I arrived in KL last night, and was promptly escorted by Aunty Sui Laun, Uncle Hak Ngee and Yee Hu, the whole bunch. Although I was appreciative of saving a potentially expensive cab ride, I was worried about their driving all the way into the city just to drop us 20 min. later at our hotel. I needn’t have worried.
Not only did they bring us to our hotel, but up to our room. (No, we don’t mind sharing a bed.) They gave us a bag of waters and crackers, and then took us out to dinner. It was great to see Yee Hu again, who was the first cousin I met when he came to the states back in 2001 when I was in high school. He still remembers how I took him out to the cranberry bogs in Rochester to visit my friend James, where he asked, “This place…no electricity?” due to the scarcity of street lights.
It was great to see them. They are lovely and warm and friendly, and some of my favorite family on this side of the world. But the joy of having this day to wake up and do as I please is immeasurable.
I suppose that a country with lots of family isn’t the best match for my first attempt at backpacking.
Wednesday, February 9, 2011
Monday, February 7, 2011
Penang
Being in Penang, I feel that I am finally getting to learn about Chinese history/family traditions, from my actual family. It is wonderful to be here without my father, not because I don’t miss him terribly, but because now I am a cousin or a niece, not just Siew Mun’s daughter.
Also, with Kelly here, I am finally not the whitest, most foreign person at our family gatherings. It’s just beautiful.
I’m finally getting to know the island, after seeing the same clock tower, temples, and historical streets for the third time (sometimes fourth time, as we were taken multiple times this journey by different family members.) I can find King Street, where my father grew up, for myself in little India. I joked that by my fifth trip, I will tour my cousins around.
My week in Penang was filled with exciting, if exhausting, days filled with mostly food. Kelly and I were fed big family meals by day and evening, and then were taken out by one cousin or another at night.
Highlights: Seeing the Temple of 1000 Buddhas brilliantly lit up for Chinese New Year, watching the sunset at the beach, and having a German beer at a bar that felt more like NY than I have since August.
The strangest thing is that in Malaysia, a place that once felt every bit the opposite of the world, now, compared to China, has the comfortable feel of going home. English is everywhere, and the food is now familiar to me. I’m seeking for myself the char kuay teow, roti chanai, prawn and curry mee (noodles) that I’ve been missing these past years.
I’m also realizing how silly to be in China to learn about my family. Barely any of my family has been to China, and their slight interest to go is not one of root discovery. My whole life I’ve been explaining, “No, I’m not Malaysian. My father was born there, but we’re Chinese.” In ways, that is true. My family is not Malay, like the Muslim country. But being part of Malaysia’s large Chinese population is not the same as being raised China, especially in the past 50 years. Coming here from China, I realize that my father’s history has as much to do with heat and sweat and being a minority as it does with Chinese traditions and culture. I’m sure that I wouldn’t have been able to put my finger on this had I not been in China, and I’m grateful for what I have left to learn in my time in Beijing.
Also, with Kelly here, I am finally not the whitest, most foreign person at our family gatherings. It’s just beautiful.
I’m finally getting to know the island, after seeing the same clock tower, temples, and historical streets for the third time (sometimes fourth time, as we were taken multiple times this journey by different family members.) I can find King Street, where my father grew up, for myself in little India. I joked that by my fifth trip, I will tour my cousins around.
My week in Penang was filled with exciting, if exhausting, days filled with mostly food. Kelly and I were fed big family meals by day and evening, and then were taken out by one cousin or another at night.
Highlights: Seeing the Temple of 1000 Buddhas brilliantly lit up for Chinese New Year, watching the sunset at the beach, and having a German beer at a bar that felt more like NY than I have since August.
The strangest thing is that in Malaysia, a place that once felt every bit the opposite of the world, now, compared to China, has the comfortable feel of going home. English is everywhere, and the food is now familiar to me. I’m seeking for myself the char kuay teow, roti chanai, prawn and curry mee (noodles) that I’ve been missing these past years.
