Caffeinated Memories

Another Sunday to ruin my day. Sundays make me so damn irritable.

I can be anything, be with anyone, do anything any day of the week, except Sundays.

I hate Sundays because it is the one day where I am forced to be around people in a pompous parade of religion and hypocrisy. The one day where I feel forced and I don't like being forced. The one day where I see myself trapped inside a building, for a predetermined, arbitrary time so that I can practice religion and worship God. Instead of being closer to God, I feel more distant.

On Sundays, I just want to retreat from the world and be left alone. I just want silence and solitude. I just want to shut myself away from the noise of humanity and listen to the silence. God speaks to me in silence. Why can't people understand that? When I die, I want my angel to take me on a Sunday so I can really see God and worship Him on a true Sunday.

Until then, I will worship him Monday through Saturday in doing what I can do to be good and help my fellow man, and then struggle with bitterness and resentment on Sundays. God forgive me for being so crabby and backward.

It's a difficult task for any Asian to be different in the Asian culture. The Asian code of conduct is so firm, ingrained, and rigid that is it impossible to escape. Even the most rebellious teenager will naturally and instinctively bow and defer to any elderly person. I think the worst that Asian teenagers can do to hurt their parents is to get an art degree and become an artist of some sort.

Asians can't be different. Even when they try to be different, they end up being collectively different in the same way. Doesn't make sense, but it makes sense to them.

Look at all the "rebellious", "bad ass" images of Asian youths. These youths try to project an image of "I don't give a damn.", but they do give a damn. They all look like they came out of the same fashion plate. And I know they give a damn because as soon as they get home from whatever they were doing, they do their homework, study for the test, and make their A's.

And if an Asian does break the code of conduct, then there are just three simple explanations.

"You lazy."
Any deficiencies in character will first go through the lazy filter. If laziness can explain away what you did or didn't do, then the Asian race has made it's judgement. You erred in your ways. It is unforgivable, but not totally unredeemable. You just need to work harder.

Didn't get an A on the test? Laziness is the illness, and hard work is the cure.

Didn't get the promotion at work? You did not work hard enough. Work harder.

You work 40 hours a week? You are taking it too easy. 65-80 hour work weeks are respectable. Weekends are bonus days to get more work done.


"You stoo-pid."
If you worked hard, studied hard, and were meticulous in planning the bank robbery, but you got caught anyways, then you must be stupid. You certainly weren't lazy, but you were stupid. How could you be so stupid? Your missteps and flaws are open to brutal judgement and analysis.

"Why you use old car for get-away car? Your car broke down and you got caught."
"Why you not use new car for get-away car? You get away faster."
"Noon, is wrong time to rob bank. I say three o'clock. People sleepy then."
"Aiyahh, you so stoo-pid. I can do better."


Finally, if you do work hard, make good decisions, but still defy Asian understanding then you must be "so gay!" Don't expect flexibility in thinking with Asians, especially old Asians.

You are a good kid, always on the honor-roll, perfect attendance, but you come home one day with a new hairstyle that your parents don't understand. This is what you will be asked:

"Why you cut your hair that way? You so gay?"

"Why you wear pink shirt? Men wear white shirt. You so gay?"

"Why you no married yet? You so gay?"

You disappoint your family. Instead of being another doctor in the family, you graduate with an art degree, work hard, and make lots of money. You aren't lazy. Making lots of money compensate for the liberal arts degree, but you are an artist. Why are you an artist? Why not a doctor, a scientist, a mathematician? There is no job security in being an artist - no hospital to work in, no laboratory or research facility to work at, no teaching position at a university, no government job. Something is wrong with you. You are different.

Aunts and Uncles will ask, "Why you artist? There is no job security. You so gay?"

Of course you are not gay. You are in a heterosexual relationship with two kids. But they are convinced that you are. They are smug and sure that you will come out of your closet one day. They are just waiting for that day. Until that day, whenever they see you, you will get the tired:

"You still artist? Why you so gay?"

Asians don't care what the rest of the world does. They only care about what goes on in their world.

There is no in between in the Asian world. It's DO or DO NOT - NO TRY! It's either success or failure.

Did you make an A on the test? Yes or No.

You must get an A! You did not succeed unless you got an A. Asians are not interested B's. Getting a B just means that you were lazy and laziness is unforgivable.

C's are marks of failure. You bring shame to your family. No Asian will post a C grade on any refrigerator.

