There are pros and cons to every kind of family, but I think, somehow it is so essential and ideal to have siblings. Rivalry, disagreements, noogies and wedgies, jealousy...they all exist. But today, I watched my mother and her sister hold each other as my grandmother's body was put into an incinerator and cremated; and now, as the two of them sit side by side, writing and editing their last memoirs of their mother...I realize this significant importance of having a sibling figure in one's life.
Even if two siblings are not close, they must be there for each other during family suffering. When a death in the family occurs, a hole is created, like a missing piece in a puzzle. All your loved ones (spouse, children, relatives, best friends) are like other pieces that try to fill this hole...they want to fill it of course, because they love you. But today when my grandmother's body was placed into the incinerator, I saw my dad reach out an arm to support my mom, I felt both me and my sister start forward to help her, I sensed our whole family's energy center around the two women in the middle of the group, the ones that felt the most pain. And in the midst of all this love coming from all directions, the two sisters turned not to us, but to each other. I think that if there is any possibility of finding your missing piece after a death, you would find it in your sister or brother.
In the meantime, I know I planned to write in here at least every few days, but I've been busy and lazy--a bad combination. I will update on life in Japan, a short hiatus in Taiwan, and more life in Japan as soon as possible.
Friday, July 16, 2010
Friday, July 9, 2010
Grandma Memoirs
My earliest memory related to Grandma is looking through her collection of cosmetics. She had rows of lipstick and eye shadow in every color of the rainbow. As a little girl, probably four or five years old, I admired my grandma and thought she was very cool and sophisticated for having so much makeup.
Grandma was really beautiful. Back when we were kids, she loved painting our nails, she had tons of fancy clothes that my cousin and I loved to try on, and she always wanted to look her best when she went out. I remember her caring especially about which shoes she would wear.
In 1996, my mom, Grandma, and I travelled to Europe. I think we were in France, crossing the street, when a bicycle collided with Grandma. Mom was really upset and yelled at the bicyclist, threatening to report the incident to the police. Grandma was very calm and didn't seem bothered at all. She kept telling my mom to cool down, and eventually we left and went back to the hotel.
From a journal entry I wrote in 2001 during a family trip to Japan: "The next day, I banged my foot on a door, and it bled and hurt when I walked. So I stayed home with my grandma while everyone else went to a museum. I spent the whole day watching TV, painting my nails with my grandma's pink nail polish, playing card games with my grandma, and resting with cream on my foot. At home, I'm not allowed to wear nail polish, but Mom wasn't here today, and my grandma says it's okay! Yey! I won a card game on the computer tonight. Grandma said it meant good luck and fun tomorrow. Hope she's right!"
I remember sitting at Grandma's kitchen table in Taiwan and watching in fascination as she sorted through her daily pills. She had one of those weekly pill boxes with a compartment for each day of the week, and she would let me hand her the correct pills every day after dinner.
I remember how Grandma would joke about her false teeth, and I remember how cute she looked when she took them out at the end of the day. I loved the times when she really laughed. Her eyes and face would scrunch up, and she had one of those silent laughs, where her whole body would shake with laughter.
I remember last summer, when she insisted on staying awake past midnight so she could say hi to me when I finally arrived at Taiwan. Everyone else who had been waiting for me (my aunt and cousins) had eventually gone to sleep. I went to her room where she was lying in bed with her eyes open and her face puckered up like a prune because her false teeth were out. Only after she saw me and gave me a hug did she go to sleep.
I remember how Grandma came to my Pacific Music Festival concert in Tokyo, and how she really liked our conductor Michael Tilson-Thomas.
I remember one time at a hotel in Japan when I walked into the room, and Grandma was asleep with this purple cat-shaped eye pillow I'd given her across her face, and she looked so hilarious and cute.
On my last day in Taiwan, Grandma unexpectedly asked me to play something for her. I played "Meditation" from Thais, which is a short violin arrangement from an opera by Massenet. I thought she would like it, because Grandma used to be a singer. She was an amazing musician...Mom told me that Grandma left high school early, because she was discovered and invited to attend a prestigious music school. I remember playing for her in the living room, with her sitting in a leather sofa across from me. I didn't see what kind of expression she had on her face while I played. After I finished, she just said "thank you" in her usual quiet, calm way.
