My mom says that, back in the day, they didn't consider fish as meat. So they daringly packed dried, salted fish into their suitcase back from Malaysia. I remember this salted fish: in plates of fried rice, vegetable stir fry, or in rice porridge.
Back in the day, they also didn't sell Milo in the stores, so she would have to wait till a friend or relative brought some over from Malaysia. Then she would drink it on the saddest of days, or on the happiest.
Yu-Zhi is my 13-year-old cousin. These are the things he is excited about in our home: carpeted floors, a bathtub, a garage, and two living rooms.
You-Yu is my 5-year-old little cousin. It's kind of strange to think that I just met her two years ago. She is the youngest of my generation of cousins (last I counted, there are 27 of us).
My uncle 小叔 stops halfway through his plate of char kuey teow. He asks my mom for a cup of coffee, because in Malaysia, they drink kopi or milo or teh tarik for just a few ringets with every meal.
They sit around the table--dad, mom, his youngest brother and his wife. Two brothers, 13 years apart, who see each other every few years. At least this time, mom and dad will fly to Malaysia in another month to be with family.
It's nice having relatives over. It's good finally having cousins in our space, in our home, for us to host. It adds a bit of pressure trying to keep the younger ones entertained, but we've rarely been in this position to welcome them into our home. It makes me wish I had family who lived closer.
Saturday, June 30, 2012
Friday, June 29, 2012
The Minority Experience
"That's it, I give up! I'm never going to learn."
Says a close friend of mine after another conversation on the Asian-American culture. This one is triggered by an awkward conversation the night before, and we were trying to explain the nuances and reasoning in the Don't Take the Last Piece of Food rule. Of course, no topic stands on its own, so we eventually went into the conversation of what it looks like when someone else takes the last piece, the grace that white people have in not understanding our rules, but also how what a child does reflects on his or her parent's raising the child well rather than that child being good or bad.
My default reaction is to encourage him that he's doing well, to look at how much he's learned in the past year. But my South Asian friend interjects:
"But see, that's what we deal with every day. We can never choose out of your culture. We just have to learn, make mistakes, and do what's uncomfortable with us. We always have to learn."
She speaks truth.
_________________________
"It's a white man's organization," a fellow Asian-American reminds me. He tells me it's hard, but you learn. They tell you to report, to tell everyone how good a job you're doing. And it's awkward, but you do it.
I guess that's the truth even as we move towards multi-ethnicity. That though we are growing, we are still minorities. I think of the way we just systemically function on majority culture, in fund development, in numbers, in strategy. And as an Asian-American, I find myself applying a filter to what I hear. Does this apply to me? How is it different for who I am?
In conversations like these, it's not uncommon to hear the response, "Oh yeah, it's like that for me, too." I used to wonder why this always triggered my defensive reaction, but over the past year, I've learned. Yes, everyone has differences, and we don't always apply to what the speaker is saying up front. But I've also learned that the minority experience is different...that sometimes, someone from majority culture connecting to your experiences invalidates yours, because it's not the same.
Says a close friend of mine after another conversation on the Asian-American culture. This one is triggered by an awkward conversation the night before, and we were trying to explain the nuances and reasoning in the Don't Take the Last Piece of Food rule. Of course, no topic stands on its own, so we eventually went into the conversation of what it looks like when someone else takes the last piece, the grace that white people have in not understanding our rules, but also how what a child does reflects on his or her parent's raising the child well rather than that child being good or bad.
My default reaction is to encourage him that he's doing well, to look at how much he's learned in the past year. But my South Asian friend interjects:
"But see, that's what we deal with every day. We can never choose out of your culture. We just have to learn, make mistakes, and do what's uncomfortable with us. We always have to learn."
She speaks truth.
_________________________
"It's a white man's organization," a fellow Asian-American reminds me. He tells me it's hard, but you learn. They tell you to report, to tell everyone how good a job you're doing. And it's awkward, but you do it.
I guess that's the truth even as we move towards multi-ethnicity. That though we are growing, we are still minorities. I think of the way we just systemically function on majority culture, in fund development, in numbers, in strategy. And as an Asian-American, I find myself applying a filter to what I hear. Does this apply to me? How is it different for who I am?
In conversations like these, it's not uncommon to hear the response, "Oh yeah, it's like that for me, too." I used to wonder why this always triggered my defensive reaction, but over the past year, I've learned. Yes, everyone has differences, and we don't always apply to what the speaker is saying up front. But I've also learned that the minority experience is different...that sometimes, someone from majority culture connecting to your experiences invalidates yours, because it's not the same.
Using my voice
Now that the adrenaline of traveling, new friends, and information overload has worn off, I'm sitting here with a miserable cold and little desire to unpack from Orientation for New Staff (ONS). My dad's youngest brother (小叔, the term for my youngest uncle), his wife, and their two kids are in town till Sunday, but unfortunately I have little energy to hang out with them.
At best, I'm bustling around the house and glancing over the thirteen free books, New Testament Commentary, and Bible Dictionary of Old Testament Prophets I got from ONS 2012. At worst, I'm taking an ibuprofen for the headache and getting the spot under my nose irritated from the excessive use of Kleenex. That, or waking up from my nap with a horrible coughing fit.
