Crossing culture

Steve gave me some great advice last month, about not feeling the pressure of educating my non-Asian students, friends, and staff about indirect communication quite yet, but starting off with, "Let me tell you about Chinese New Year." I've taken this to heart and have really enjoyed throwing in snippets here and there about food, family life, traditions, etc. It's on my mind so much that I almost feel like every day I'm telling someone about something Chinese.

As I drove away from three days of being the only Asian-American at our leaders retreat, I thought: Okay, I'll do this. I'll tell you about my foods and how excited I am about Chinese New Year. I'll share related stories of my immigrant parents and what life was like overseas--even things as simple as rich, ripe mangoes; fresh watermelon juice; and noodle stands. I'll share with you how all my family is overseas (you look surprised) and conversation at my family is a hodgepodge of dialects. We'll start small with these experiences, so maybe you'll see how I am so like you, but also that being Chinese makes me different. I feel like I did this well...though part of me wonders if I am too excited, too insistent, too eager to share about my life, ethnicity, culture with others. If I am making it too much a point of who I am.

But as I get home I also realize: I am tired. A weekend with no one like me? Some of it is funny, like how not one of our students had ever seen a hot water dispenser. But then there's the gals who talk about finding out that so many InterVarsity's break things up by ethnicity, and they don't like that (not realizing that nearly all our fellowship are the same ethnicity anyway). Or there's switching gears and being super direct all weekend, partly because I can: Sure, I'll take your free shirts if I don't want them; can I bring the leftover food home?; is it okay if I don't do dishes after lunch because I have to prep? But then I realize I am tired of it, too. Tired of having to tell people what to do because they haven't volunteered. Tired of having to watch out for myself. And annoyed by having to hide how rude I think it is for you to assume you can bring my cookies to your small group...without asking. And still in disbelief that the guys at lunch were telling me that sushi restaurants don't use real raw fish...and that they were rather convinced they were right and not me, though they hadn't actually eaten sushi often. Really now.

There are so many different pieces. On minor topics, even in the food we love to eat, we can't connect quite as much because they've only had Japanese food a few times, let alone pho or Korean or Malaysian. That they haven't had tofu. On more serious notes, so many people and conversations where I jump in and invite myself to talk, and in some ways, I guess never really feeling like I can relax, be myself, and be invited into a place, conversation, or relationship.

Tired. So tired. Even without the conversations and shifting gears to fit into this, my brain alone may be tired of registering so many, "so this is how it is", of holding back comments of "not every one is like that", of mentally noting how me in my natural Asian-American self may react differently, or how a group of my Asian friends may approach a particular situation. Which is probably why in safe places with trusted staff, the intern trek (where it all started), and regional experiences...I find myself trying to absorb as much as possible, of grasping for air and space to be who we are, and finding deep gratefulness that who I am is just fine...and that it is more than okay: it is right for there to be spaces, environments, people where I can operate......the way I am.

edit. text from best friend: "God is with you and He knows what real sushi is"
From a staff comment on a scripture study on crossing cultures in Daniel 1: "Daniel is dealing with the critical tension of how to stand out and how to blend in - and the answer is not always obvious"

Today

Today,  I breathe in relief, of plans gone not-quite-as-planned but way-better-than-what-could-have-been.
Today, I woke up thinking of release and trust, instead of the heavy disappointment of yesterday morning. And my reading plan said to read Psalm 22, but I read on to the confidence and comfort of the next chapter: He leads me besides quiet waters, he restores my soul.
Today, I am grateful for the relief I can hear in Darrell's voice, and I can be excited for him. I still can't believe that all Sacramento spots were taken by 59, I'm still sad that he won't be coming here. But I am happy that he got the second to last spot at home.
Today, I am not entirely satisfied, but my heart's desire is to be content...someday, someday. This could work. 

