Category Archives: Family

Taking Action

Lately, I’ve found myself getting pretty. damn. ticked off. by people. Like, a lot. Granted, my biz throws me in front of more strangers/interactions than the average person, so maybe that’s worn down my usually high tolerance (yeah right) for bullshit. I dunno: maybe it’s also just that phase of life, you know having to deal with responsibilities for the parents and things. Altogether, it can be a grind.

The good news is that the Maryland house closed a week ago. That’s officially done. My father got his two vax shots while he was here thru summer, and then he endured another 2 weeks of hotel quarantine after returning back to Taiwan. The island is STILL being super strict with their policies. Thankfully, vaccines are becoming more available there, but I’m waiting to see when they remove the quarantine restriction. Until then, I’m not planning to fly out there for a visit. As it is, I can only handle 5 days max with the parentals, and to tack on 2 weeks confined in a room on top of that is a definite deal breaker.

In other news, we’re into the final weeks of the year, and I am picking up the pace working with numerous buyers. I hosted several open houses that thankfully received a ton of traffic, and I actually scored several new clients from those. At the moment, I’m covering a pretty broad geography from Contra Costa County thru Alameda, San Mateo, and down to Santa Clara Counties, but dayum, it feels good to be very busy.

I’ve been working more too with first-time buyers, and that’s especially rewarding. It’s kind of interesting bc one common theme we often encounter in real estate masterminds/trainings is this notion of “how coachable are you?” And I find that that concept totally applies with buyers. With the demographics of our area, we certainly have a ton of dataheads and personalities that can be rather opinionated and decisive. I definitely appreciate working with people who are educated and smart; that said, sometimes there’s a lot of attitude where people do a lot of puffing. I’ve had a few buyers try to “school” me on the process and/or the market, and then once things got down to business with the details, I realized very quickly they were completely clueless.

I recently met a lady at an open house who just kept being very dismissive, treating me like someone below her. Sometimes I get some weird masochistic bug in my head though, where I convert my annoyance into a game, like… hmm, if I WERE to convert someone like this, how would that be done? So I gathered some advice from my team, and she actually responded. Granted the next several weeks, there was still that underlying disrespect, acting like she knew the market better than I did (she was REALLY starting to irk me), but as I asked more questions, perhaps I suggested to her that she didn’t really understand these terms, like “noncontingent” that she was just throwing out. Two days ago, I got wind of an off-market deal and now we are in contract. Not even a fucking “thank you” for preparing the package in a flash and beating out other buyers who had also seen the home.

I won’t go into the details now, but it’s frustrating dealing with attitude from clients. And thankfully, I have had experiences where I know it doesn’t even have to be that way. So note to self: I must do a better job of being selective. I don’t have to work with everyone and honestly, not everyone deserves the level of service and attention that I give.

So of course while all this work bullshit has been happening, I got a call from my friend’s mom. Super urgent. My friend N has been in the dumps (again) and somehow I’m the only one who can get to her. Can I fly out to NC to talk to N? Um, I have been leaving messages, polos, sending cards. No reply. I’m done. And no, I’m not fucking flying out to North Carolina just to have a goddamn conversation. I cannot help people who are unwilling to help themselves. I’m not some godsend miracle worker here to save people. I am at the end of my string. Friendship is a two-way street. I try my best to give some buffer for mental health and how debilitating it is, but at end of the day, if you aren’t responding and you don’t even open mail from your concerned friends, sorry, that’s where I draw the line.

And just like that, I am back in therapy. I know society still has a stigma with mental health and therapy, but I don’t have any shame for therapy. The world’s a fucked up place, and kudos for people who have the cognizance to ask for some fucking help to get better. Anyway, I found a lady who’s pretty good. We’re doing the weekly thing, and she actually seems quite cutting edge. Already, she has suggested some newer coping techniques and methods. I started seeing her bc I was feeling a lot of anger and frustration being surrounded by people of inaction. That’s what I’ll call them. People who are miserable and unhappy and yet don’t take any action to change things or try to make things better. Look, everyone is struggling. You’re not the only one with problems. Fucking do something to figure it out.

The initial impetus for all this was, surprise, surprise, my parents. I had had just one too many calls where mom was a practical vegetable, unable to even get up out of her chair, her muscles have atrophied so much, and dad never leaves the house and just sighs every which way. What are you up too? Is anything new? NOTHING.

Jesus Christ, are you being held captive? Yes, I know it’s covid times but in Taiwan, that shit is under control. You live across one of the largest urban parks on the goddamn island. Go across the street and take a fucking walk! Jesus Christ. As you can see, I was up to my ears listening to this self-imposed paralysis.

The thing is, on one hand, my brain tells me I need to have more compassion. That people aren’t necessarily built like I am (whatever that means) with motivation and self-control. Yada yada. Fine, feel some compassion for them being paralyzed by pain. Now what. What the fuck are you gonna do about it?

