Story 2 of the 'Thinking Allowed' series
Written by MEGAN TAN
“Good afternoon ladies and gentlemen, we are now arriving at Guangzhou Baiyun International Airport. The local time is 12:45 p.m. At this time we ask you to remain seated with your seatbelts fastened. Thank you for flying with PlanePink Airlines and once again, we welcome you to the city of Guangzhou.”
After a cramped 19 hour long flight, they finally made it to Guangzhou. And in just a few seconds, they’ll once again be on the structurally stable concrete ground instead of this “flying death trap”. In a few minutes, they’ll finally be able to breathe in fresh air or as fresh as city air gets. In a few more minutes, they’ll be on the bus to her mother’s. And then it’ll only be one hour until she is officially home. In retrospect, 19 hours wasn’t really that long compared to the 6 years it took them to finally buy the plane tickets instead of just talking about it.
Those 6 long years finally dawned on her as she found herself looking at the back of her daughter’s figure leading them to baggage claim and out of the airport. 6 years ago, she was the one holding her daughter's hand and leading them through the chaotic airport. Now, her daughter was almost as tall as her and could carry a suitcase on her own. She was far from being an adult, but she was no longer a little girl hiding behind her mother. Her daughter had really grown up, which also reminded her of the fact that her mom had also gotten older. This was a fact she didn’t like to acknowledge. Kids think their parents are going to live forever and many can’t imagine a life without them. Even though she’s at the age when being called a kid is the last thing that comes to mind, she was still her parent’s child, their kid. She couldn’t imagine a life without them. Unfortunately, life works the way life does and all life eventually comes to an end. That reality hit her sooner than she hoped, but is anyone really ever prepared or ready to lose someone?
6 years ago didn’t only mark their last visit, but also their last goodbye. 6 years ago, 2 weeks before their planned flight to Guangzhou, she had gotten a call that would absolutely destroy her. Her brother had called her at 5 in the morning, which had already set off alarm bells and then she heard his broken, tired voice. At exactly 5:38 a.m. on June 30, 2018, she was informed her father had died in his sleep. She felt her ears ringing, her brother was saying something, but she couldn’t hear anything. Everything felt silent and deafening at the same time. She saw her dad on video call just 3 days ago. He was boasting about how he had already stocked up all her favorite snacks, while her mother was in the background nagging about how over the top he was being. Sure he was getting older, but he was healthy and fine the last time she saw him. He was fine. No, he is fine. He had to be, right? She hoped and prayed that her brother was playing some sort of sick and twisted prank on her, but only reality could be this sick and twisted. Denial turned into anger. She was angry at him, at herself, at the world, at anything and everything. Why couldn’t he have waited just 2 more weeks for her? He promised that they would visit all her favorite restaurants. He told her he was waiting for them. Maybe if she just left sooner. Why didn't she leave sooner? Why didn’t she visit more often? She promised that she would bring his favorite American snacks and she would, he just wouldn't be there to eat them. This wasn’t fair. Anger turned into unbearable grief. Just how are you supposed to feel or react to the death of a parent, someone you thought was always going to be there? Her heart, her mind, her body felt like they were shutting down. She could hear and feel her heart pulsing throughout her body, but she didn’t feel alive. 2 weeks didn’t seem so long 5 minutes ago, but now it felt like eternity. Just 2 more weeks and they would’ve been reunited again. Just 2 more weeks and she would’ve been by his side. Just 2 more weeks and they could’ve been laughing and eating together. Just 2 more weeks and she could’ve at least wished him a goodnight. Now all she had left to hug was a cold lifeless body. It was just 2 more weeks.