My last memory of Grandma is saying good bye to her before leaving Taiwan, a year ago. We took a lot of pictures before I left, with Grandma, Mom, my sister, my cousin, my aunt, and Grandma's housekeeper at the time. I remember hugging Grandma a lot before I left. I'm glad we did that. Her hugs were really strong, even though her arms were thin and frail. I remember that she would wrap her arms all the way around me and squeeze me tight. And I remember crying a lot after getting in the car to the airport, and not knowing why I was so sad. I was practically sobbing, even right after I walked out of Grandma's apartment. At the time, I figured I was so sad because I didn't know when I would come back to Taiwan next, and I wished I could stay longer...but maybe it was also an instinct, some sort of subliminal message from God that this was the last time I'd see Grandma.
Rest in peace.
Thursday, July 1, 2010
An Analogy
"Many people will walk in and out of your life, but only true friends will leave footprints on your heart."
I've been thinking about true friends, and the different ways they come in and out of your life. I'm going to try out an analogy and see if it works...
Let's say my life is a House, and I am the Owner.
I'd say that my family--mom, dad, and sister--are Architects. I build the House and have the final say in its making, but they are the ones who design it and choose what kind of house it will be...brick or stone, backyard or pool, how many stories, where to place the windows and doors etc. Next come my most prominent teachers and mentors, the ones who guide and inspire me. They're the Interior Designers. The changes they make to the House are less immediately or outwardly visible, and their contributions must accommodate decisions already put in place by my family. Ideally, they enhance and emphasize the Architects' achievements, while minimizing and concealing possible mistakes.
Then, there are companions...the ones that leave footprints on the heart, the ones that affect my views and passions. I hesitate to use the word "friend," because it seems at once too vague and too specific. By "companion," I mean anyone I'd view on equal ground as myself--like a peer, but more personal. Thus far in my life, I can think of four categories of "footprint companions," and four people to represent these categories. (For privacy's sake, I'll refer to them as if they are all male, even though they're not--sorry, the glass ceiling still exists in my writing...it's easier than saying "he/she," anyway.) So here they are.
The Mailman- The Mailman is constant and reliable. His job is indispensable, and his visits to the House make me excited and happy. (Who doesn't love getting mail?) The Mailman's presence is something I can always count on, and it's difficult to remember a day when his smiling face and cheerful voice weren't there for me when I needed them. Because of his reliability and seemingly simple nature, I sometimes take him for granted. I wait for him to come to my House, ring my doorbell, and deliver my mail; it is less common that I go to the post office to deliver things and pick things up myself. The Mailman never fails, rain or shine. Even in a storm, he can be seen trudging up my driveway with an umbrella, poncho, and his usual good spirits. Times with the Mailman are usually easygoing and casual. We discuss light-hearted stuff, joking and laughing. But because of the frequency of his visits, he has seen me at my best and worst. He's been there for every mistake, disappointment, failure, heartbreak...and though during those low points, I am too preoccupied to truly appreciate his presence, he is there...not for too long, not to discuss the nitty and gritty...but simply, to be there. He always has been, and always will be. A seemingly simple role he plays, most of the time, and yet...without him, I couldn't survive. Love you too, Mailman.
The Gardener- The Gardener didn't start coming to my House until it was developed enough to have a garden. Gardens take time, patience, and experience. They also depend on the seasons...they are a cycle of growth and decay, ripeness and rot, joy and sorrow. I met the Gardener when the first flowers in my yard started to bloom. He helped arrange the plants, find the correct tools and fertilizer and sunlight to make them grow as best as possible. The Gardener brought vibrant colors into my life and taught me how to appreciate beauty to its fullest. The nature of his profession means that I only see the Gardener during certain seasons. He comes at the beginning of spring, when blossoms are due to appear, and he helps them along, encouraging them and preparing them for their journey. Then he steps back and lets them flourish on their own. When winter rolls around, he returns to clean up dried-up petals, rake dead leaves, and clear away old roots. During periods when I don't see the Gardener--when my garden is either doing fine on its own or simply inactive--I keep him in mind, and the lessons he taught me are present in my everyday actions. When he does show up, his presence is significant and consequential...he can change the essence of my House in one visit. My Gardener shows me how to make the House beautiful, and taught me what it means to celebrate humanity.