Anyway.
ONS was a blast, and I should write about that sometime. In fact, expect more posts soon, though I won't promise how long they will last.
One of the many ideas I'm toying around with post-ONS is doing things that are life-giving to you. Yes, ministry is pretty life-giving in itself. But I'm also 23, an engineering major, a photographer, a writer, a thinker, and more. I often wonder, "What would it have been like if I was a..." Event planner? Programmer? Teacher? Engineer? Web developer? Graduate student? Active blogger? Overseas missionary? Communications person? Graphic Designer?
In short, I have a bazillion things I love. I'm a big idea-loving, dreaming SJ (sorry to bring up Myers-briggs). This next year, I hope not only to grow in ministry life, but also to give time to develop hobbies and things I love. I hope to take things that feel like a waste of time and channel them in a way that's effective and life-giving. Instead of half-creating a website that I end up deleting, I might actually purchase a domain and make a good one (thank you, WYSIWYG editors!). Instead of simply perusing one photographer's website after another, perhaps it's time to challenge myself with certain projects. Instead of clicking every article that suits my fancy, it might be time to seriously do research on topics I like to think I care about.
Finally, instead of letting my ideas for posts remain unwritten in my head, let's actually write them down. Work through the frustration of having lost the art of writing after four years of engineering classes by practicing. Accept the fact that you're not the best writer, but also recognize that your desire and the level of your current talent is enough.
In our Asian-Pacific-Islander-American video promo earlier this year, a line says, "I gave you a voice, so use it because your people need you now." So here we go. Here goes a journey of faithfulness, to use a voice that I have been given to speak of truth and experiences as I go.
At best, I'm bustling around the house and glancing over the thirteen free books, New Testament Commentary, and Bible Dictionary of Old Testament Prophets I got from ONS 2012. At worst, I'm taking an ibuprofen for the headache and getting the spot under my nose irritated from the excessive use of Kleenex. That, or waking up from my nap with a horrible coughing fit.
Anyway.
ONS was a blast, and I should write about that sometime. In fact, expect more posts soon, though I won't promise how long they will last.
One of the many ideas I'm toying around with post-ONS is doing things that are life-giving to you. Yes, ministry is pretty life-giving in itself. But I'm also 23, an engineering major, a photographer, a writer, a thinker, and more. I often wonder, "What would it have been like if I was a..." Event planner? Programmer? Teacher? Engineer? Web developer? Graduate student? Active blogger? Overseas missionary? Communications person? Graphic Designer?
In short, I have a bazillion things I love. I'm a big idea-loving, dreaming SJ (sorry to bring up Myers-briggs). This next year, I hope not only to grow in ministry life, but also to give time to develop hobbies and things I love. I hope to take things that feel like a waste of time and channel them in a way that's effective and life-giving. Instead of half-creating a website that I end up deleting, I might actually purchase a domain and make a good one (thank you, WYSIWYG editors!). Instead of simply perusing one photographer's website after another, perhaps it's time to challenge myself with certain projects. Instead of clicking every article that suits my fancy, it might be time to seriously do research on topics I like to think I care about.
Finally, instead of letting my ideas for posts remain unwritten in my head, let's actually write them down. Work through the frustration of having lost the art of writing after four years of engineering classes by practicing. Accept the fact that you're not the best writer, but also recognize that your desire and the level of your current talent is enough.
In our Asian-Pacific-Islander-American video promo earlier this year, a line says, "I gave you a voice, so use it because your people need you now." So here we go. Here goes a journey of faithfulness, to use a voice that I have been given to speak of truth and experiences as I go.
Sunday, June 17, 2012
Helping me decide
Yesterday, you came over and I asked you which watch I should get. I had
gotten two at the store the other day and couldn’t decide which one I liked
better, and since I couldn’t decide between those, I wondered if I should hop
online to purchase my usual analog, thin-strapped watch I had used for years.
You immediately said “No, no, you’re not going to do that,” to the last option
because it was time for something new and different on my wrist.
After talking pros and cons back and forth you were pointing me in the direction of the white watch with colored numbers and a light-up face, the one I had the most hesitation about. Yet I was making excuses for it, and at that moment I knew that’s the one I would keep over the small-faced, dark and classy one. Because why get a watch that was just fine when I could get one that was fun and different?
I didn’t have to bring back both watches home to begin with, but I knew I wanted to ask you. I would have sent you pictures of them, showed them to you via video chat, or written up pros and cons to help you help me decide. Because that’s what it is: not that I trust your fashion advice, not that I wanted your opinion of which one I should keep. I talk my decisions through with you because you always help me figure out what I’m thinking. Because you know. You can hear the undertones and my reasons and piece together what I haven’t thought yet.
After talking pros and cons back and forth you were pointing me in the direction of the white watch with colored numbers and a light-up face, the one I had the most hesitation about. Yet I was making excuses for it, and at that moment I knew that’s the one I would keep over the small-faced, dark and classy one. Because why get a watch that was just fine when I could get one that was fun and different?
