Tag: China

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The family under the full moon

Ever since I moved out of my parent’s house 2 years ago, I’ve begun to enjoy weekend visits back to their house.

Whenever I peer through the thinly veiled glass door, I can see my mum emerging from the kitchen. Both her and my dad are always making traditional Chinese food like rou bao (pork buns), dumplings, man tou (plain buns) and tian bing (Chinese pancakes). The kitchen always has a warm glow, despite it being winter here in New Zealand.

Going over to my parent’s house reminds me of the family gatherings we used to have when I lived in China.

Even though I left my hometown when I was 4 and visited sporadically every few years, I can still remember clearly the large gatherings we’d have at various family members’ houses.

My Uncle’s house was a popular gathering spot. His house had a blue wooden door with the edges falling apart. It was the only house on the street with a blue door, so you’d never get lost trying to find it as an eight year old. I remember the round table in the dim living room where all the adults gathered together to play mahjong, their voices louder than the other, falling and then rising in crescendos.

I remember playing alongside my cousin on the street in front of the blue door, and when it grew dark, we’d come inside and play in the narrow space between the dining table and the toilet. I look back in admiration at myself for using that toilet. It was one of those squat toilets with a hole on the ground. Back then I didn’t mind it, as those were the only toilets I knew, but now, I shiver when I think about using those toilets. I’m afraid I’ll accidentally fall through the hole.

There were lots of small shops on that street. Everything was made of stone or concrete. And my sister and I would hop on our Agong’s bike as he rode us along the street looking for sweets.

Getting to people’s houses was interesting. I remember falling asleep in one of those rickety wagons while we were travelling to go to another family member’s house. Because I was sleeping so soundly in my mum’s lap with my foot sticking out of the wagon, when I woke up, my right shoe had fallen off on the side of the road.

It’s so funny how clear some of these memories are. It almost feels like a whole other lifetime just because of how different my life here in New Zealand is, compared to back then.

Now, most of my family members live in New Zealand. The last time my Uncle went back to visit his old house, he said it was unrecognisable. The blue door is gone, so are the shops, and the old streets. Everything is gone, replaced by newer, fancy buildings. I feel a tinge of sadness that I’ll never be able to go back there and recreate those memories, laugh or play on those streets. But the conciliation is that most of my family members now live in New Zealand, just a few blocks from one another.

We still hold gatherings, and have dinners to celebrate Chinese festivals. We are together, just in a different country and time.

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Under the auspicious, round moon

The moon is at its roundest tonight. A full circle, a symbol of wholeness, completion, and the coming together of family.

It is the Moon Festival, and as always, whenever there’s a festival, I go over to my grandparents’ for dinner. They’ll be making dumplings, noodles, pork ribs, and chicken drumsticks – the usual feast. My tummy rumbles just thinking about it.

I try to get off work as soon as possible, but I am held back by a coworker who wants a sympathetic ear. I hear my parents chiding me, “I told you to get off work early today.”

Chinese festivals are always like this. No matter how much work you have, if it’s time to celebrate, you’ve got to put everything down and rush back home. No overtime.

When I finally arrive at my grandparents’, the food is cold, and, to my dismay, there are no noodles. But despite that, the energy is still at its infancy. My cousin’s 1 year old daughter claps as I sit down at the table, starting a competition amongst the adults to see who can clap the loudest.

I happily munch away at my food, keeping one ear open to the conversations around me. There is talk of my sister’s new job, her salary, and her declining weight. She begs to differ. There is nothing wrong with her weight.

I stuff a mouthful of dumplings in my mouth. The skin is so soft and the mixture melts in my tongue.

Dumplings can be eaten with tomato sauce, or vinegar. I’m usually not a big fan of vinegar, but tonight, I ask for it specifically. In fact, I have been waiting all week to eat vinegar. Why? Because of the old wive’s tale that eating vinegar delays your period. I know it’s a bit hocus pocus, but it seems to work everytime for me. I whisper to my sister that the reason I want to delay my period is so that it won’t come during our trip to Japan. My sister winks in reply. She already knows.

