My flight back to LA is in about six hours. I''ll take my dad to lunch (he's requested mcdonald's, but it feels strangely appropriate for reasons I might explain later) and then go visit mom & then take public transport out to Hopkins (international airport).
It's a surprise to discover that I'm quite ambivalent about my return to LA. Recently I read an article in an alumni magazine written by a fellow toisan chinese currently enrolled at my alma mater (go blue!). This person spent his summer doing two internships, one in Sarajevo (sp?) and also one in D.C. in the State Department where all his fellow interns were pretty much all local kids with high powered D.C. connections while he (like me) is the child of chinese immigrants who've been in the restaurant business. He's not even able to explain to his parents what he did during his internships - his conversations with his parents revolve around topics like how to make rice porridge or the antics of his brother. His goal is to be able to influence foreign policy on immigration but the best he can do is explain to his parents that he wants to be a teacher. My experience has been similar for decades, and it's been the cause of a lot of frustration. It wasn't much different the past few days, but I feel more connected in a way I hadn't anticipated. Hence the ambivalence; before I left, friends had asked me what my goals were and, having anticipated a lot of drama that failed to materialize, my response was mainly survival. I guess the best way I have to describe it now is that I have closure - whatever that means.
Tuesday, August 14, 2018
Saturday, August 11, 2018
You Can't Go Home - Part One
Or so goes the title of the Thomas Wolfe tome. While I'm back in NE Ohio right now, this will become true shortly; my parents are no longer capable of living unassisted and will be moving out of state. The house where I spent my formative years is to be prepped for sale. Once the house is sold and my parents are relocated, I will have no reason to return to NE Ohio.
Unlike George Webber, I have a chance to take of some unfinished personal business on this trip. I think I managed to do some of that this morning. I'll see if I can explain this in a way that makes sense. It starts with my personal conviction that it's the fathers who affirm their children into adulthood. Mother affirm unconditionally, while fathers must make a conscious choice to affirm their children. So I came home this morning while my dad (2 days short of his 95th birthday) was mowing the lawn. I decided to help. This needs to be said to emphasize the significance of this choice. This was probably the first time I helped my dad with anything since my adolesence. My father was the type of person that if you couldn't do something as quickly as he could, he would get impatient and just take over the task himself. As a result, I really didn't gain the confidence to take care of things around the house until well into my 30's. Anyway, not only did I end up edging the lawn, tree lawn and clearing away plants overgrowing the front porch and hose off the grass on the side of the neighbor's car parked next to the tree lawn, my dad also pointed to the side of the garage and asked me to clear away all the weeds that had taken over. It wasn't a big thing in the grand scheme of things, but it was a big deal to be deemed competent enough to do so.
The flip side of this is knowing that while he's agreed to relocate to be near my sister, his cronies from the old country have been telling him that it's *my* responsibility to move back to NE Ohio to take care of him until he passes on. Now I must find a way to communicate to my father that I will not be doing this.
Unlike George Webber, I have a chance to take of some unfinished personal business on this trip. I think I managed to do some of that this morning. I'll see if I can explain this in a way that makes sense. It starts with my personal conviction that it's the fathers who affirm their children into adulthood. Mother affirm unconditionally, while fathers must make a conscious choice to affirm their children. So I came home this morning while my dad (2 days short of his 95th birthday) was mowing the lawn. I decided to help. This needs to be said to emphasize the significance of this choice. This was probably the first time I helped my dad with anything since my adolesence. My father was the type of person that if you couldn't do something as quickly as he could, he would get impatient and just take over the task himself. As a result, I really didn't gain the confidence to take care of things around the house until well into my 30's. Anyway, not only did I end up edging the lawn, tree lawn and clearing away plants overgrowing the front porch and hose off the grass on the side of the neighbor's car parked next to the tree lawn, my dad also pointed to the side of the garage and asked me to clear away all the weeds that had taken over. It wasn't a big thing in the grand scheme of things, but it was a big deal to be deemed competent enough to do so.
The flip side of this is knowing that while he's agreed to relocate to be near my sister, his cronies from the old country have been telling him that it's *my* responsibility to move back to NE Ohio to take care of him until he passes on. Now I must find a way to communicate to my father that I will not be doing this.