Time had stopped the moment she heard the news, but when she looked out the window, she saw the sky slowly fill with color as the sun began to rise. Her heart stopped, her world stopped, but the world outside was still spinning, still moving on. She got out of bed and locked herself in the bathroom to shield herself from the rest of the world. The thoughts in her head drowned out the sound of her heart wrenching sobs. She didn't know how many hours had passed nor did she notice when all her tears dried up or when she washed her face or when she got out of the bathroom. She performed her morning routine robotically. She made breakfast for her daughter, did a little cleaning, and then just sat on the couch watching TVB News. While waiting for her daughter to wake up, she decided it was her duty to tell their friends and family living in America that her dad was dead. Even saying that sentence felt strange and unreal to her. Then she had to call work to move her schedule around and ask if she could take her trip 2 weeks sooner. She had to change their flight dates. She had to start packing immediately. She had a million things to do before she had time to properly grieve.
“Mama, next stop.”
Her daughter’s voice momentarily snaps her out of her thoughts and brings her back into reality. Gathering her thoughts, she turns to her daughter and reminds her daughter of what to say to her Grandma when they get there.
(bold = speaking in Chinese)
“Now when you see PoPo, what do you say?” She looks at her daughter expectantly.
“Hello PoPo. I missed you. I hope you are … you are ummm. Wait, how do you say health again?”
“Cindy, I already told you before. It’s good health. Remember. Good health. I hope you are in good health. Now say it again.”
“Hello PoPo. I missed you. I hope you are in good health.”
“Again.”
“Hello PoPo. I missed you. I hope you are in good health. See mama I got it.”
She gives her daughter a pointed look, a little doubtful of what she just said, but drops it. She knows her daughter's Chinese wasn’t the worst, but it could’ve been better and for that, she partially blames herself. Technically her daughter’s first language was Cantonese and for the first 5 years of her life, she exclusively spoke Chinese, but once her daughter started attending school, she slowly switched to English. In fact, she encouraged her daughter to speak English so that she would be able to communicate in school and in the world. She also used it as a chance to improve her English. But as the years continued to pass, she noticed that even at home, her daughter would use more English than Chinese. She didn’t push her daughter to use Chinese at home as her daughter could still understand when she spoke to her. She had other things to worry over and she thought as long as her daughter could understand, she could speak it too. But coming back to Guangzhou made her realize that her daughter’s Chinese might have been proficient in America, but in Guangzhou, she was nowhere near fluent. She knew her mother and daughter would be able to communicate, but not to their full extent. She worried that it would create a disconnect between them. So many years have passed since they last saw each other in person and the only times her daughter and mother would speak to each other would be on special holidays, like Chinese New Year. Those conversations would last a total of 5 minutes and on days when she just wanted to call home, her daughter would only pop in to say hi.
She remembered a time when her daughter would follow her mother around like she was her shadow. The two weren’t like they were now: distant. They would do everything together. Cindy’s presence made the worst time in her grandma’s life feel more bearable. When her mother lost her husband, she lost her only constant in the world. Their children had moved out, some farther than others, and started their own families. But they were never lonely, since they had each other. They would wake up together, eat together, go on strolls together, fall asleep together, and they would happily repeat it over the next day until they died. And then he died. The next day she would wake up alone and fall asleep alone. Her family had come rushing to her side the moment they heard the news, but she still felt alone. For 60 plus years, they were a pair. Grandma and grandpa. Mom and dad. Husband and wife. Their children likened them to socks. Socks come in pairs. Even if one is lost, the other still functions as a sock. But you’re not going to wear only one sock, so that sock also becomes useless and is thrown in the pile of unpaired socks. You could try to match it with another spare sock, but it’s either too short, too long, or just not the perfect match. It’s never going to be the right sock. But sometimes you need mismatched socks as they still get the job done. Cindy became her grandmother’s mismatched sock. That summer, they would go to the park together, eat together, play together until they fell asleep right next to each other, and the next day they would wake up with Cindy sprawled across the bed and do it all over again.