I’m also realizing how silly to be in China to learn about my family. Barely any of my family has been to China, and their slight interest to go is not one of root discovery. My whole life I’ve been explaining, “No, I’m not Malaysian. My father was born there, but we’re Chinese.” In ways, that is true. My family is not Malay, like the Muslim country. But being part of Malaysia’s large Chinese population is not the same as being raised China, especially in the past 50 years. Coming here from China, I realize that my father’s history has as much to do with heat and sweat and being a minority as it does with Chinese traditions and culture. I’m sure that I wouldn’t have been able to put my finger on this had I not been in China, and I’m grateful for what I have left to learn in my time in Beijing.
Sunday, February 6, 2011
Like a Chicken talking to a Duck
That’s how my grandmother describes our interactions, as I was told by my translating father through skype. She’s not wrong, of course.
But something has happened to better our interactions. I had hoped, of course, to learn to communicate with my grandmother. One of my goals for learning Chinese while in China was to be able to bridge that gab between us. When I realized that she speaks only Cantonese, and therefore wouldn’t have understood me had I learned Mandarin, my ever-wavering interest all but evaporated. (Not to mention watching the struggles of my friends who had been formally studying the language for years.)
There was no shortage of teasing (read: encouragement) from my family about my lack of language, which, after nearly 6 months includes only the numbers and these phrases: “thank you”, “check”, “this” ”how much?” and “I want a beer.” I don’t think the last lane, while my only real sentence, would have greatly improved my communication with Grandma.
That’s why I was so surprised when, after a skype session with my sister, she noted my ability to understand Grandma this time around. The difference, I now realize, is not built on my increased language but my surely sharpened skills in mime and what I’ll call “situation intuition.” If I have practiced anything for the past half-year, it’s the ability to communicate without language, and to understand what is being asked of me without words.
For example, while I was skyping with rah* and the kids, Grandma looked at me, pointed to the screen and asked a string of things that included, “Siew Mun?” I realized that she must be looking for my father (Siew Mun). I then did my best to explain, “Sarah, Virginia) finger pointing low. “Siew Mun, Massachusetts” other finger up high. This may seem like a small feat, but it’s something that I may have passed over in my previous trip.
My favorite interactions with Grandma, however, are those with no words at all. I loved how she brought out the card and Buddha pendant that I had given to her and showed it to the family. She insisted on sitting next to me at dinners, even when other tried to put my Uncle Siew Seng in between us. She told my father that every morning at 5 am she made two coffees, one for me and one for her, but I slept so late (until 8) that she always drank them both. She fussed over Kelly and I, bringing us more pound cake, milo (chocolate drink), and coffee than we thought we could consume. She did our laundry, and hung it in the yard to dry, folding it neatly before giving it back to us. When we were out late with cousins, she asked uncle on the hour, “They’re out so late. Why are they not back yet?” And when we left, I took a picture with her, sitting next to her on a chair so that I would not have to disrespect her by leaning down so far. She laid her arm on mine and pressed down. Later, as I was leaving, she had uncle ask me to send her the picture.
I love the idea of us both having that picture, her in Malaysia, and me wherever it is that I currently am.
But something has happened to better our interactions. I had hoped, of course, to learn to communicate with my grandmother. One of my goals for learning Chinese while in China was to be able to bridge that gab between us. When I realized that she speaks only Cantonese, and therefore wouldn’t have understood me had I learned Mandarin, my ever-wavering interest all but evaporated. (Not to mention watching the struggles of my friends who had been formally studying the language for years.)
There was no shortage of teasing (read: encouragement) from my family about my lack of language, which, after nearly 6 months includes only the numbers and these phrases: “thank you”, “check”, “this” ”how much?” and “I want a beer.” I don’t think the last lane, while my only real sentence, would have greatly improved my communication with Grandma.
