Folly

Blog Action Day, 2009

I heard Jason calling, "Dad..." and ran into his bedroom. His face was red and his breathing was shallow. I sat down by his bedside and felt his forehead. It didn't seem that he had a fever. I opened the drawer under the nightstand and took his inhaler out. He took a deep breath through it and lied down slowly. His breath gradually became deeper and longer. He fell asleep again.

I looked at his thin body and tried to control my emotions. He was supposed to be in tenth grade now, but his illness forced him to stay home. His body is the equivalent of a twelve-year-old. We had to home-school him for his constant battle with asthma.

"Is Jason okay?" My wife Helen asked when I went back to the living room. Her rash was getting deeper in color. We had cut down our daily meals to once a day, and that didn't help with her condition. There was little selection of vegetables in the market, and meats were rare occurrences. Even if they had them once in a blue moon, we could only afford it twice a year - on Helen and Jason's birthdays. With the increase of prices on all foods, meats have become the untouchable for most people. It was almost impossible to raise livestock anywhere when the vegetation started to recede from the extended drought and long period of flood caused by twenty to thirty hurricanes a year.

Nevertheless, we were thankful to be alive. Millions died each year all over the world in those less advanced countries.

"Honey, we need to take you to the hospital." It was her monthly appointment. The medication was barely keeping her condition in check. Without proper nutrition there was little hope that she would ever be back to complete health. Still, we needed to make the trip.

"What about your lungs?" She looked at me worriedly. I put on a brave face, "Don't worry. We have the masks."

I had damaged lungs from working outdoors for the last twenty years in spite of the mandatory mask. I was forced to retire, and the insurance company refused to pay due to "condition caused by nature." We were barely getting by with the scanty pension I received from the company. I would have been able to sell our vacation home had it not been flushed away by the landslide caused by a category seven hurricane the year before I retired.

The doorbell rang. Helen opened the door. It was our neighbor, Alicia. Jason was old enough to stay home by himself, but I asked Alicia to stay with him just in case. She took her mask off and said, "Make sure you wear the masks. It’s a bad air day out there!" She appeared very pale, but at least she didn’t have depression from the long absence of sun exposure so far. The artificial sun lights did not work that well for some people. Although she was as thin as Helen, she did not have any obvious health problem. She was lucky so far.

"Thank you so much for the help. We won't be gone for long." There were so many people with air-related illnesses that the hospital had developed a system so that we didn't need to get out of our cars. We would drive up to a window and the technician would pull up our records in the computer, verify our IDs, ask a few questions regarding the illness, and dispense the pre-packed medications. Most of the time would be spent on driving to and from the hospital, and waiting in the queue of cars.

We put on the masks before leaving the house. It was only fifty feet away to our car, but the air was too dangerous for us to risk breathing it directly. Not with our conditions.

The sun was burning hot. The thick smog in the air made it look eerily pretty in the color of orange-red. Too bad nobody was outside to enjoy the view. Every window was tightly shut. The street was practically empty, and was a sea of grey to look at. No one was able to keep any plants or lawns alive, and I didn't remember when the last time I saw a real tree was. I missed our trip to the museum last year very much. There were so many plants and flowers it felt as if we had gone to a different planet - a planet that was lush, nurturing and life-sustaining.

I drove away in our electric car and couldn't help but wonder: I read in history books that our great grandfathers had predicted the outcome in numerous studies during the late twentieth century, but somehow they chose not to do anything about it. Instead they fought over political controls and ignored all the warnings from the scientists. Many believed all the doomsday predictions were just sci-fi fictions used to scare people. By mid twenty-first century the severe climate had reached the irreversible point. Last country to ban the use of fossil oil and coal was ten years ago, but nothing could make the earth go back to what it once was.

Whoever said human being was the most intelligent animal on earth was dead wrong. We had dug our own graves with the grand shovel of ignorance decades ago. Soon all of us will have to lie in them.

Seven Things

I have always enjoyed reading Hunter's blog. He's a seriously funny guy with a talent to tell a great story. So it's a great honor that he thinks my blog is worth his passing on the "Kreativ Blogger" award. Thank you, Hunter. And readers, please take a moment to visit his site. It will brighten up your day, I promise.

