The Road Taken

Just read my brother’s post on dealing with our grand-aunt’s passing - I agree with him.  I honestly do not know for sure where we go after we die - even though I have been preaching otherwise to my children.

There was a phase during my childhood when I believed in re-incarnation after reading several books about it.  Traditional Chinese folk lores also have stories about re-incarnation.  At one time, I strongly believed I was an Indian in my previous life.  I have a notable birthmark on my lower leg, strangely, so does my cousin who is 2 months younger, except hers is on the opposite side.  I read about an Indian ritual where children who died young were marked by their grieving parents, hoping to recognize their children and be reunited in their next life; I thought my cousin and I must have come from the same village. 

Albert Einstein, purportedly the smartest guy on earth, did not buy that we could survive our physical death and there are punishments and rewards for our living deeds.  My Christian faith eventually took over - but from time to time my mind wanders (and wonders).

For years, I convinced myself our lives on earth are only a part of our journeys and I relied on the memories of the deads to help me make sense of life and death.  Since becoming a mother, my fear of my children losing their mother early in life also exacerbated the belief (or self-denial) - I used to be fearless in facing mortality - but no longer.

The other day, I held Didi when he was crying (for an instance I no longer remembered) and fondly told him that he was my little angel.  He looked at me and said, ” You want me to die?”.  Goodness gracious - what have I done with my children?  Associating all the angels talk with death - hoping they always feel loved even when I am no longer around physically.  But I want to believe that we would not dissipate after death and there is a final destination past life.  What is the purpose of life if there is no death?  But what do we become and where do we go?  The ironic thing is, if I do find out the truth, I am probably long gone (or have one of the so-called “near-death” experiences).

But I do want to tell my brother one thing I know for sure - by becoming a better person, we are honoring our loved ones who passed on.  Heaven does not need to be a place we go but a state of mind.

Who’s to say Heaven is not a place on earth?

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I still remember that morning vividly.  I was teaching my Accounting class and suddenly cellphones began to ring in waves among the students.  I was annoyed as I did not realize my students had their cellphones on even though I specifically told them not to at the beginning of the semester.

“A plane crashed into the World Trade Center.”

“It’s my mom; she wants me to come home.”

“We have been invaded!”

Fear and anger flooded the classroom; I could feel innocence quickly dissipated by the seconds - with no information other than what came from my students, I dismissed class early and went out and found out, the world as we know it, had forever changed.  All I could do was limped back home and hugged my husband and my three-month-old daughter.

But one of Jesus’ last sayings kept running through my mind,” Father, forgive them; for they do not know what they are doing”.  I did not know anyone who was a victim of 9/11, but the sadness that washed over me for days was profound.

That Sunday, we went to the church on campus.  Anticipating a large crowd, we arrived early and found the church was already packed.  Kneeling and saying the rosary, I looked around and saw tears on the young faces - with my own flowing freely.

At that moment, I felt humanity and connection with strangers I never met.  I felt so close to God I could hardly breathe.

I felt love.

We are thoroughly enjoying the tropical-like hot and humid summer, our new city and our house.  And I am happy to report that the plants we moved with us are thriving, except for the little seedling of unknown origin that never showed up.

Kiyo’s Story: A Japanese-American Family’s Quest for the American Dream - by Kiyo Sato

I like to read books about families with many children, reminding me of my own with five siblings.  That’s why I chose this book at the library for my leisure reading.  As I am busy learning my new assignment and no longer take public transportation, my reading time has been cut down significantly.

It is a heart-warming story of a Japanese-American family with nine children.  The parents moved from Japan to pursue the American dream, building a farm from scratch.  In the wake of Pearl Harbor, they were swept up by the US government (like many Japanese Americans who had at least 1/16 of Japanese blood) and moved to various internment camps.

This book helped me to get more understanding on the experience of those interned and several times, I was stirred by Kiyo’s subtle, honest and poignant writing (I also liked the Haikus and enjoyed reading about the home-cooked food). The family always stuck together through hardships and tribulation.  The mother was the symbol of fortitude and the father the beacon of hope at the darkest of hours.

It could be a typical story for any Japanese-American families living in California during the WW II era.  But by putting their lives and experiences on paper, Kiyo allowed me a glimpse into their lives and taught me lessons in endurance, perseverance and optimism.

Kiyo’s Story: A Japanese-American Family’s Quest for the American Dream

There was a Chinese scholar who wrote an article about the joy of learning (the taste of knowledge, if translated literally) and the article was in one of my Chinese textbooks in junior high.  One day my Chinese teacher asked who agreed with the scholar on the sweet taste of knowledge, my hand shot up reflexively.  Needless to say it was an unpopular move, as I was teased for days by my classmates of trying to impress my teacher.  But I did mean it.  Throughout my life, I have experienced the euphoria countless times when I finally “get it”.