That’s why I was so surprised when, after a skype session with my sister, she noted my ability to understand Grandma this time around. The difference, I now realize, is not built on my increased language but my surely sharpened skills in mime and what I’ll call “situation intuition.” If I have practiced anything for the past half-year, it’s the ability to communicate without language, and to understand what is being asked of me without words.
For example, while I was skyping with rah* and the kids, Grandma looked at me, pointed to the screen and asked a string of things that included, “Siew Mun?” I realized that she must be looking for my father (Siew Mun). I then did my best to explain, “Sarah, Virginia) finger pointing low. “Siew Mun, Massachusetts” other finger up high. This may seem like a small feat, but it’s something that I may have passed over in my previous trip.
My favorite interactions with Grandma, however, are those with no words at all. I loved how she brought out the card and Buddha pendant that I had given to her and showed it to the family. She insisted on sitting next to me at dinners, even when other tried to put my Uncle Siew Seng in between us. She told my father that every morning at 5 am she made two coffees, one for me and one for her, but I slept so late (until 8) that she always drank them both. She fussed over Kelly and I, bringing us more pound cake, milo (chocolate drink), and coffee than we thought we could consume. She did our laundry, and hung it in the yard to dry, folding it neatly before giving it back to us. When we were out late with cousins, she asked uncle on the hour, “They’re out so late. Why are they not back yet?” And when we left, I took a picture with her, sitting next to her on a chair so that I would not have to disrespect her by leaning down so far. She laid her arm on mine and pressed down. Later, as I was leaving, she had uncle ask me to send her the picture.
I love the idea of us both having that picture, her in Malaysia, and me wherever it is that I currently am.
Wednesday, February 2, 2011
New Year’s Eve Night
The beer had barely worn off by 6:30 when we went with my Aunt Ann’s family to have dinner. My Aunt is also one in a large family, so the scene was similar, but without the beer, lies, and teasing reserved for my immediate family gatherings. The food was mostly the same but in the style of Ann’s family, and included a questionable soup and delicious homemade “sping rolls” which are not deep friend and have meat and crab inside. So delicious! The dessert was a very sweet drink with lychee and pineapples inside.
Kelly is such a good sport and a champion. She ate more of the sea cucumber and stomach lining soup than I could manage.
Immediately after this meal my cousin William came to bring us to dinner II. I learned only at the gate that we were going to the apartment of his “best friend” and “business partner.” (No, it’s not a guy, but a divorced woman with two kids, 13 and 9). I’d been hearing about her for years, but never from him directly, and I never thought I’d get the honor of a first-hand meeting. There we were, chatting over steam boat, a couple of pseudo-couples/colleagues.
(Steam boat is a tradition where there is a boiling pot of water in the middle of the table, along with raw meats and vegetables that you cook as you eat. At the end, the water has turned to a broth, and is usually eaten with rice noodles as a soup to conclude the meal. This being my second dinner in a long day of eating, I merely did my best to eat what I could.)
After dinner Kelly and I watched movie that had Jet Lee’s teacher. The English subtitles were all but useless, either flashing too quickly to read because of the rapidity of the Chinese, or because the translations were too literal and filled with Chinese proverbs that don’t quite translate.
For example, one conversation said: “That be to kick restaurant.”
“Advise.”
What??
As I’m getting better at passing over language, however, I was still able enjoy the film. (As an unrelated note, while we watched the 9 year-old girl went on Facebook. What is this world coming to?)
The mother ran around cleaning until midnight, when the New Year officially begins, as she’s not allowed to clean for the first few days, or else she may sweep away good fortune for the coming year. At midnight we watched the fireworks from her balcony, which had a spectacular view of the city. The fireworks were the same as in the US, but the display was not like I’ve seen on the 4th of July, where there is one big show put on by a corporation. Instead, all of the fireworks are technically illegal (but as police-able as MJ in a Bob Marley concert.) Because of this, there are several different types of explosions in the sky coming from all different parts of the city, starting and stopping at different intervals. The year of the rabbit had begun.