She vividly remembers one moment of the two most important women in her life. On one sunny afternoon, she had taken a midday nap. She was tired from crying her eyes out; tired from staring at her dad’s pictures, wishing he would appear; tired from the sunlight blaring through the windows; tired from thinking about how her dad would’ve enjoyed this day. When she had woken up, she saw the sunlight peeking through the curtains and she wanted to curse the world. But then, she heard their laughter and joy radiating throughout the apartment. She could hear chopping and sauce bottle caps popping open with little giggles in the background. She stopped. In all her grief and mourning, she had forgotten that she still had people in this world. She got up and sat leaning against the door. She didn’t want to disturb their time together and just wanted to listen. She could tell her mom was sneaking Cindy little bites of food before lunch, something she would scold her mom for since she didn’t want Cindy to get full before they actually got to eat. She just sat there listening to her mom teach Cindy how to make cucumber salad. And by the pure sounds of happiness she could hear and feel through the door, it seems like this was Cindy’s new favorite dish. For the first time since her dad’s death, she little out a quiet, but genuine laugh. No one could ever replace her dad and she didn’t have to get over his death. But his death was a reminder to spend time with those she loved and to enjoy the little things, like making cucumber salad with those you love.
That lesson seems easy enough, but she would learn that it wouldn’t be as simple as she thought. There would be physical barriers, time barriers, and other barriers of the world that would make it hard for her family to stay connected. Compared to their last visit, her daughter was now much older and her Chinese was arguably worse. She worried that her mom and daughter would have trouble connecting this time around.
Trying to ease those anxieties about her mom and daughter, she goes back to looking out the window. She notices all the changes to the city since they last visited and her mind once again wanders back to the past and her dad. Thinking of the last time they visited always brought mixed emotions. On one hand it was the last time she saw her mom and family, but on the other hand it was the last time she saw her dad. She didn’t know whether to feel happy or sad. She felt guilty for making happy memories without her dad, the memories that he was supposed to be a part of.
There is no time frame for grief and sometimes you don’t ever get over it, but just learn to live with it. But 2 months was all she had to get it all together. Just 2 months to “get over” the death of the man who raised her. Just 2 months to be sad. Just 2 months to be a daughter who lost her father. After that, she was expected to return to her “normal” life. Because life still went on after the death of a parent, it had to go on. She lost her dad, but her daughter still needed her mother. She had to be strong for her mother and able enough to provide for her daughter. She tried to always keep herself busy to try not to think of her dad. She worked harder to provide for her family, but she also used it as an excuse. She thought of what her daughter would gain to distract herself from what she had lost. There were nights when she finally got to catch her breath, relax, and hear herself think. But with that freedom came along unwanted thoughts. Her mind wandered back to her home in Guangzhou, to her mom, and to her dad. After his death, she promised herself that she would visit her mother more often. But the world didn’t care about promises. She would always tell herself I’m gonna visit next month, next year, and so on. Sometimes she would look up plane tickets, but that tab eventually got buried underneath the other responsibilities she had to her daughter and life in America. She didn’t have the time or luxury to book a plane ticket halfway across the world whenever she wanted. She didn’t want to leave her young daughter for long periods of time and, realistically, couldn’t afford to lose money for food, clothing, or her daughter’s SAT prep. No matter how badly she wanted to drop everything and book a flight just so she could hug her mom, she couldn’t. She had to be the mom who was there to hug her daughter when she had a bad day. She couldn’t leave her daughter or take her daughter with her due to school either. She had never once thought that her child held her back from what she wanted. Everything was worth the hardships when she saw her daughter living a better life. Like many immigrants, she moved to America for a better life and she chose to stay so she could provide that better life for her daughter. But by doing her best to be a mother, it made her feel like she failed as a daughter. She couldn’t keep her promise and in a blink of an eye, six years had passed.
Okay. Lobby, elevator, floor 7, turn right. 7th floor apartment 709, apartment 709, 7 0 9. Was it the excitement? The nerves? Perhaps both? Her mother was just pass these doors and one elevator ride away. Right as they enter, the doorman immediately greets them, still remembering them after all these years. Unknown to her, her mother would brag about her and her daughter to anyone at any chance she could get. Her mother had also told everyone excitedly that her baby was finally coming home. It would’ve been more surprising if the doorman didn’t know who they were.