So that’s topic #1 with the therapist. Topic #2 is bullshit I have related to work and self-worth and my definitions of success. I have discussed my mental struggles with work/career ad nauseum on this blog. It goes away every few years and then comes back with a fucking vengeance. No one really gets it. What started off as parental pressures used to “motivate” me to be better turned into a lifelong, insatiable, relentless push where at times, I will push myself to sheer exhaustion chasing this nebulous, constantly morphing ideal of success. The therapist admits there are memories and incidents where the things my parents said were “messed up.” Her proposal is to try EMDR (Eye movement desensitization reprocessing) to help move me to a place where I can recall memories without feeling the pain and trauma (her word choice) surrounding them.

So I’m on a once a week and of course, as soon as I started, I began compiling my thoughts about what I thought my issues were and why I was seeking help. Yes, in true control-freak fashion. Unlike what I did with a past therapist though, I refrained from providing her with a written synopsis. Haha, yes I did that in the past! Anyway, as you can see the projects never really end. There’s always something.

Reminder

I’ve never had a great relationship with my mother and now that she has Alzheimer’s, some days it’s even harder to think of her in her best light. Saw this on LinkedIn this morning and it gave me some insight, especially on my father’s perspective.

The UPS Store

If you know ANYthing about me, it is that I LOVE the old school musicals… specifically Les Mis, Miss Saigon, and Cabaret. Those are my staple productions. I can listen to them anywhere, anytime, and the tears will just come on like a fucking tsunami. So the other day, we were in the car and Bubs put on Miss Saigon and the Bui Doi song came on. The one about the children of GIs and Vietnamese women. There is a line there that describes the kids as “conceived in hell and born in strife.” I mean, let’s be real: I had an extremely privileged upbringing. Still, something about that line just resonates.

Obviously, I’ve taken a very long hiatus from blogging… possibly the LONGEST break since I started the blog in 2003. I’m not proud of the absence but well, COVID (the same excuse everyone else is using these days). Plus, my family has to win awards for its level of drama. That’s right: drama amplified.

To recap: My father had flown from California to Taiwan over a year ago in June/July 2020 and then he got stuck there. What did that mean for me? 24/7 INTERNATIONAL personal assistant. Calls at all hours. All his US mail? Forwarded to me. Along with that of my grandparents’, brother’s, and mother’s. Yes, a SHIT TON of mail. Meanwhile, none of their accounts had set me as an additional accountholder, so then I had to do all the account management having zero written authority. Then, you have NO idea how fucking painful it is to even sync with my family in Taiwan. Not only is the time difference 15 hours, they won’t spend a cent to call internationally, so then we can only connect via Line, Skype, or Facetime and on top of that, they either don’t have reliable wifi or where they do have it, they have THE cheapest fucking option which results in choppy quality and non-existent video. To make matters worse, they actually don’t understand the difference between video and audio calls, so half the time, I’m staring into my father’s ear canal. Seriously. God forbid, they shell out $20/month for legit broadband service as a BASIC NECESSITY. That’s the thing. All these responsibilities get thrown to me and then I have shit tools to work with and my parents’ tech skills is a -100 on a 10-point scale. So many hours of my life gone, bc we did not have systems in place. Anyway, after more than a year of dealing with this bullshit. I somehow managed to get the legal docs updated. I will spare you the agonizing details; just know that my fuse of ZERO was blown every goddamn time.

So now, improved systems are in place– things still aren’t 100% the way I would run them but good enough until the next volcanic eruption. And I’m cranking through the list: closing accounts, adding my name, paying bills, setting up zoom meetings, paying taxes, scanning their mail, doing international shipments… I’m a freaking 24/7 UPS store and more!

In June of this year, dad came back Stateside after more than a year away. I hooked him up with the vaccine (Taiwan has limited supply), and then headed to Maryland in early July to begin the preparations for putting my childhood home up for sale. Over 5,000 sqft of house stuffed with three generations’ worth of junk from a family of hoarders. They had such old bedding/sheets that I had to buy my own flannel set a couple years back so I could sleep on cotton fabric that wasn’t ripped/threadbare. My first night in the bed this time around, I discovered three acorns. I thought I was going mad. WTF. Maybe I had picked these up last time I was in town and fell asleep while fidgeting with them in the bed??? I was gaslighting myself. It was a total mystery, bc I found no other evidence of rodents in the bed. But the next night, I was sitting on the couch watching tv and behind the throw pillow was a pile of rice. And some mouse poop. Problem solved. I mean, the house was vacant for over a year in a place that has all four seasons… so guess I shouldn’t be that surprised.

