hip hip hooray

Mum is the same age today as her mother was when I started paying attention to grown-ups' ages. When N is as old as I am today I'll be almost as old as mum was when she left China. When I'm as young as mum is today N will be a couple of years older than the age mum will always be to me, her age the first time I ever asked her age. Time waits for no one.

At the end of a chaotic day taken up by bible study (don't ask, Mulan) and entertaining unexpected guests, I know she appreciated the tranquility and attentive service of Grand Palace which, despite alarmingly resembling a public lavatory from afar, was endowed with unabashedly posh interior decor. Just the sort of thing to impress one's Azn mother and convince her of one's brimming ambition. *wink*

And now, with N sprawled across my mattress and the folks gone to the casino (I swear I am the only member of my family not in the least seduced by this or similar institutions), I am thinking of the woman who gave birth, and a bit more, to me.

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*

midnight snack

... on quite possibly carcinogenic processed meat, Coke and an old episode of The Practice. On time-out from Procedure.

Looks like I'll be submitting two at-best-Credit papers in ~20 hrs' time. I've had 2 wks to do one and 1 wk to the other; yet still managed to "save" the bulk of both for the final 48 hrs. A tutor (I think) once jokingly (I think) said that last-minute cramming is good preparation for real-world practice. Little did s/he know that said technique nearly cost me the chance to enter said arena.

The battle to keep parentals oblivious of prospective employment conditions for as long as possible came to a premature and abrupt end this morning, when dad recognised the envelope leading mum to hover as I opened it. Expecting a fresh bout of financial-planning / property-hunting on my behalf to kick in sooner rather than later. Luckily the end is drawing near: I might be able to (feign) stress and thereby be left alone.

missing peace of the puddle

Stormy weekend nights make me think of my father - and not just as in "Gee I hope he doesn't catch me stepping out of some meat market...". I picture him slogging through the horrendous weather, dealing with disheartening specimens of the human race, drawing meager comfort from one cigarette after another. And often, for more than a split second, I wish our relationship were such that I could call and say hey.

The first time I noticed that I do this, couple of years ago now, I remember feeling confused, even disappointed with myself. Here's a man I've spent a lifetime keeping at leg's length, a man I thought I'd succeeded in treating as I would any stranger - with civilised indifference.

Once upon a time:

• I self-righteously skimped over my contempt for him (for to elaborate would be tantamount to an admission of caring)
• every well-meaning observation that I was a splitting image of him made my skin crawl
• my Happy Place was Wherever He Wasn't (sadly still is most of the time)

Nowadays I continue to:

• wonder if mum would've had more..., just more, had she not married him; and whether he would have
• be as amused as upset that 95 times out of 100 he communicates with me through mum (including when we're in the same room), and the other 5 he simply shouts
• get irritated when he brags to people about me, because I feel like he's taking credit for things he had nothing to do with
• attribute my deep-rooted far-reaching cynicism and apathy to Whatever He Did Or Didn't to a greater extent than I would readily admit

In spite of it all, I felt my heart wobble a bit the other day when I heard that he might have liver problems.

N scolded me tonight for not knowing that Father's Day was coming up. The most important thing - and the hardest - is not injecting her with my venom.

and the hardest part * was letting go * not taking part * was the hardest part
and the strangest thing * was waiting for that bell to ring * it was the strangest start
and the hardest part * was letting go * not taking part * you really broke my heart
oh and I tried to sing * but I couldn't think * and it was the hardest part

Coldplay, The Hardest Part

[rest of the lyrics, and indeed the point of the song, are strictly inapplicable]

vincible

Moments like this, I forget why it is that I think I can walk away anytime I want.

The picture is perhaps best painted in numbers.

Upshot of his latest business venture, as it affects our home loan:

• 47% increase in the balance owing,
• 37% increase in the minimum fortnightly repayment,
• which translates to 250% of the additional loan being repaid over the entire loan period

The damn thing will need to average 10% p.a. net return over the next 30 years to break-even. And nobody, even in the monstrous Chn economy, makes that kind of profit on a capital outlay measly as this. But of course, I'm all for being contradicted on this point by concrete fact.

Meanwhile:

• Mum may need to look for paid work shortly in order to continue receiving Centrelink parenting allowance => she doesn't want to => I don't want her to, she has enough on her plate as is => methinks some ingenious income tax reporting under my guidance is called for.
• One of our lodgers (the Macau money-pit) moved out yesterday => amidst the celebrations we're alert to the fact that the B&B is now operating at only 2/3 capacity.
• 2.5-day working weeks for dad don't appear to be subject to review => buggered if I know how to coax him into further gainful employment.
• 30yr loan vs. 15 employable years left of the parentals => gee I wonder who'll put their hand up to cover the remaining period? Any takers?

Moments like this, I can but (pretend to) be a mercenary.

Beauty her name

It is. Literally translated.

You've all heard me whinge about her aplenty. A privileged few have suffered her first-hand. But did I ever mention that -

One of my earliest memories is walking with her, head barely up to her hip, arm sore from reaching for hers, and straining to keep up as well as in sync with the click-clack of her heels.

Everytime I saw her emerge from the classroom, chalk dust all over her shoulders and hands, surrounded by adoring chittering students, I thought to myself: Woah, my mum's superhero.

When I was old enough to not deface documents at will, she let me help with marking. It must've taken her longer to prepare a marking guide, supervise, and double-check - than to simply mark the lot herself. But she knew I liked 'working with' her.

She speaks like she's singing. She sings.

Her noodle soup is DA BOM. Before I learned patience and rationing and digging, she'd bury the goodies (fishballs, egg, meat, internal organs, etc.) underneath the noodles, so that I finished with goodies rather than plain noodles. Now there's a lesson for life.

She did all her clothes-shopping with me, and always gave me the final say.

We had the odd visit by vermin (no metaphor; that's a whole other post); show me a household in all of Middle Kingdom that didn't anyway. She had such a knack for cornering the speeding fur-ball and putting it out of its misery with various household items.

...

On this day, to the first woman I ever loved.

ad(verse)venture

I reserve judgment on this matter, save to observe that last time the guy dabbled in business, he ended up fleeing the Motherland and disappearing from my life for 6 years.

I should be so lucky again... but no. Must engage, lord help me. Being an accomplice in the farce, howsoever unwillingly, 'tis incumbent upon me to minimise the damage. So: mediate, diffuse, facilitate - but mostly sabotage. Ma has taught me well and the fine family tradition (of bailing-him-out) is proudly passed on.

A commission perhaps?