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).

Obligatory tourist activities!

I also inwardly chuckle at the nuances of two different worlds.  Er gu zhang asked me today what the red meant on the crosswalk, and I had to explain that the red hand means don't walk, and the white figure means it's okay to go. Last night, he kept walking to my side of the car instead of the passenger side. Er gu puzzled at the size difference between a dime and a nickel. My cousin's kids sang along to Taio Cruz's Dyanmite in Just Dance 3, only the second half sounded like it had Chinese phrases thrown in.

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.