Needless to say, the to-do list for my parents is neverending. It really is. I will be actively working on two items with my dad hovering right there and then he’ll introduce a third and a fourth as if I weren’t working efficiently enough… Ugh, it’s super annoying and frustrating and results in snippy Vicky. Consequently, my parents describe my help as “service without a smile.” I mean look, on one hand, no fucking apologies. You get what you get. It’s like that Hotwire rental car deal my friend G always signs up for. She signs up for a killer deal, and it’s a grab bag as to what car she gets at the counter. In other words, you get an awesome rate bc they pick the car for you. Well, my parents fucking hit the jackpot with me: I am a goddamn workhorse. I have a HUGE capacity to figure things out and to get shit done but don’t expect Nordstorm customer service ok? Which leads me to Oppositional Defiance Disorder. I first heard of this condition a few years back when a neighbor with two kids was bitching about her youngest son. She said he had unexplained rage issues and was diagnosed with ODD. Honestly, his defiance sounded intriguing and then as she described it further, a light bulb went off. That’s all that was needed for Bubs to diagnose me. I mean, if this ODD is real, I feel a lot of parallels. Maybe it’s helpful to put a label on things? I dunno but a part of me also thinks ANYONE would have ODD given my same exact circumstances.

Bottom line? I’m fucking exhausted. I have a LIFETIME of examples but let me just share the latest argument with dad. So as you know, he’s currently here with us in Cali. He’s eager to get back to Taiwan bc my mother is calling on the daily, barking orders and slinging her accusations of infidelity. So he wants me to compare flights using his points, using his voucher, plus one way vs round trip or whatever. Um, it’s one way bc we don’t know when you’ll be back, esp with COVID.

Oh but if I do round trip, it’s a better deal and I’ll use fewer points.

No! I’m booking it one way with points and this is what I’m booking. Back the hell up! I don’t need you micromanaging my ass and overcomplicating EVERY dayum detail.

After we get over that hurdle, there are a shit ton more details about international entry/exit and quarantine requirements, thanks to COVID and the delta. The good news is I have attention to detail so I’m reading everything and figuring it all out. I figure out what test to get, where, when, how much, where to send in the docs, yadda, yadda. I create online accounts, upload his insurance files, register a slot, and get it all done. Test date set for X date.

After it’s all done and sorted, dad’s reading shit on his computer (but very limited bc he doesn’t do online research for more than five minutes). He calls my cousin in Taiwan and asks her to call the airport or whatever. At issue is WHEN to take the test so it’s acceptable for Taiwan when he arrives at the airport. I tell him I know how to fucking read, and it’s handled. He insists the test date is TOO early and my cousin’s friend of a friend says the results have to be three days prior to arrival date. Back and forth. Hello: I’ve read the info from United Airlines specific to this ticket. The results have to be issued no longer than 3 working days from date of departure. ARGHHHHHHH!!! Bc of his fucking neuroses, I have to spend another two hours calling, researching, reading, being on hold, etc. That information is wrong. He’s not convinced. So then he wants me to schedule a same day test which is only at SFO. But that’s cutting it too close, so maybe I can drive him to SFO the day before to do a test? I’m telling you. Now this item that took 30 min to decipher has ballooned to my entire afternoon. This is just ONE example. Every other to-do item turns out like this. Welcome to my life. Same with figuring out shipping international freight, international regular shipment, domestic shipment, forwarding addresses, updating addresses, paying vendors, shredding medical records/financial papers, etc. FML. Meanwhile, my brother has learned that I figured out how to ship items internationally and he asks me to buy him 3 bags of some body detoxification product from Canada to receive in the US and forward to him in Taiwan bc the company doesn’t ship to Asia. Nope, I may be my parents’ UPS store but I sure as hell am not his!

Want some good news? The Maryland house is emptied. Two full days, a crew of five sorters/packers, and a team of movers. Fucking amazing. Repairs have commenced and we’re targeting on market before the end of August. The handful of saved items got shipped here and arrived. Items sent to Taiwan also arrived and passed customs (another ordeal). Dad got his negative test results yesterday. That caused another frenzy about timing, so I took screen shots, printed out/highlighted the instructions, and just reiterated that I followed everything stated by United. If he arrives in Taiwan and they reject the test, he can just take it again there. I’m done. Let’s not beat this dead horse one more fricking time please.

Hurrah beotches, the blog is back!

The Anti-Brady Bunch

Well, it seems that the shit has hit the fan worldwide. I thought we were all doing good with SIP and flattening the curve and all. Nope. The world is literally falling the fuck apart.

Personally, I am getting more and more accustomed to being in hunker-down mode– I love not having to commute/drive plus the time has allowed me to focus on various aspects of my business. I had discovered some new resources and was experimenting with new marketing strategies. Things were feeling on the upswing.

And then, leave it to family drama to put the kibosh on everything. As you know, dad came back Stateside in February to do his taxes. Then, SIP started mid March and he got stuck in Maryland until now… that’s right: four months fending for himself living off frozen foods, Chipotle, and the occasional DoorDash order.

