relationships

2009: The year in retrospect

2009 was a year of big changes for me.

First off, I graduated from library school. For my second to last semester, I decided three classes would be doable since one of them was on a Sunday. Two were fine, but the third made no sense to me for a long time. I had a handle on everything till about April, but managed to finish everything.

I capped off my MLS with a two-week e-publishing course in London, where I stayed in a shitty dorm (that was in a good location), ate good food, went to museums, walked a ton, got lost a lot, and oh yeah, went to class. While at the time I thought two weeks in London was enough forever, I’d totally go again.

I went public. First, tired of waiting to get published, I decided to be my own pimp and put my memoir online. Then I put my name to my blog. This was scary because of past experiences, but I didn’t want fear to rule my decisions anymore.

We decided to move to California. The biggest change of all. What started as an idea in June became a reality in August when MB got a job and we got an apartment.

Of course this meant challenges, like getting rid of my stuff, giving my notice, doing battle with bacon grease, and of course leaving New York. While there’d be some things I wouldn’t miss, there’d be many things I would. The restaurants of course, even my job, but most of all my friends and family.

Luckily I had lots of opportunities to hang with my buddies, including monthly photo expeditions with YP, visits from ES, a trip to Boston, and my last weekend in New York. I even ran into an ex-friend which threw me for a loop.

MB and I visited with my parents often too, like on Chinese New Year and in the summer when MB climbed on their roof. This year, as always, my mom worried a lot. I did too, but relaxed after officially moving to San Francisco, unlike Mom. At least Thanksgiving was fun, and she actually sounded happy on Christmas.

In these last few months in SF, I accomplished a lot as well. I’ve explored the city, questioned the sleaziness factor, and continued to adjust. I decided to tackle the BBC 100 books list (I’m only on the last book of the Lord of the Rings trilogy), dressed up for Halloween, and did NaNoWriMo. I tried to be more social, got a freelancing job, and started writing for The Nervous Breakdown.

As for 2010, I won’t have any resolutions or even any goals. Something else I learned this year is how to deal with expectations. It’s natural to have them – but too high and you’ll be disappointed, too low and you’ll never really enjoy a positive experience.

So should you have any expectations at all, especially about other people? You can’t control their feelings or actions. They don’t know what you’re thinking, and if they did, I know I’d feel unwanted pressure to behave a certain way, instead of simply being myself. I remember reading somewhere that all you can really ask of someone is that they’ll follow through on their word.

What’s the difference between low expectations and no expectations? With low you expect the worst to happen; with no expectations, you expect, well, nothing. It’s sort of a zen state, neither negative nor positive. It’s living completely in the present, neither thinking of the past nor trying to predict the future, like willful short term memory loss.

I find the most positive experiences result when I’m distracted by other stuff. Maybe that’s why they say the right person will come along, in terms of relationships, when you’re least expecting it. Having high or low expectations may put out a certain energy that people can unconsciously sense.

Anyway, so what does that say for this year? The only thing I expect is the day to day routine I’ve come to enjoy – writing, working out, writing more, running errands, practicing piano. I’ll continue to try to get published but focus on the actions of writing and submitting and try not to wonder too much what the result will be. I’ll apply for jobs in the same way. It’s sort of like being a machine who immensely enjoys herself.

And enjoy myself I will. Happy New Year, everyone!

family — Comments Off
02
Dec 09

Next memoir post: The phone call

Next memoir post is up.

Sometimes a phone call can change your life.

It was actually two calls for me, the first from Joe’s parents, the one we were always afraid of, then just two weeks later from Kimiko.

I remember it was such a stressful time, and I didn’t even fully know what was going on. Dealing with his parents’ illness and hospitalization was one thing, letting my husband go tend to the needs of some other woman was quite another.

Some people might wonder how I could be so clueless. But the thought just never occurred to me. I never thought Joe could do such a thing, that it was even possible. I even felt guilty for being upset that he was going to Kimiko’s in the middle of the night to bring her to the hospital. One of my friends told me, “Have a little compassion! The woman could have been bleeding to death.”

Yes, bleeding as she miscarried one of their twins.

