Girl and City

When I first came to Canada, I was six. My parents and I shared one room with no furniture except a double mattress on the floor. We shared the washroom and kitchen with six other tenants of the house. We had a third-hand bicycle, which my father used to get to school (he was studying his PhD at the time). My mother and I would walk everywhere because even public transport was considered a luxury. We’d walk four miles round-trip to Chinatown for groceries – traditional supermarkets were far too expensive. Those first two years also happened to be two of the coldest Canadian winters in recent history. I had no gloves, but I wanted to help mama, so I would always carry two grocery bags, and my little fingers would quickly become pink and frozen. I never complained, but mama knew how cold I was, and on our way home we would duck into a supermarket to warm up. Just inside the doors, they had those gumball machine candy dispensers, and I would avert my gaze because I didn’t want mama to think I wanted any. Without a word, she would give me a quarter. I would look uncertainly at her, and she would give a subtle nod, as if to say “Go on.” I would drag out my time deciding what type of candy I wanted, even though I already knew. I wanted the multi-coloured gum tabs, because gum lasted the longest. I would dump my handful of candy into one of my coat pockets, and all the way home, I would have something to chew on as we walked.

Even though we were poor, my parents didn’t want me to miss out on North American traditions, such as Halloween and Christmas. For my first Halloween, I dressed as a garbage bag. You see, my parents thought that the point of Halloween was to be as ugly as possible. So they cut out some holes in a garbage bag, smeared my face with something black. and I was off. I was a six year-old girl. I could have been a princess, a fairy, a Disney cartoon character, but no, I was a garbage bag. I didn’t care, I was overjoyed that perfect strangers were giving me candy – for free! (more…)

I have always been a very picky eater. Before I could talk or walk, I already knew the difference between good and bad food, and I refused to eat bad food. Even if I was force-fed, I would promptly throw up after the meal. Unfortunately, you can’t reason with a toddler, we do as we please. So my father would rush to the market every day after work to buy fresh vegetables, the best cuts of pork, and live fish¹, and would spend hours cooking when he got home.

As an infant, I was what one may call a vegan. I disliked meat – it was never tender enough – and I would chew a piece of meat in my little mouth until it was all fiber, and then spit it out. I never swallowed. I also disliked seafood – it was never fresh enough. Basic human instinct should tell us not to eat something that smells like ammonia. I would throw up if I even glimpsed dairy (my parents had to feed me milk when I was asleep).
Food-wise, I was a difficult child to raise, and I have been making up for it in other aspects my whole life. (more…)

1. This was in China in the late 80s, so supermarkets did not yet exist, and everyone bought their groceries from farmer’s markets. When it came to meat, for example chicken, you had to buy a live chicken and slaughter it yourself at home. [↩]

This year, things have really come together for me. I feel so unbelievably lucky that there is nothing more that I could wish for. The greatest gift that I want to receive this Christmas is love. And it is also the gift I want to give.
All I want this Christmas:

• Enjoy being with family. After this year, I’ll be flying the coup! I want to spend lots of time with my mom and dad, take them out to dim sum, go to see a play or something, help them prepare a Christmas feast and enjoy the Veuve Clicquot I brought back from New York together.
• Actually play with my Wii. I bought a Wii nearly two years ago and have barely used it. I only bought one game on it. Once I start working, I doubt I’ll have any time to play at all. I’m not even sure I’m going to take my Wii to Singapore with me. So this holiday, I’m going to buy a few more games and play Wii!
• Cook again. I have completely lost touch with my cooking skills. These days, everything I make is blah and tasteless. I don’t put heart into cooking anymore. In fact, I’m not even sure I enjoy food anymore (I know, blasphemous!). I really want to enjoy the wonders of food and taste again. Plus, I probably won’t be cooking much at all when I’m in Singapore. So, I definitely want to cook at least one memorable meal this holiday season.
• Reconnect with high school friends. The friendships I made in high school really are lifelong, and after this year, we may be even more scattered than we already are. I want to do the things we always do – karaoke, AYCE sushi (or some outing to an Asian restaurant), shopping, etc. On this note, I don’t know if I should reconnect with MFL. I mean, I know not being close friends with him was a good decision, but if I am leaving soon, I don’t really have to worry about that anymore, right? So should I take this holiday season as an opportunity to re-establish our friendship?
• Reconnect with “satellite friends”. These are the one or two friends I’ve kept in touch with from other places in my life, like Chinese school and summer camp and whatnot. I usually only see them once a year during the holidays, so I definitely won’t miss my chance this Christmas.