The catch for this award is to tell seven things about me that people may not know. (I now regret that I didn't lead a more exciting life.) By risking reveal too much about myself, here's the list:

1. I love spicy food. The spicier the better. I planted a habanero pepper in my backyard one year and found out my limit for hot spices. I don't have the plant anymore.

2. I used to have a cat, but after raising my puppy I found out I was actually a dog person.

3. I used to speak Portuguese, but have forgotten it completely.

4. I did not know what 'hemp' was and had to be told it was "the" weed. Yes, I led a very sheltered life when I was a kid.

5. I am the designated driver among friends because, well, I can't drink. Half a glass of wine will get me dance on the table. So I was told. Of course I don't remember any such event.

6. I play a little piano - very little, but my crush for my piano teacher was huge.

7. My dream job would be either a writer or a graphic artist, but got into project management instead. Writing this blog provided me great joy that's otherwise missing in my job.

Now comes the hard part. I have to pass this award to another deserving writer, and there are so many that I know of, and even more out there I haven't found yet. I wish I had 50 of this award to pass out. The new owner of this lovely award goes to a young and brilliant writer, Lou. You can find her blog here. I enjoyed reading her blog very much, and hope you will pop over to check her out. I'm sure you will like it as well. Congratulations Lou!

Lady on the Moon

(To my women friends) 

My little maid Blue Jade ran into my chamber in her light steps, and said in a warning tone, "My lady - master is back.” I called her Jade to be short.

I put down the medicine book I was studying and took a quick glance in the copper mirror. My hair and jewelries looked fine. I needed a little rouge on my cheeks and…I didn’t need to ask. Jade opened the pearl-inlayed makeup box and pulled out the rouge. She dabbed a little on my cheeks and smoothed it out with her fingers. She then handed me the red lip stain in a little round copper box. I stained my lips with my pinkie while Jade slipped a small silk pouch stuffed with jasmine petals into my sleeve. I smoothed my long skirt and we left the room, walking as fast as we could. The main hall is located in a different courtyard in the house.

Hoyi, my husband, was sitting in the main hall sipping tea. He looked dirty and tired, but he had a faint smile and his eyes seemed to be somewhere far away. I smiled before I stepped into the big room, “Your humble wife welcomes you, master.” He pulled himself back from that mysterious place and looked at me, and then nodded his head and said, “Oh. Sit down, please.”

"I heard about your brave endeavor, master.” I said, after taking my seat on the other side of the tea table. It was his most difficult challenge so far - more difficult than slaughtering the two-headed beast. Thank goodness he was an excellent archer, and was born with surreal strength.

"You mean the nine suns I shot down?” He was pleased that I recognized his infamous feat.

"Yes. People of the middle kingdom are so grateful. Now they can farm the land, raise livestock and live above ground. You are the hero they warship now.”

"Well, it wasn’t easy. I almost got burned from those scorching suns!” He said with a hint of pride.

"You must be tired from the journey. Will master care to take a bath in my chamber? I will tell Jade to prepare the hot water.” I tried to be subtle. It was unbecoming for a woman to show that she missed her husband and longed for his company.

"Oh. Not tonight. I will take a bath in my chamber and rest there. It was a long journey.” He stood up and left the room. His servants followed behind him.

I saw the look in Jade’s eyes, and I knew what she was thinking. The rumor was true, then. I heard that, in addition to his heroic feat, he also “conquered” the nymph of the water kingdom. I stared at the silver candles in my room for a long time. The wax dripping down the side of them seemed to resemble the tears on my cheeks. Jade gently reminded me several times that it was late, but sleep completely eluded me.

Two days later Hoyi was leaving again. There was a giant lion with horns appeared in a village, and was devouring the villagers. He had to answer the call for help. Jade informed me that he requested my presence in his room. He showed me two dark round orbs in his hand when I got there.

"I requested these from the Empress of the West Heaven. They are potions of eternal life. I have performed enough heroic feats so she granted the request.” He told me. I was speechless. It was the highest honor any masters of the middle kingdom could achieve.

"We will take these together on the night of the full moon, which is ten days from now. Take care of them while I’m gone. Imagine: we will live forever!”

Imagine I did. I have been thinking about it ever since he left. We will live forever. Together. After all, I was his wife, and he would honor that title, if not me. Being his wife, however, also meant I would have to endure the loneliness, the other women, and pretend to be happy.