Now as my parents are getting older, there are other calls I dread. My mom seems the same, but in the years since he retired, my dad seems suddenly older. I know he has a healthy lifestyle, eating the right things, taking walks every day, and keeping busy with various activities, but I still can’t help but worry. He’s over 70 after all.

Every day I glance at the obits in the New York Times and breathe a sigh of relief whenever I see that all three “featured” deaths are well over 80. I cringe when I see those who have died at 70 or younger.

Dealing with parents’ deaths is a fact of life, but that doesn’t make it any easier. I dread even the thought of it. I don’t feel grown up enough. I can barely stand the thought of my grandmother passing, though she is well into her nineties and quickly declining.

My parents have never pressured me to give them grandkids. They think MB and I should have children, but more for our sake than theirs. They’ve never fussed over babies or toddlers, while I melt at even the sight of a single fat foot protruding from a carriage or stroller.

But they adored Mia, my cousin’s three-year old. The moment she walked in, my mother swooped down to give her a hug. “You’re so cute!” she cried. My dad cracked up over her antics, and when she left, they hugged her again and gave her kisses.

Doesn’t hurt that Mia’s a complete charmer. She’s outgoing and unafraid to talk to anyone, even my grandmother who may seem frightening to little kids. But Mia had no problem chatting up Puo-puo’s nurse, then going to my cousin and saying sympathetically, “Grandma’s sick.”

Of course my parents want grandchildren. They’re so full of life, even when they’re being bratty.

family / holidays / los angeles / travel — 1 Comment
30
Nov 09

Long Thanksgiving recap

Between madly finishing NaNoWriMo and traveling back from L.A., here finally is my Thanksgiving recap.

Wednesday

While my brother, Greg, was at work, MB and I had lunch at El Pollo Loco, my first time. It wasn’t too bad. I got these grilled chicken burrito thingies. Afterwards we attempted to walk around, but it was too sunny for me so we ducked into a Starbuck’s till Greg got back.

That afternoon Greg did some prep work for Thanksgiving dinner. That’s right: he was cooking everything. A brined turkey, homemade cranberry sauce, mashed potatoes, and stuffing. Yum!

That night we saw Ninja Assassin. The action sequences were cool, but it took forever to get started. Plus I was hungry the whole time. Luckily afterwards Greg brought us to a great Korean place, where we all had variations of sun dubu chigae, or spicy tofu stew.

Thursday

We were out early to head over to my uncle’s. While he and his family were out of town, my parents and younger aunt came to stay with my grandmother, Puo-puo. My older aunt was supposed to come down too, but she changed her mind at the last minute. This is the aunt who although she lives in California sees her mother the least. She’s also the one who made a stink about getting her “share” when my grandmother’s house in Berkeley was sold, although all the siblings had agreed that the money would go to paying for the nurse who cares for Puo-puo 24/7.

Right before we went down to L.A., I got an email from this aunt saying happy Thanksgiving. Being the polite niece that I am, I wrote back saying I was sorry we wouldn’t be able to see her, I was looking forward to seeing the family, and to have a nice holiday herself. She wrote back two messages within hours of each other.

The first said she talked to my mom and felt left out about missing Turkey Day with us, and that she was a bad daughter for not seeing her mother in over a year. (Well, then go see her.) The second one said simply that while she felt left out, thinking about how much space there was at my uncle’s house, it was just impossible for her to go. Did she not think she sent the first one? Did she forget? Weird.

Then my younger aunt told me how last Thanksgiving, this older aunt came down Tuesday night with plans to stay for a week or so, and by Thanksgiving Day was rescheduling her flight to go home earlier.

As I’ve said before, I don’t really get why she’s like this. It’s not like she has to do much to take care of Puo-puo. The nurse does everything, and my younger aunt or mother took over only when the nurse ate her lunch or dinner.

Speaking of lunch, we had delicious Chinese food my mom and aunt cooked:

MB who doesn’t even eat pork gobbled up those dumplings like there was no tomorrow.