The Stray- The Stray cat showed up unexpectedly at my doorstep one night. He was soft, fluffy, and very cute. He was also alone, seemingly helpless and in need of shelter. I let him in with caution; after all, you never know where a stray has been. He turned out to be a sweet creature--loving, endearing, and capricious. Everyone who saw my new favorite visitor of the House fell in love with his charm and perfection. I let him explore every room of the House, even ones I guarded with the utmost privacy. I couldn't say that the Stray belonged to me, but he visited so often, left his mark in so many nooks and crannies, that I believed he would stay forever. One day, without warning, the Stray was gone. There are many possible reasons for his departure--perhaps he found a bigger house with more food and better company. Maybe he grew tired of the House...the mess in the closet, the stain on the carpet I hid under a couch, the bathroom window that was stuck shut. But most likely, the Stray is simply that--a stray. He's never meant to belong to anyone, at least not yet, and I learned to accept this, as confusing and frustrating as I found it. Certainly I'm not the first to lose him, and I probably won't be the last. And as wonderful as he was at making my House that much of a better place in which to live, he is, above all else, a being unto himself, one who lives by himself and for himself. It is what it is.
The Roofer- A Roofer is needed at all times, but most importantly in the aftermath of bad weather. Sometimes, one or two lone tiles from the roof are blown off by a gust of wind. Other times, a hailstorm sweeps in, and I must call the Roofer in a panic, so he can fix the holes. The Roofer knows my House inside out. He knows its weaknesses and faults, where to step lightly and where it holds strong...and he fixes a situation as if it were the easiest thing in the world. The Roofer isn't my most frequent visitor, nor does he always come at the exact moment I wish him to. He has other appointments...or else, the storm is blowing too hard for him to do his job safely. Once, I asked him to check a few loose tiles on the side roof, and though a recent rain had rendered the rooftop precariously slippery, he eventually agreed. Halfway through, he lost his footing and fell to the ground, breaking a few bones. Though he didn't blame me, I could not forgive myself for causing him pain and damage. He told me it would be a while before he could walk again, and only if he took a break would his wounds heal. But he promised he would return. In his absence, the House suffered. When it rained, leaks in the roof opened up; the water seeping in were like giant tears that dampened the rooms. Nobody else could mend the damage. There is only one Roofer, and I knew it still was not safe for him to return. Finally one day, he showed up on my doorstep. His arm was in a sling, and a scar was visible on his cheek, but he was walking again. True to his promise, he came back. Gradually he returned to fixing things--cracks, holes, chipped tiles...but the past cannot be erased, and scars don't disappear...it will be a while before he can climb onto the roof again. There is a ladder I always leave propped up, though, waiting for when the time is right.
I've been thinking about true friends, and the different ways they come in and out of your life. I'm going to try out an analogy and see if it works...
Let's say my life is a House, and I am the Owner.
I'd say that my family--mom, dad, and sister--are Architects. I build the House and have the final say in its making, but they are the ones who design it and choose what kind of house it will be...brick or stone, backyard or pool, how many stories, where to place the windows and doors etc. Next come my most prominent teachers and mentors, the ones who guide and inspire me. They're the Interior Designers. The changes they make to the House are less immediately or outwardly visible, and their contributions must accommodate decisions already put in place by my family. Ideally, they enhance and emphasize the Architects' achievements, while minimizing and concealing possible mistakes.
Then, there are companions...the ones that leave footprints on the heart, the ones that affect my views and passions. I hesitate to use the word "friend," because it seems at once too vague and too specific. By "companion," I mean anyone I'd view on equal ground as myself--like a peer, but more personal. Thus far in my life, I can think of four categories of "footprint companions," and four people to represent these categories. (For privacy's sake, I'll refer to them as if they are all male, even though they're not--sorry, the glass ceiling still exists in my writing...it's easier than saying "he/she," anyway.) So here they are.