Meanwhile in Taiwan, mom’s condition and delusions worsened (my insane brother insisted that she stop taking western meds), and that required my aunt to take on her care. Finally, in June, dad decided it was best to make his way back to Asia.

He flew out to SFO last week and stayed here for a few days. Here in Santa Clara County, things are still mostly on lockdown, so we just remained on the Houseboat– cooking meals, running errands, eating outside, etc.

He brought a huge stack of papers for me to go through– long term care policies, living wills, power of attorney docs… Ugh, so much shit to manage. We had a call with an estate attorney here, and she confirmed that shit is going to get complicated, especially with him being a resident of Maryland and he and mom planning to live as expats in Taiwan. State laws, country laws, challenges with documents being in English or Chinese, plus getting files notarized. I’m telling you, whatever the most circuitous path is, that’ll be what I’m fucking tasked with. It happens with my transactions for real estate and for anything related to my family.

Long story short, we had a decent enough visit. Dad always has a lot to talk about with John– they bond talking about the economy, business, the stock market, and politics. I focused on his to do list and updating his computer, confirming flight info, updating forms, whatever. Thankfully, the weather was pretty mild and he got to get some Vitamin D– my absolute biggest perk of being in California. We took Bentley on walks and even played badminton in the park.

Of course the last day here, multiple calls occurred back and forth to Taiwan. Johnny is asking for money again and it is literally the SAME exact dialog that I have suffered through for the last 25 years of my life. After listening to that bullshit for an hour in my living room, the volcano erupted.

Why the fuck are you and mom still dealing with this bullshit? He is NOT going to change, just like you are not going to change. Fucking DO SOMETHING to stop this recurring nightmare, i.e. be done with this toxic relationship.

Blah, blah, you don’t understand bc you’re not a parent. Yadda, yadda.

Whatever. You and mom are not the only people in the world with a problematic child. Other people figure it out by setting boundaries and moving on with their lives!

I went to bed and could not sleep all night long. The next morning, I called his shit out. You don’t respect Johnny, and Johnny doesn’t respect you. This toxic relationship has gone on for 25 years without resolution or reconciliation. It’s never going to change. You have never valued anything that he is passionate about, and you don’t have to. But since neither side can peacefully co-exist, it’s time to be done. People fall in love and get divorced. Things don’t always last forever. Time to end this facade.

You have never supported Johnny. Giving him money is not the same as believing in his writing, acting, filmmaking, artistic pursuits, and/or interests. You don’t have to respect or appreciate the same things he values, so just stop pretending like you’ve supported him when you haven’t. You’ve always made conditions for your love. If you can’t accept his path and you can’t shut the fuck up complaining about it and how easy it should be for him to be better or to be more, leave. You have always made us feel like we were not enough. For me, I am just now letting those scars heal. Johnny may be damaged forever AND on top of that, he probably has mental issues from the all-natural supplement Seeds of God crap he puts into his body. Please just be estranged and let everyone go on in peace. Both sides are at fault. Both sides caused emotional abuse and irreparable damage. Enough is enough.

At this point, I’m considering calling my brother to ask him to just let go and stop communication with the family. What is the point. Go on your merry way and do whatever the hell you want.

Btw, you may also want to talk with a counselor or mental health specialist. I cannot help you but hopefully, you can find someone who can. Goodbye.

Yup, that’s how I want to endz it. Brutal honestly. I’m out.

Wipe Your Ass

My family is such a fucking hassle. Yesterday, after a three-week hiatus (due to my Rolling Stone and all), I call my mother. She’s shuttling around in Taiwan again, and this time I find her at my aunt’s house in Tainan. My aunt and dad do this annoying thing where they talk about my mom like she’s not even in the room. So my aunt hogs the phone and tells me that my mother isn’t doing so great. In fact, in the last couple of weeks, my mother has come to believe that my father impregnated her caretaker. Yes, the caretaker who busts her ass every damn day, cooking, cleaning, bathing, doing EVERYthing for my mom and grandmother.

I’m immediately pissed off by yet another outrageous accusation. I then talk to my mother. She tells me that one night many months ago, before my dad came back Stateside to do his taxes, my dad went with the caretaker to Costco to buy a shit ton of bottled water. That is another story onto itself… bc why would they need a fucking pallet-full of bottled water? Bc my parents bought the condo several years ago, and it sat vacant for months at a time. The built-in water filtration system died, and it was “too costly” to repair. So instead of getting that shit fixed, my father decided to use bottled water— for cooking and drinking. Never mind that he has the money to get the filtration system fixed. Never mind that maybe he can order a water delivery service where they bring the tanks to your door? I mean, we’ve seen this bullshit behavior before with the goddamn garage doors, right?