I received a message from my husband’s servant on the ninth day. The giant lion was more illusive than he had thought, and his return had been delayed. The servant added, “The master said to make sure and tell my lady to wait for him.”

I knew what he meant, but I couldn’t heed to his request. On the night of the full moon, I swallowed both orbs and wrote him a note. I told him my devotion for him had never changed, but I could no longer stay being his wife. My body became lighter and lighter, rising to the sky. I came to the moon and settled down here. I have been making medicines for passing fairies, and have a loyal guard to do the heavy works, be it chopping wood or carrying water, for me. He was a gift from one of the fairies I cured. Another fairy gifted me with a trained rabbit, so I don’t have to smash and grind the medicines myself.

Certain poet wrote a poem on how I must regret stealing the potions from Hoyi, and how I have to endure the lonely life on the moon everyday, day after day. They even taught little children in the middle kingdom to recite and savor this poem.

Do I ever regret what I did? Sometimes, but never for long. Of all the past earthly connections, I miss my little Jade the most. The poet, being a man from the middle kingdom himself, did not understand a woman's heart - sometimes the loneliest place for a woman is her husband's house.

I traded loneliness with content. The vast sky is not dark, and definitely not lonely. Stars show me their brilliant colors that even the best poet would not be able to put into poems. Fairies with various illnesses come by everyday. My life is busy and with a purpose now. I am appreciated and needed everyday.

I am no longer the lady waiting in her chamber. I am the lady on the moon.


(There are several different versions for this legend. The poem used the word "steal," so it begs for an answer to the obvious question: why? This is my interpretation of what had transpired.)

Tip of the Bayonet

"I was flipping the persimmons when I heard the sound of gun shots."

"Gun shots?" Obviously she survived the event, since she was sitting right in front of me. Nevertheless, my eyes couldn't help but enlarge a bit.

"Yes. You know we dried those persimmons, among other things, after the harvest so they would keep throughout the winter." People used to dry fruits, vegetables, and meats to survive the long and cold winter in a country where there was no such convenience as markets in the neighborhood.

I could see it in my minds eye - a little girl squatting by a sea of persimmons being dried in the square atrium surrounded by rooms, turning them one by one. Her cheeks were red from the sun, and her shiny dark hair was braided into two queues hanging down both sides of her face. A piece of red yarn tied them up at the ends.

"I knew it was the Japanese soldiers because grownups had been warning us to run and hide as soon as we heard the gun shots.

So I took off running as fast as I could. I didn't know where to go, and my parents were no where to be seen. I guess they were working. Everyone had to work all the time back in those days. There were no idle hands in anybody's household. I wasn't flipping those persimmons for fun either.

The only grownup I knew who was in the house at the time was a sick aunt. She rested in her room all day long from an illness that I couldn't name. I ran into her room and cried out, 'The Japanese are coming!'

She said, 'Quick! Hide under the bed and be very quiet. Don't make any noise.' I rolled under the bed and squeezed myself against the wall with all my might. I heard the running footsteps coming into the room. I heard someone yelling at my aunt in a language I didn't understand, and my aunt answering in a pleading voice, 'They are not here. The men all fled. There are no men here.' I'm sure she must be gesturing while she pleaded.

Just to make sure she wasn't lying, a soldier swept under the bed with his rifle. I could see a faint shimmer on the tip of the gun - it was a blade. I stayed very still and quiet while watching the blade moving from side to side. The blade passed in front of me a couple of times and missed me by an inch. The soldier finally decided there was nobody under the bed.

There was some more yelling, and then the soldiers left the room. Neither one of us said or did anything for quite a while. Finally my aunt said quietly, 'I think it's okay to come out now.' I crawled out from under the bed and slipped off to find my parents. I don't remember if I thanked her or not, since I was still quite frightened by the experience.

I went back to the old house forty years after I fled the country and, to my astonishment, the aunt who hid me was still living there! I gave her my belated gratitude and asked her if she remembered what had happened that scary day long time ago. She did, but she remembered the event a little differently from me. She said I hid in her bed under the comforter right next to her, and not under the bed. I was a little confused when I heard that."

I was finally able to breathe after she finished the story. She had a shiny reflection in her eyes, and a smile on her lips. I think the aunt's memory was probably failing her. I think if she was hiding in bed next to her aunt, she probably wouldn’t have seen the rifle or the blade.