In the elevator, she made her daughter rehearse what she was going to say.
“Mama, I already know what to say. It’s okay.” Her daughter tells her reassuringly.
She didn’t feel okay. She felt a little nauseous. The elevator finally reached their floor and they were literal steps away.
5, 4, 3, 2, 1 Ding dong …
“Mommy!”
Before either could say another word, she immediately engulfs her mom in a hug. She needed it, they both did. 6 years, she went 6 years without hugging her mom. After finally letting go of her mom, she was hit with the scent of home. The apartment smelled like her childhood and filled her with a sense of warmth.
After settling down, the three women sat around the table filled with an unproportionate amount of food. Looking at the array of dishes, she noticed something strange. Steam eggs, ginger-soy steamed fish, and even dumplings!? It finally hit her, her mother had made all her favorite foods. After all those years away from home and with her mother’s memory slowly deteriorating, her mother still remembered. Even though she was a mother herself, she forgot how deep a mother’s love runs for their child. Repressing any thoughts connected to her dad and to her home made her forget she was still someone’s beloved child. She had forgotten herself in a lot of aspects. It was no longer her favorite foods for dinner or what her hopes and dreams were. In America, she was known as Cindy’s mom and she wouldn’t trade that title for anything in the world. Cindy was her pride and joy and she would brag about her daughter any chance she could get. But in Guangzhou, she was someone to be bragged about; she was someone's pride and joy; she was someone’s daughter.
Her mom began filling her and Cindy’s bowl with the side dishes. Her mom gave her her favorite part of the fish, and arguably the best part, the belly. She was used to being the one picking out the bones of the fish and giving up her favorite part to her daughter. She had forgotten the joy of having your favorite foods made by your mom. Here with her mom, she felt like a little kid again. But at the same time, she doesn’t forget that it was her turn to take care of her mom. She would give her mom twice the amount of food she gave her and then her mom would give her even more. The two women go back and forth putting food into each other’s bowls, arguing who needed to eat more. Somehow, someway, the two manage to reach a cease fire, enjoying the rest of their lunch while catching up.
In her excitement over their reunion, the problem of her daughter and her mom connecting had slipped her mind. Her mother did try to make conversation, but Cindy was oddly quiet. Once her mom had gotten up to get Cindy another bowl of rice, she turned to her daughter and said,
“When PoPo comes back, talk with her more. And don’t use too much English. And speak louder. You know PoPo is getting old and doesn’t understand.”
“But I don’t know what to say or how to say it in Chinese.”
She opens her mouth to say something, but realizes that she doesn’t have any suggestions either. I mean, what exactly would they connect over? Having nothing else to say, she tells her daughter,
“Well, at least remember to say thank you for making the food and say, ‘please eat slowly and enjoy your food’, when you finish eating.”
Her mom finally comes back with the bowl of rice and a surprise new dish, even though they already have half a dozen right in front of them. Then it clicks. Cucumber salad! Of course, food and cooking.
“Look Cindy, PoPo made your favorite. What do you say?”
It was as simple as cucumber salad for them to connect. The rest of the afternoon was filled with recipe sharing and funny stories of their cooking fails.
She felt so guilty and regretted putting off this trip for so long. But what mattered now was that they were together now and could still make new memories together. There is no point in regretting the past when she had the present to enjoy.
The story above is part of the series, 'Thinking Allowed', Each issue dives into the inner turmoil of each generation and highlights the feelings the AAPI community are “taught” not to express. It’s a story about the anxiety of feeling disconnected to people who you feel should be close to, but at the same time, a tale of connection. Many in the AAPI community can relate to the story of a family separated by a generational barrier, a language barrier, or a physical barrier.
Read more about the series by clicking here.
Are you struggling with grief or finding it hard to connect across different generations? You don't have to face it alone. Reach out to YourPlace Therapy today and let us help you get started on your journey to healing.
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