After this day, I couldn’t believe that we had to wake up at 8 am to do it all over again, plus a family breakfast with Aunty Ann’s family!
(I should have packed an extra stomach….)
Kelly is such a good sport and a champion. She ate more of the sea cucumber and stomach lining soup than I could manage.
Immediately after this meal my cousin William came to bring us to dinner II. I learned only at the gate that we were going to the apartment of his “best friend” and “business partner.” (No, it’s not a guy, but a divorced woman with two kids, 13 and 9). I’d been hearing about her for years, but never from him directly, and I never thought I’d get the honor of a first-hand meeting. There we were, chatting over steam boat, a couple of pseudo-couples/colleagues.
(Steam boat is a tradition where there is a boiling pot of water in the middle of the table, along with raw meats and vegetables that you cook as you eat. At the end, the water has turned to a broth, and is usually eaten with rice noodles as a soup to conclude the meal. This being my second dinner in a long day of eating, I merely did my best to eat what I could.)
After dinner Kelly and I watched movie that had Jet Lee’s teacher. The English subtitles were all but useless, either flashing too quickly to read because of the rapidity of the Chinese, or because the translations were too literal and filled with Chinese proverbs that don’t quite translate.
For example, one conversation said: “That be to kick restaurant.”
“Advise.”
What??
As I’m getting better at passing over language, however, I was still able enjoy the film. (As an unrelated note, while we watched the 9 year-old girl went on Facebook. What is this world coming to?)
The mother ran around cleaning until midnight, when the New Year officially begins, as she’s not allowed to clean for the first few days, or else she may sweep away good fortune for the coming year. At midnight we watched the fireworks from her balcony, which had a spectacular view of the city. The fireworks were the same as in the US, but the display was not like I’ve seen on the 4th of July, where there is one big show put on by a corporation. Instead, all of the fireworks are technically illegal (but as police-able as MJ in a Bob Marley concert.) Because of this, there are several different types of explosions in the sky coming from all different parts of the city, starting and stopping at different intervals. The year of the rabbit had begun.
After this day, I couldn’t believe that we had to wake up at 8 am to do it all over again, plus a family breakfast with Aunty Ann’s family!
(I should have packed an extra stomach….)
Happy New Year! (Again)
From my reference point, Chinese or Lunar New Year is celebrated as a combination of Fourth of july, Christmas, and Western New Year. It combines fire works, presents, traveling home to be with family, big meals, and traditions for starting over again.
I’ll admit, my whole China-through-illiterate-osmosis theory isn’t quite living up to expectations. . I feel that I’ve learned more about Chinese culture from them this past week than I’ve been able to pick up in China over the past 6 months. It has been such a joy to be a part of Chinese New Year with my family
On New Year’s Eve, (Feb. 2nd) my Aunt Ann had me helping like a family member, doing dishes, wrapping fruit in red and gold sticker ribbons for good luck offerings to the altars, and tying knots in dried golden mushrooms. The bag had probably 500, and each needed to be tied, and then the hard ends had to be cut off individually with scissors. I felt like an old housewife, one who would sit around churning butter by hand while the men sit at your same table drinking beer without offering to help. (cough, uncles cough) Of course, I was grateful for my part in the process, and I did less than nothing compared to the feast-making of my Aunts and grandmother.
Aunty also gave me a lighted incense stick and told me to hold it up to the altar and pray to my ancestors, and to make a wish for the coming year before putting it inside. The next day the families put large incense “sticks” on the front lawn, that are about 16 inches in circumference. They also put a big metal can in the middle of the driveway, lit with flames.
New Year’s Eve dinner with my family is really lunch, beginning at 12. We had mushrooms with chicken, fried pork, rice, dried sausages, steamed vegetables, whole fish with chives and ginger, and a warm turnip-pork-fish dish that you wrap in a lettuce leaf to eat.