I thank God the room was dark enough that the soldier didn't see the little girl under the bed. I thank God that she was small enough that the blade missed her. I thank my great aunt for her quick wit - whether she hid her under the bed or under the comforter - that spared my mother from the possibly horrific fate. They both were very lucky.

Crabby Quest

"With wine in one hand and crab claws in another" is the ideal way to celebrate autumn, according to some highly respected poets who died long time ago. Not that I'm a wine enthusiast - I can barely finish one glass throughout the course of an evening, but who am I to argue with them? That was why I happily responded, "That's a great idea!" when someone suggested we had a crab dinner on Mid Autumn Festival, which fell on October 3rd this year.

I got up and got ready by nine o'clock - on a Saturday, I might add - and went on my hunt for live crab. I don't do the frozen crab thing - those are for amateurs. My experience told me they are the freshest if you get them on the day of the event. And they are the best if you get them from the Asian markets. Well, you really don't have a choice on the market because general supermarkets don't sell live crab. I knew exactly which market to go.

I parked the car and walked into the market, aiming straight at the seafood section. What did I see? An empty tank! There was one small part of a crab left: a crab claw on the bottom of the tank, and that was it.

Shit! I said to myself after the shock subsided. I finally flagged down a clerk in the fish section and asked if they would get more shipment in today.

"No." was the answer. No customer service training was provided to workers of this market, obviously.

"Do you know when you'll get more in?" I knew it was a long shot, but maybe there was a slim chance that they were expecting a shipment in a few minutes.

"I don't know." was the concise answer.

How could this be? The tank was always full of crab piling on top of each other. Always. What happened? Maybe I'd have better luck at the next market. I drove to the second market, half deflated.

I could see it half way down to the seafood section at the second one - an empty tank. Not even a broken claw this time. And when would they get more in? You got it - don't know.

I looked at the frozen crab in the big freezer and thought about it for a moment. The thought of being an amateur was unbearable. Nah, I'll try a third market before giving in to the second choice.

The third one was a little far out, but was worth the drive if they had the illusive commodity. Please, please let them have the crab, I said to myself while walking toward the back of the market, where the eight-legged critters would be.

I came home with a bag of manila clam for the clam chowder I was about to experiment, and three packs of frozen king crab. I was counting on the wine to befog my guests’ taste buds before dinner. Maybe they wouldn't notice the difference after the wine and the chowder.

Clearly I wasn't the only one who heeded to the gastronimic portrayal of the season. I also learned that the frozen king crab couldn't hold a candle to the live Dungeness crab - no matter how lavishly I poured the wine. Note for next year: get the crab the day before the dinner.

Downtown Class

"Ogay glass. Now let’s dalk about the dex boogs for this glass.”

...What?!

After the teacher explained that we needed two books and one optional software in his heavily accented English, my neighbor raised her hand and asked, “But which one do we need? The first one or the second one?”

The woman in front of her turned her head to see who the idiot was. I tried not to look at her so she’d know it wasn’t me. She had a deep crease between her eyebrows. I made a note to myself not to sit next to her in future classes. She looked mean.

I asked a couple of questions about the books as well, since the syllabus wasn’t so clear. When I mentioned the school’s bookstore told me they didn’t have the book and I had to check on amazon.com, he seemed to be a little defensive.

"It’s unduh another glass name.” he said.

Well, why didn’t you mention this in the syllabus? I wanted to ask. How would we know this? Then he said it would be okay to use another edition that didn’t have a CD to save some money.

I didn’t get either book before the class started, because these details were not spelled out in the syllabus. Now I would have to wait for a week for the books to arrive. It would be interesting to see how I could do the assignment without the books.

He probably had a deal with the author, I thought to myself grumpily. That was an unfounded guess, of course. I was just not happy about the extra work and delay he had caused. He is a college professor, and should be smarter than us. He showed off his extensive resume and work experiences before officially starting the class - totally unnecessary in my opinion. A great resume doesn’t guarantee a great teacher.

My neighbor didn’t have a clue what the class was about, or how it was going to be integrated with her work, or what her next step after the class should be, or her possible desire to take the test (no, you can’t take the test - the teacher said; because you didn’t pay for it - a student explained, since she didn't seem to realize there was a cost related to it) etc., etc., and asked a lot of questions. I had to look at the mean woman's face every time she turned around.