It doesn't mean I've stopped thinking, stopped asking. I still wish I knew: Was this God's Plan A all along (is it always?), or is it a Plan B that will be beautiful and redemptive, filled with goodness? But I guess either way, I can hope for glimpses of grace.

Today, I am even more aware that life does not go as planned. I joked with Darrell on the phone last night, that in reality--a majority of our life and the things that will hit us hardest are out of our control. So really, we're getting a reality check and have had so many doses of Unexpected, that maybe we're more ready for the real world (gross overstatement, I know). As I was saying this out loud, I also realized what a gift it is to have seen this over and over again in his life, and to witness now his character in said situations. Being real with anger and feelings of hopelessness, yet never giving up, always bouncing back, predictably steadfast in faith, ready to turn to God with hands up in desperation. Allowing for emotions and scenarios, and learning to care for each other amid what neither of us wanted.

Little gifts of grace--thank you.

sad song playlist

Because life sucks, sometimes. Because after those hours and hours of conversations, of working out assumptions and seeing things from each other's perspectives, of being more of a friend who can listen to the choice between San Jose and Sacramento, of assuming Darrell would have that choice for where he goes next year...he doesn't.

Exercising words again. Piece of crap that 12 out of 16 spots in Sac are already reserved. That eight others in the 85 slots before him already want those last four. Why this year? Two years ago, my friend Liz ended up in Sacramento because the site she wanted was taken.

Recognizing that those long, late-nights on the phone (that will probably continue) were good for us, and we worked out a lot of things that didn't get talked about last year. But still. Hard to feel like it wasn't for naught since it now looks like there's so little choice.

So erase the hopes for life in the same city again, for Saturday afternoons spent working or weekday dinners, for overlapping friendships and meeting new people together. And hello to another long, long year of long distance.

I shoot for the little red flags.

I've received over a hundred facebook notifications today for the Urbana 12 album I posted last night. Likes, comments, and tag requests trigger the little red flag over and over again. There are quite a number of my posts that generate this kind of response, and Darrell and I both know to expect it when we do a major upload (and most of our uploads are major). 

I don't think anyone else really cares, but the average facebook photo upload has changed. Many are individual mobile uploads, sometimes synced from instagram, and if there are multiple-photo uploads from the phone, often one caption gets uploaded for all six photos in one album. But even before the big shift to smart phone uploads, Darrell and I took our albums a lot more seriously than most, with photo captions, descriptive titles, and photo tags for all the photos. We've talked and laughed about how much energy we put into these albums that people click through so quickly, but the way we do them probably won't change. People love and enjoy our albums and we get such a good response from them...and in a lot of ways, that's success for us as photographers. 

Though I rarely think of it while shooting, I really do take pictures for people. I take pictures so they'll have record of their memories. I take pictures so they can see what they looked like in the moment when they weren't even thinking of posing for a photo. I take pictures to show what life was in that exact second, so later they can say, "I had no idea I looked like..." or "It looks like we're having so much fun!" or "Why on earth were we posing like that?!" I show people what was going on when they were doing nothing but living, enjoying, loving. 

While it may sound like it, this doesn't just apply to candid pictures. This applies to event photos, where people on stage or running the event don't know what things look like from the audience's perspective. It applies to forcing everyone to pause and take a group photo, so you can remember exactly who was there with you. It apples to the scenes and stills and props, because all these contribute and help recreate the world where the photos were taken. It's really about perspective and giving as much of it as possible.

I take the added energy of filtering bad photos, cropping decent ones, and captioning everything because it's an added layer of enjoyment for everyone, along with being a medium of communication to share something about a scene/photo that no one would know otherwise. Darrell and I often get comments on our captions (he is way more clever about it than me and gets more responses!) too. I think part of it is the fun of a personal commentary, but I also think people aren't used to getting that perspective anymore. 

My goal is not to take a good photo just for the sake of a good photo. I take good photos--one composed with intention, free from distractions, and technically good--because these factors help people laugh at memories, relive good times, and appreciate life. And I love the little red flags not because they affirm what I do and I am a good photographer, but they mean that I've achieved my purpose and people can relive these moments with joy.