Friday, August 10, 2018
Mortality
For those who don't know me, who I am today is profoundly shaped by my being attacked in 2013 by someone wielding a box cutter who managed to sever the anterior branch of my carotid. I spent the better part of 3 months recuperating from that - physically, yes, but also emotionally & spiritually.
I find myself compelled to examine mortality again. But it's very different this time; instead of facing my own mortality stemming from an unexpected swift and potentially brutal attack, I'm now dealing with my parents and their diminishing health resulting from a slow and inexorable passage of time. My mother slipped and fell and she went from the hospital into assisted living care. From there she will be transported to an assisted living facility in another state in the city where my sister resides. My parents moved into their current home in 1970. My mother laments that she will probably never see her home again. My father will turn 95 this coming Monday. He's no longer capable of living alone by himself. He's agreed to move along with my mother to where my sister resides. But his Chinatown cronies are telling him that I should move back to Ohio to take care of him. I have to find a way to tell him that my moving back to Ohio is not going to happen. It's complicated. Anyone who just hears my voice without seeing my face is incapable of discerning my ethnic heritage. But every day I walk with one foot each in one of two often mutually exclusive cultures, and it's most complicated when it comes to relationships and obligations. The short version is that asian cultures in general are community based and relationships and obligations that accompany those relationships factor into the choices and behavior while western cultures tend to celebrate individuality; the privilege of making choices for one's self is viewed more as a right. The needs of the many vs. the needs of the few - or the one...
My mother's' choices illustrate that. When she fell, she actually postponed going to the hospital four (4!!!!) days, lying in bed in excruciating pain - because she knew that if she went to the hospital, my father would be home alone. He requires assistance every morning pricking his thumb for his blood sugar test. My mother finally went to the hospital when my sister drove eight hours from where she resides and took my mother to the hospital. After her X-ray/diagnosis - she cracked her tail bone - the case manager forbid my mother from going home. She was discharged into a assisted living facility about four blocks from home. My dad has been making food and taking some to her every day.
I guess the best way to put it for now is that instead of pondering the randomness of death, I now ponder its inexorability and how to respond to that.
I find myself compelled to examine mortality again. But it's very different this time; instead of facing my own mortality stemming from an unexpected swift and potentially brutal attack, I'm now dealing with my parents and their diminishing health resulting from a slow and inexorable passage of time. My mother slipped and fell and she went from the hospital into assisted living care. From there she will be transported to an assisted living facility in another state in the city where my sister resides. My parents moved into their current home in 1970. My mother laments that she will probably never see her home again. My father will turn 95 this coming Monday. He's no longer capable of living alone by himself. He's agreed to move along with my mother to where my sister resides. But his Chinatown cronies are telling him that I should move back to Ohio to take care of him. I have to find a way to tell him that my moving back to Ohio is not going to happen. It's complicated. Anyone who just hears my voice without seeing my face is incapable of discerning my ethnic heritage. But every day I walk with one foot each in one of two often mutually exclusive cultures, and it's most complicated when it comes to relationships and obligations. The short version is that asian cultures in general are community based and relationships and obligations that accompany those relationships factor into the choices and behavior while western cultures tend to celebrate individuality; the privilege of making choices for one's self is viewed more as a right. The needs of the many vs. the needs of the few - or the one...
My mother's' choices illustrate that. When she fell, she actually postponed going to the hospital four (4!!!!) days, lying in bed in excruciating pain - because she knew that if she went to the hospital, my father would be home alone. He requires assistance every morning pricking his thumb for his blood sugar test. My mother finally went to the hospital when my sister drove eight hours from where she resides and took my mother to the hospital. After her X-ray/diagnosis - she cracked her tail bone - the case manager forbid my mother from going home. She was discharged into a assisted living facility about four blocks from home. My dad has been making food and taking some to her every day.
I guess the best way to put it for now is that instead of pondering the randomness of death, I now ponder its inexorability and how to respond to that.
Friday, June 8, 2018
Anthony Bourdain
For those who don't know me, the brightest constellations in my personal universe are food/cooking, music, dance & teaching/writing. When it comes to food, one of stars I sail by is chef/author/TV personality Anthony Bourdain. He apparently hung himself earlier today. It's especially poignant as I'd recently gotten the last work of his I hadn't read yet and I'd finished reading it earlier today when I heard the news.