Needless to say, my mother insists that the bottled water outing was the time when my dad knocked up the caretaker. And now she’s convinced the woman is preggers. Mind you, the woman is like 55 y/o and has two grown kids plus a family in Indonesia whom she can only visit once every 3-6 years (welcome to migrant labor in Taiwan). So last night, my mother tells me the whole story, and given that my dad gave me zero context or warning about any of this (typical), I fucking went ballistic. Like full on Shock and Awe, Operation Desert Storm.

Yes, I know she has Alzheimer’s, and my aunt explained that delusions like this are part of the disease. The thing is, this kind of bullshit is not entirely from left field. All while I was growing up, my mother had fears like this— that my American grandmother was in love with my dad, that dad’s registered nurse at his private practice was in love with him… you fucking name it. And let’s not forget the time she accused me of having a freakin’ affair with my own cousin!?!?! The lady has a history of cray. So back to the present. Yeah, I basically went around in circles with her. First off, no one wants to bang my father. I mean, please. Second, the caretaker is well beyond child-bearing years. Third, the caretaker has been so good and hardworking for my family— she’s not trying to entrap us. Utterly exasperated, I finally told mom that if she’s going to make up whatever story, let’s then wait to see in the coming months if the caretaker is in fact preggers, and heck, maybe I will end up welcoming a new baby brother/sister.

As you can imagine, the call did not go well. And every time there is drama with my family, I wish and pine to ditch them and get an entirely different family. Seriously, I am not a dramatic person— sure, I am opinionated and fervent and judgey, but I ain’t about creating drama out of thin air!! When this bullshit happens, I just think back to all the arguments and fights and crap I had to deal with since forever. Between the conditional love parenting and the constant comparisons with their friends’ kids and the crap with my brother, I’m just done! Enough is enough.

Speaking of the little emperor, now that dad is Stateside, my brother has started coming around visiting my mom every weekend. I’m telling you: what the heck happened to her from one month ago when I had a great lucid call with her to now where she’s batshit crazy again? I’ll tell you what happened. My brother is back touting his Apricot Seeds of God poison, colonics, anti-microwaving-lifestyle onto my 72 y/o mother. In addition, he’s forcing her to not sleep during the day and to walk miles and miles to the goddamn Costco in the Taiwan heat and humidity. My mother has no history of exercise. She’s a sedentary person, and now you have psycho drill sergeant bossing her around. WTF. This is where I’m like: WTF is wrong with my family?

So the call didn’t end well. The next day, I called my dad, and he just explained it’s part of her disease. Just tell her it didn’t happen and move on. Um, move on to what? Meanwhile, my dad starts asking me about the Doordash order I placed for him. $50? So expensive! Then, I lost it again. Stop asking about the cost. It doesn’t fucking matter.

Oh, it’s so much trouble, he says. ARGH!!! I mean, look. Life is full of tedious tasks. You take a dump, and you have to actually wipe your asshole. Sorry, life takes effort. You just take the few seconds, and get that shit done. With DoorDash, it’s a couple of clicks and we can throw money at the problem. Voila! Fresh food at your door, so you’re not eating frozen fried rice and nuts every goddamn day. Why is it so hard for you to live a little? Does every day have to be like you’re at a goddamn monastery? Enjoy one or two meals a week. Why am I even having to talk to you about this???

After those two calls, John suggested that I look into therapy. Ya think? Admittedly, the triggering was through the fucking roof, for sure.

So today, I call Kaiser to speak with a therapist. I mean, nothing earth shattering. Chalk it up as part of her illness (even though she had these ridiculous proclivities before Alzheimer’s): do not escalate, detach. Here’s the thing: I do not have fun, lighthearted conversations with my family. It’s either a massive to-do list of stuff that has to get done or it’s work-related. We don’t just call each other and shoot the shit. So now if I can’t “fix” this situation, what the hell is there to do? Nothing. Detach with compassion, my mental health friend suggests.

Then the therapist tells me he thinks I have GAD – general anxiety disorder, and I need to learn to let go, especially with things I cannot control, like her irrational thoughts.

Now, this ain’t my first rodeo with therapy. I’ve had many sessions in the past. It helps to tell stories and give the chain of events and analyze things that have happened, but at the end of the day, I feel like the only conclusion of therapy is always this: suck it up. Not exactly in those words, but that’s the gist I get from it— you can’t change others; you can only change yourself and your reaction. To me, that just means, no one else is accountable, no one else has to make their adjustments— it’s just you.

For someone who believes in self-determination, I get it. You are the one in control. But for someone who is also highly critical and judgey (of myself and of others), I can’t help but feel like there’s some element of other people getting away with shit and not being held accountable for their crap. Is it that I want an apology from my parents? No, but it’s like they are totally clueless that they ever did anything wrong with their parenting approach. Is that ok for them to continue to think they did everything right and somehow they just had bad luck with shitty ass, loser kids??? I dunno. C’est la vie.