I look around the table. Not everyone has stayed till the end. My other cousin slipped out of the night to attend church. He always attends church, despite looking the complete opposite of a church goer. He used to get into fights at school, and my dad would drag my sister and I to talk to his teacher, because our English was better than his. Those were the days. We used to hate him. Now we are planning a trip together to South East Asia.

On the other end of the table, my grandpa is putting food on my grandma’s plate. Ever since her stroke 3 years ago, she’s been unable to do simple things by herself. Her face has swollen from not bring able to move around too much, but despite that, she’s still loud and vocal. Grandpa chuckles everytime he gets told off.

There’s mum, dad, my sister, my cousin, my neice, my Aunties and Uncles, my grandpa and my grandma. Twelve of us on Friday 13th, minus my church goer cousin.

Looking around the table tonight, I realise each of us has our own little stories, our history and future. No matter what happens, or where we drift off to, we will always come together, on a night like tonight. This is the beauty of the Moon festival.

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There is no war in love

I’ve been thinking of home lately. Not my parent’s home here in New Zealand, but the old one, my first home back in China, and even the one before then; the home my grandparents first lived in.

Taking me back to their home gives me a sense of pride in the midst of all my failures.

Lately, my senses have been dulled and worn down by the pain of heartbreak, by the shame of self-pity, and the doom of seeing no way out.

But when I think back to where we came from, I am reminded of the strength that existed before my time and which will always be a part of me.

My grandfather saw his neighbour gunned down next to him.

Waking up in a world full of uncertain tomorrows made life more sweet and precious. There on the sidewalk, with the blood of his neighbour’s son, uncertainty crafted his strength.

As the oldest, he raised his sisters from the poor to the strong. He was a strict man, a gentle man, and a practical man. He wouldn’t have spent his waking hours wallowing in self-pity. One hour of pity meant one less day of food.

He knew the difference between love and war.

War was hunger, getting shot at and families parting.

Love was in my grandmother. Taking care of her, looking after her, giving her a better life.

He did not see war in love, even after my grandmother had a stroke that forced him to give up his love of travel.

He cried when he had to give it up. But he cried harder when he almost lost my grandmother.

He was strong in this kind of way. Strong enough to know what was truly important.

Yes, he is still alive. Still, after all these years, there is a twinkle in the corner of his eyes, a gift from the universe for his unwavering optimism. That is the only thing I have inherited, his twinkle.

A few months ago, my mum told me that the twinkle in my eye had gone. How sad that made me feel, to have lost the one thing that connects me to my grandfather’s strength.

But what existed before will always be there. Although faded, weary and momentarily hidden from sight, a little spark, a little patience, will ignite it once again.

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The friendship pact

The friendship pact is one of those promises that you make with your friends about the future. That wherever you are, whatever time of year it is, you pick up your bags and meet at a designated place for that year.

My Dad has a friendship pact with his University classmates, and every year for 40 years, those who can make it, and those who are still alive, come together, from wherever they are in the world, some in America, some in New Zealand, to honour this pact.

Only one classmate out of the 20 or so classmates will never be able to make it to a reunion. He was shot dead in the head for poisoning his neighbour.

Last year, my entire family got a chance to attend this reunion in China. To be honest, I wasn’t really looking forward to it. I was more excited to see Shanghai and Hong Kong, the big, modern cities, rather than the local destinations that we would be meeting at.

But as always, low expectations turned into pleasant surprises, and this local destination became the highlight of my trip.

As soon as we arrived in Sanming, China, and my Dad spotted one of his classmates waiting by a post, he transformed from “an ordinary Dad” to an animated, loud schoolboy, exuding life and vibrancy. One by one, as more of his classmates found each other in the crowd, and embraced, there was an excitement in the air that brought this little town to life.

They talked in furious frenzy, from the platform all the way to the train ride to our hotel, until the train staff had to tell them to keep it down.