Well, I am on the way (but not there yet) with my new assignment.

New acronyms (funny how within the same company we have all these different acronyms in different groups), new people, new city …

Typical stages of learning are:  enthusiastic and optimistic but unskilled, confused, insecure and uncertain, comfortably capable and contributing, then finally competent, leading and innovating.  A week ago, I was in the confused and insecure stage but thankfully to some pointers I received from a colleague, I think I am moving toward the next phase.

A quote by Tom Kause:  There are no failures, just experiences and your reactions to them.  I use it to motivate myself when I am learning new things.  Much like life, the biggest part of the joy of learning is the journey, not the end.

We are finally settling into our house.  A lot of friends questioned why we choose to live outside of the city in a sleepy little town.  I guess, deep down inside - I am just a small town girl, yearning to get reacquainted with nature. 

The first night at our house,  sleeping on our air mattresses waiting for our furniture to arrive the next day - I walked into my backyard in the middle of the night.  The house has delivered what it promised me - starry sky over the hills - and more -  fireflies dancing around.

I am home.

Fireflies in the Garden

Robert Frost

Here come real stars to fill the upper skies,
And here on earth come emulating flies,
That though they never equal stars in size,
(And they were never really stars at heart)
Achieve at times a very star-like start.
Only, of course, they can’t sustain the part.

1,600 miles, 6 states, 4 hotels …

Odysseus took 10 years to get home …

For us, the Odyssey?  Not.  The road was smooth, the hotel stays pleasant, the children had a great time (aside from occasional disputes that we had to step in).  Now it is time to make our new home …

Due to various reasons, we have decided to drive instead of fly for our move.  Our household items are being delivered by the movers separately but the four of us and our 12-yr old Chow are going to go halfway across the States in our Jeep over four days - total distance is only 1,600 miles but we are making stops at various cities to make the epxerience more tolerable and fun for the children and our dog. 

Needless to stay, we need to be very selective of what we pack in our Jeep.  One of the decisions involves the plant projects my children started.  Because the movers do not take live plants, we have decided  we would move the plants from the make-shift pots to the ground and set up a time to perform the ritual with the children.

Then, dear hubby told me we do not have to make the children part with their plants.  He has made a small container that would fit snuggly in the car to transport the plants.  He happily broke the news to the children and proclaimed, “No Plant Left Behind!”

One of the plants have not sprouted from the seeds yet, in case you are wondering.

For some unknown reasons, the morning after I heard of Michael Jackson’s and Farrah Fawcett’s passings, I woke up missing my paternal grandfather who died more than 30 years ago.

He passed away when I was six, I think.  I do not have detailed memory of my life as a six-year-old but snippets of memories about my grandfather lingered on throughout my life.  I remember saying “Good morning, Ah Gong” to him and us sharing the Chinese newspaper together (me the one-page comic section and him the rest).  He asked me to circle all the words I recognized in the newspaper - which, for a six-year-old, not too many.

I also remember him with his violin - breaking into children’s songs spontaneously, followed by his hearty laughs.  I guess my father and his siblings inherited his musical gene and his appreciation of music.  I remembered the whole family watching the black and white TV at night with the lights off and grandfather trying to negotiate with grandmother to let the kids stay up a bit later.

I have memories of going to his office after kindergarten - running through the motion-sensored automatic double glass door, the gush of cold conditioned-air chasing away the tropical  heat from outside instantly, running past the rows of desks with the employees glancing up at me, then finally into his office and seeing his smiling face.

His death was the first major event in my  life.  The grief spread across the family like wildfire.  I saw grown men cry.  My sister, who is a year younger than me, being a great empathizer (and still is), caught the emotion right away.  But I never can recall if I did cry, as I remember someone saying to me, ” Why aren’t you crying for Ah Gong?  He is gone!”

But at that time I was confused; if Ah Gong was going to Heaven and becoming an angel, why was everyone in such sadness?  I just knew that I missed him, a lot.  And I still do.  I have also made up for all the tears I could not find for Ah Gong since.

Have my memories been embellished and romanticized over the last 30 years?  I don’t know.  But throughout my life, especially at the times when I am blue, I feel his love.  I feel that he is watching over me and everything will turn out to be alright.

But I believe on the day I am at the end of my life journey, the door will open automatically and I will see him again, just like old times …

with my cousin C

 Because we are moving, we have refrained from adding stock to our pantry and refrigerator for the last two weeks (other than milk and bread).  It is amazing how many dishes we can concoct just using supplies on hand.

For examples:

Pound Cake with Orange Marmalade and Strawberries

 Ziti in Italian Sausage Ragu with Red Pepper

Sambal (Dried Shrimp, Onions, Garlic and Lemongrass)

Chopped salad in Miso dressing

Bacon Porridge

Beef and Tomatoes Noodles

Two more days to go …