After my session, I looked up GAD online. I disagree that I have this disorder, characterized by excessive worrying and an inability to deal with uncertainty. I am a doer and a fixer. In trying to find solutions to situations and problems, I play things several steps down the road. I have to anticipate shit possibly going wrong, so that I can prepare a contingency plan. It’s who I am and it’s also part of my role and my job… I consider it a form of risk assessment. How is that “excessive”?

The therapist says he considers what I term “risk assessment” to be worry. Ok, fine. I won’t argue over semantics. But I still disagree. With my mother and her illness? Yes, I worry and sure, I can’t control her illness.

And I definitely lose sleep, for example, if Bentley is sick or if I don’t know who will care for my parents as they age. It’s not as if I’m worrying about stupid, unimportant bull like I had a conversation with some random person at the store, and I’m replaying it a gabillion times in my head, all while getting sweaty palms and trembling and shit. I dunno. I feel like I know people with anxiety and excessive worrying (including my mother), and my shit is different. People with excessive worry are like paralyzed and compulsive. Like she used to stress about me living with John before marriage. She would always fret, “What are the office ladies going to think?” Um, what? They don’t fucking care. No one is even batting an eye about it except you. How is this even a concern?

Anyway, after 45 minutes, the therapist said he wasn’t going to issue a referral or anything— he was just handling triage with me today. He advised I look into GAD, see what I thought, and consider joining a virtual GAD group led by him. That’s where things were left.

Now my next focus is to stay calm on the phone with either parent. I’m going to have to call mom again for Mother’s Day and sigh, I guess I’ll just try to suck it up and keep my cool. Maybe it’ll help if I remind myself that she is sick— I’m interacting with a vessel, as the therapist explained. And even if her current thoughts bring up past memories/interactions with her, I can’t punish her now for what happened in the past, bc the person now isn’t even her anymore.

Rice and Nuts

Holy heck, has life changed. Four months into a new year, a new decade, and WTF, we’re living out the movie Contagion in real life. What a fast moving shit storm.

Hell, in early March, I was still in denial about my fucking gallstones. I went ahead and scheduled the surgery for gallbladder removal on April 6, but deep down inside, I was thinking my episodes were just a fluke. I wouldn’t really need the surgery… I would just put it there as a placeholder, and surely, by the time the date rolled around, I would be fine and I could just cancel.

Well, as you know, in mid March, Governor Newsom shut shit down around St. Paddy’s Day. Chaos, confusion, anxiety, uncertainty… My brokerage started hosting zoom calls every morning and goddamn, guidelines and rules for real estate were changing day to day. I found myself spending a little too much time on the news listening to the world unravel and very quickly, I found myself not sleeping, my schedule was totally whack, and I wasn’t getting out of bed. After a few days of that bullshit, I realized I had to start limiting exposure to the news. I wouldn’t say anything about life is near normalcy now, but at least I am functioning again.

Meanwhile, I’d been roughly following the situation for my father on the East Coast. Dad is in Maryland now (he came back at the end of February to do his taxes), while mom is with grandma, living with their caretaker. Lemme say: thank fucking god for these caretakers who leave their own homes and families in Indonesia to come and care for the elderly in Taiwan. I won’t get into the unfairness and social inequalities that create such a system, but certainly, my family benefits from the sacrifices of these dedicated workers. It still blows my mind that for 3-5 years, they do not go home at all— they only communicate with their families through FaceTime or Line or WhatApp. Just breaks my heart and yet they do it so willingly— with kindness, gentleness, and a smile. I’m reminded constantly that the world is such a different place outside and beyond my bubble of privilege.

Anyway, I have checked in with my mother weekly, and you would not fucking believe her progress since she has been under the care of Ani, the caretaker. She can actually follow our phone conversations, and she sounds energetic, lively, even opinionated. A huge, dramatic difference from living with my father. Not that he did anything wrong, but you can see there is a massive difference between living with someone who is specifically trained on taking care of others. Not to mention, the stability of being in ONE place, eating regular meals, getting regular exercise, and interacting with people… I wish we had done this sooner, but no point in that regret. Better late than never, and my goodness: the recovery has been remarkable nonetheless.

And I think dad is feeling better, not having the responsibility of caretaking. He is a homebody by nature, so he hangs at home watching Taiwanese programming on YouTube, tracking his stocks, doing his busy body tasks. He really is a hermit in his natural state.

With all the shut downs and SIPs, I started to worry about his nutrition and meals. Every time I called, he said he was fine: he went to Costco and bought boxes of microwaveable rice, and that’s all he would eat three times a day. For protein, he’d throw in a handful of nuts. I offered grocery delivery, food delivery, everything and anything. Not interested. It was frustrating the heck out of me. Why are you living like a goddamn pauper? Just spend some money to make life easier and more comfortable. Jesus Christ.