The Mailman- The Mailman is constant and reliable. His job is indispensable, and his visits to the House make me excited and happy. (Who doesn't love getting mail?) The Mailman's presence is something I can always count on, and it's difficult to remember a day when his smiling face and cheerful voice weren't there for me when I needed them. Because of his reliability and seemingly simple nature, I sometimes take him for granted. I wait for him to come to my House, ring my doorbell, and deliver my mail; it is less common that I go to the post office to deliver things and pick things up myself. The Mailman never fails, rain or shine. Even in a storm, he can be seen trudging up my driveway with an umbrella, poncho, and his usual good spirits. Times with the Mailman are usually easygoing and casual. We discuss light-hearted stuff, joking and laughing. But because of the frequency of his visits, he has seen me at my best and worst. He's been there for every mistake, disappointment, failure, heartbreak...and though during those low points, I am too preoccupied to truly appreciate his presence, he is there...not for too long, not to discuss the nitty and gritty...but simply, to be there. He always has been, and always will be. A seemingly simple role he plays, most of the time, and yet...without him, I couldn't survive. Love you too, Mailman.
The Gardener- The Gardener didn't start coming to my House until it was developed enough to have a garden. Gardens take time, patience, and experience. They also depend on the seasons...they are a cycle of growth and decay, ripeness and rot, joy and sorrow. I met the Gardener when the first flowers in my yard started to bloom. He helped arrange the plants, find the correct tools and fertilizer and sunlight to make them grow as best as possible. The Gardener brought vibrant colors into my life and taught me how to appreciate beauty to its fullest. The nature of his profession means that I only see the Gardener during certain seasons. He comes at the beginning of spring, when blossoms are due to appear, and he helps them along, encouraging them and preparing them for their journey. Then he steps back and lets them flourish on their own. When winter rolls around, he returns to clean up dried-up petals, rake dead leaves, and clear away old roots. During periods when I don't see the Gardener--when my garden is either doing fine on its own or simply inactive--I keep him in mind, and the lessons he taught me are present in my everyday actions. When he does show up, his presence is significant and consequential...he can change the essence of my House in one visit. My Gardener shows me how to make the House beautiful, and taught me what it means to celebrate humanity.
The Stray- The Stray cat showed up unexpectedly at my doorstep one night. He was soft, fluffy, and very cute. He was also alone, seemingly helpless and in need of shelter. I let him in with caution; after all, you never know where a stray has been. He turned out to be a sweet creature--loving, endearing, and capricious. Everyone who saw my new favorite visitor of the House fell in love with his charm and perfection. I let him explore every room of the House, even ones I guarded with the utmost privacy. I couldn't say that the Stray belonged to me, but he visited so often, left his mark in so many nooks and crannies, that I believed he would stay forever. One day, without warning, the Stray was gone. There are many possible reasons for his departure--perhaps he found a bigger house with more food and better company. Maybe he grew tired of the House...the mess in the closet, the stain on the carpet I hid under a couch, the bathroom window that was stuck shut. But most likely, the Stray is simply that--a stray. He's never meant to belong to anyone, at least not yet, and I learned to accept this, as confusing and frustrating as I found it. Certainly I'm not the first to lose him, and I probably won't be the last. And as wonderful as he was at making my House that much of a better place in which to live, he is, above all else, a being unto himself, one who lives by himself and for himself. It is what it is.
The Roofer- A Roofer is needed at all times, but most importantly in the aftermath of bad weather. Sometimes, one or two lone tiles from the roof are blown off by a gust of wind. Other times, a hailstorm sweeps in, and I must call the Roofer in a panic, so he can fix the holes. The Roofer knows my House inside out. He knows its weaknesses and faults, where to step lightly and where it holds strong...and he fixes a situation as if it were the easiest thing in the world. The Roofer isn't my most frequent visitor, nor does he always come at the exact moment I wish him to. He has other appointments...or else, the storm is blowing too hard for him to do his job safely. Once, I asked him to check a few loose tiles on the side roof, and though a recent rain had rendered the rooftop precariously slippery, he eventually agreed. Halfway through, he lost his footing and fell to the ground, breaking a few bones. Though he didn't blame me, I could not forgive myself for causing him pain and damage. He told me it would be a while before he could walk again, and only if he took a break would his wounds heal. But he promised he would return. In his absence, the House suffered. When it rained, leaks in the roof opened up; the water seeping in were like giant tears that dampened the rooms. Nobody else could mend the damage. There is only one Roofer, and I knew it still was not safe for him to return. Finally one day, he showed up on my doorstep. His arm was in a sling, and a scar was visible on his cheek, but he was walking again. True to his promise, he came back. Gradually he returned to fixing things--cracks, holes, chipped tiles...but the past cannot be erased, and scars don't disappear...it will be a while before he can climb onto the roof again. There is a ladder I always leave propped up, though, waiting for when the time is right.
