyday dosa eaten by Indian families in South India. Chris’s cousin’s friend ordered the appam, not because she actually remembered it but because she vaguely thought she had the dish before and wanted to make sure she remembered it, as the last time she’d had it was in South India visiting relatives. I was curious to see how it tasted since I’d never had it or even seen it on any restaurant menu ever. I took a piece of her appam and was a little confused and almost even disgusted when I tasted it; it was sour, which made sense because the batter is fermented, but it was too sour. I’d had it the very first time when Chris’s mother and aunt made it for a Christmas Eve dinner, and after that, I replicated it myself here twice. It’s supposed to taste coconuty because the batter has coconut and rice, but this appam had zero coconut flavor. It was salty and very sour. I was so disappointed. And it looked so pretty, too, so it was obviously made in the right style pan.

And then it hit me: I think I’m a better Indian chef than the people who work in the Anjappar kitchen in Curry Hill, and I’m not even Indian. I was able to replicate the flavor of a real appam better than the Anjappar cooks could. I had a brief moment of smugness that I had to hide and keep to myself.

Guilt

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A colleague and I went out to lunch today, and we were chatting about our relationships with our parents and how we oftentimes feel guilty. Of course, this colleague is a woman because it seems that only women are programmed to feel guilt when it comes to parents from what I have heard. She explained to me that because her mother never had a formal education (just like mine), she felt like there were a lot of things she just could not understand or appreciate because of it. “I don’t know what to call that,” my colleague said. “I know it sounds terrible, but it’s like I like cultural things, and she just lacks culture?”

It does sound terrible, but I could really relate to what she was saying. As another friend and I recently discussed, one of the reasons that my own parents cannot appreciate what you gain and learn from travel, whether it’s domestic or international, is that they don’t understand how or why it would be beneficial for one’s life. To them, it is a way to brag that you are rich and have money and can afford to travel. What’s there to learn while traveling? Why would it be important to learn about cultures other than one’s own, to be familiar with other languages and customs in other places, or to see how people different from yourself live life? These concepts are foreign to my parents, and they don’t see how it can benefit someone. But these beliefs are theirs because they’ve never been really exposed to other people in large droves who do appreciate these things and understand what the value is, and frankly, you are more likely to be exposed to this if you are around people who went to college, got degrees, and perhaps even did higher levels of education. My parents’ lack of education is partly the reason they think the way they do about little luxuries and international travel. They’ve never had friends or colleagues who have embraced these things, so that didn’t help, either. Our peers really influence the choices that we can make.

My mom never had the opportunity to go to college. She never had a formal education in Vietnam, and when she came here, she got the equivalent of a high school degree and started working right away because she had no other choice… well, other than to bear the wrath of my grandmother, who hated her because she was Vietnamese and not Chinese. My dad could have finished college, but he never liked school and was never that good at it, so he didn’t. I’ve had privileges that my parents never had, and I’m grateful for it. I wish they would be able to see that my life choices in travel are not wasteful and a sunk cost in terms of money spent. But I can never teach them why travel is a good thing and not just a selfish, flaunting thing to do. Only experience can teach them that.

Anonymous donor

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In the last month, I’ve managed to raise $3,170 for my AFSP donor drive. A match donation from Chris’s company is still pending, but that would increase the total amount of money raised to $3,470. That’s way more money than I thought I would raise, especially in the second year I’ve done this community walk. Two strangers have donated to my drive, including my cousin’s friend and Chris’s colleague. And a third person, who will remain unknown, donated $50 to my drive and has not revealed his or her identity to me. I e-mailed this person to say thank you and asked if s/he could let me know who s/he was, and there was no response.

Maybe sometimes, it’s not always a bad thing to be the anonymous charitable person. It keeps the hope alive when there seems to be little to none.

Pumpkin spice season

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There are lots of opportunities to hate in life, and one of the seemingly “trendy” things to hate on is the beginning of pumpkin spice season during the autumn every year. Every year as September nears, there’s a large group of people across this country who get really excited that their beloved “PSL” (also known as Starbucks’s pumpkin spice latte) will be available at their nearest Starbucks location. Trader Joe’s restocks their shelves with what seems to be over one hundred different “pumpkin spice” flavored items. And as all these events start happening as the temperatures cool and the winds grow a bit stronger, the hate begins yet again.