I didn’t have to bring back both watches home to begin with, but I knew I wanted to ask you. I would have sent you pictures of them, showed them to you via video chat, or written up pros and cons to help you help me decide. Because that’s what it is: not that I trust your fashion advice, not that I wanted your opinion of which one I should keep. I talk my decisions through with you because you always help me figure out what I’m thinking. Because you know. You can hear the undertones and my reasons and piece together what I haven’t thought yet.
Friday, June 8, 2012
I feel like this is going to be me in three months.
And I will remember
The bells of Burns Tower
The beep of the crosswalk
The man in the newsboy cap at Empresso
"Hey there, sweetie" from Linda with Bon Apetit
"Hi, Audrey" from Dr. Saviz
The sound of a car pulling up in front of the house
The roll of the trash cans being taken out
The rhythmic clicks of unlocking the front door
My parking spot in front of Brookside Hall
The squeak of the branches against my window
I read somewhere that moving is like a break-up. I've never experienced the latter, but the idea is that at first you notice every day or week that passes, then the months, then slowly you start to forget how long it's been there. I can imagine this, but check back with me in few months to see how I feel.
Thursday, June 7, 2012
Losing momentum
| Things I waste my time doing | Things I want to get done |
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- Set aside specific time to respond to emails and facebook
- Make a list of people I want to spend time with before I leave Stockton, start scheduling!
- Schedule in concrete time for FD and stick. to. it.
- Edit pictures instead of just looking at them
- ...more TBD.
Monday, June 4, 2012
giant family tree
This weekend I found out that I have more relatives than I thought. I always knew there were two older male cousins and four older female cousins. These six are on the top of the cousin family tree, then there's a group of cousins within 3 years of my age, then there are the younger ones around Alan's age. Anyway, it turns out that there are actually four older male cousins, we just rarely see the third and fourth ones. And by "rarely" I mean, even more rarely than we see the others.
Apparently, my dad's youngest brother (xiao hsu) had a daughter five years ago. And all this time I thought his son was the only child...well, better to find out now than when they visit in four weeks!
Apparently, my dad's youngest brother (xiao hsu) had a daughter five years ago. And all this time I thought his son was the only child...well, better to find out now than when they visit in four weeks!
foreign familiarity
This weekend I am spending time with my extended family for the first time in seven years, since our family trip to Malaysia in 2005. My dad's sister (Er gu--second aunt), her husband (Er gu zhang--second aunt's husband), their daughter-in-law/my cousin's wife (biao tsao) and their twin 8-year-olds are visiting America for the very first time. Sadly my cousin (Er biao gu--second big guy-cousin) had to go back to town to work after they spent time in LA, so we couldn't see him.
There have been classic Fight-for-the-Bill situations with an incredible amount of skill. Tonight, just after the food arrived, my mom brought her credit card to the cashier, only to find out that my biao tsao had already left cash there. When did that happen? She had also managed to pay for lunch, to our utter surprise. I wonder if my parents have grown rusty from the several years of arranging who is treating who because of what occasion.
My biao tsao is excited over the noodle soup, claiming that it is just like Malaysian kuey teow tung. The languages fly across the table as my mom tells them the restaurant workers are teowchew: Mandarin and teowchew and--whoops--a phrase in Malay. My sister and I laugh as we recount how Anthony and I count 1-6 in Cantonese, only to finish 7-10 in teowchew (classic story of my mixed-dialect family). Ergu zhang claim that Malaysians know the most languages: English, Malay, and multiple dialects of Chinese, and some even pick up a hint of an Indian language. I realize this is just part of the people I belong to and not just a random quality of my family.
Between the seven adults, we nearly finish the little glass jar of green chili at the dinner table. I find myself adding more than usual to my meal, as if seeing my er gu zhang eat a piece of chili with every bite has motivated me to increase my tolerance as well.
As I spend time with them, I remember that I love the Chinese language, complications and all. I find myself ashamed when I can't catch my tones correctly (then again, around Malaysian Chinese, Mandarin doesn't even compare). I love the random terms you can pair together to describe relations between relatives: aunt on dad's side, aunt-spouse, cousin-spouse, cousin-aunt (this is the term my er gu concluded with when trying to figure out what my cousin's kids should call me).
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| Obligatory tourist activities! |
Lastly I marvel that this is my dad's sister and his brother-in-law, and my dad has said at one point, it seemed like he didn't look like any of his siblings except my er gu. I can see that. I can also see a bit of myself or Alan in these young cousins. There's always the thought of, "Who would I have been if mom and dad didn't move?" but we will never, never know. But for this weekend, we're all catching hints of a Malaysian accent floating into our Chinese and English. And it feels good to know our family, even in this short period of time. Sometimes the isolation of our family feels so apparent with no extended family to speak to, celebrate with. With each new birth or wedding I find out via facebook, I am reminded that we are the cousins in America they rarely see. But this weekend, they are here. Hearing us speak English while eating a lot of Chinese food, looking at pictures of our younger years hanging on the wall, sitting in our cars and experiencing small hints of our lives.