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I called my mom the other day to wish her happy birthday.
She said it wasn’t her birthday yet.
I talked to my dad. It was the first time I’ve talked to him since arriving in London.
He asks me if it’s cold.
He asks me what I’ve been eating.
He asks me if I’ve lost weight.
I said I have.
He sounded heart-broken and told me to eat more.
I started tearing up.
He says he’s finally retiring (again). And that that day was his last day at work.
He asks me how my job situation’s going.
I told him I’m still struggling but very happy that I’ve had a very successful first real interview on Monday and that I’ve been invited to go back for a second interview.
He says that if things are too hard, I can just go back to school. Just talk to mom and they’ll help me (financially).
I said I do want to study. I’ve always been intending to pursue a further degree. I just don’t know what in.
He says, if you’re interested in writing, why don’t you go do English or English Literature or whatever?
I said it’s gonna be very costly, and what am I going to do with an MA in English? I don’t want to graduate and go back to square one again. With no clear direction and not knowing what I want to do.
What I didn’t say was, he’s retiring, and there’s no income in the entire household. I can’t be selfish and take a big chunk out of what he’s worked so hard to save over the years.
He then said something he’s never said before.
He said, it doesn’t matter whether you’ll graduate with a professional degree or career path or not. It matters what you like and that you’re interested in what you study.
I felt a tear drop from my eyes.
For so many years, I’ve been told to put profession, security and income over everything else.
Graduating from high school, I was told to go into medicine, law or business. I didn’t.
For years after uni., he told me of his friends’ kids who earn such and such doing accounting, who can find jobs easily doing programming, who earn big bucks in finance.
He didn’t mean it, but I always felt he mean to say I studied the “wrong” thing.
Now, he tells me everything doesn’t matter anymore, as long as I love and enjoy what I do.
I cried.
When I was in school in Thailand, and I saw my parents a year or two later, and realize how they’ve aged in such a short span of time. I silently cried.
I cried for the day I might lose them.
Now, I could hear the age in his voice and I know I won’t be seeing him anytime soon.
I dread the day my heart breaks when I see him again.
A few days later, through MSN, my brother asks me how much Centrum A to Z vitamins cost here.
I said I don’t know.
He says they cost HK$183 for 100 tablets in HK.
I said, ok, I’ll check if I come across them. I asked him how much they want me to buy and send if they’re cheap enough.
He says, no. They don’t want any.
Mom told him to tell me to buy some for myself.
I picked up the ringing phone. It’s my ~60 years old aunt calling from Toronto.
I answered loudly in the direction of my mom, “Oh hi BIG AUNTIE! How’s TORONTO?”
My mom waved her arms wildly in front of her and ran into her bedroom to hide, as if Big Auntie just might jump out of the receiver any moment and find her standing there when I’m about to tell her that she’s not.
Realizing that my mom is not home/asleep (I forgot which lie I told), Big Auntie, my mom’s eldest sister, began chatting to me.
You’ll soon realize why my mom ran away.
“You know, Dora, you should come to Canada. You should immigrate to Canada, find a job and settle down here. I can’t believe your parents have declined to come!”
“Well, Big Auntie, what am I gonna do in Canada?”
“Oh, there are lots to do! You can study! You can find a job! It’s all very easy and nice here! You know what? You should come and study to be a social worker! The social workers here are very nice!”
I grunted. I forgot what. “Well, what are my parents going to do in Canada then? My father doesn’t speak English, so I don’t think he’ll enjoy it very much.”
“Oh, it’s ok! He can come here and learn! Your mom can help him! There are lots of activities here!”
“Well, how do you suppose we come to Canada? How do you suppose we’ll be able to move there?”
“It’s easy! You just need to have enough money and apply! EVERYTHING’s better over here!”
Enough of the immigration nonsense. One of the things I hate about some Canadians/Americans/people from whatever more “advanced Western” country, whether they are native or immigrants or not, is that they think they are superior and that the whole world would wanna move to their country no questions asked.
A friend of mine met an American once, and in talking casually about dating and what might happen in the future, he said something to the effect of: “Well, if you come over and we get married, I can get you a Green Card!”
I took big offense at that. What makes him think we want a Green Card? What makes him think we wanna move to the US? What makes him think that that will entice someone to get into a relationship with you? Arrogant. Pompous. Arse.
Anyways, I digress.
“Well, Auntie, we are doing perfectly fine here and we really don’t see a reason to uproot and move.”
Big Auntie and I moved onto another subject.
“You know, your cousin married that no-good husband!”
My cousin married a black man.
“Oh?! Why is he no-good?”
“Because he’s BLACK! Nine times out of 10, black people are up to no good!”
“Hmm…I’ve met him once and he seemed very nice! He’s handsome, has a respectable job, a house (and all those other things the Chinese judge a successful person). If he treats her well, and they love each other, I don’t see anything wrong with him.”
“Of course I HOPE he treats her well! I love her the most you know! I watched her grow up! And now she marries that black man! And she doesn’t go visit her parents anymore!”
“Well, if she doesn’t go visit her parents anymore, then that’s her fault isn’t it? If she really wants to go visit them, I don’t think her husband could stop her right?”
“Yeah, whatever. And now that black woman that is his mother has moved in to live with them!”
“What’s wrong with that?”
“That black woman is up to no good!”
“Yeah? How? In what way?”
“What do you mean how? She’s BLACK! That’s how they are! And now she lives with them!”
O.M.G.
We somehow managed to change subjects.
“So what are you doing now for work?”
“Oh, I work in an office, for a drug company.”
“Ahh…that’s good! Very respectable! See? That’s how it should be. You find a good job, and you stay there and earn some money. Then, over time, when they trust you and see that you do a good job, they will promote you.”
“Yep.”
I conveniently forgot to tell her how I’ve just quit the job and how I’m going to London…
*
Talking about London, you should check out these aerial photos of night-time London. Breathtaking views and outstanding photography.
I was walking to a restaurant for dinner last night with my mom, bro and visiting auntie and uncle.
And we walked past a couple letting their dog off the leash for a runabout. The dog promptly ran to a light post and started sniffing around, doing it’s pre-pee/pre-poop ritual.
The man then went, “Yes, yes, fai di or shi shi la! Fai di or see see la!” while sticking a sheet of newspaper underneath the now-squatting dog, lovingly coaxing it to poop.
Nothing spectacular really. We see that all the time. I’m not writing this because the dog suddenly shat gold or directed pee into its owner’s face or whatever. Though it’ll certainly be interesting….
Anyways.
My mom then turned to me and said, “When I get old and start peeing and pooping around the house, will you collect my shit as lovingly as that man does for his dog?”
………………………………………………
I walked faster.
But seriously though, why DO we willingly pick up our dogs’ shit and scrape crap stuck to the sides of the cat litter while we aren’t willing to care for our elderly in the same way?
Because they’re not cute, furry and huggable?
Because they pee and poop much more than the average cat or dog?
Because it’s embarrassing to be taking care of someone you’ve relied on all your life to take care of you?
Because they make much more of a mess?
Because animals pooping everywhere is normal, while it’s unnatural for us civilized humans?
Because the fact that they’re doing it is a constant painful reminder of when they were good loving properly-functioning people with their minds intact and they recognise your name, and when you had a bad day, you know you can go home and talk to them and eat a big meal of home-cooked dinner and know that everything will be alright?
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