D's don't exist in the Asian mindset because it is unthinkable. D's bring shame to your family and is an affront to ASIAN PRIDE!

If you dare to get an F, your one F has seriously set your race back 10,000 years. All 10,000 year's worth of perfect A's and extra credits are not enough to erase the blight of the one F. You bring shame to all Asians. You deserve to be disowned.

Asian woman says, "You fat!"

Anyone who knows an Asian woman intimately, will understand that, next to money, size is very important. No one is more critical and observant about this matter than an Asian woman. It's not about your weight, how skinny you feel- it's the size you are, the shape of you.

A size "2" is a respectable, standard size. "0" will raise eyebrows in silent admiration. "00" is darkly, secretly enviable, coveted.

Going up to a size "3", for an Asian woman, will signal the alarm bells. Kind aunts and relations will simply state, "You fat." There is no hurtful intention, just a simple, pure, honest observation that signals the need to do self examination and to be on guard. Asians pride themselves in honesty to their family, especially to their children. They will be brutally honest if they feel like they have to because they find it appalling to have their family, especially their children, make fools of themselves in public and bring shame to the family. (Note: very few Asian children will dare go on tv to make jackasses of themselves. Their parents, extended family, the whole Asian community are watching.)

Such honesty, should be appreciated, because when an aunt wails, "YOU FAT!", Asians believe it. The world will be deceivingly polite. Friends will want to spare feelings. People will say soothing things like, "You are just pleasingly plump, big and beautiful, perfect the way you are..." But it takes the Asian family to tell the truth - the real truth that is in the mind of people when they look at a person, their body, their shape. Asians don't buy into the self-delusion. There is no such words as "pleasingly plump" or "big and beautiful" in their vocabulary.

Asians trust their family because their family will not lie to them. If they do something stupid, they will be told so. They will get the total, unvarnished, "You stoo-pid!", "Why you rob the bank?", "Now you go to jail!". There will be no the-devil-made-me-do-it defence. You rob the bank, you apologize, you go to jail.

Now going beyond size "3", "4" and into the "6" and above will not get anyone jail time, but it will sentence the Asian woman to the constant, "You fat" until the message is heard and action is taken.

I write about my mother more than anyone in my life because she occupies my mind even when I don't know it. She never really belonged to me in the same way that other kids could lay claim to their mothers. I never really had her when she was alive, and she refuses to leave me even after she is long gone. She was always elusive and outside my grasp - the most beautiful creature that I couldn't call my own. So my mind wonders in circles, revisiting old memories and combing through them for the lost pieces to the greatest puzzle of my life: Who do I belong to?

I was the satellite orbiting my mother's world. Always circling her, wanting to get nearer, but forces beyond my control always kept us at a distance. We coexisted and went through the motions of living but we never knew each other. There was never a handshake, a touching of hands, any inquisitive "How are you?". We didn't share the simple courtesies that even strangers share.

I watched her go through life. My perspective of life became a disassociation of mind and body as I spent my childhood studying her and studying me and racing to catch up to her. I have plenty of sad, sepia tone memories of watching my mother walk away from confrontations, unpleasant truths, and me.

And now I think I have caught up with her. I am going to be 37 in two months, and as I look in the mirror, I see my mother looking back at me. It is startling to see her face staring back. I do look like my mother but not as beautiful as her, and yet, more beautiful than her. I see a reflection of the love and hate from within for a person that I want to run away from but I can't.

The love for her springs from the childish parts that yearned for her. The little toddler that remembered her leaving me behind and shoving me aside to make room for abusive men. The wailing, heart wrenching cries of a little one who begged for her mother. The young girl that needed a mother's guidance and protection but got none. These parts of me longed for that beautiful woman, suffered from the rejection, and thought that they were never good enough.

But the woman in me rages with fire and fury at the injustice of it all. After living life a bit and having kids of my own, I often walk back in time and revisit myself.

I revisit the little 3 year old softly crying at the gate. Her mother was taking her little brother, but leaving her behind, to visit a boyfriend. As she stands there crying, I sweep her in my arms and take her with me on a journey to revise history. I wipe away the tears and we play.

I revisit the young 13 year old who doesn't know what is to become of her. She is lost, unsure of her self, and doesn't feel worthy of love. She is crying and wants to die. I take her hand and show her what her future is. She does find herself and become more beautiful than the person who made her.

I walk in this world but I live in other worlds. I shift in and out, and along this journey I find that I belong to myself.