The Departure

"Mommy, I want another gravy egg!” Andy demanded. She spooned over an egg with some dark sauce, half listening and half annoyed.

"Why is she burying herself in the kitchen and treating this as a banquet?” She wanted to tell her, “Come sit by me, please. Could you hold my hand just once, please?” But she couldn’t mutter a word.

Remember: parents are always right.

Andy’s little sister Amy was fidgeting in her chair and, as usual, not wanting to eat anything. She let out a sigh and put the spoon down. Amy was too young to understand the starving children in China – the way she was told when she was a child.

The Guilt Trip is acceptable to make the kid obey.

James’ appetite was completely intact, and he was on his second helping - the man could eat the kitchen sink if you let him.

But not today! She silently screamed to herself. What’s the matter with you? Don’t you have a heart? Don’t you have any feelings at all?

Why should he? He was going to reunite with his family. The only family he knew and was connected to, but she didn’t know this then. She still had the illusion that the four of them were the family she and James needed to love and protect and fight for. So naturally, he couldn’t relate to her feelings even if he tried. It wasn’t he who was leaving his parents for good.

"Mom, come sit down and eat something.” She jumped on the opportunity when her mother came out of the kitchen to add one more dish to the table.

"No, no. Don’t worry about me. Go ahead and eat. Make sure Andy has enough!” She answered the same way as she did the previous attempts, and went back to the kitchen.

Don’t you have anything to say to me? I am leaving for God’s sake, and I don’t know when I’ll ever see you again! Is food more important than thoughts? She pushed away the unfinished lunch and gave up.

Children are never to challenge their parents.

Her mother thought of a few things to instruct on the way to the airport - she even told Andy not to tease his sister too much, and to listen to his mother. They waited at the airport with few words exchanged. How do you start something so foreign that you didn’t know what the first word should be?

It was time to board. There was a little shine in her mother’s eyes when they hugged.

Hold me tight and tell me you will miss me. Tell me everything will be OK and you will see me soon. Tell me Brazil is not too far and you will find a way to go there even though nobody could get a passport.

But she didn’t say it. They said goodbye as if they would meet again soon. Last chance, but it was gone too soon.

The force of the takeoff pushed her into her seat. She looked away from the window, and tears finally glided down silently.

Faded Country

She was about 10 or 11 years old when they moved to the country side. No one bothered to explain to her why—kids are not supposed to mind adult’s affair, or even be heard in most cases. Thinking back it could be for the lack of money.

It was one unit in a row of identical condos. The front doors faced a seemingly endless orchard. It quickly became her playground as there was nothing else to do. Rows of green vegetables with an outhouse in the middle of it; a big hole full of human sewage nearby that adults warned again and again not to get too close. It wasn’t the danger of drowning that kept her away--she could still revive the odor in her mind if she closed her eyes and concentrated.

A small stream meandered by the edge of the orchard and gathered to form a small pond near the row houses. There were small fish and shrimp she could sit and watch forever, sometimes trying to catch them unsuccessfully, but always fun to do. That was where he first tried to talk to her. It wasn’t hard – he made a net of some sort to catch the little fish. It was an instant success--with the fish and with her. He must be the smartest boy she had ever known. He was probably in junior high, but in her mind much bigger than her.

Summer and the strange place were no longer unbearable. She spent much of the time outdoors, either walking among the orchard carefully to spot unfamiliar critters, or playing in the shallow water to cool down--always with a faint hope to catch a glimpse of him. He sometimes had the funny idea of putting a chair over the tiny irrigation canal at a spot under a tree, and read a book that way. She was always too shy to initiate a conversation with him. Just the sight of him pleased her enormously.

Her father would sometimes buy vegetables straight from the farmers. She remembered how he rinsed the green bunches in the little canal before coming back to the house. Once the kids were told to get some clams from the stream for dinner. She was on her knees in the cool water, with both hands combing the sand lightly. The boy volunteered to help. He was so close to her that she could hardly breathe. He was talking and showing her the tricks to get the clams, but she couldn’t hear a word. It couldn’t have lasted more than an hour, but it was an hour she will forever remember.

They were from very different families. She saw a tree in his house with little lights on it when winter came. A sight that was both beautiful and strange to her.