Things I'm thankful for

Tonight as I was washing dishes, I found myself being particularly grateful for somethings:

• Long-overdue skype chats with your best friend
• Living in the 21st century so I can video chat Darrell while we're long distance...and even play some silly games while we're at it, too! Thank you, Google hangout!
• Despite my occasional complaints when I am tired of being independent and having to shop, cook, and clean for myself, I am really, really grateful that I can cook good food. I feel like it would really suck to not be able to look forward to eating a meal you are cooking. Or to only be able to eat good food when you buy it from somewhere else.
• Slow paced days where you can finish all the sewing/mending projects you've put off for three months. Vacation mode ends today, but it has been so good to do things at a inconsequentially slow rate!
• Seeing Darrell in next week instead of next month!

Also, I think I'm getting too excited for Chinese New Year. I decided to go on an impromptu hunt for my wok after church today, so I drove all the way to the Asian supermarket centers. I got so excited by the giant lanterns, the hanging red decorations, and the whiny flute and rhythmic drums of new year songs that I perused through their little New Year's goodies section. I picked up a small pack of the sweet colorful coconut strips and a package of lightly seasoned sunflower seeds. I really don't have anyone to feed with these, but it was just too festive to resist in the store... 

Distance

My parents are flying to Malaysia again after we found out my grandpa isn't doing well. A fall last week sounded pretty bad, and then this week he was in critical care with a lung infection and something with his kidney. He's been far from good health for quite awhile, and "frail" is how I would describe all the photos I've seen of him recently.

I haven't seen him since our last family trip to Malaysia in 2005, so it's been six and a half years. The phone calls that happen maybe once a year or so usually involve having to shout my name over the phone four or five times until you think he knows who you are, but you're never really sure.

Even so, I face the news with a sort of sadness that I never had with the other two grandparents who passed away. I think, in light of my recent thoughts of the first-generation/immigrant experience, I'm realizing both the unique joys but also the sharp gap in the generations. One such funny realization: my children will never have the same hilarious stories as my siblings as I have about parents trying to communicate in English. This sadder realization: there is a distinct experience about relatives being overseas, away from reach, and never really in your life.

But if there was one grandparent I ever "knew", it is my mom's dad. He lives with my mom's sister, whose home we spend the majority of the time in when we visit. They moved to a much larger, grander house a few years ago, but I still remember the bed in the back of the house where my grandpa would sit. I remember my mom or my aunt taking turns telling any of us kids to walk with grandpa, letting our young arms be a steady support for my grandpa's thin frame.

Most distinctly, I remember one afternoon when we were lounging around, watching TV, doing nothing in particular. I don't remember why, but my grandpa called me, just me, over to the table, where a hot cup of either Milo or milk tea (this part I don't remember) was waiting. Either way, I remember my sixteen-year-old self being happy that my old grandpa had taken time to make a beverage I loved, but I had some difficult expressing it as it was too hot for me to drink enthusiastically. That drink, plus a few times when I chose to sit next to him at dinner, are among the very few memories I have of my grandpa. And still, they are more memories than I have of any other grandparent.

Should I be grieved? Should I be sad? What am I being sad for, when it feels like my relative's lives affect so little of mine? Is it enough that he is my mom's dad, directly connected by blood, and I know my mom is already saddened by his failing health? It feels so late in life to be contemplating my grandparents' presence (or lack thereof) in our lives...yet I also recognize I had no reason to think of it in sixth grade or in sophomore year. I don't know what I'm missing in terms of grandparents because this is all I've ever known, yet this little that I do know is probably going to be lost soon. I guess that's it.