Four Words:
California public transportation SUCKS.
Today, I wrote out a nice, neat schedule of train times for Caltrain and Bart so I could get to San Francisco by 2pm and arrive home by 10pm. I got to Caltrain on time and bought my one-day pass...the train was supposed to arrive at 12:29pm, but it was 5 minutes late. Okay, no big deal. Got on and read for 45 minutes while it rumbled and clanked its way slowly to Millbrae. It arrived 10 minutes later than scheduled...still, not too bad for Caltrain. Bought my round-trip Bart ticket and got on the train. It left on time. After 3 stops, the announcer said there was some problem in downtown SF, so we would have to stand-by for a while. A man who had just stampeded his way onto the train a moment ago with his bike started cursing at the top of his voice. "F-CK THOSE ASSHOLES,WHAT THE F-CK AM I SUPPOSED TO DO NOW?" etc. etc. Okay...no problem...just keep reading my book, ignore the crazy man, things should be okay in a bit. After 15 minutes or so, the train restarted, and the man calmed down. Then we got to Daly City, and the announcer said that all trains were going out of service, because the problem in downtown SF had not been fixed. The angry man really had a fit then; I thought his ears were going to fall off the sides of his head, they were so red. He charged out and down the escalator yelling curses to the California transportation systems, and the rest of us followed him into the station. Everyone was crowded around a lady guard in her glass booth, clamoring to ask questions, and she kept impatiently trying to shoo us away. When I got to the front, I asked her what other alternatives there were to get to Civic Center, SF, and she said either take a taxi or take the bus. Just then, a woman tapped me on the shoulder and said if I was going to Civic Center, I could follow her, since her destination was only 2 stops away from mine, and she knew the area well. She said we'd have to take the #28 bus, then transfer to a different street car, then transfer to the Muni BART. It sounded really confusing, so I just took her word for it and followed her to the bus stop.
She was an angel...probably in her late 40's, looked Vietnamese with dark skin and dark hair tied back. As the bus was pulling in, she realized I didn't have a bus ticket, so I ran back into the station and got one as quickly as possible. Pelting back, I saw her waiting at the doorway of the bus, to ensure I would make it in time. She guided me through the insane maze of buses (which took at least an additional hour), waiting for me every time we exited or boarded a new car to make sure I was okay. She stayed with me until her stop had arrived, and then asked me if I would be okay before she left. There are some people in this world who are just so, so nice.
Later in the afternoon, I was sitting in Le Boulange across from the park in downtown SF, people-watching with a friend. In the span of 10 minutes or so, we saw: a dog so covered with black dreadlocks that it looked like a walking mop; a woman in a bubble-gum pink mini-dress that looked like it belonged on a Barbie doll; and a man carrying a jacket-ful of multi-colored ukeleles, waving them in the faces of anyone who so much as made eye-contact with him. I think he was trying to sell them.
Oh...I've missed San Francisco...
At first I was going to cut dinner short to get to BART on time, but then my friend offered to drive me directly to the Caltrain station in Millbrae. This seemed like a good plan, giving us time to order dessert and take a walk, but then things started going wrong on the way back. I think my terrible sense of direction and habit of getting lost wherever I go is contagious...in any case, somehow we managed to get lost, circling around until finally we found the station. It didn't help that his GPS system kept turning off every time I touched it (??). I could see my train on the tracks, and just as we pulled into the parking lot, it zoomed away, leaving us in a trail of steam...it was so dramatic, like a movie scene. Stupid Caltrain...you're 5 minutes late when I get there early, and you're 2 minutes early when I get there on time.