She was not allowed to show any interest in boys, naturally. When he performed some stunts with his bicycle outside her front door, her father told her to go inside. She was disappointed, but nothing could come close to how she felt when her father decided to move. When the boy asked, “Are you moving?” she could almost cry. She didn’t know how to say good-bye to a boy she hardly knew, but held a special spot in her memories.

It was her first heartbreak.

Basque-ful of Bounty

My group decided to have a field trip. It's a farming community not far from San Jose, so we met at the train station that has very confusing machines to pay for the parking. I had to show another member how to use it after several attemps and fianlly figuring it out. She then went on to teach others. After two hours of listening to a couple of car mates' loud and tedious and sometimes nonsense (one of them couldn't speak English that well) blast of non stop talking, I was ready for a headache. I couldn't be any happier when we arrived at the fruit stand.

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This is the inside view of the first destination - a gigantic fruit stand completed with an old truck.

They grow garlics so big that I had to take a picture. The ones in the pink bags are your normal garlics. One clove of the purple garlic can last me a month or two.

Outdoor band and a craft fair.

I haven't seen one of these in ages.

This will be a great plaque for Bob's backyard swimming pool that he was working on.

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I guess this is the pond the plaque was referring to?

The place is littered with old farming tools, most of which I have never seen or could name. I thought this one looks pretty cool.

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Somebody had to point it out to me that it was a fire engine!

A wind mill that's still turning.

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We then moved on to a town 30 minutes away to have some Basque style dinner. Where are the pictures? Well I didn't take any.

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The place is a bare minimum with long tables where you share with stranger. Aside from the main course, you share all the other dishes with your dining companions. I'm not sure why it's called Basque, because they look just like American food :) with potato salad and frensh fries! The lamb stew was delicious (I think I'll go have some right now) but the roasted lamb is a little on the bland side. They gave you so much food that many of us had to ask for doggie bags.

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It's probably worth the trip if you have never been there, or if you went there five years ago. But it's a weekend to get out of the city and play tourist. Fun for a change.

Train of Guilt

(Inspired by beamingbalance)

"Hurry, mommy.” The little girl tugged her mother’s hand lightly. She didn’t want to miss the train. It was the rare occasion when she felt special. Her daddy loved and cared about her. Her sister was too young to tag along. Both parents belonged to her for a while.

"We have time.” The young mother reassured the little girl. She had a faint smile on her face. That made the little girl even happier. It was not often to see her mother in a good mood.

Her daddy worked in a different city. He came home once a week or every other week on weekends. They didn’t own a car, so he took the train for his trips.

The pavement rose to a slight slope. That was where they stopped and waited for the train. It seemed that they never had to wait long. She could hear the chucking rhythm getting close. Her heart was full of excitement that she could hardly wait.

The train passed with speed, loud noises and a hurl of wind, messing up her hair and her dress. In a fleeting second she thought she saw her daddy by the window, throwing something out.

"There it is!” She shrieked. The young mother walked over and picked it up. It was a variety of snacks in a plastic bag, thrown by her daddy as a treat for them. He was on his way back to work.

They walked home slowly, all the while the little girl examining the snacks and savoring how her daddy was thinking about her when he bought these treats. They tasted like candies for a princess in her memory.

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The little girl grew up to know why her mother was not a happy woman - her father was having an affair at the time. That was also why he kept his family in a different city.

When the little girl, now a woman, had her own puppy and had to leave for work, she couldn’t bear the look in the puppy’s eyes.

"Why are you leaving me?” The round brown eyes said. “Don’t leave me here alone.”

So she threw some treats to the puppy. The puppy would be busy looking for them when she quietly closed the garage door to leave.

That’s when she realized it was not an act of love, something he was incapable of giving, when her father did what he did many times by the train track.

You Have An Accent

I sometimes do crazy things like going out to dinner with a group of total strangers. This is to keep me from becoming a hermit during “between contract” period, and make me feel somewhat normal. You know, human interaction and all.

This is one of those gatherings where I picked up a lady from the same group and drove into the city for dinner and fireworks. The traffic was awful, and it didn’t help with her “you should’ve parked there,” or “you should’ve taken that lane,” as a side seat driver. But I made the bet effort not to say anything rude.