There are also a lot of traditional cookies and chips that are made from scratch at this time. “Love letters” taste like coconut crepes that have been folded into quarters and deep fried. There are cookies that taste mostly of flour or sometimes have a bit of coffee to it. My favorite treat was the hand-made chips made of a thick root that tastes like the mixed-child of a potato and plantain.
I ate my fill, and then sat around with my uncles continuing to drink beer. I’ll spare you the long-winded details of lying and teasing, with this summary:
Most inappropriate long-running topic: tiger show (i.e. Thai-girl show), a “married couple” having sex, and a repeated offer to take Kelly and I that night.
I’ll admit, my whole China-through-illiterate-osmosis theory isn’t quite living up to expectations. . I feel that I’ve learned more about Chinese culture from them this past week than I’ve been able to pick up in China over the past 6 months. It has been such a joy to be a part of Chinese New Year with my family
On New Year’s Eve, (Feb. 2nd) my Aunt Ann had me helping like a family member, doing dishes, wrapping fruit in red and gold sticker ribbons for good luck offerings to the altars, and tying knots in dried golden mushrooms. The bag had probably 500, and each needed to be tied, and then the hard ends had to be cut off individually with scissors. I felt like an old housewife, one who would sit around churning butter by hand while the men sit at your same table drinking beer without offering to help. (cough, uncles cough) Of course, I was grateful for my part in the process, and I did less than nothing compared to the feast-making of my Aunts and grandmother.
Aunty also gave me a lighted incense stick and told me to hold it up to the altar and pray to my ancestors, and to make a wish for the coming year before putting it inside. The next day the families put large incense “sticks” on the front lawn, that are about 16 inches in circumference. They also put a big metal can in the middle of the driveway, lit with flames.
New Year’s Eve dinner with my family is really lunch, beginning at 12. We had mushrooms with chicken, fried pork, rice, dried sausages, steamed vegetables, whole fish with chives and ginger, and a warm turnip-pork-fish dish that you wrap in a lettuce leaf to eat.
There are also a lot of traditional cookies and chips that are made from scratch at this time. “Love letters” taste like coconut crepes that have been folded into quarters and deep fried. There are cookies that taste mostly of flour or sometimes have a bit of coffee to it. My favorite treat was the hand-made chips made of a thick root that tastes like the mixed-child of a potato and plantain.
I ate my fill, and then sat around with my uncles continuing to drink beer. I’ll spare you the long-winded details of lying and teasing, with this summary:
Most inappropriate long-running topic: tiger show (i.e. Thai-girl show), a “married couple” having sex, and a repeated offer to take Kelly and I that night.
Trip to the Countryside
Uncle Siew Kai is my second eldest Uncle on my father’s side. He is the only one of his siblings who never married, and in fact lives one of the most solidary lives I’ve ever known. His house is in what they call the “countryside”, (and what he told me was “amish country”) in the state past the Mainland of Penang. When he moved there it had little in the town but jungle and palm oil tree plantations. Even now the small sections of stores and food stalls do not creep too near to his street. He has been retired for decades and for the life of me I can not quite figure out how he spends his days, apart from tending to his many hand-planted fruit trees. He loves his home and his area, though, and remarked that all he ever wanted was “peace and quiet.” Luckily, in a little over an hour’s drive and a 3 mile bridge, he can join his family on the Island of Penang.
He came to take Kelly and I out to lunch, and walked in mid-sentence, pummeling for the table and summoning us as if we were late for his class. We took the seats beside him as he laid out two decade-old reader’s digests on the table, instructing that they were for us to read, then to pass on to others in Beijing, but never to be thrown out. Then he laid a tourist guide pamphlet for Thailand, ours to keep, and a map of Penang, which he must have back no later than Thursday. As we nodded in understanding and agreement, he stood up and declared it was time to go, but would we mind putting on jeans as the temples won’t allow it.