Then while my dad, MB, and I lazed around the living room, and my mom and aunt hovered around giving unsolicited advice, my brother cooked. The turkey, before:

And the turkey after:

Delicious as always! This was the first time my father had my brother’s cooking, and he was extremely surprised. He kept saying over and over, “The turkey’s so good, the stuffing’s so good.” Even my grandmother, who hardly eats anything now, scarfed down some mashed potatoes and stuffing.

Puo-puo has changed immensely in the past few years. My chubby laughing grandmother has become an emaciated old woman I barely recognize. She can’t talk now or even make facial expressions. I have no idea if she knew who I was. She’s also lost some teeth and her hair, once black and permed, is now white and gray and lays flat on her head. When I first saw her, she did reach for my hand several times, but I’m still not sure if she knew me. My cousin Huang Lei was sad too when she saw Puo-puo. Tearfully she held her hands and spoke to her in Chinese.

Puo-puo seemed to see people though. For instance, throughout the evening she kept staring at MB. I had tried introducing him, but I don’t know if it registered. She kept eyeing him like, “Who’s this white guy in my house?” She also watched Mia, Huang Lei and Shane’s three-year old daughter, with great interest.

Mia was hilarious. After she got comfortable, she kept trying to get MB and my brother to play hide ‘n seek with her. They did for a while then got tired. At one point she decided she was mad. She kept crossing her arms (or trying to) and standing near us with a pout. A few minutes later, she came back and said, “I’m not mad anymore. I’m happy. Let’s play hide ‘n seek,” then grabbed MB’s hand and tried to pull him up.

After the meal, we hung out watching some silly Chinese variety show before finally getting ready to leave. I knew my parents were sad to see us go. I encouraged them to visit us in the spring, after we moved into a new, bigger place.

Friday

After a relaxing morning, we headed out to lunch at the Curry House. As though we hadn’t enough food already, we had no problem scarfing down our delicious curry dishes. I got the curry katsu:

Afterwards we drove out to Venice, walked on the boardwalk, and down Abbot-Kinney Street. Along the way we saw some cool graffiti:

The Venice Canals:

And some crazy Barbies:

In the afternoon we headed out to Huang Lei and Shane’s. It was fun chatting with them and playing with Mia again, who kept taking pictures as we took pictures:

Most of her pictures were of her finger.

Saturday

Our flight wasn’t till after 8 PM so we had the whole morning to relax. We had brunch at Hugo’s, then took the Metro out to Hollywood. The L.A. mass transit system is weird. There are turnstiles set up but you can walk around them. Then the tickets are checked only sporadically.

Hollywood was pretty crowded. We walked around a bit, had some Beard Papa’s, then headed back to my brother’s to chill before our flight. As we packed MB found a letter opener I forgot about in the black suitcase I had been using for months. Who knows how many times that got through security.

Check in at Burbank was so easy. There was almost no one there though our flight was full.

By ten we were home. Yay!

~ ~ ~

I’m glad to be back in the routine of writing, but I also need to get my butt to the gym more often. I know I’ve gained eight to ten pounds in the last couple of years. I’d love to get that weight off.

family / holidays / los angeles / travel — Comments Off
25
Nov 09

Update on the Mac + L.A.

My laptop seems to have recovered my clumsy drenching. We let out it dry out for more than twenty-four hours, then Monday night MB thought it safe to turn it on and get my files backed up on a USB. Then we shut it off and let it air out for another twelve hours. Tuesday morning I started to use it, and so far it’s been okay.

“If you start to smell ozone,” MB said, “shut it off.”

No strange odors as of yet.

In other news, MB and I are in LA at my brother’s. I was dreading the trip to the airport and getting through security, but it wasn’t so bad. Although we hit some traffic in the taxi, we got to SFO well before boarding. There was a line for security, but it moved quickly.

After all my trips to SF in September, I’m an expert now in terms of getting through security quickly. Before I even get on line, I take out my laptop and stuff my jacket in a bag. I also have my cosmetics in a an easy to get to pocket, and try to wear shoes without laces. Then at the end, I don’t bother trying to take everything out of the bins. I just consolidate my stuff in one bin and take it with me to the side, out of the way of the line.

