ithinkminh

A Chinese fortune cookie, “You will win success in whatever calling you adopt.”  How timely this little message comes to me.  I am not an overly superstitious person, but I choose to believe that this is a message from the heavens.  There has just been so much going on my little world these past few months, and the ‘situation’ is still evolving.  It’s fascinatingly fluid, and I’m ready to jump at a moment’s notice. 

On the subject of superstition, I confess that my mother had a strong influence on my belief.  Believing that funerals were somehow mystical and that it had negative energy, I was never allowed to go to one.  “Never bring a baby or young children to funerals as evil spirits can irritate them,” those are my mother’s teachings.  To this day, I’ve only attended one, my mother’s funeral.

We had other super superstitions like; it’s bad luck to shower on the first of the year.  Why?  Because you are washing away good luck, good fortune, and good spirit.  I don’t really understand this, but imagine a whole culture where the majority does not take a shower for a particular day. 

Lastly, whenever you bite your tongue, or was it hiccup?  Someone somewhere is reminding you of something you had forgotten about.  My mother taught these wisdoms to me.  I don’t know if I believe all the things that she said, if there were any nuggets of truths to any of them.  These are the conversations, the bonds, the language, and culture of another of another time and place, when things were simpler. 

Things are more complicated now in my life with more moving pieces and responsibilities.  Sometimes I ached for easier.  No scientific methods needed, a timely message from a fortune cookie lifted my spirit however momentarily, I was having a conversation with my mother. 

Humans are complex creatures more than any other known living things on this planet, Earth.  For all of our infinite wisdoms about metaphysics, biology, the constitution, and derivatives of derivatives.  We forever longed to understand the human emotion, the human soul.  We often use metaphors to communicate that special ‘butterfly feeling’ or that ‘anxious sweaty nauseous puking end of the world’ or ‘happy as a lark’ sensation.  Maybe we don’t need to communicate at all our feeling, after all  we do have tears of sadness, smiles, laughter, angry sound, raging eyes to communicate all that is that we want to say?  And yet with the power of complex human language, physical expressions, technology and tools at our disposal, often times, we fail to communicate what it’s that our heart wants to scream out the most.  I wish I’d had the courage to express my feelings.

Why it’s that children are most happy? I think the reason why they are most happy is because they are able to readily experience and express what it’s that they are feeling.  They have make laugher and other gurgle sounds because they are so happy.  They cry and scream when pained and upset.  Life was simpler when we were children.  The complexity of growing up, the nuances of culture, history, and tradition make it more difficult to express true feelings anymore.  The act of articulating all of this in and of itself as an exercise removes me from being able to really describe what I really feel like at this very moment. 

Stop! no really stop, drop whatever it’s that you are doing, texting, reading something else, drinking, smoking, face booking, fucking, and just breathe.  When was the last time you were truly happy, truly loved. It’s been a long time huh?  The last time that I was really loved was also the one of the saddest moments of my life.

He holds my hands, my soft, long fingered, effeminate hands.  Why was I there, I was just sitting there.  There were only a few other people around, my closest family members.   I was reliving my happiest memories of my mom in my head, who was but a few feet away from me, beautiful, cold, lifeless.   

I was trying to immortalize our time together, with quick flash backs, when she gave me piggy back rides, when she would hold my hands when we crossed a busy street, when she washed my curly hair.  I love the blue tee-shirt that my mom used to wear, it had the a little care bear that was worn out, it had her scent on it. And then I would cry, tears bursting, I love her so much I was gasping.  When I was older, I would often give my mom back rubs because her shoulders hurt.  Often time, I would only do a half ass job because I was a lazy bum.  We would watch PBS together at midnight, and the travel channel, and the animals, she loved the animals.  I love that she would still tuck me in, and we would hug, she had the most loving honey brown eyes.  

“Mom, I love you. I think about you all the time, I hear your voices in my head.  I tried to tell you that I love you as much as I could  when you were around.  I’m thankful for all the moments we had together.  I’m angry that you left me, but we had a good 25 years together.  There are so many things I want to tell you, there are so many things you won’t be able to experience with me. But I know you’ll be looking out after me and our family from above. I know that you are in a better place now, and that make me happy.”

These are the things that I wanted to say OUTLOUD, but all I could do was think about  them over and over again in my head.  I wanted to scream, I wanted to roll on the ground, I was having my kid moment.

Instead, I was just sitting there crying not crying.  I wanted time alone, I didn’t want to be alone, because I get scared easily.  I was horrified, hysteric, I was gripping into his arms.  I was angry, sad, hungry, raw.  Just being there, being there to experience my kid moment with me. That was the single most important, loving, and profound thing he could do. To see me in my true form, to feel my heart throbbing.  To look into my wet eyes and understand.  I was speaking the universal language of grief and sadness.  He was speaking the language of love and support.  I had the courage to express my feelings when it was most important.

I wish I didn’t work so hard.  Born in the year of the Ox according to Chinese Astrology, I  proud myself in being a hard worker, I have been a hard worker all my life.  Society rewards those that work hard.  Successful people are often quote saying things like,  “There are no secrets to success. It is the result of preparation, hard work, and learning from failure.”  But does working hard really result in being more successful? I’m beginning to not believe in that mantra as much anymore.  Don’t get me wrong, that doesn’t mean I’m just going to slack off, I think I might get ill from that because it’s so out of character, being an Ox and all.  Let’s look at some test cases to demonstrate this point that working harder doesn’t result in greater success or happiness.  My family and every single individuals in my immediate family would by any standards be considered hard working people.  I wish that we didn’t have to work so hard, maybe things would be different. 

My father worked as a laborer at ConAgra Frozen Foods when we first arrived to the United States 17 years ago.  Although young at the time, I remembered his wet hair, and completely soaked tee shirt discolored and aged like coffee paper. He would often complained of back and shoulder pain and yet with physical therapy he continued on, like an old rusty engine that run, but you have that queasy feeling that it could give out unexpectedly.  When my father couldn’t keep up with that demanding job anymore, he found work as a colored print shop technician.  He didn’t have a single clean shirt or pant.  You can see the color pigments stuck to his fingernails, hair, and skin after work.  Of course they wear masks at work, but it makes you wonder if the stuff coats his lungs as well.  My father who came to the States many years ago, who still doesn’t English, and walk with a limp, but too proud to use an assistive walking stick, worked hard and paid his dues.  He did what he had to do to take care of the family, like the lone wolf looking after the pack.  Maybe he worked a little bit too hard.

My mother worked hard all her life.  Work was all that she knew.  Born into working, born into physical manual labor, that was my mother’s way of life.  My mother stands 4 foot 10 inches, weights 105lbs.  That’s about how much a 4th or 5th grader is in physical attributes.  She lasted at ConAgra longer than my dad, she made big men cry.  She would pick up extra shifts, and would sometimes work all 7 days. She would cook, clean, and cook day and night, maybe she was a bit crazy, maybe work drove her mad.  She was a happy person, she smiled often, and she ate a lot!  She worked at ConAgra even after she became very seriously sick, and we had no idea.  My mom never got her retirement, she deteriorated away in a relatively short period.  She worked way too hard. 

Looking back I wished that I had been more helpful, not that I was ever a problematic child, I was a contentious child, but I was just a child.  Had I been more helpful, my parents wouldn’t have had to work so hard. Had I been less needy of material things, maybe my mom wouldn’t have worked all those extra Saturdays and Sundays.  I’m extremely gracious for all the things that my parents have done for me, all the sacrifices that were made.  Looking back, had I been more understanding of our situation instead of comparing myself to others; my parents wouldn’t have been pressured to work so hard.