She was from another country and, in spite of having lived here for decades, still has a heavy accent. She was quite loud as well. I thought to myself, “Good for her. She didn’t think her accent was anything to be ashamed of.”

A guy from a different group joined us after dinner and got into lively chatters with us. Barely a minute or two into the conversation the woman with an accent announced loudly, “You have an accent!”

The ice tea I was drinking almost shot out of my nostrils. He did have a slight accent – he’s from New York.

She showed me again how easy it is to look at others but not oneself. I’m pretty sure I have done the same.

Snake Under the Roof

At first I thought "No, I'm not going." when my friend invited me to go with her to an equestrian ranch. The only thing I have that's remotely connected to equestrian is my handbag, which has belts and buckles that vaguely resemble the ones on a saddle.

Then I thought "What the hay? I've never been to one."

So this city girl went on a country ride. Boy was I surprised by what I saw there!

According to the owner, the snake was the only thing that stopped the sparrows from building their nests under their roof. They have tried everything and nothing else worked. It's a plastic, inflated snake. No wonder they say "bird brain."

The following items in the pictures, i.e., carriage, fake western settlers, golf cart are all from Michael Jackson's Neverland Ranch auction. Humans are real:

I thought it was tacky to ask people for money when I saw their boxes have "Got Cash" on them. Thirty minutes into their performance I realized it's because they specialize on Jonny Cash's music. They are quite good at it!



Grandpa and his date were dancing the night away:

A couple of riders performed some galloping and jumping for us:

Turns out there are quite a few equestrian ranches out there by the Silicon Valley -- silly me.

Identity Crisis

"We’re home!” Andy announced, with the crate in his hand.

We rushed to greet him, or more accurately, to greet Princess. She looked at us and let out a soft meow. We got her out of the crate and examined her tail stump. Her long and beautiful tail was gone. The short stump was wrapped in gauze. I saw shiny reflection in Andy’s eyes.

She came home one day and the tail was broken. The vet had to amputate it.

Andy asked me why anyone would be so cruel to do that. I didn’t know what to tell him. One thing was certain: it wasn’t done by another cat. She was a big girl, fed by her previous owner with beef. It had to be a human with some kind of instrument – maybe a broom - who did this.

While Princess purred and rubbed us with her head as if she didn’t realize something was amiss, Andy told us what transpired at the vet’s office.

They showed him Princess’ x-ray that everything was fine, except the tail was gone. They gave him the medication for post surgery care and instructions on what to do and when to go back. He paid the bill and, as he was about to leave, the vet asked him:

"By the way, do you know your Princess is actually a Prince?”

"What?!” we yelled.

She was given to us by her previous owner who had to leave the country for a long period of time. We were told that Princess was her “daughter,” and that she was a spade female cat. That’s why Andy named her Princess.

After we picked ourselves up from the floor and wiped the tears off our cheeks from laughing so hard, Andy added, “No wonder he was peeing all over the house and tearing the carpet up. He was acting out his identity crisis!”


(In loving and laughing memories of Princess, who had mistaken identity while we had her.)

Edge of Abyss

I was shocked to see him. Jessica invited me to a birthday dinner for her father, who turned ninety five and still dates, dances a couple of times a week, and has a healthy appetite. Her husband, on the other hand, used to weigh three hundred eighty pounds, now reduced to close to a skeleton.

He has throat cancer for two years now. The doctor said the chemo and the radiation treatments failed to keep the cancer cells at bay, and they have spread to his bones all over his body. He told Jessica her husband might have one year to live.

We were devastated when we heard the news. Jessica seems to be handling it very well. She didn’t fall apart. She didn’t cry whenever I talked to her. Her days are going normally as if he had a bad cold and would take a while to recover. She even resumed her photography classes just to get away from it – which is probably a good thing.

I know I wouldn’t be so strong if this happened to me. I would definitely cry a lot. Instead of classes, I would probably go to church for support. I wonder if this means I’m weak.

I also wonder if her husband knew he would have to go through this before his life would end prematurely, would he have smoked for thirty years before Jessica finally made him quit?

Most of all, I feel so bad about this whole thing. I’m at a complete loss of words as to what to say to him, and I feel very guilty about it. What can I do to make him more at peace with this dreadful and hopeless situation? What can I say to a person who’s staring at the dark abyss that he will have to jump in soon?

