Only when life in the countryside moves as fast as the 54kb modem internet connection, can I have so much time to reflect on my uneventful life. So monotonous, that I feel almost guilty for not leaving an impression on the internet blogosphere with these letters and words, randomly strung together to form something as unexpected as an idea. Brace yourselves.
The four lane highway stretches far into the distance, bridging a world bustling with a wide variety of people, skies scalloped by buildings, and a public transit system that works late into the night, to a world quietly watching the passing of time, day after day, sitting idly on its dusky stoop. As ubiquitous as the Chinese highway infrastructure, it connects two widely contrasting lives with only three hours at 80km/hour. The metropolis is 上海; the countryside is 宜兴.
宜兴, of 江苏 province, is home to my dad, my uncle and his wife, and my father’s parents. Since I wasn’t born here and hardly stay here longer than a few days at a time, I struggle to understand bits and pieces of conversation. Many times my grandmother’s well intentions are lost upon my deaf ears, or my uncle would tell me about how great 宜兴 is, that it is home to several famous artists and writers, and I only smile and nod as a response: ‘哇，不错啊’. As much as they love me, I wish I can only learn to appreciate them, their efforts, just a small fraction of the amount of love they give me. Of course I bring gifts to them, a bag of small random 北京 delicacies bought at the Carrefour. But that doesn’t give me the satisfaction of knowing that they know I love them. I wish it were as easy as a gift or a Hallmark card or a warm embrace. So many times I don’t know how to be the proper Chinese grandson, so I stuff another helping of food into my mouth when my grandmother says ‘eat, eat’ or take another gulp from my glass when my uncle says ‘drink, drink.’ Or maybe that is also acceptable. Maybe I am over thinking the whole thing.
Back in the United States, I would find my friends going to annual family reunions, big Thanksgiving or Christmas get-togethers. I would go home to find dinner cooked by my mom, sitting saran-wrapped on the kitchen counter, where I would pop it into the microwave oven and then eat in front of some PBS television show, or, as I grew older, Nickelodeon, Disney Channel, Comedy Central. Sometimes we, as a whole family, would sit together for dinner, and I would help scoop spoonfuls of steaming rice into bowls, bring them over to the table, and sit in my designated seat. This was family to me, sitting across from my dad, talking about what I did in school today. I never thought about what family could have been, siblings or relatives. I never wanted more or less, it is what it is.
When I first came to China, a fat, spoiled sixth grader convinced that his sunglasses and gelled hair as the in fashion, it took a long time before I could understand and accept the love from my family members. I was not used to the cheek pinching, the force feeding, and the overall niceness that I figured plagued my relatives. Why is grandmother staring at me? Why is she concerned when I eat two pieces of fish and one piece of chicken? I didn’t understand why they were so caught up with my every movement. I didn’t understand then that the last time they saw me, I was a baby, unable to control my bodily functions, unaware of my surroundings. As the fat American sixth grader at the dinner table, I felt like a specimen being examined, as if living in America was synonymous with exploring outer space. I felt violated and uncomfortable. I’ll eat what I want to eat, I’ll not eat what I don’t want to eat. That was over eight years ago.
Now when I come to China, seeing my relatives always bring me great joy. Seeing how happy my grandmothers are when they see me, I know that they truly are happy for who they are, the actions and decisions they have made every day of their lives, to see that who they are have helped raise me, round faced and fair skinned, healthy, ambitious, large ear-lobbed (believe me, the Chinese get off to that shit). I no longer feel awkward, as I understand that they love me and it is natural for them to cater to every little need (my grandparents give me the largest guest room, allow me to use the air conditioner as much as I want, plus other random amenities) and to stare at every little dimple on my earlobe.
But feeling the love from my family takes time, time that was shared more with the family on my mom’s side that my that of my dad’s. Since my mom’s family have raised me up to the point where I left China for the United States, I understand their dialect more and I am a great fan of spicy food (whereas my dad’s family don’t particularly eat spicy food). There is less barriers of communication and it is easier for me to find myself joking around with my two uncles (the youngest of the two is known for his playful attitude in life and is often scolded by my mom, the oldest sibling, to get his act together). We play the town’s version of mah-jong, badminton, walk the family dog (a beautiful Dalmatian, the only one in the neighborhood), watch old Chinese gambling movies. We share many experiences together that every subsequent time I come back to 九江 (where my mom’s family is from, in 江西 province) I feel an immediate connection with each member of the family. I don’t need to care about any flaws in character of my uncles, or that my cousin needs to study harder for her exams, but so long as we are all related by blood, I love them.
The family on my dad’s side, as much as I love them, I wish I can find a way to show them. No heartfelt talks since I can’t speak the dialect. No Chinese gestures of love, since I am so not Chinese. Even though I love my dad’s mother so much there are so many things that keeps us from understanding each other. Major generation gap, culture gap, language gap. I wish I can help bear the burden of her ailing body, to show that I can be there. But alas, I am just another spoiled Asian American who thinks it is cool to speak English in China. So, I eat another mouthful of food, drink another gulp of drink. Is there anything I can do?
Life is life.
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