luncheon okAsian
Another thing that I do, which I don't imagine other people my age enjoy doing as much, is occasionally spending time with a whole bunch of people, some a lot older, others a lot younger, than me, with whom I have little in common except our country of origin. Very occasionally.
Whenever the joy luck club meet for dim sum I'm invariably "at work", or "studying", or otherwise "busy". But this morning as I saw mum all dressed up and chirpy and inviting me (no more insistently than usual) and explaining the reason for today's gathering (no more momentous than usual), the Dutiful Daughter Monster inside me crawled out and implanted an unsettling thought in my head: I want a piece o' that action!
Not having much to say to my fellows is not as big a problem as it appears at first glance. Wave after wave of hideous (and surprisingly unintelligible for any self-respecting Chn) academia-related queries engulf me, and with the peace of mind of many a concerned-but-clueless parent at stake, I am forced to be more diplomatic than is in my nature.
Then there's the repeated thankyous and appropriate displays of modesty as the grandmas and grandpas learned of (bit presumptuous; no idea what they thought they heard given the dialect barriers, the mild senility and the innate resistance of the info to being presented in a remotely memorable fashion) what I'm doing next year. Not that that's what I go to these things for; I'm vain, not shameless. I'm there for research, in preparation for the day I inflict the next (better make that the 57th and counting) Amy Tan on the world.
Try as he might to suppress it, dad often develops this stunned expression as he watches me interact with his people. I wonder what stuns him more, that I speak Chinese so proficiently, or that I speak at all. It could also be the uncanny parallels in our senses of humour, by which he cannot possibly be more disturbed than I am.
Dad's behaviour of late has been consistent with what I can only describe as the onset of mid-life crises (or, as I prefer to call it, Manopause). He's quit smoking and mah-jong just like that *snaps fingers*, and taken up regular exercise (2 swims 2 bikerides a week - not an astounding amount by national standards but for the man I used to know, heck yeah) as well as Helping Around the House (arghhh!!!). Frankly, I was getting a lot freaked out. That is, until I saw him with his buddies today, comparing their weight losses and quitting strategies and the regularity of their daily routines. Boys. Everything's a competition. *rolls eyes, begrudging affection*
Whenever the joy luck club meet for dim sum I'm invariably "at work", or "studying", or otherwise "busy". But this morning as I saw mum all dressed up and chirpy and inviting me (no more insistently than usual) and explaining the reason for today's gathering (no more momentous than usual), the Dutiful Daughter Monster inside me crawled out and implanted an unsettling thought in my head: I want a piece o' that action!
Not having much to say to my fellows is not as big a problem as it appears at first glance. Wave after wave of hideous (and surprisingly unintelligible for any self-respecting Chn) academia-related queries engulf me, and with the peace of mind of many a concerned-but-clueless parent at stake, I am forced to be more diplomatic than is in my nature.
Then there's the repeated thankyous and appropriate displays of modesty as the grandmas and grandpas learned of (bit presumptuous; no idea what they thought they heard given the dialect barriers, the mild senility and the innate resistance of the info to being presented in a remotely memorable fashion) what I'm doing next year. Not that that's what I go to these things for; I'm vain, not shameless. I'm there for research, in preparation for the day I inflict the next (better make that the 57th and counting) Amy Tan on the world.
Try as he might to suppress it, dad often develops this stunned expression as he watches me interact with his people. I wonder what stuns him more, that I speak Chinese so proficiently, or that I speak at all. It could also be the uncanny parallels in our senses of humour, by which he cannot possibly be more disturbed than I am.
Dad's behaviour of late has been consistent with what I can only describe as the onset of mid-life crises (or, as I prefer to call it, Manopause). He's quit smoking and mah-jong just like that *snaps fingers*, and taken up regular exercise (2 swims 2 bikerides a week - not an astounding amount by national standards but for the man I used to know, heck yeah) as well as Helping Around the House (arghhh!!!). Frankly, I was getting a lot freaked out. That is, until I saw him with his buddies today, comparing their weight losses and quitting strategies and the regularity of their daily routines. Boys. Everything's a competition. *rolls eyes, begrudging affection*
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posted by In2MeC at 4:51 pm
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