Amid all of this, I feel guilty for thinking, They can't afford another trip to Malaysia. And with Chinese New Year in February, they can't get any flights back till March. With that two month absence from the States, I am getting this sinking feeling that my dad won't ever go back to work, and while I admit that's extreme, it's definitely what it feels like. And that thought, plus knowing the several thousand dollars the plane tickets cost...I don't even know what to think about my family's finances. I'm also sad that we won't be celebrating New Year's as a family. I know-know-know that's an extremely selfish thought and minor point, but I had a few extra reasons I was looking forward to my favorite holiday this year. To name a few: this was going to be Darrell's first time celebrating a major holiday with our family, my mom got excited and already put up decorations early, and I'm in the middle of very much loving the fact that I am Chinese. Again, all selfish reasons...but feelings are valid, right?

An antidote to the iAnnoyance

After this angsty post last week, I knew I also had to admit how I contributed to the problem of our family interacting with technology too much and each other too little.  I admitted that I spend far too many hours clicking away on my laptop, content to hide behind some guise of work or relaxation. But if we are all doing the same, who has any reason to do differently?

So I did something different. I convinced my mom that we would bake banana bread together. She loves, loves banana bread, and has also recently expressed interest in baking. It took some talking into because she was tired after church and wanted to rest the afternoon, which worked fine as I left the house to catch up with a friend. But after dinner, we pulled out ingredients, mixing bowls, and measuring cups. We had my little brother drive us out to get baking soda (seriously, no one in this house bakes!), and at 9 pm we made banana bread, with my favorite recipe pulled up on my laptop screen and the occasional tip or "this is how I usually do it" passed along.

An hour and a half later, I laughed as my mom seemingly ate ever other piece as she cut the fresh-baked loaves. She was so delighted, the bread was so good! Even better, I gushed, "Mom, this is what I love: just doing things together. No computer, no iPhone, nothing fancy...just doing things together." And even though that triggered her mildly-sad reaction that she forgot to take a photo, it was far too late to ruin anything. I had intentionally and successfully spent an evening with my mom, so much that she didn't even have a chance to think of the people with which she would share this. That was probably the best way I could have spent my second-to-last night at home. It took foresight, it took some persuasion with my mom...but I am proud and pleased. So is my mom, who admitted that she is more confident in making this after we first made a batch together. "That's the point," I think I said aloud, but the inward reaction was probably more like, "Success!"

As a bonus, I jokingly mentioned to my mom that she could easily make another batch, since we had so many bananas laying around. But she took it seriously, so the very next day, she made more banana bread and passed it along to some friends. She's since happily forwarded me the texts she has received in response.

Twenty four years isn't too late to bake with your mom for the first time. Twenty four years is far too young to give into another week spent staring at a screen instead of spending time with each other. And so I write this as a reminder to myself...almost in a sense to think of family time creatively, much like I often find "things to do" just to create time with the students I work with...this could work, this has worked, and this is too incredibly simple not to try.

I admit I was particularly angsty and moody when I wrote the previous two posts!

sick and well

Somewhere along the line, you heard some lies and believed it. But far before that, you had a Savior who died so grace, freedom, and truth could reign in your life instead. So lay it out here and start getting things a little clear.

Messages around you told you that being sick was always your fault. You either worked too hard or played too hard, didn't wear enough clothes or eat enough vegetables. So being sick came with a lecture: you sleep too early, you stay out too late, I told you to wear a jacket, you eat to much meat and not enough greens.

Somewhere between your dad believing a body created by God is perfectly designed to defend itself, to your mom being physically weak...somehow you lost permission to be sick. Despite mom never being at maximum health and dad always claiming to be, it seemed you were to achieve the latter. Especially with all the nagging that came between being sick.

So you stifled your coughs to avoid the lectures, you'd hide your fatigue so no one would have to take care of you. You willed your body to keep going and to get better, instead of allowing your body the time to rest. You coughed in your room and hoped your mom wouldn't hear you. But you remember distinctly your freshman year in college, when Kaben brought over tea and a thermos when you were sick (but didn't want to admit it). People care for you while you're sick--in a loving way, not a tsk-tsk sort of way. Then two years later, he tried convincing you to stay home from Fluids lab because you napped between classes because of fatigue from the cold. You were grateful, but you also insisted it was okay. You couldn't miss it.