I have every episode of a Cook's Tour, No Reservations and Parts Unknown backed up on my computer so I can watch them whenever I want. Not only have I (finally) read everything he's written about food, I've even read his works of fiction written while we was still working as a chef. His intelligence was obvious, and I had great affinity for his sense of snark, but what I respected most about him was his level of intellectual and emotional integrity. He was always honest (and also disclosed when he was holding back out of respect for what it takes to be a chef) and at times his anger got the best of him when expressing opinions, but he could acknowledge when he'd gone too far and apologize. He'd traveled and seen enough to be open-minded when meeting people whose world view was mutually exclusive with his. He put it this way in "The Nasty Bits":
'...I mean, if I can drunk with a bunch of probably murderous Russian gangsters and have a good time, why can't I get along with an evangelical Republican from Texas?'
He'd managed to overcome addictions to crack & heroin and parlayed a tell-all book about the restaurant industry into a career many foodies including me, envied: traveling the world exploring ethnic cuisines and getting paid handsomely for it. Granted, the career had its pitfalls, his wife recently divorced him because he was typically on the road eight months of the year, but he was currently dating actress Asia Argento. And while he was on the road (in France), his best friend Eric Ripert (head chef at Le Bernardin in NYC) was traveling with him (and was the one who found the body). I find it unfathomable that even with his best friend close by to confide in, he chose to take his own life. Frankly, I'm stunned.
I'm going to go have a drink and a cigar and further contemplate his passing.
RIP.
I have every episode of a Cook's Tour, No Reservations and Parts Unknown backed up on my computer so I can watch them whenever I want. Not only have I (finally) read everything he's written about food, I've even read his works of fiction written while we was still working as a chef. His intelligence was obvious, and I had great affinity for his sense of snark, but what I respected most about him was his level of intellectual and emotional integrity. He was always honest (and also disclosed when he was holding back out of respect for what it takes to be a chef) and at times his anger got the best of him when expressing opinions, but he could acknowledge when he'd gone too far and apologize. He'd traveled and seen enough to be open-minded when meeting people whose world view was mutually exclusive with his. He put it this way in "The Nasty Bits":
'...I mean, if I can drunk with a bunch of probably murderous Russian gangsters and have a good time, why can't I get along with an evangelical Republican from Texas?'
He'd managed to overcome addictions to crack & heroin and parlayed a tell-all book about the restaurant industry into a career many foodies including me, envied: traveling the world exploring ethnic cuisines and getting paid handsomely for it. Granted, the career had its pitfalls, his wife recently divorced him because he was typically on the road eight months of the year, but he was currently dating actress Asia Argento. And while he was on the road (in France), his best friend Eric Ripert (head chef at Le Bernardin in NYC) was traveling with him (and was the one who found the body). I find it unfathomable that even with his best friend close by to confide in, he chose to take his own life. Frankly, I'm stunned.
I'm going to go have a drink and a cigar and further contemplate his passing.
RIP.
Tuesday, February 13, 2018
Tta Roh Guk Bap
The unusually warm weather we've been having this February (highs in the 80's) has apparently come to an end. Not that it gets all that cold here in southern California - the high will be around 60 degrees for the rest of the week with lows in the 40's. But it's enough of a change to get me to try something different this morning as I perform my weekly Korean breakfast soup special, and I have ordered Tta Roh Guk Bap, spicy beef soup with brisket and dried cabbage. It seems more appropriate as I discover condensation on my car windshield this morning.
I don't know if it's a good omen that the dried cabbage reminds me of the soups my mother would make with various dried Chinese vegetables when I got sick as a child; I've been fighting a sinus infection for over two weeks now. I finally relented and started an antibiotic regimen (500 mg amoxicillin twice daily) but frankly, I put more faith in the restorative power of asian soups and vegetables. At the very least, I'm looking for the spicy kimchi to help clear my sinuses as I use the pair of scissors on the table to cut the cabbage kimchi into bite size pieces to make them easier to eat with mouthfuls of my brown rice. The rice is actually closer to purple in color but that's not an issue to me as I dump the cabbage kimchi and the rest of the juice into my rice bowl. I'm sure I'm violating all sorts of Korean customs by doing so - and more so by picking up my bowl and using my chopsticks to shovel the contents of the bowl into my mouth. Unlike other Asian cultures, apparently Koreans do not pick up their rice bowls. So I try to do this only when no one seems to be watching. But I'm sure that they know - somehow. Maybe they check for fingerprints on the sides of the bowl or something.