In my Facebook feed, Twitter feed, and in the Wellesley Alums Foodies group I belong to on Facebook, there will be at least one person every year for the last several years who will slam pumpkin spice and pumpkin everything, claiming they are sick of it, hate it, can’t stand it, and “can’t wait for this season to be over.” I don’t really get it. It’s not as though the people who love it are forcing it down the throats of people who do not. Where does all this anger originate from? How does one person’s craving or love for a certain flavor affect the haters out there? Can’t we all just like what we like and let go what others love? I can’t remember the last time I hated on someone’s love for ketchup, as this person even enjoyed slathering it on his white rice (yes, this person does exist).

Autumn has come

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This morning, I stepped out of the apartment at about 9am, and with just a shirt and a thin cardigan on, I actually felt cold. Oh, dear. That’s a sign that autumn has finally come to New York. It’s late September now, so I shouldn’t be surprised. Lucky for me, I brought a thin scarf to keep light and warm. Walking the streets of Manhattan, I noticed that so many people had even broken out their boots, scarves, and even peacoats. I saw more browns and deep reds and other dark colors than I’d seen since last winter. The sheer sight of all this was borderline depressing.

While I do like fall fashions and the coziness of scarves and big oversized turtlenecks, cold weather is so depressing to me. I like walking around the city without multiple layers and scarves and hats that weigh me down. I just want to feel light and airy and free. That’s not how autumn and winter clothing feels — it’s restricting and even stifling at times.

This is why I need summer again.

Entitlement

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My aunt, who hasn’t showed up to any out of town (as in, outside of San Francisco) wedding in our family, has told me that she is likely bringing her boyfriend of the last few years to my wedding next March. One of my bridesmaids, who is casually dating someone now but doesn’t seem to care much about him, says that if she’s not in a relationship by the time March rolls around, she wants to bring her mom to the wedding as her plus one (mostly because she doesn’t drive, so her mom can act as her LA/Orange County area chauffeur). While I can kind of understand the bridesmaid assuming she has the right to a plus-one since she is in the wedding party, I’m not a huge fan of the idea of her mother coming to my wedding. What is she supposed to do there? Who would I sit her with? I don’t really have friends or family that she’d readily be seated with or even get along with. And with my aunt, I’ve never even met her boyfriend. Not only that, but she hasn’t seen or been in contact with her son, my cousin, since her late husband’s funeral because of a falling out, and to make matters worse, she doesn’t even realize her son has a baby — yes, her own grandchild.

I don’t really get the sense of entitlement here. But I also don’t really know how to say “no” because a negative response will only get a negative reaction. These are the sticky wedding and “big event” problems that I have to deal with now.

Sex and the City over a decade later

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After over ten years of first seeing Sex and the City on DVD, I’ve been watching (and/or just listening to) Sex and the City on HBO in the background as I’ve been working on my crafts projects, researching travel, and reading. I was addicted to this show after I watched just two episodes. I’ve never been a big TV person, but I have never been addicted to any TV show like this one and watched it and known the episodes by heart since Saved by the Bell (the original class). But now that I’m watching it in the year 2015 instead of 2004 when I first watched it, I feel like the characters are annoying me even more than they annoyed me then. Then, I at least found them tolerable and humorous. Now, they just piss me off.

Charlotte was always my least favorite, and I guess from her general description, it would surprise no one: she’s a “rich bitch” who grew up with a lot of privilege, believes strongly in gender roles and is an old-fashioned traditionalist. She, along with Carrie, probably piss me off the most now. I think their selfishness is shining through even more glaringly now than they had when I first watched these episodes over ten years ago. In Charlotte’s worst moments that made me want to grind my teeth, she was having fertility issues and got angry when she found out Miranda accidentally got pregnant. “How could you do this to me?” she yelled at Miranda in the coffee shop. Um, no. No one did anything to you. The world doesn’t revolve around you. In another scene, she and her husband are having sexual intimacy issues because her first husband can’t “get it up,” so she snaps at Samantha for having sex with strangers and asks her when she is going to recognize that sex is more than just sex; it’s supposed to be “sacred.” Carrie annoys me with her own selfishness. She knows Aidan is moving in with her, but refuses to make space in her closet for his belongings. He buys her a brand new Mac when hers has a melt down, and she is totally ungrateful for it and says she doesn’t need it and has her own backing up method (she doesn’t).