Finally, I set him up on Door Dash. Ordered him a steak and grilled fish from Ruby Tuesdays. Thinking that he had been eating rice and nuts three times a day for weeks, I figured the two meals with sides would last at least 3-4 meals. Nope. Gone in two meals. Huh? I offered to order more— Chipotle, Arby’s, Roy Rogers, whatever. “No, no. I’m fine. It’s too much trouble.”

Dad. Door dash is ZERO trouble. There is nothing more convenient than me clicking a few items on my computer screen and pressing Deliver. The food shows up on your freaking doorstep. You don’t have to talk to anyone. You don’t have to transfer funds. Nothing. A few clicks and then food miraculously appears on your stoop. There is NOTHING more convenient that that. It’s practically MAGIC.

I’m telling you: old people are so goddamn stubborn. It kills me.

Thankfully, the steak and grilled fish triggered his appetite, and it finally opened the gates for my beloved NuWave oven, which I had purchased for them years ago. I kept touting how easy the damn thing was to use— just three buttons to cook lamb, chicken, turkey, ANYthing. Resistant, resistant, resistant. Finally, after the Ruby Tuesday’s meal, he went to Costco and bought steaks. I showed him on FaceTime how to cook it up. Salt and pepper on both sides. Set on the 4” rack. Cook Time – 1 – 2 – Start. Twelve minutes later, flip the steak. Repeat. Done.

He actually got excited that the steak turned out delicious. And then he started using the NuWave to heat up other foods, make lamb chops. Jesus Christ. Welcome to the world of the living. It only took like 4 years!!!

Of course a few days after his new enchantment with the NuWave, he was back to rice and vegetables. Too much meat, he said. Ah well, so long as he can have some variety beyond rice and nuts, that’s the best I can hope for. At some point, he’s supposed to give the frozen fish fillets in the freezer a try. Baby steps.

The Bon Vivant

My friend G lamented once that Chinese people don’t know how to have fun. It’s kinda true. Most other cultures are frequently dancing, singing, partying… celebrating things. But Chinese (immigrant) culture? They obsess over depressing themes of struggle, sacrifice, shame, regret, and overall discontent.

Surprisingly, my grandfather Yebbie ran against that grain. He found joy and pleasure in simple everyday activities like: riding his bicycle, listening to music, repairing broken gadgets, polishing his leather shoes, enjoying a cold bottle of Heineken…

My maternal grandparents lived with us from the time I was six years old. Every day, Nai Nai (grandma) and Yebbie prepared and cooked signature Chinese specialities for our family: from dumplings to zongi to pork with mustard leaves to ribeye steak with A1 sauce (ok that one’s American)… Yebbie was the ultimate foodie.

Throughout the 1980s, when Yebbie would drive us an hour away to our weekly Chinese school, he’d scout out the area while we were in class. Not only did he find several Chinese grocery stores stocked with all the special ingredients, he also discovered a local lake to go fishing, as well as a video rental shop for Chinese movies and soaps. He’d rent out the entire season and we’d binge watch together (before there was Netflix) while chomping on Planter’s honey roasted peanuts.

My grandfather was a man of many talents. He was a cook, a mechanic, a skilled fisherman, and a formidable mahjong player. He was also pretty damn fashionable despite being in a family of frumps. He had a penchant for Nike cross trainers, Adidas track pants, leather goods, Tissot watches, and Ray Ban aviator sunglasses. Pretty much he was the badass Chinese mobster boss of Frederick.

Yebbie passed away on December 12. He was in his 90s, but sadly he contracted TB a few months ago and suffered complications/side effects from the meds. I realized only recently that he was the first true bon vivant I’d ever met. Even in his final years, he remained active and mentally sharp— beating everyone at the mahjong tables and ordering the latest goods and gadgets off of the Taiwan QVC shopping network.

Cheers to you, Yebbie. I don’t know how you put up with a family full of uptight, austere, neurotics. We appreciated your senses of humor, wonderment, and adventure. Thanks for showing us there’s more to life than academics, tests, work, and money.

Being Unkind

My parents fucking drive me crazy. In brief, I explain it like this: whatever things need to happen or whatever task/project needs to get done, my parents will choose THE most complicated way of getting it accomplished. You know the garage door story, right?

So my parents live in a massive house with a 3-car garage. Since at least as far back as 2016, the damn door openers (circa 1986) have slowly started to deteriorate, meaning that they don’t respond reliably to the remote controls. When things first started getting wonky, John and I tried all sorts of small fixes like buy a new remote or program the car remote… we had varying success. At first, the issue was that you’d have to press the remote repeatedly or you’d have to hold the button down. Soon, the problem progressed to having to park the car at a very specific spot on the driveway and pointing the remote at a very specific spot on the garage door. Then, it turned into dad having to press the door button from inside the garage and runing out from under the closing door to my waiting car. When we’d arrive back home, we’d sit in the running car, parked one inch from the fucking garage door, and spend about 3 minutes fidgeting with the damn remote. Eventually, I would lose my shit and use the house key to go in the side door into the garage and press the door button. Around Christmas time, I noticed there was a dent on the garage door. Dad had pulled up a little too close to the door. When I was home again in June, the roof of the car had a scrape, bc dad didn’t pull out the car in time as the door was coming down. Fed up with this bullshit, I researched a garage door repair man, which my father claims he had done two years ago. My dad insisted that the problem was the new steel garage doors– they blocked the signal from the remote. Whatever. I don’t care the reason, I just want it fucking fixed!