A trick to getting around paying for a checked bag: hand it to the guy at the last minute right before you board. Then when you get off, it’s right there waiting for you instead of on the carousel. This probably only works with bags small enough to be carry on, but a good solution if there’s not enough overhead space.

The flight was very short, just an hour. By the time I finished looking at the ridiculous things in the Sky Mall magazine, drank a tomato juice, and read some of Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers, we were landing. Our plane was small so we got off lickety split.

Getting through Burbank is a breeze. The airport is so tiny, we walked just a few feet before getting outside, and then just a few minutes later, my brother pulled up.

We were a little hungry so had In-N-Out Burgers. Thing was I wasn’t that hungry so those were calories I definitely didn’t need. :(

It’s weird to be in LA and not have to deal with a time change. I have to keep reminding myself there’s no time difference between where I am and where I was.

My brother had a comfy air mattress for us – which sadly is bigger than the bed in our sublet – but I kept waking up. I think it was the vanilla latte I had yesterday afternoon. No coffee today after 12 PM.

My bro had to work half a day today so MB and I are just chilling, working on our respective stuff. This afternoon we’ll probably pick up a few items, then start preparing stuff for tomorrow.

family / new york / san francisco — Comments Off
20
Nov 09

Missing New York

I really miss New York lately.

MB caught a cold and has been working from home, which means breaking up our days with strolls around the city. Walking around here is not the same as walking in Manhattan. I miss wandering through SoHo, down the cute, cobblestoned side streets lined with boutiques and cafes, battling our way through congested Broadway, and eventually getting over to Bond Street and the crazy ass building there.

Sometimes we’d hike all the way across Houston Street and pop into the Jacques Torres Chocolate Factory. Then over to the Village, still confusing to me after all these years. Being in the Village at night reminds me of when MB and I first started dating. After my company Christmas party, I was drunk and hungry so MB took me to A Salt and Battery for fish and chips. New Year’s Eve we went to P*Ong, which is now closed, sad to say.

We have yet to find a replacement for one of our favorite LES restaurants, Zucco: Le French Diner. Oh, how I miss their risotto des legumes! Their pain perdu with their mind blowingly delicious syrup! Their delectable pate and cornichon sandwiches! The French places around here seem to be more stereotypically chi chi.

Makes me want to fly back to the east coast for a visit soon.

In SF Union Square, there’s a ice skating rink and Christmas tree. It’s funny to watch people ice skating when it’s 60 degrees. Then again, it seems to be about the same in New York. Also it’s far less crowded here than around Rockefeller Center. It’s nice to be able to sit and relax, and breathe in the piney scent of the giant evergreen.

Next week it’ll be great to see my family. My parents are flying over on Sunday, and we’re traveling on Tuesday to my brother’s. My aunt from Connecticut is also going over at some point. Thursday we’ll all go over to my uncle’s, where my parents will be staying while my uncle and his family are away, to help look after my grandmother. It’ll be the first time I’m seeing her in more than two years. In that short time, I know she’s changed a lot, and I’m a little scared about seeing her no longer vibrant. Bony instead of fat, white haired instead of dyed jet black, silent instead of loud and boisterous.

I talked to my cousin earlier this week, and she and her family are still coming on Turkey Day. Yay! The last time I saw them, their daughter wasn’t even a year old. Now she’s three.

And of course everyone will meet MB. My parents, brother, and Connecticut aunt already have, but it’ll be the first time for my grandmother and cousin. I wonder if Puo-puo will even know what’s going on. I wonder if she’ll recognize me.

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18
Nov 09

Lifesavers on subway

I recently started reading The Nervous Breakdown, a literary blog with tons of great writing. On Facebook they pose daily three word “challenges, “ for instance, “In exactly three words, please describe how you handle change.” Responses range from sincere to raunchy to smart-ass to hilarious.

One of my favorites of their three word challenges was, “In exactly three words, describe your earliest memory.” Mine was, “Lifesavers on subway.”