(This is only partially true. I’ve seen many shoulders and knees in Malsysian temples, but I recall a Church in the Philippines that provided scarves for coverage. Nevertheless, I compromised by putting leggings under my shorts and went out into the blistering heat.)
Instead of the promised lunch we were taken on a mini-tour of Penang. We hit the snake temple (which does still have real snakes, but has been largely commercialized since my first visit and now they rest in trees rather than crawling on the roofs and floor like my first visit.) We went to the heritage museum, a few more temples, and visited King Street, where my father was raised. After a walking tour of the heritage area and a stop into the tourist center to find another map of Penang (so that he could take his other back sooner), I was no longer letting my many subtle indications and requests for lunch go unnoticed. When he asked, “Do you need anything else?” I replied, “just food.”
Finally we went to an outdoor food stall for spicy, thick, chicken curry, whose deliciousness more than made up for the wait. My uncle proposed to take us back to his house in the countryside for two nights to show us an archeological dig site. I was…hesitant to expose Kelly to so many consecutive hours of my Uncle SK, but as we had no plans, and would be on the island the rest of the week, I felt it was the right choice to take him up on his offer.
Uncle SK’s humor is as subtle as a slap in the face. I had warned Kelly of his teasing, which he did relentlessly, but I was unprepared for his smothering. The next morning he brought us to the train station to buy our tickets, insisted on talking for us in Malay to the bi-lingual teller, and then had us purchase first class tickets that he assured us were economy. Then he walked us to the end of the ferry and made us wait for 15 minutes to watch the ferry dock and actually see with our own eyes the passengers as they walked on the clearly railed off path from the ferry back to the station. I am not unaccustomed to over-protection, but the Patience Award goes to Kelly, who has not only traveled the world without adult help, but also lived on an island and has surely taken more ferries than Uncle has seen in his life.
This over-parenting I can not pretend was only Uncle SK. The whole of my family in Penang was constantly calling, checking, arranging, and looking out for us. In fact, we were not left minute alone for the whole week. While we were out my Aunty Ann called to say she was arranging for my family in KL to pick us up from the station and drive us to our hotel (which is an hour drive for them) rather than having us take a 25 min taxi. It was so strange to go from Beijing, where I literally am helpless at times, lost on streets where I can’t read the signs and with no way of asking for assistance or directions, to being bombarded with assistance in this country where I could help myself in so many ways.
What I love about it, though, is that when I am here I am always better able to understand my father and his worrying ways. Here the family has a culture of worry and check, of looking after to the last detail. All of the families and all of the cousins except one, who 36 and in Australia, are in Penang or KL. I can only imagine how much greater my father feels he has to worry when he is the only one in a country doing so.
Best Part of Countyside with Uncle SK: drinking beers in his garden under the stars.
I Came Close to Saying But Did Not Say: There are about 50 ways to wake up a person more carefully than banging like a police sergant 2 hours before you told them we’d leave.
Biggest Adjustment in Countryside House: squat toilet bathroom with hose/bucket for shower.
You do strange things for comfort in foreign places. I used the kitchen sink to get ready in the morning, which I know was strange to Uncloe. After all, the water must be identical, but I’m just not used to brushing my teeth from a garden hose.
He came to take Kelly and I out to lunch, and walked in mid-sentence, pummeling for the table and summoning us as if we were late for his class. We took the seats beside him as he laid out two decade-old reader’s digests on the table, instructing that they were for us to read, then to pass on to others in Beijing, but never to be thrown out. Then he laid a tourist guide pamphlet for Thailand, ours to keep, and a map of Penang, which he must have back no later than Thursday. As we nodded in understanding and agreement, he stood up and declared it was time to go, but would we mind putting on jeans as the temples won’t allow it.
(This is only partially true. I’ve seen many shoulders and knees in Malsysian temples, but I recall a Church in the Philippines that provided scarves for coverage. Nevertheless, I compromised by putting leggings under my shorts and went out into the blistering heat.)