What do you want for Christmas this year?

This past weekend, I went on a mini-break with my parents. We visited a few provincial/national parks/conservation areas. We brought our dog, packed some food, and hiked some trails.

My parents stayed at my apartment in University Town for the weekend (because it was near the provincial parks), but my roommate had moved out of my apartment, so I had no furniture (except the furniture in my bedroom), no internet, and no TV. My parents slept on the floor on an air mattress. We made makeshift tables out of cardboard boxes, we listened to the radio, we drank wine out of plastic cups, and I cooked with a rice spatula because my roommate accidentally took my stir-fry spatula. It was ghetto living, but it was fun. My parents laughed more this weekend than I’ve seen them do in a long time. And when they drove away on Monday, I cried.

I’ve never been close to my parents. I think the last time I felt emotionally attached to them was when I was 11. When I was 12, I spent three months away from my parents and I didn’t miss them once. I have never cried out of homesickness. And yet, after a mere weekend together, my 21-year-old self bawled cried as I watched my parents drive away and I was left, literally, in an empty apartment.

I cried because I finally realized the importance of family. No matter what, my parents will always love me, put me first, care for me, worry about me. They would die for me, but more importantly, they live for me. They are utterly devoted to me whether I recognize it or not, whether I thank them for it or not. A few months ago, I resented them for being emotionally closed off. They never said things like “I’m proud of you” or “You did good,” and I resented them for making me feel like I wasn’t good enough. Be that as it may, there were a lot of things I never said to them either. “Thank you,” “I appreciate everything you’ve done for me.” Perhaps my inability to open up emotionally is still “their fault,” perhaps I am very much the product of my upbringing, but all I could think was “I should have known better.” Knowing them, knowing myself, I should have known they were proud of me even if they never said it. I should have known they loved me even if they never told me.

I am so silly.

I was so focused on finding someone who cared about me, when I had two people who lived and breathed for me right beside me. Instead of embracing them, I was pushing them away and then desperately looking for a relationship (or friendship) to fill the gap.

I have so much growing up to do.
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One of my favourite books by Sophie Kinsella is Can You Keep a Secret?. The reason is simple: the heroine of this particular story has some secrets. Mostly derived from a few little lies. Ok, maybe more than a few. See? I do it too. But who doesn’t?

We all have secrets, from little lies that we tell, or what we don’t tell. We already know there are plenty of things I don’t tell. Here are some more.

Secrets from my boss:

• I told the CEO at Not-A-Real-Job that I wasn’t doing anything this summer other than this internship. Complete lie. As you all know, I am desperately secretly searching for another job.
• He is obviously going to find out when he receives a call from places I have applied to because I put him down as one of my references. I probably should have told him that he is one of my references. I also said I’d been an intern with him for two months. Slight lie, considering I started last month. Hmm…

Secrets from my parents:

• My parents think I have never bombed a single course in university¹ and that I am awesome at science. Neither of these beliefs are correct. I did bomb a course (Cell Biology), which just goes to show I am not awesome at science. I just left the field before it became obvious. My parents desperately want to believe I am awesome at science because 90% of the people in my family are serious scientists, and they want me to join their ranks. Imagine their disappointment when I went to business school instead.
• My mom thinks I am trying to lose weight. Not because I said I was on a diet or anything, just because she thinks I should. So it’s really her fault for making assumptions. When she is not home, I eat ice cream. Lots and lots of it. She also thinks I go swimming every other day. I do not.
• That stain on the bathroom rug that my mother loves? The dog peed there. But it was because I locked the dog in the bathroom when she was getting really annoying. My parents think the dog just went crazy on her own (which does happen sometimes) and I’ve never corrected their notion. It’s not like the dog is going to tell on me.
• One time, my phone dialed my home number on its own while I was out clubbing at 2am (it must have been pressed against something in my purse and hit speed dial). All my parents heard on the resulting answering machine message was “loud noise” (their words, not mine – my guess is it was very loud music). They called me back and when I saw that “Home” was calling, I didn’t answer because I was drunk and I didn’t want them to know I was still out clubbing. They thought I’d been kidnapped or something terrible had happened to me and the recording was all I could get out, so they called the police. I never told them the truth. I switched phones after that incident.

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1. The Asian definition of bombing: getting below an 80 – or a 3.7 out of 4.0. [↩]