Pearl Making

A lot of times, I have many strange thoughts.  For some reasons bewildered to me, the concept of death is as real as my own shadow. “Who is going to die first? Vincent or me?” “Who is going to handle better after one of us die?”  "What will my own funeral look like?” Graveyard is not my type. I would rather have my children scattered my ashes in Grand Canyon to remind them that human is so insignificant compare to the awestruck wonders of nature and the creator of universe. 

The wedding vow is a little blurry to me, I have to admit.   Memories of the wedding day are not so durable. However, I can still recall the feelings like yesterday when Vincent first held my hand in a mall. My heart beat so fast that zero gravity was not too hard to imagine.  The same racing heart could also caught in the moment and led to rampageous actions such as storming out of the room and driving 90 miles per hour when we argued. Fortunately, I just did it once and realized I have too much to lose in engaging in this type of actions. Every couple has their ups and downs and we are no exceptions. But what will happen one day if I find myself waking up with no one sleeping beside me? Like getting married and having a honeymoon, dying and being left behind are one of the stages we will go through down the road. It is just part of the marriage deal.  To die is easy, but to live meaningfully is the toughest part for the loved one who is left behind. After much contemplation, I told Vincent that it’s my hope that he dies before me because I can survive better if I am left behind. Of course, assumption is a freelancer of the mind until it is smashed by the unrelenting reality.

In the movies, the characters always wait till their last breath and utter their shivering words of “I…. love….. you……” I am not going to wait till my last breath?! Are you kidding me? On a more practical level, writing makes it easily assessable so that my husband (H) can read it whenever he feels disheartened, thinking what did he get himself into, when things are not up to par, or simply, whenever he pleases. 

Dear Mr. H,

The bible says, “That is why a man leaves his father and mother and is united to his wife, and they become one flesh” I try to think what does one flesh mean. Is it two people being duct taped together for the rest of the life? That would be so hopeless- hopeless to be bound together due to reasons other than love and commitment. Then I remember the process of pearl making:  

“The formation of a natural pearl begins when a foreign substance slips into the oyster between the mantle and the shell, which irritates the mantle. It's kind of like the oyster getting a splinter. The oyster's natural reaction is to cover up that irritant to protect itself. The mantle covers the irritant with layers of the same nacre substance that is used to create the shell. This eventually forms a pearl.”

Mr. H, I feel like I am the foreign substance in your life. No doubt, I did a fairly good job in irritating and annoying you (and vice versa) through the years. However, your endless layers of patience and understanding gradually transform me to a pearl. Can’t say that I become perfect (actually I never attempt to become one), but definitely a better person. Thank you for your shell of anchor, which allows me to shine bravely in your heart.

I love you.

Truly yours,

Summer

Summer’s Footprint:

“Oh Sweet Lorraine”-The story of a love song written by a 96 years old man whose wife recently passed away. Enjoy.

Home Countries

Walking around with air conditioner water dripping on my body from nowhere, the free hair compressor from the super air curtain at the doors of the malls and shops, the suffocating humidity and getting drown in my own sweat. That pretty much sums up my memory of the summer time in Hong Kong.

Aside from the weather, I cannot think of one thing that I hate about Hong Kong.  Hmm… take it back, maybe the traffic. It’s such a wonderful place and I am proud to say that Hong Kong is my hometown. So when I was 17 years old seeking education here in the U.S, there were some cultural gaps necessary for me to cross over.  One of the biggest differences that occur to me is personal space. Considering a population of 7 millions sharing 423 square miles of land, six times the size of Washington D.C, people in Hong Kong are squeezed all the time. Rubbing elbows is just an understatement. Human forced and packed like sardines to the subway trains, buses and elevators are not an unusual sight.  Hence, to say “Excuse me” in the U.S before I pass in front of someone two feet away is something I need to remind myself consciously.  Because I did learn this lesson the hard way by inviting some angry looks and someone saying “Excuse you!” while I was puzzling “What did I do?”

Another phrase that I need to get myself in habit of saying is “Bless you” when someone sneezes. What is the benefit of being blessed after sneezing? And if I don’t bestow the blessings would be perceived as rude does not make sense to me.  I thought blessing is arbitrary. Personally, I would rather save these blessings when I am under unpalatable situations such as crawling out of the bed at the cry of Kylie in the middle of the night, or the sheer sight of washing poop when Keke’s ass decides to explode in his underwear.  But that’s just me I guess and now I’m conformed to the world of abundant blessings.

To top my list of ever-confusing phrase is the term “Politically correct/ incorrect”.  I recently found out the word “Oriental” in the U.S may considered offensive or politically incorrect to some Asians because the term is based on the geographic relationship of Asia from a Western perspective.  What?! How come I did not feel offended at all even though I am a 100% Asian breed? A lot of times I am still learning what is correct or incorrect in this culture, offensive or defensive or whatsoever.  To add another level of correctness is like listening to Vincent talking endlessly about the torque, horsepower, and the engineering of various cars bla bla bla-all mumble jumble. 