But now you know: Sometimes being sick just happens. Sometimes, rest as you might, your body can't handle all the energy and interactions from a five-day conference...that, or you just catch someone else's virus or bacteria and there's nothing, nothing you can do about it. It's not your fault your immune system isn't stronger.

Yes, there's something to be said about recovering well after a conference, which you don't always do well. But dear parents, I think catching stomach flu might be beyond my control. Yes, you had fainting spells at once in your life. But That's not your fault. You are not too weak. It's not because you aren't taking good enough care of yourself (not every time, at least).

And today, you also have permission to be sad: Twenty four years of age and you still feel like you miss the gentleness of a mother caring for a sick child. Even as you've endured your first round of the stomach flu in the past few days, you remember mom praying for you to get better. But you also remember the tone in her voice when she said you must have passed it on to dad (though he didn't get it nearly as bad), and how she tells your little brother you slept for three days straight like it's a piece of incredulous news. There are moments, sure: small plates of food, the occasional hot drink by the bed, a quick prayer for your health. But they feel lost in the comments of I Told You So's and This Always Happens, and the sharp edges (or is that just the Chinese language?) of her voice.



My God is a healer. One who knows my body is broken and imperfect on this earth. One who touches those who lay by the road, one who is gentle and firm. My God knows my body needs rest and that's what he prescribes. He knows that sometimes, physical sickness is a consequence of poor choices in time and health, and hopefully I will continually learn from that to make better choices. But other times, it's just part of the broken world we live in.

I think of touch. Jesus healing Simon's mother in law. the bleeding woman, Jairus' daughter, the blind man by the pool, the paralyzed friend let down through the roof, and the many, many more...with Jesus, I don't have to dread being sick. I don't have to hide from his touch. I don't have to listen to the people around me who give reasons to why I am sick. With Jesus I know he desires for me to be whole and well.

Red flags and notifications

Ten people liked my status. Winston commented on my photo. Your er gu commented on your album. Your friend wrote this about your post! She posted this photo. He shared this link--did you see it?

We joke that my mom is her own notification system, repeating nearly every facebook notification she receives out loud to us, as if we don't see it on our own news feed. Her posts, our posts, other people's posts. We've mentioned that we get the little red flags on our homepage too, but we still get a verbal update. Updates of good things, like pictures of cousins and relatives some of us haven't seen since 2005. Updates that my mom gets via messages from my aunts, or connections she makes to church friends. Still, inwardly I beg: Please, in moderation. 

For someone who loves love in the form of undivided attention, the forever connection my parents have to their iPhone or iPad is annoying at best, painful at worst. At times it seems like the perfectly cooked family dinner cools for five minutes as my mom insists on arranging everything for the perfect photo (I admit I do this as a photographer, but I like to think I do it with more speed). As my mom takes great care to arrange the colors of fresh veggies and toppings on our next bowl of noodles, it feels as if it's given up its purpose as a lovingly prepared meal from mother to family, and instead must now be perfectly beautiful so it can be presented to the cyber world. I can't always tell if we'e arranging a nice centerpiece on the table just so we'll enjoy the meal or for the sake of the facebook photo looking nice. At some point during Christmas dinner, I actually put away my mom's iPhone by the microwave, away from her reach (don't ask me how I had the gall to do that to my mom), away from the distraction of thinking of a witty caption, coupled with the perfect English translation courtesy of her children. Of course, later that evening, she spent thirty minutes arranging and rearranging all the presents, taking fifty shots of the tree, and asking me to help her pick which ones to post on facebook. It feels like it's always about facebook.

I feel like there's a portion of us who know the importance of unplugging, of detoxing from social media. Yet that appeal has not been made to my parents, maybe because their generation is not typically addicted to internet and the social media. So for what reason will I ask my mom to stop talking about everything that's happening on facebook? And is what she does that much worse that the times I spend endlessly clicking through pages and pictures and posts, or only that hers is publicized? 