Instead of the promised lunch we were taken on a mini-tour of Penang. We hit the snake temple (which does still have real snakes, but has been largely commercialized since my first visit and now they rest in trees rather than crawling on the roofs and floor like my first visit.) We went to the heritage museum, a few more temples, and visited King Street, where my father was raised. After a walking tour of the heritage area and a stop into the tourist center to find another map of Penang (so that he could take his other back sooner), I was no longer letting my many subtle indications and requests for lunch go unnoticed. When he asked, “Do you need anything else?” I replied, “just food.”
Finally we went to an outdoor food stall for spicy, thick, chicken curry, whose deliciousness more than made up for the wait. My uncle proposed to take us back to his house in the countryside for two nights to show us an archeological dig site. I was…hesitant to expose Kelly to so many consecutive hours of my Uncle SK, but as we had no plans, and would be on the island the rest of the week, I felt it was the right choice to take him up on his offer.
Uncle SK’s humor is as subtle as a slap in the face. I had warned Kelly of his teasing, which he did relentlessly, but I was unprepared for his smothering. The next morning he brought us to the train station to buy our tickets, insisted on talking for us in Malay to the bi-lingual teller, and then had us purchase first class tickets that he assured us were economy. Then he walked us to the end of the ferry and made us wait for 15 minutes to watch the ferry dock and actually see with our own eyes the passengers as they walked on the clearly railed off path from the ferry back to the station. I am not unaccustomed to over-protection, but the Patience Award goes to Kelly, who has not only traveled the world without adult help, but also lived on an island and has surely taken more ferries than Uncle has seen in his life.
This over-parenting I can not pretend was only Uncle SK. The whole of my family in Penang was constantly calling, checking, arranging, and looking out for us. In fact, we were not left minute alone for the whole week. While we were out my Aunty Ann called to say she was arranging for my family in KL to pick us up from the station and drive us to our hotel (which is an hour drive for them) rather than having us take a 25 min taxi. It was so strange to go from Beijing, where I literally am helpless at times, lost on streets where I can’t read the signs and with no way of asking for assistance or directions, to being bombarded with assistance in this country where I could help myself in so many ways.
What I love about it, though, is that when I am here I am always better able to understand my father and his worrying ways. Here the family has a culture of worry and check, of looking after to the last detail. All of the families and all of the cousins except one, who 36 and in Australia, are in Penang or KL. I can only imagine how much greater my father feels he has to worry when he is the only one in a country doing so.
Best Part of Countyside with Uncle SK: drinking beers in his garden under the stars.
I Came Close to Saying But Did Not Say: There are about 50 ways to wake up a person more carefully than banging like a police sergant 2 hours before you told them we’d leave.
Biggest Adjustment in Countryside House: squat toilet bathroom with hose/bucket for shower.
You do strange things for comfort in foreign places. I used the kitchen sink to get ready in the morning, which I know was strange to Uncloe. After all, the water must be identical, but I’m just not used to brushing my teeth from a garden hose.
Tuesday, February 1, 2011
Third Time’s a Charm
It’s 2011 and I’m back for my third trip; this time without my father. This time with a computer small enough to carry around instead of journal after journal I never got around to typing up.
My Uncle Siew Seng and Aunty Leag Ann picked us up in the middle of the night and we arrived at their house by 2 am. I expected to crawl into a sleeping house, but everyone, Kian Ming, Teng Teng (pronounced Ting), Kian Loong, even Grandma was up and about. I could not believe how big my cousins had gotten, which I told them until Kelly corrected me, how “grown” they are. It’s true now that the oldest is in college and the youngest, high school. They were far from our first meeting in 2005, when, thinking they did not know much English, I had let my youngest cousin, Kion Loong listen to Eminem on repeat.