Interestingly, after all the cultural adjustments I encountered in the U.S, it’s ironic to feel like a foreigner every time I go back to Hong Kong for vacation now that I have spend more time living here than in my home country. There is no escaping the fights for space both physically and emotionally is simply consuming, if not exhausting. 

On the other side of the horizon, it’s humbling to be a part of the collective, yet diversified cultural experience, and subsequently loving the people who make up this piece of land called United States of America.  

Summer’s Footprint:

The famous scene of Hong Kong is the nightly neon skyscraper. It represents productivity, prosperity and glamor.

But the poor and the disadvantaged are also the many faces of Hong Kong as the result of economic disparity. My heart went out to the two children in the following article, which depicted a boy sleeping and his sister studying on their exclusive  moveable area-the upper level of their bunk bed.

http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-2282764/Hong-Kongs-human-battery-hens-Claustrophobic-images-slum-families-squeeze-lives-tiniest-apartments.html

Choices

With Keke's new found ability to ride his tricycle comes the constant request of riding it to the local park.  Looking from the back of Vincent and Keke walking side by side, it gave me visceral emotions of how Keke has grown from a sitter, to a crawler, then a runner, now a rider. It’s funny how the perception of time differs with the two of them. When I look at Keke, it feels that the two years passed by in a nick of time. However, when I turn to Kylie, suddenly everything seems to be in slow motion and what? She is not even one? When will she be able to talk? Play catch with her brother, and usher her first word of “mama”? 

Anyways, when we went to the park, Keke quickly got himself acquainted with a buddy about two to three years older than him.  They followed and chased each other in the park like rats running in a cage.  Kids just have bottomless energy. The only thing that’s missing was a spinning wheel.  Then Keke went up the playground structure and about to pop his legs and slide down.  But down the slide was his buddy climbing up from the bottom.  A stern tone from behind yelled “Bad choice, think again!”  This little boy looked at his mom and slowly climbed back down the slide. As opposed to telling a child yes or no, allow space for independent thinking and culture own choice making are more effective ways of parenting in my opinion. 

In the past, there were certainly times I stumbled out of the gate and suffered the consequence, but only in retrospect do I learn to make more wise decisions and be a better parent today. If mistakes and bad choices are prelude to self-realization and growth, it’s a path I am willing to take.

Summer’s Footprint

My dearest son and daughter, 

It’s not your achievement that makes me proud. But how you own your mistakes when you fall, wipe your tears knowing that you are loved regardless, and get back up with your head held high.      

      

Love always,

Mama

Keke's first day of riding his bike.

Resume

Five.  That’s the number of times I have applied to Starbucks. I did not expect it to be so difficult to land a part time job as a Bearista.  What’s wrong with me? It’s starting to get personal. The first time I was logged out of the system because I filled out the online form incorrectly. The second time I send in my full resume, then the third time I deleted my graduate degree, the forth time my work experience was cut to a bare minimal, then my last resume was nothing left but my volunteer experience and a college degree. Still, I am in square one and get no response.

Looking at this piece of paper with all the experience, abilities and qualifications, I feel so…...simplified, for lack of a better term. The first impression of me in a professional world in the past twenty years defined by 200+ words, how limiting this can be. If there is another format of writing resume, I wish I could say something like: My name is Summer but I am not born in summer and my sister’s name is not winter.  You are probably spinning how to pronounce my last name (Ng) also.  It’s ____.  Yes, it’s a painful last name to carry around but got stuck with it since birth. Too often, I have many spontaneous ideas, yet too lazy to follow through. I am extremely forgetful and have lost countless things. It is my belief that my head will probably end up in one of those lost and found stations if it weren’t connected to my neck. Comprehension is not my strongest and I do not get jokes. I would laugh but in the back of my mind thinking why is it so funny? I wish I have bigger eyes but they seem to work just fine. Being judgmental is a personal disease and recently had a watershed moment that it’s a burden to carry.  I try to do the right things for my kids but lack the patience needed. Above all, I have many weaknesses and if there is one word that can define me perfectly, it’s “sinner.” Only the blood of Jesus Christ can square my debt.  There is no way around it, only through it. Finally, when the end draws near and it’s my turn to come face to face with God, it will be my pinnacle of achievement to say that I have fulfilled His purpose for me in this life.  

That’s my version of the resume, what’s yours?