I ran out during the break just to make sure my car was still there (it was in the city of the highest crime rate in Bay Area) and that I didn’t get a ticket – sixteen quarters for two hours. It’s only free after eight o’clock. The city is in deep budget shortage, so parking fee is a good way to squeeze some money out of people who are short of it right now.

It seemed that my neighbor got herself a banquet during the break, and started to lay down the feast during the class, opening plastic boxes and wrappers and making all kinds of noise. Now I wanted to give her the dirty look. I already had a hard enough time trying to understand what in the world the teacher was saying without the noise. Thanks to the hard working air conditioner; I was able to stay awake for the entire class. How much I got from the lecture is another topic.

I stepped out of the building and the street had transformed into a deserted movie set of some ghetto scene. A couple of scary looking people were shouting to each other in the dark street. I did my best to appear brave and unconcerned while walking toward my car, praying that I didn’t look like a potential victim of robbery to them.

It's going to be a very long Fall quarter.

Dragon, Lions and Little Italy

It is said the dragon boat race began with the suicide of a famous poet and scholar, Qu Yuan, who jumped into the river when his country was invaded by Qin. This was more than two thousand years ago when China was divided by several smaller countries/warlords. Here’s the excerpt from wikipedia :


The common people, upon learning of his suicide, rushed out on the water in their fishing boats to the middle of the river and tried desperately to save Qu Yuan. They beat drums and splashed the water with their paddles in order to keep the fish and evil spirits from his body. Later on, they scattered rice into the water to prevent him from suffering hunger. Another belief is that the people scattered rice to feed the fish, in order to prevent the fishes from devouring the poet's body.

However, late one night, the spirit of Qu Yuan appeared before his friends (that is, he resurrected from the dead) and told them that the rice meant for him was being intercepted by a huge river dragon. He asked his friends to wrap their rice into three-cornered silk packages to ward off the dragon. This has been a traditional food ever since known as zongzi or sticky rice wrapped in leaves, although they are wrapped in leaves instead of silk. In commemoration of Qu Yuan it is said, people hold dragon boat races annually on the day of his death.

While dragon boat race has kept its form more or less throughout the years, we now eat the rice treat ourselves instead of feeding it to the fish. Why waste perfectly good food?

The race is held at Treasure Island by San Francisco every year, but I had never witnessed one myself. It seems to be a crime since I’m only 40 minutes away from San Francisco, so my friend and I made the trip this year. It was a good excuse for us to take more pictures – she with a seriously professional camera, and I with a dummy camera.

These rappers are rapping in Cantonese. I think my friend and I had a cultural shock.

The dragon is getting ready for a performance by some super women.

While the little lions are getting ready for their turn, the green one is trying to appear ferocious for the camera.

Ready, get set, go! ( The Bay Bridge in the backdrop is undergoing a bypass surgery) The race will go on for two days as there are numerous teams attending.

You can see San Francisco skyline by the finishing point. Most of the time SF is covered with fog and a cool temporature of 60, but we are having a glorious day of 80 degrees and clear sky for a change. Qu Yuan must be watching!

We have lunch at a very busily decorated Italian restaurant called "Cafe Sport" in Little Italy, then some gelato afterward. Both are yummy. You can't beat an outing that has dragon boat races and Italian food.

May

She had dark hair and dark eyes, and the lively eyes that were flanked by long lashes told me that she was focused and intelligent. Her face was the perfect shape of oval, and her nose and lips were small, cute and in ideal proportion with her face.

Everybody who saw her would say, “She’s beautiful.” Not only that - she was also at the top of her class. The only thing about her was that she was a little too serious for a girl supposedly at an age of innocence and laughter. She didn’t smile often.

May - that was her name. She made me feel like an awkward little duckling that had little idea about what to do with the unfriendly world around it.

She singled me out to be her friend. My classmates said we looked like sisters, but I knew better. She wrote me little notes, telling me my dreamy eyes reminded her of the glistening stars. I checked with the mirror that day, and couldn’t find anything about me that was “dreamy,” but my little heart was secretly elated. She was one of the very few people who were kind to me while growing up. Did she somehow sense we had an unspoken connection?