Bitter, Or Sweet?

They say be careful what you wish for. I know what they mean now.

The shock, the memories, the nameless feeling of something lost, the (yet again) sleepless nights of seeing your ex so unexpectedly is not exactly a pleasant encounter.

I left the house early one Saturday for the flea market in search of a present made of jade. It’s a place I usually don’t go anymore for: 1) the distance is great; 2) there is a danger of running into a person with whom I can find no purpose of meeting. Nevertheless, it’s the only place I could think of where the vendors won’t ask an arm and a leg for something came from the earth. I would visit there once or twice a year and, so far I have been fortunate not running into him.

It was early. Some vendors were still setting up their stands. I passed the first slot where the merchandise was displayed on the ground, and the vendor was talking to a prospective customer. I stopped at the second slot and glanced back at the customer, and said to myself, “Oh no.” He gained weight, for which I was happy to see, but otherwise still looked like the person I once knew.

Should I say hi or should I hide? I didn’t know what to do. I pretended to be browsing and crossed his view point a couple of times. He didn’t recognize me. He then went to a stand and stood by a woman who was selling some wooden jewelry. Girlfriend? He sat down at the back of a van that was parked behind the stand. I went up and touched the wooden earrings on her stand. He looked at me through the jewelries, but showed no sign of recognition. Should I take my sunglasses off and let him see my face, and joke “So, you are selling now?”

I moved on to other vendors and purchased a couple of "can't live without" items. When I was done I once again decided to go up and just say hi. What’s the big deal? We can be polite for a few minutes, and we’ll part ways. Just when I was about to walk up to him I saw the ring on his left hand. It’s not his girlfriend – it’s his wife! I turned and left the market.

He had a very well paying job, so I know they don't have to do this. Maybe she’s doing this for fun and he is there to be supportive. Maybe he lost his job and they have to do this for a living. I don't want to embarrass him in front of his wife – so I told myself. But are there any other reasons?

For a year or so that we had been together, I had the feeling that he was divorced on paper only. His ex-wife will always have control of his thoughts, actions and his affections. The fact that he was never able to verbally express how he felt for me was, to me, evidence strong enough. The yellow gold ring made me wonder if he had married his ex-wife again, for white gold is much more in fashion nowadays.

I guess it didn’t matter. Regardless who she is, I just got the confirmation that he never felt strong enough for me. I didn’t need to face him to reaffirm the reason why our relationship was not what I wanted. I already knew. I should’ve known and had the good sense to run away from him when he told me he thought I was fat -- judging from the picture I sent him. Now both the bulge and the joke are on him. That’s the only thing of which I could be happy.

The next day I received a one-ring phone call. I didn’t answer, and it didn’t ring again.

Scary Moment

I heard a scary story the other day at a pot-luck lunch at work. Several consultants joined us unexpectedly, and, while we were eating and making small talks (one of the uncomfortable things you do when you have to eat with people you are not necessarily that familiar with), one of the consultants started talking about how she met her fiancé. Turns out she met him through online dating.

What’s remarkable about it is while most people try to hide the fact that they are doing this (the thought of ‘loser’ still prevails when it comes to online dating, and she said it herself that she would never have done it if not encouraged by her friend) she had no problem sharing this with people she mostly had not met before that day. More remarkably, she’s Asian. I couldn’t help but noticing the difference between Asian-born Asians and American-born Asians, and I must say the openness about one’s personal live was refreshing to me.

I was raised to hide my emotions, thoughts and personal affairs to myself since that was the "proper” behavior. Sometimes I just want to scream, “What’s the freaking big deal?!” I think it just shows how judgmental and oppressive the society was. Her openness, however, was not the scary part.

What’s scary is after she submitted her profile, which consisted of 500 or so questions (enough to make me stop before I start) she received a list of names of good matches, and her ex-husband was one of them! So what it did to me was (others were laughing because it was kind of funny) confirming my reasoning of not dating.

Some people are willing to kiss all the toads before they find a prince. I think the odds are really crap shoot no matter how scientifically the process is designed. You could end up with a guy for 10 years and supposedly a perfect match for you, and still end up divorced and starting anew. Too much work for not that rewarding of an endeavour to me. At least that's how I feel at this moment.