Summer's Footprint:

will work as food

(Due to Mr. Smarty Pig's grammatical mistake, he lands a job in the food industry) 

What are the Odds

Being a mom changes me.  Day by day, little by little and bits by bits.  I don’t think three years ago I would have pictured myself as of who I am today.  To a certain extent, I feel that being a mom transforms me to a different species both physically and mentally.  

In terms of the physical aspect, oh man, don’t even get me start! After my first born, my hair loss was terrible.  For the first 6 months after I gave birth, big chunk of hair slide between my fingers every time I shower.  Just when I thought I was lucky with the second child, my hair started to lose again after I stopped nursing.  Belly stretch marks and the C-section scar remained after gaining, losing, gaining and losing 40-50 pounds in 2 years. Foot size went from 7.5 to 10, then bounced back to 8 that I have to bid farewell to all of my beloved high heel shoes. My eyesight is different after pregnancy and I wear new contacts now. I can’t even wear my wedding band because it cannot pass through my expanded finger joints. And oh, did I mention my sexy beast pre-baby body? Sexy no more, my friend! Literally, I am transformed from head to toe.

But more surprisingly, the metamorphosis is internal.  I found myself being more aware of personal safety. Not until I have children myself, I used to think people going on a hot air balloon to watch sunrise is such romantic idea.  But now, it’s more of a thriller. What if the balloon pops in the sky and I would leave my children motherless!! To me, it’s not the idea of death that scare me, but leaving my kids behind.  The same kind of alarm system goes along with my kids also. I was a dare devil and I would be the first one to jump on different rides and adventure in theme parks.  But I caught myself thinking twice when I buckled Keke on his so called “Big big wheel” (Ferris wheel) and I was holding him tight in my arm.  My mind couldn’t help but think is this Ferris wheel safely built? Is there a chance we may fall? I was utterly surprised by my own thinking.

Becoming a paranoid mom whom I cannot enjoy life is the least I wanted; but taking certain precautions to prevent regrettable outcomes is considered responsible.  On the other hand, “What are the odds?” as Vincent said when we went into a heated argument on whether something bad may happen if we let our children walk to/ from school in the future. (Talking about proactive measure when Kylie can barely sit up). However small the percentage of risk is, it’s 100% if it happens to me. Question is am I willing to take chances and tolerate the unknown? There’s no easy answer.  I think…..maybe I think too much.

I am not cooking today.

Summer’s Footprint:

Life does not always have plan B. It’s the acceptance and appreciation of the many doubts that makes it free, aspiring and beautiful. This reminds me of a song from Pink- “Try”

 

        

The Crying Party

I guess many of us, as mothers, have gone down this road before-dealing with temper tantrum of a child in public. For me, I finally has the first taste of it a few weeks ago in Target. It was my first time utilizing Target pharmacy service, thinking that I could do some serious shopping while waiting for the medicine. Well, little did I know that it was working against me.

After I filled out some simple forms, the pharmacist told me that they would text me on my cell phone when the medicine was ready. How neat! Off I went with Keke sitting on the front compartment while Kylie rocking happily in her car seat inside the shopping cart. However, happy time quickly came to an end when I told Keke that I need to put the firetruck he was playing back on the shelf because listening to nonstop blaring siren was pure torture. I used my familiar trick of counting to 5 and he was usually very good at giving up his toys.  But not this time. Tears poured out in seconds and what's the fun of tantrum without excruciating screaming and kicking?  With his inflated lungs he yelled "Keke put away Keke put away".  I kept my cool and said I did not like his crying and screaming, and I would let him put it away once he stopped crying.  At home he was able to calm down by himself, but this time he was determined to make a scene. What followed was an escalated crying to a point that the whole store could hear him. The clueless Kylie in the back wondered what's going on with all the commotion decided to join the crying party. Awesome! A cartful of crying kids strolling in Target.  Now it's a good time to check my text message- Nothing.....and I had a cart full of stuff.  I did not mind the tantrum because that's how Keke learned his boundaries but it's not my intention to put the whole store in jeopardy.  I was contemplating should I wait for the prescription or put the stuff back on the shelf and just leave without it? I chose the later alternative. Just when I was hastily putting the stuff on the shelf, the phone rang and finally came the text message like I have been waiting for a million years. By the time I walked out of the store, I was carrying a feisty monkey in one arm while pushing a cartful of stuff plus the crying baby in action. Then came along a mom with her daughter about 6-7 years of age.  She tapped on my hand and offered a smile of assurance" I wish you have a good evening, believe me, I have been there."

Because I was a behavioral analyst helping children with developmental delays in my previous job, dealing with tantrum is not new to me and I am basically immune to crying. Tamper tantrum is nonetheless straining and requires tremendous patience.  At the end of the day, a nice cup of coffee is the ultimate luxury, and to hear Keke says "I love you three"-is music to my ears.


Summer's Footprint:

Hold your grip, breath, and relax! Baby.