I was born right here in the Bay Area, but we moved to the East Coast when I was two and my dad got a job at Memorial Sloan Kettering. We lived in an apartment in Queens, which was so close to a factory, every day the furniture ended up covered in black soot. Like true clueless immigrants, my parents broke their lease without telling their landlord, and for months he chased after them, demanding the $300 they still owed.

When we talk about our short time in New York, my mother always mentions how I loved running up and down the long hallway of our new apartment – “Back and forth, back and forth,” which probably drove our downstairs neighbors crazy – and how bringing home groceries without an elevator and with toddler me in tow was so tough.

“I had to leave the groceries downstairs,” she says. “And bring you upstairs, otherwise you’d run off. Then I had to go up and down the stairs, again and again.” She also likes to tell the story of how we were riding in an elevator and a very smelly man walked on.

“That guy stinks!” I said very loudly, and, luckily, in Chinese.

In my Lifesavers memory, we’re riding the subway when someone hands me a peppermint Lifesaver. Did this really happen? I’m not sure, but I see it clearly. I’m standing holding onto the pole while an adult – who? my mother? my aunt? – gives me the candy. (It’s a good thing I didn’t choke on it.) Aside from that, I have one other clear recollection. My parents came home with groceries. In one bag was a long loaf of French bread, which I promptly pulled out and started to eat.

“Don’t do that!” one of my parents said. “It’s not for you.”

To my mother and father, neither of these memories is familiar.

In An American Childhood, Annie Dillard writes about “waking up” into consciousness as a small child. One moment you’re in “dim and watery oblivion,” and the next you’re snapped awake. As you get older, those awake moments happen more and more often till they’re stitched closed, and the oblivious moments are gone.

It wasn’t till we moved to New Jersey that my conscious moments overtook the blank ones. At four I was fully alive: there was our tiny backyard where I hung upside down on the swingset and swam in a kiddy pool, the living room where my dad gave me chocolates on Valentine’s Day, the stairs where my mom came down, belly first, to go to hospital to have my brother.

Once I started school, there was no escaping myself. I remembered everything now: playing Farmer in the Dell in nursery school, excited that cute David picked me to be his wife; giving my best friend Kristin my marshmallow prize when she cried at losing Simon Says; showing some kids my Easter eggs and saying, “Now these are rotten eggs!” when one of the claimed, “Last one in is a rotten egg.”

As a writer, I love reliving and retelling memories, whether or not they’re 100% true. But part of me misses those blank spots, those moments of dim and watery oblivion when, one could argue, you’re so alive, you don’t even notice life.

crazy stuff my mom says / family — 2 Comments
12
Nov 09

My mother, the queen of negativity

Mom: So things are. . .good?

Me: Yes, very good. I just saw my friend. Did Dad tell you last week we chatted for five hours?

Mom: Why did you talk so long?

Me: Because we get along well.

Mom: . . .

Me: And I went to that writing club thing on Sunday. It was a lot of fun.

Mom: How many people were there?

Me: About seven or eight.

Mom: That’s it? I thought it would be more like twenty.

Me: Well, it wasn’t. But it was still fun.

Mom: Oh sure.

. . .

Me: And I picked up a small writing gig. It’s just $15 an article, but at least I’ll have some publications.

Mom: Just $15? That’s so little.

Me: Well it’s better than zero!

Leave it to my mother to turn every single thing I said into something negative. *Sigh.*

friends / san francisco / writing — Comments Off
09
Nov 09

The social experiment

I’ve been trying to be more social, and last week I was actually successful.

I can’t remember if I mentioned this already, but at a recent work party, I met the girlfriend of one of MB’s co-workers. We have a lot in common: we’re both new to SF, originally from the east coast, and interested in writing. We’ve been hitting it off really well. Last Thursday we met at 2 PM to chit chat over coffee and hot chocolate. The next thing we knew it was five hours later. Crazy! I only noticed because I was getting hungry.

On Sunday I went to this writing “marathon.” As you know, I’m doing National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo), and was looking for a meet up. There were just a couple, and were either at weird times (10 PM to 3 AM) or way the fuck out in some part of town I’d never heard of (which isn’t saying much I guess). But then I saw a posting for a general writing meet up inviting people doing NaNoWriMo.