We didn’t spend a lot of time together after school. She either had to help her father, who was a doctor with his own practice in the same building where they lived, or she had to go back to "take care of things” as she put it. I didn’t question too much at first. We would either go out and take a walk around the neighborhood, or share some shaved ice at a food stand once a week, exchanging chitchats that were meaningful only to thirteen-year-old girls. Our time together was the much needed escape from my horrid stepmother.

Summer was always sultry and humid on the subtropical island. I repeatedly asked her why she was wearing long-sleeve shirts, as I could barely keep my short-sleeve shirt on. At first she said she didn’t like short sleeves. I thought she was crazy – and probably told her so. She hesitated a while, then finally lifted her sleeves. My heart stopped beating for a second. The skin on her arms was covered with whipping wounds from dry bamboo stems.

"Who did this to you?!” I was furious.
"My stepmother.” She said it calmly.
"Why?!” I demanded.
"It was my fault. I didn’t wash the dishes clean enough.”

I found out about her life in the house of horror.

She washed the clothes and cleaned the house for the whole family every day. Anything that was not to her stepmother’s liking was a reason for a good beating. She also told me her father used to slap her mother across the face in front of the family. She finally left him and remarried, but she didn’t want any visits from her daughters from the first marriage. What was more incredible to me was that she thought she deserved the beatings. Her father was perfectly capable of hiring a maid with his income, but he chose to let his own daughter be abused and did nothing to stop it.

I felt the worst emotion I ever experienced – anger combined with powerlessness. For the first time I connected the word “demon” with the face of a human being. And for the first time, I felt lucky to have a life that was as unhappy as mine.

I moved to another city a few years later and we kept our friendship by writing letters. I had to be careful with what I said, since she didn’t get to be the one to read them first. More often than not she didn't receive my letters at all. I was very happy to know that she was in the teacher’s college as she wanted. She had to move to the college town, and thus was freed from the abuse at last. I thought her happiness had finally arrived when she told me her boyfriend was going to marry her as soon as they graduated, and that he would make a happy home for her. She paid me a visit with her husband when she was very pregnant, and very content, a few years later. I thanked her lucky star, or fairy godmother - whoever was watching over my dear friend - for bringing her the life she deserved.

A few years passed before she visited me again, this time by herself, and shocked me again.

"Adam is having an affair.” She had the similar emotionless tone as the time when she revealed her wounds to me years ago.
"….With whom?” Was the only thing I could think of after pulling myself together.
"A teacher at the same school where he teaches.”
"How did you find out about it?”
"He told me.” She said, as if she was talking about someone else.
"He told you?” Did he set out to hurt her on purpose?
"I asked him what she would do that I wasn’t doing so I could get him back, but he wouldn’t tell me.”

Once again I wanted to ask her, “Are you crazy?” I think I would've had a big fight or two with the cheating husband if I were her. Then she said, "He doesn’t want a divorce. He doesn’t want to stop the affair either. He said they just wanted to have sex. She’s married, too.”

The nerve he had. I would divorce him, but that might not be the most rational thing to do. Maybe she was…right?

We shared a bed that night. I couldn’t sleep – I couldn’t stop thinking about her marriage. What happened to his promise to her? He would make a happy home for her, he told her. I remembered how pleased she was when she told me that. Had he no concerns about their family or their daughter at all? Again I felt the terrible emotion – angry yet powerless.

She tossed in her sleep and said softly, “Adam…” I sighed. As long as she loved him, she would put up with the affair just so he might come back to her one day. There was nothing I could’ve said. After all, she was brought up to believe she deserved very little love, if any. The "demon” may have made her strong in order to survive; but strangely, it had also broken her to irreparable pieces.

I moved again, this time to a different continent. We lost touch completely. I think about her a lot during many sleepless nights. Did Adam go back to her to be a truthful husband and father? Did she finally find the happiness she was looking for?

Escape

I know this place. I live here, but I have never seen it before. I just know.

I walk into the bedroom. There are clothes everywhere. An open suitcase is sitting on the floor, half full. A sea of panic sweeps through me like a tidal wave: there isn’t time. I must go now. What do I do with the clothes? And all the other things I have?

I can only take one suitcase with me. I must leave them here and go now.

Are they watching me? I must go around the house. The kids. Where are the kids? Did they hide my kids? I can’t leave without them, and they know it.

Shhh…we have to walk quietly, or they will hear us. Quickly - we have to go before they find out.