I guess the more I think about it, the more I realize why women relate to these women — it’s because we see our own selfish selves reflected in the Sex and the City women, and thus we relate. We’re all selfish witches ourselves.

Hopeless hope

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I met with my therapist yesterday after not seeing her for about four months. She was busy sunbathing in the Hamptons while I was occupied with busy Mondays filled with revenue reports. We spent some time discussing my series of bad dreams of betrayal, my time in San Francisco, fights with my mom, and my friend who failed to be a part of my bachelorette weekend.

We spent the most time discussing why I always feel the need to defend the people my mother puts down. “If you know based on history that she will never see your point of view and will always use this as the beginning point of a fight, then why do you keep defending them?” she asked me.

Well, there are several answers to this. First is that I hate it when things are unjust, and I cannot stand people being attacked without any valid reason. Second, I am kind of deluded myself because I hopelessly hope that one day, she may actually listen to what I am saying and realize there are other perspectives other than her own. Third, it’s a lose-lose situation for me regardless of what I respond with because no response satisfies her, and she will find some way to turn the attack on me. If it’s not this conversation, it will be in the next conversation.

So at the end of the day, I just become more self-ingratiating by believing that I am standing up for what’s right when it actually causes even more agony for me. Maybe I can be just as deluded as my mother.

Emotionless

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Today was fairly uneventful, and the usual people I chat with at work were not available, so I decided to message one of my long-time friends from middle school. We have been friends since I was in eighth grade and she was in seventh. She’s one of the small handful of people I actually still keep in touch with from San Francisco. The more I think about it, though, the more I think we don’t have that much in common other than the fact that we are both Asian American women who grew up in San Francisco with overbearing mothers and moved to the Northeast for college. I’m very expressive; she is one of the hardest to read people I know. I’m more or less an open book, which is why this blog is public; it’s like pulling teeth to get information from her about her life. I am very affectionate; she is like a brick. I like to socialize; she hates it unless she already knows and likes the people there. We’ve remained friends, though. I thought about it the other day, and I really think it’s because I value her honesty… when she is willing to share it.

But sometimes, it’s exhausting, especially when things are always answered in the negative.

Me: Did you enjoy the trip?

Friend: It was better than I expected.

Me: How’s the first day of work going?

Friend: I don’t hate it.

Me: How’s your project going?

Friend: Not awful

Me: Are you going to say after my wedding when people ask you how it was, “Well, it wasn’t awful.”

Friend: Not to your face.

What I really wonder in these exchanges that I know will never be answered is — what really makes this friend happy, or excited, or actually like she has feelings and real emotions? Where did all those feelings and emotions go, or did she really ever have them? Do I need to buy this friend the same book I bought my other friend’s daughter, The Book of Feelings, to get her to engage with me like a real human being with actual emotions? What does she get out of human interactions with people who she doesn’t “hate” or doesn’t find “awful” or finds tolerable? If I died tomorrow, would she actually feel anything or even cry?

I told my colleague this the other day, but I will write it here anyway: I really do not understand people.

 

Whiskey

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My sleep schedule is screwed. I can’t seem to sleep at a regular hour for myself unless I’ve sedated myself with whiskey before bed. Last night, I slept well, but I kept waking up every hour or two to see what time it was. The only other time in my life I’ve had sleep like this was in the days after Ed passed away. For an entire week, I couldn’t sleep through the night and would wake up several times, dead alert. The night before last, I slept through most of the night, but still felt too sluggish at 6am to go to the gym.

I was at lunch with one of my colleagues and told her I was taking a whiskey shot before bed to sleep, and she suggested I take a melatonin supplement. What scares me about taking a supplement even if it is supposedly all natural is that I will get addicted to it. I can’t really get addicted to whiskey before bed, right?