We met at Jumpin’ Java in the Castro at 10 AM. I’m ashamed to admit I still don’t have a handle on SF public transit and so either walk everywhere or take cabs. Sunday I took a cab.

At first I thought I had the wrong street because it seemed to be all houses. But there nestled on a corner was the cafe.

I got a lot of work done very quickly. It was both comforting and energetic to be surrounded by six or seven other people also writing. You’re buffered from the freaks, and there’s also this unspoken, subtle pressure to KEEP WORKING. The organizers scheduled it pretty well: 10 to 11:30, writing; 11:30 to 12:30 break for lunch; 1 to 2:30 more writing; another break; and then the end of the day. The scheduled breaks keep people from chatting too much, and give you a target to work towards.

As for lunch, when you walked in, they had you write down your order so the cafe could prepare everything beforehand. By the time 11:30 to 12 rolls around, they have your sandwich or whatever all ready, and you just pay. And then to sit there and eat and talk about writing was really nice.

I thought I’d stay all the way till 4, but I pooped out by the 2:30 break.

Afterwards I met MB in Union Square (walked this time), and from there we took a little stroll around SoMA and hit another cafe we like in the area. Thank goodness the game show host barista wasn’t there. It made hanging out so much more peaceful.

By the time we headed home, it was after 5:30. I had been out the whole day, from 9:30 on. Wow!

Today I made up for it by being a bum and writing at home. Around three I decided I really wanted some chocolate, did some Yelp research, and found the Blue Fog Market. It’s a little bit of a schlep, but I thought a walk would be nice, and I wanted to stop at the Macha Cafe along the way, which someone on Yelp described as having Japanese-style snacks.

But they don’t. I was very disappointed to find a totally American menu. I asked the woman about the Japanese snacks, and she said they used to have some, but not anymore. Bummer! I had wanted a green tea and a mochi. Instead I got a peppermint tea and a croissant, which actually really hit the spot. Next time if I want Japanese snacks, I’ll just go straight to Japantown (which is where I hung out and ate my croissant anyway).

The Blue Fog Market was equally disappointing. I mean, they had some fancy stuff, but it wasn’t that great. Plus the chocolate was way more than I wanted to spend. On the way back, I stopped in a random grocery store, and they had just what I wanted. A small bar of dark chocolate for under $3, and which will last me a good week.

I forgot to mention: when I was telling my mother about the writing meet up, she said, “Oh, it’s for other housewives?”

Hunh? First off, I said, “It’s for writers.” Secondly, “It’s on Sunday,” ie, not on a work day. Third, does she think I’m a housewife?

I don’t know how my mom’s brain works sometimes.

family / san francisco — 2 Comments
08
Nov 09

Full Circle

I was telling someone the other day about how my parents met here in Berkeley, and how I was born in Oakland.

“You’ve come full circle,” she told me.

My parents were born in China but left during the Communist Revolution. My father was about ten, and my mother eight. While their families had been well off on the mainland, in Taiwan they were poor. My mother always talked about how there was never enough to eat – no milk, no meat. Her father was a teacher and didn’t make much money, and there were five kids to raise.

My father had just one sister, seven years his senior, but I don’t know if they were worse off. His father had stayed behind in China. I’m still not sure why. Something about his job being government-related. When I was kid, my mother told me how my paternal grandparents’ marriage had been arranged, the handsome engineer and the plain, even ugly, farm girl, and that eventually my grandfather would marry someone else and raise her daughter as his own while his wife struggled with their two children in Taiwan.

I don’t know how she did it. She wouldn’t have gotten a job. Maybe her daughter, already 17, was the breadwinner, while she and her mother told my father to concentrate on his studies. I knew he felt guilty. My grandmother stayed with us for a while and once used old magazine pages to wash a dirty pot.

“Why use that garbage?” my father yelled, which he almost never did. “We have perfectly good paper towels.”

Now I think, What a good idea to use recycled magazines. What a waste to use paper towels.