Between the spice level and the funk of the dried cabbage, I sense no need to add salt like you might for sul long tang. The spice level has prompted me to perspire freely on my forehead and neck - the reaction to capsaicin routinely embarrasses me as I use up all available napkins trying to dry off. I am initially disappointed that the spice level does not seem to have had any effect on my sinuses. But then I sneeze and the subsequent attempt to blow my nose suggests that my sinuses are in fact clear of phlegm. So I apply pressure to the middle of my upper lip, momentarily prompting the blood vessels in my nose to expand and I am breathing normally. It appears that the soup and spices have done all they can, and I'm forced to check when I need to take my next dosage of amoxicillin. But never underestimate the restorative power of an Asian soup - especially when it's made by an elderly Asian women. I guess that's the point of this post.
I don't know if it's a good omen that the dried cabbage reminds me of the soups my mother would make with various dried Chinese vegetables when I got sick as a child; I've been fighting a sinus infection for over two weeks now. I finally relented and started an antibiotic regimen (500 mg amoxicillin twice daily) but frankly, I put more faith in the restorative power of asian soups and vegetables. At the very least, I'm looking for the spicy kimchi to help clear my sinuses as I use the pair of scissors on the table to cut the cabbage kimchi into bite size pieces to make them easier to eat with mouthfuls of my brown rice. The rice is actually closer to purple in color but that's not an issue to me as I dump the cabbage kimchi and the rest of the juice into my rice bowl. I'm sure I'm violating all sorts of Korean customs by doing so - and more so by picking up my bowl and using my chopsticks to shovel the contents of the bowl into my mouth. Unlike other Asian cultures, apparently Koreans do not pick up their rice bowls. So I try to do this only when no one seems to be watching. But I'm sure that they know - somehow. Maybe they check for fingerprints on the sides of the bowl or something.
Between the spice level and the funk of the dried cabbage, I sense no need to add salt like you might for sul long tang. The spice level has prompted me to perspire freely on my forehead and neck - the reaction to capsaicin routinely embarrasses me as I use up all available napkins trying to dry off. I am initially disappointed that the spice level does not seem to have had any effect on my sinuses. But then I sneeze and the subsequent attempt to blow my nose suggests that my sinuses are in fact clear of phlegm. So I apply pressure to the middle of my upper lip, momentarily prompting the blood vessels in my nose to expand and I am breathing normally. It appears that the soup and spices have done all they can, and I'm forced to check when I need to take my next dosage of amoxicillin. But never underestimate the restorative power of an Asian soup - especially when it's made by an elderly Asian women. I guess that's the point of this post.
Wednesday, January 3, 2018
D.L.G.
I began tutoring part time late last year. My initial goal was to leverage my ability to do well on standardized tests and charge a premium for helping others improve their SAT/ACT scores. That's still a long term goal, but the company I currently work for has given me mainly elementary school age children and I'm more than a bit surprised to discover how much I enjoy working with my students. Some of it's that I perceive that I'm making a difference and I can already see more than one student begin to get through the required material more quickly.
But most of the newly discovered joy has come from getting to know my students. I'm beginning to regret in a serious way the fact that at my age, I am not likely to father a daughter to raise as I have begun to understand the meaning of the phrase: "daddy's little girl". As I begin to mourn this loss, it occurs to me that there are so many women who, for whatever reason, never got to be "daddy's little girl" either. And I can't help but wonder how much of an impact that's had on how the current culture is today.
But most of the newly discovered joy has come from getting to know my students. I'm beginning to regret in a serious way the fact that at my age, I am not likely to father a daughter to raise as I have begun to understand the meaning of the phrase: "daddy's little girl". As I begin to mourn this loss, it occurs to me that there are so many women who, for whatever reason, never got to be "daddy's little girl" either. And I can't help but wonder how much of an impact that's had on how the current culture is today.