Kelly and I are sharing the room that I had last time in 2007. It’s a strange feeling to return to the same place, but not feel like the same person. In the morning I lost some face having to admit that I couldn’t remember how to use the shower. I got as far as turning the switch outside of the bathroom, pressing the fat button on the bottom of the machine, but fell short of turning a metal lever off to left to release the water.
In the morning my Grandma, as usual, made a big fuss over us. She brought us chicken and bread and curry puffs. We sat eating our fill and drinking milo (hot-chocolate-like drink) and chatting with Teng. After breakfast, Kelly went out to draw and my cousin translated for my grandma and me. Grandma said that she wanted to talk to me but didn’t know how. Luckily, Teng Teng translated for us.
I finally found out that she has never been to China and was born right in Penang. After a while she brought me some pictures, laying them one by one on the table in front of me. The first was a picture of my Ayee, her sister who had recently passed away, in a wheel chair. I remembered that when I met her last time, I was astonished at how she’d made my grandmother, who has lived a long life under the Malaysian sun, look so youthful and healthy. The next photo was a close up of her face hooked up to machines, presumably on the white background of a hospital bed. The third was taken from nearly the same angle, but clearly of her dead, lying on perhaps a table.
How does one respond to one’s grandmother when shown this, without, of course, the magic of language? I did my best nod and sympathetic mouth-twist, saying that I’d heard she had passed away. I asked (through Teng) if she had been to a service, and told that my uncle hadn’t told anyone until a month after she passed away, so it had been too late. I suppose, maybe, that these pictures were a compensation for the late announcement?
It was 3 hours into my 3rd visit to Penang, and I knew I had to be ready for anything. But nothing could have prepared me for my Uncle Siew Kai.
My Uncle Siew Seng and Aunty Leag Ann picked us up in the middle of the night and we arrived at their house by 2 am. I expected to crawl into a sleeping house, but everyone, Kian Ming, Teng Teng (pronounced Ting), Kian Loong, even Grandma was up and about. I could not believe how big my cousins had gotten, which I told them until Kelly corrected me, how “grown” they are. It’s true now that the oldest is in college and the youngest, high school. They were far from our first meeting in 2005, when, thinking they did not know much English, I had let my youngest cousin, Kion Loong listen to Eminem on repeat.
Kelly and I are sharing the room that I had last time in 2007. It’s a strange feeling to return to the same place, but not feel like the same person. In the morning I lost some face having to admit that I couldn’t remember how to use the shower. I got as far as turning the switch outside of the bathroom, pressing the fat button on the bottom of the machine, but fell short of turning a metal lever off to left to release the water.
In the morning my Grandma, as usual, made a big fuss over us. She brought us chicken and bread and curry puffs. We sat eating our fill and drinking milo (hot-chocolate-like drink) and chatting with Teng. After breakfast, Kelly went out to draw and my cousin translated for my grandma and me. Grandma said that she wanted to talk to me but didn’t know how. Luckily, Teng Teng translated for us.
I finally found out that she has never been to China and was born right in Penang. After a while she brought me some pictures, laying them one by one on the table in front of me. The first was a picture of my Ayee, her sister who had recently passed away, in a wheel chair. I remembered that when I met her last time, I was astonished at how she’d made my grandmother, who has lived a long life under the Malaysian sun, look so youthful and healthy. The next photo was a close up of her face hooked up to machines, presumably on the white background of a hospital bed. The third was taken from nearly the same angle, but clearly of her dead, lying on perhaps a table.
How does one respond to one’s grandmother when shown this, without, of course, the magic of language? I did my best nod and sympathetic mouth-twist, saying that I’d heard she had passed away. I asked (through Teng) if she had been to a service, and told that my uncle hadn’t told anyone until a month after she passed away, so it had been too late. I suppose, maybe, that these pictures were a compensation for the late announcement?
It was 3 hours into my 3rd visit to Penang, and I knew I had to be ready for anything. But nothing could have prepared me for my Uncle Siew Kai.
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