My parents came to the States in the mid-60s, part of the wave of Taiwan folks going to American grad schools. My mother went to accounting school in Utah, where she also worked as a nanny. What culture shock that must have been. When I was crazy with homesickness in China, my father told me how my mother had been the same way, crying every night to her mother that she wanted to go home to Taiwan.

But she got used to it here, discovering things like chocolate. A sweet tooth, my mother would eat bags of it while riding the bus to and from work. Little did she know it was fattening, and promptly gained twenty pounds.

My father came to the States to go to UC Berkeley, and I know less about how he adjusted. In the Bay Area he probably fit in better, and was busy with school. The only story he told was how one of his professors didn’t like him. She had asked her students to order their own lab coats. My father didn’t understand, and when next class he showed up without one, she took personal offense and from then on, held a grudge against him.

After finishing grad school, my mother moved to the Bay Area too. Her older sister lived nearby, and she had lots of friends from Taiwan there, including one who thought the tall, quiet PhD student would be a perfect match for her. The friend and her husband held a mah-jongg party, where my parents first met.

It took a while for my shy father to ask my mother out. In fact, she had to pretend to want guitar lessons to spend time with him. “Pretend?” my father said, twenty-five years later when I relayed the story my aunt had just told me.

A year or so later, they were married, and a few years after that, I was born in Oakland. Now here I am again, over thirty-five years later.

I don’t know how long MB and I will stay here, but it would be funny if we stayed long enough to have kids. Then I’d have truly come full circle.

family / friends — 1 Comment
30
Oct 09

Signed, sealed, and delivered

My friend YP got me the best going-away gift: pre-stamped post cards made from my own pictures on Flickr!

moopostcards

Nowadays, I rarely send handwritten notes or letters. When I travel, I try to remember to send postcards, and while I succeed in buying them, I almost always forget to send them, then either lamely mail them from home or throw them in a drawer.

The very first person I wrote letters to was my aunt. I was about seven when I started writing to her. I’m not sure how our correspondence began. Perhaps she sent me a chatty birthday card, and my mother wanted me to be polite so had me pen a long thank you. My mother was quite strict about it: she’d proof what I had written again and again, and have me rewrite it multiple times. Why, I’m not sure. Maybe because my aunt could be critical, and my mother didn’t want hear her make some comment about how sloppy I was. Then why have me respond at all?

On my eighth birthday, someone gave me strawberry scratch ‘n stiff stationery. That night, I wrote my aunt a letter without my mother’s supervision, which meant writing it like I would a friend. “Take a whiff of those strawberries,” I wrote.

For some reason, my casual tone was considered impolite. Either I confessed to my mother or my aunt actually made a comment, because in my next letter I was instructed to apologize profusely.

My mother would also always intercept my aunt’s letters to me and read them first. What was she looking for? Some remark about her? Some chiding to me? My aunt’s notes were always harmless. She wrote about visits from my grandmother and the good food she made, camping trips with her family at Lake Tahoe, and riding a donkey down into a canyon.

To this day, things haven’t changed. Recently my aunt and I emailed a couple of times, and my mother wanted to know everything my aunt said.

After my correspondence with my aunt trickled off, I exchanged letters with friends who had moved away. There was one who went to Kentucky, and her letters were all exactly the same. “Who’s your best friend? What must do you like? I like the Police.” I also wrote to friends I saw every day. In junior high every morning a particular pal and I would exchange notes as we passed each other in the hallway on our way to first period. Not just notes, but papers folded up a million times into triangles you had to pry open with pliers.

What the heck did we tell each other every day? I remember moaning about how my teeth were killing me (because of my braces), and she responded, “Mighty Molar!” and drew a picture of bicupsid flexing its muscles. I also complained about my mother, calling her a witch. I really wanted to call her something else that ended in –itch, but I changed it. Still, she responded, “Don’t call your mother a witch!”

Of course I love getting emails from my friends, but there’s something about opening your mailbox and seeing something addressed to you that’s not a bill, credit card application, or catalog. With a little thrill you tear open the enveloped. What does your friend have to say? You see her handwriting and for a second it’s like you’re there with her, as she’s writing it, instead of thousands of miles away.

Angela Tung Oversharing on the internet since 2005.