Did we take the bus to the border? I can’t remember, even though it’s a three-day bus/car trip. We must have, right? It must have been too difficult a trip to remember: with kids, luggage, hotels, traveling in a country where I don’t speak the language, and all other details I had to deal with. I can’t think about it. It’s too much.

What about the border security? Did we pretend to be tourists? Did we get caught? Somehow we fooled them and passed the border, didn’t we? We are alright now. We are all together.

It doesn’t matter how we got here. We arrive at the airport now.

The airport is packed. Andy, where is your passport? Amy, follow me - don’t get lost. Watch out for the luggage, Andy. Where is my passport? I dig into my purse, but I can’t find it. Did I forget the passport at home? My heart is pounding louder and faster. I forgot my passport. What do I do? No, I can’t go back. They are going to keep my babies.

Please. I have to catch this plane. Please let us go before they catch us and take us home. Please…

Somehow we get through. The plane is leaving, they said, you’d better hurry. We run as fast as we could, dragging the luggage behind us. Hurry, Andy. We can’t miss the flight. Faster, Amy.

It’s too late. The plane had pulled away from the terminal and is dashing down the taxiway. It’s too late to catch it. We’ll never leave here.

-----------------------------------------------------------

I wake up, heart pounding and forehead clammy.

It has been more than twenty years, and the dream will not stop. I am forever trapped in the house in another country, can’t find a way out.

It all started when they asked me, “Why don’t you leave your son here and go back by yourself?”

I regret the moment I agreed to make the long journey to visit my in-laws. I’m paying the price repeatedly - in the form of the never ending nightmare.

Monkey Brains

(A story told by a friend)


So, I was working for a Chinese company a while back, and yes, all that you have heard about Chinese companies are true. This company, for example, deducted the minutes you overspent at lunch from your vacation time – and we are talking about salaried employees who came back from lunch five minutes late! While other small companies would distribute turkeys to their employees around Thanksgiving holiday, we had never seen one in our company. The closest thing to a turkey you’d see was probably the owner.

You shouldn’t be surprised to learn that the sales manager changed the commission structure to make it harder for anyone to make any decent money either. But that would be a different story.

That’s why we were very excited when the owner announced that we would have a New Year’s company dinner at this renowned restaurant one year. “The company must be doing very well!” We discussed among ourselves. A little something at the back of our heads was nagging, “I wonder what the catch would be…” I was sure we would never hear the end of this meal under all sorts of unpleasant situations, but for now, we were going to have a great meal with our fellow abusees. The catch could wait.

The restaurant was decorated colorfully and exotically. It was a Chinese restaurant, of course. We were told by the owner that they had the best Chinese food in the Bay Area, and he was right for once. Everything was delicious. I couldn’t recognize a lot of them, and could name none. But I didn’t mind – these were the dishes you normally wouldn’t order simply because you had never heard of, nor had any idea what they were. We are talking about banquet dishes, not your chop suey nonsense. We were so grateful, and so full. Everyone went home for the weekend very happy and very satisfied.

The meal was such a high point in our employment that we were still talking about it after the weekend. I asked a coworker what the name of a delicious dish I had was. It was a rectangular piece of something soft and white, wrapped with a thin piece of seaweed, then lightly fried to a crispy outer layer, but soft inside. I had several of them because it had great texture and taste.

"Oh that! Wasn’t it delicious?” She said.
"Yes. I loved it. What was it?” I asked.
"It was very rare, very hard to come by, and very expensive. It was mainly for rich people.” She said.
"Really? Wow, I can’t believe he would spend that kind of money on us.” I was flattered by this prelude. Imagine: we had been treated with luxury by Uncle Scrooge!

"You know what’s inside?” She taunted me with suspense.
"No. Tell me!” My curiosity was killing me.
"It’s monkey brains!” She declared with pleasure.

I covered my mouth and ran outside, trying hard not to hurl on the carpet in the process. While nothing really came out (it had been two days, after all) I did think for a second whether I should go to the hospital and have my stomach pumped. I gagged some more before it stopped.

I returned to the office with cold sweat and weak knees, and murmured to the coworker, “I can’t believe he did that to us.”

And can you believe what she said next?

"I was just kidding! Monkey brains are way too expensive. He will never treat us with that! It was just tofu wrapped with seaweed, silly.”

If I wasn't so weak from all that gagging, I think I would've strangled her.