Is there a source to blame? Sometimes it feels like we as children have contributed to this. Since we got ourselves online in middle school and high school, our families have lost us to anything from Neopets, to AIM, to xanga, to facebook. And when we're not on our computers, the four of us are running around, always busy, always talking quickly in a language that is still foreign to our parents. Talking to each other, saving stories for the brother or the sister and not for our parents. So they're left out of the loop, and while conversations stay busy among the kids, I guess my mom feels like he next resort is what' happening on the newsfeed and red flags. 

Can habits change as an adult family? Can I stand it if habits don't change? It's realizations like this that make me crave the high priority of family time Darrell's parents have. Family vacations every year. Family game nights. We haven't even had a family movie night this Christmas, though my being gone for a whole week didn't help. But where do we start? Where do I start? Instead of pointing my finger at mom for always being on her iPhone, where can I close my laptop and do something with her instead? I just remembered I was supposed to bake with her when I got back from St. Louis. That was before the stomach flu...

_______________________________________

So, if I show them that when we take a hike in the woods and see something lovely, we can’t just look at it and breathe it in and marvel at it together – but that it instantly needs to be captured and shared with people other than the ones right in front of me, it’s sort of saying that they are not enough. That moment was not enough. It needed to be highly regarded by others for it to really count.

- This quote comes from a fantastic Dear John style letter included in the latest edition of Taproot magazine, one in which the author Leslie Gilman informs Facebook that, despite all the enjoyment she gets from their ‘relationship’, it needs to end. The cost is too high.

belated start

Well, now that I'm done with two days of something like food poisoning, followed by a day full of coughing...I like to think I'm on the road to recovery, and perhaps will start remembering everything that happened December 26 - Jan 1. Aka Urbana (NBD). That is, when I'm not seeing people in the two days I have before I drive back to Sacramento...

In hindsight, I think I was starting to feel uncomfortable in the theater and was probably ready for Les Mis to end instead of fully enjoying the movie. Guess I have to rewatch that, too!

hello, 2013!

I used to think New Year's was such an arbitrary time to make resolutions; that if you want to change something in your life; waiting till the start of a calendar year was pointless. Two years ago I made my first list of goals and things I wanted to happen in 2011. I didn't check off all of them, but I did cross a few things off the list, like running a 10 k (and even my first half--which was not on the list!). That was also the year I decided to eat less pre-made junk, and here I am two years later making most of my food and eating less and less Costco frozen stuff (canned veggies and dried pasta are different).

A few weeks ago I started a list of things I wanted to do, so here I present my 2013 goals, to-do's, resolutions--whatever you want to call them. Some of them are one-time things (cook a steamed fish), some are vague and undefined (better honesty & trust), others are year-long habits I hope to form. I also added a couple more general life-ones because I wanted to round out the list to an even twenty...

Here goes 2013!
_______________________
goals

• Run another half marathon
• Read a book every month
• Upload & share all photos taken in the past five-ish years (specifically friends and family photos on my Canon)
• Get fully funded by August
• By the end of the ear, give regularly to overseas [incarnational] ministry

hobbies

• Save for & buy a new camera body
• Write five more public blogs [IV National, IV AAm Ministries, other?]
• Learn to play the harmonica (just for kicks)
• Cook a steamed fresh fish
• Cook & bake new things (suggestions: blueberry coffee cake, pound cake...I got loaf pans for Christmas!)

lifestyle & community

• Make care packages/useful things for panhandlers
• Get familiar with Sacramento organizations and services for homeless, etc
• Visit farmer's markets
• Take public transportation in Sacramento
• Read the news
• Eat fruit every day

grow

• Practice regular prayer
• Memorize scripture
• Be more honest with self, more truthful to others
• Find a community of friends in Sacramento