Monday, December 11, 2017
Do Ga Ni Tang Part Two
I realize that there is no Do Ga Ni Tang Part One, it's really Sul Long Tang revisited, but whatever; Sun Nong Dan has become a near weekly ritual; though not always the same day of the week.
Today I arrive at 10:30 just in time to get the breakfast special price. By the time I order, every other patron has left, and the waitress shuts off the music. This reinforces the idea that the music is designed more to be an irritant than to provide ambiance; they want you to eat and get out!
The relative silence suits me as I go through the ritual of tasting and flavoring my soup.. It's as if circumstances have all contrived to create my own little oasis. The universe revolves around me for a few seconds, before I renounce my narcissistic tendencies. I suppose everyone displays narcissistic behavior at times, but there are those who consistently reframe situations to make it about themselves in some way.
Narcissism perpetuates itself; narcissistic parents produce narcissistic children - kids get neglected when the parent makes everything about themselves and resort to the same behavior to get the attention they didn't receive as children. It's even more challenging because narcissists can't/won't be told anything - their narcissism won't allow them to accept an idea unless they believe it was their own idea to begin with.
I used to enjoy watching the sitcoms "Everybody Loves Raymond" and "Two and a Half Men". It took me a while to recognize that a common link was the narcissistic mother in the family and seeing the consequences of that in the behavior of their sons. I resonated with that even though my mother doesn't act like either of the mothers' characters in those shows and it took me a while to accept the idea that my mother's behavior fit the category of the behavior of narcissists n part because it was camouflaged by shame based values of Asian culture and in part because I then had to deal with the consequences of that behavior. In short, my mother defined being a good mother by doing certain things that she thought a good mother should do, which usually wasn't what I needed at the time. My not getting the attention I needed at the time prompted me to seek getting that attention elsewhere.
We all exhibit behavior like this at some level when we make it more about appeasing our own anxieties about a situation. I imagine that each of us has thought something along the lines of: "I couldn't forgive myself if I let you ________", the point being that we make it more about our sense of guilt instead of the other person's well being.
An irony I have found is that one can behave exactly the same way in certain situations but be motivated entirely by the joy to be found - and when everyone finds it, it does become about you - but not to the exclusion of everyone else. The bottom line, we still end up doing good sometimes even when the motives are less than pure.
Today I arrive at 10:30 just in time to get the breakfast special price. By the time I order, every other patron has left, and the waitress shuts off the music. This reinforces the idea that the music is designed more to be an irritant than to provide ambiance; they want you to eat and get out!
The relative silence suits me as I go through the ritual of tasting and flavoring my soup.. It's as if circumstances have all contrived to create my own little oasis. The universe revolves around me for a few seconds, before I renounce my narcissistic tendencies. I suppose everyone displays narcissistic behavior at times, but there are those who consistently reframe situations to make it about themselves in some way.
Narcissism perpetuates itself; narcissistic parents produce narcissistic children - kids get neglected when the parent makes everything about themselves and resort to the same behavior to get the attention they didn't receive as children. It's even more challenging because narcissists can't/won't be told anything - their narcissism won't allow them to accept an idea unless they believe it was their own idea to begin with.
I used to enjoy watching the sitcoms "Everybody Loves Raymond" and "Two and a Half Men". It took me a while to recognize that a common link was the narcissistic mother in the family and seeing the consequences of that in the behavior of their sons. I resonated with that even though my mother doesn't act like either of the mothers' characters in those shows and it took me a while to accept the idea that my mother's behavior fit the category of the behavior of narcissists n part because it was camouflaged by shame based values of Asian culture and in part because I then had to deal with the consequences of that behavior. In short, my mother defined being a good mother by doing certain things that she thought a good mother should do, which usually wasn't what I needed at the time. My not getting the attention I needed at the time prompted me to seek getting that attention elsewhere.
We all exhibit behavior like this at some level when we make it more about appeasing our own anxieties about a situation. I imagine that each of us has thought something along the lines of: "I couldn't forgive myself if I let you ________", the point being that we make it more about our sense of guilt instead of the other person's well being.
An irony I have found is that one can behave exactly the same way in certain situations but be motivated entirely by the joy to be found - and when everyone finds it, it does become about you - but not to the exclusion of everyone else. The bottom line, we still end up doing good sometimes even when the motives are less than pure.
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