The intangible happiness that their friendship brought, was something that could not be mirrored on our solo trip to Shanghai or Hong Kong. Bustling and crowded as these modern cities were, there was only a surface-level of enjoyment that washed away after a few nights spent there.

The places that we went to at this local destination was truly magical. For one of our activities, we bamboo rafted across the lake. We were surrounded by boulders taller and bigger than skyscrapers so we had to crane our necks to take in the whole view. One of my Dad’s classmates burst into song, and the melody traveled across the boulders and echoed around to the back and the front of our pack.

Another of my Dad’s classmates caught a fish in his hands and he stared at it in wide-eyed wonder, like a schoolboy who had caught his first catch of the day.

Left and right I caught glimpses of these rare expressions that brought warmth to my heart. Whether bamboo rafting, or squeezing through narrow caves, there was an energy all around that was so special that I wish I could’ve put it inside a treasure box and carried it back home.

Our last night ended with a performance. The room was booked and the stage was set. As the youngest member there, my task was to play the drum roll while everybody else passed a bag around. Whoever it landed it on when the drum roll stopped, would have to go up on stage and perform. This was a case of anxiety for everyone who was nervous about performing, so the bag got thrown around like hot potatoes.

But when the “unlucky ones” got on stage, they performed beautifully. There was Chinese folk dancing, ballroom dancing and singing. Someone else had a go at playing the drum and somehow the bag landed between my sister and me, so we had to go up on stage and perform. Unlike the others, we had not prepared for our act, so we chose to sing Avril Lavigne’s Complicated, a horrible choice because our voices shook while we tried to sing the fast-paced chorus. I was also wearing large bathroom slippers, so they were protruding out from the velvet stage.

Since that day, I have brought back with me the memory of that trip. Those memories were locked in my mind, but now I’ve opened the lock and let them out. Instead of wishing to belong, I have made plans with friends to share experiences together. Instead of planning in my head, we have been planning together. Instead of talking, we have been doing.

My friends and I are going to Japan in November, and then South East Asia next year. And then mid next year, we are hoping that we can all make a permanent move to a new country. We are helping each other save money for these trips, by introducing each other to part-time jobs that we can do outside of our day jobs. We are sharing a common goal and most importantly, we are doing it together.

Our friendship pact is just beginning. But I hope that it will grow old with us, just as my Dad’s did.

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Does heaven have a translator?

At the time of my grandfather’s passing, I made him a booklet describing all of the things that I had done during my holiday in China. On the last page, I wrote him a goodbye letter, wishing him a safe journey to the other side.

When I showed this to my dad, he pointed out an obvious flaw: How could Agong understand the letter if it was written in English?

The answer was obvious. There’s a translator in heaven, translating all the foreign letters written by the grandchildren who were raised overseas.

This idea inspired an image of an elderly man walking in heaven, trying to find a translator to help him read his granddaughter’s letter.

I’d like to think that the booklet has kept Agong thoroughly entertained and that he is watching from afar, reminding me to keep the light in my spirit.

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Writing under the full moon

Today is the Mid-Autumn Festival. The moon is supposed to be at its fullest, but its been raining, so we can’t see it.

It’s a great time to finish the short story that I’ve been writing, the one about my Grandfather.

When I get home from work, the table is already laid out with roast duck, pork rib soup, and The Ant Noodle (the name my dad came up for a dish he’s made since I was a child.) There is a festive vibe in the air that reminds me of family, that’s why it’s a good day to write about my grandfather.

After dinner, I have a conversation with my mum about my writing dreams, conversations I’m getting more comfortable talking about in front of my family.

I tell her I’ve saved up enough money to work part-time so that I can focus on my writing. I write almost everyday, but I haven’t made substantial growth, because of time itself.

Still, my mum says that I’m not ready.

Sometimes I just want to take a leap of faith and deal with whatever comes my way, but I’m a little too sensible for that.

I feel like the moon tonight, covered, when it should be full and brilliant.