My day had a happy ending though, because my friend drove me home even though he lives in SF, and I got to see a pretty sunset, purple flowering trees, and listen to a radio report about sea turtles on the way back. Like I said, some people are just so, so nice.
Anyways, the moral of the story is: California public transportation SUCKS. Avoid it at all costs.
Today, I wrote out a nice, neat schedule of train times for Caltrain and Bart so I could get to San Francisco by 2pm and arrive home by 10pm. I got to Caltrain on time and bought my one-day pass...the train was supposed to arrive at 12:29pm, but it was 5 minutes late. Okay, no big deal. Got on and read for 45 minutes while it rumbled and clanked its way slowly to Millbrae. It arrived 10 minutes later than scheduled...still, not too bad for Caltrain. Bought my round-trip Bart ticket and got on the train. It left on time. After 3 stops, the announcer said there was some problem in downtown SF, so we would have to stand-by for a while. A man who had just stampeded his way onto the train a moment ago with his bike started cursing at the top of his voice. "F-CK THOSE ASSHOLES,WHAT THE F-CK AM I SUPPOSED TO DO NOW?" etc. etc. Okay...no problem...just keep reading my book, ignore the crazy man, things should be okay in a bit. After 15 minutes or so, the train restarted, and the man calmed down. Then we got to Daly City, and the announcer said that all trains were going out of service, because the problem in downtown SF had not been fixed. The angry man really had a fit then; I thought his ears were going to fall off the sides of his head, they were so red. He charged out and down the escalator yelling curses to the California transportation systems, and the rest of us followed him into the station. Everyone was crowded around a lady guard in her glass booth, clamoring to ask questions, and she kept impatiently trying to shoo us away. When I got to the front, I asked her what other alternatives there were to get to Civic Center, SF, and she said either take a taxi or take the bus. Just then, a woman tapped me on the shoulder and said if I was going to Civic Center, I could follow her, since her destination was only 2 stops away from mine, and she knew the area well. She said we'd have to take the #28 bus, then transfer to a different street car, then transfer to the Muni BART. It sounded really confusing, so I just took her word for it and followed her to the bus stop.
She was an angel...probably in her late 40's, looked Vietnamese with dark skin and dark hair tied back. As the bus was pulling in, she realized I didn't have a bus ticket, so I ran back into the station and got one as quickly as possible. Pelting back, I saw her waiting at the doorway of the bus, to ensure I would make it in time. She guided me through the insane maze of buses (which took at least an additional hour), waiting for me every time we exited or boarded a new car to make sure I was okay. She stayed with me until her stop had arrived, and then asked me if I would be okay before she left. There are some people in this world who are just so, so nice.
Later in the afternoon, I was sitting in Le Boulange across from the park in downtown SF, people-watching with a friend. In the span of 10 minutes or so, we saw: a dog so covered with black dreadlocks that it looked like a walking mop; a woman in a bubble-gum pink mini-dress that looked like it belonged on a Barbie doll; and a man carrying a jacket-ful of multi-colored ukeleles, waving them in the faces of anyone who so much as made eye-contact with him. I think he was trying to sell them.
Oh...I've missed San Francisco...
At first I was going to cut dinner short to get to BART on time, but then my friend offered to drive me directly to the Caltrain station in Millbrae. This seemed like a good plan, giving us time to order dessert and take a walk, but then things started going wrong on the way back. I think my terrible sense of direction and habit of getting lost wherever I go is contagious...in any case, somehow we managed to get lost, circling around until finally we found the station. It didn't help that his GPS system kept turning off every time I touched it (??). I could see my train on the tracks, and just as we pulled into the parking lot, it zoomed away, leaving us in a trail of steam...it was so dramatic, like a movie scene. Stupid Caltrain...you're 5 minutes late when I get there early, and you're 2 minutes early when I get there on time.
My day had a happy ending though, because my friend drove me home even though he lives in SF, and I got to see a pretty sunset, purple flowering trees, and listen to a radio report about sea turtles on the way back. Like I said, some people are just so, so nice.
Anyways, the moral of the story is: California public transportation SUCKS. Avoid it at all costs.
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