So I call this repair guy that I researched, tell him the problem, and immediately, he says it’s all the other devices (wifi, microwave, first responder systems) with competing wavelengths that jam the signal. The fix is a new door opener at $350 each. I ordered two, scheduled the repair, and done two weeks later. The point is, my father could have easily spent $700 and fixed the damn issue years ago. Instead, either he was being cheap or lazy or whatever, so he damaged the garage door, damaged his car, and got me pissy every damn time I was home. See? The most complicated answer ever. God forbid, he use money to solve the problem and make life easier. SMH.

When I was in Taiwan, I realized that my parents were eating a lot of frozen foods and crap. My relatives would bring them fruit and veggies, but since my parents no longer cook, their diet has resorted to whatever foods the relatives brought but once that ran out, they were subsisting on a combo of frozen stuff, fast food, and or eating out/leftovers.

Part of the problem is, Taiwan is hotter than fuck. Like 90+ degrees with insane humidity which makes the heat sweltering. Their condo, while nice, is not conveniently located near walkable food options. And they aren’t in good shape anyway, so even walking a short distance is problematic. The other issue is that parking in the city is impossible. No parking and/or the garages are super complicated– not air conditioned, dark, hot, and just not good for old people.

So I keep telling them, they need to order delivery, and they make no progress. I mean, mind you, Chinese is not even my native language, and yet here I’m scrambling around in the dark searching for answers. The last time I was in Taiwan, I found some local food stalls/shops and asked if they delivered. Nope. Only do take out, so you have to pick it up. What? I refuse to believe the option of food delivery does not exist.

This time I was in Taiwan, I asked my cousins (who are my age) thinking they are modern professionals who should know about services. No fricking clue. Seriously, WTF. I’ve lived in China; in general, labor is dirt cheap in Asia. I will not accept that food delivery in the second largest city of Taiwan is not available!! Finally, as I was driving my parents around, I saw all these food delivery motorbikes buzzing around the city. The coolers on the back said Food Panda and Uber Eats. Done. Went home, downloaded the apps, added my credit card and shit and started ordering. Lots of options including boba, desserts, AND most importantly homestyle dishes– not too greasy or salty. I showed my cousins and even they were surprised by how cheap it all was. The dish prices were the same as in store $4-5 USD and delivery was 50 cents to $1 USD. For reals, I’m telling you: cheap labor is everything. So while I was there, we tried three different restaurants, the delivery people arrived, checked in at the front desk, the receptionist let them up the elevators, and bam, 20 minutes later, hot, fresh food at our doorstep. My dad enjoyed the fish (he always picks seafood over meats) and my mother tried a meatball dish that my grandmother used to make for us. All of it good– plus side vegetables and soup! And enough for left overs. Seriously, I was patting myself over the back for finding one of the best solutions ever.

Of course, now I’ve returned Stateside and a week later, how many times have they ordered lunch using UberEats, (which I even set up for them on the iPad so it’s large enough to read)??? Zero. I was lamenting to my friend G yesterday that I’m just so damn frustrated by my parents’ stagnation. If they have analysis paralysis from too many choices, all they have to do is press three buttons: Open UberEats >> Past Orders >> Reorder. But no. They are retarded. And it pisses me off to know end, bc once again, they have to pick THE most complicated way of living life.

G commented that I’m being unkind with my namecalling. She offered the perspective that they are really old, and we’ll be like that when we’re old too. Um, of course, anything’s possible. And I have a feeling I’m going to get Alzheimer’s and/or dementia like my grandmother and mother. But fuck: so long as I have my wits about me, I am not going to retire and turn into a helpless and hermetic blob.

I have met plenty of seniors who are even older than my parents, and they are still vibrant, sharp, energetic, and lively. My maternal grandparents even, until their 90s, attended activities daily– mahjong, dance, political debate/lectures at the Senior Center. People I met through my volunteering. People I met living in my mother-in-law’s community: crafting, singing, and laughing! Look at all the older than fuck Congresspeople having political debates and reading legal dockets and shit. I’m just asking my parents to press three buttons.

It’s about mindset. My parents CHOOSE the more complicated path. They CHOOSE to be miserable.

Here’s the deal: I get it. Life is full of disappointments. I know they had big dreams and huge hopes, and their kids disappointed them. They’re depressed and unhappy. Take the time you need to wallow. Been there, done that. In the end though, you gotta get back up. Use anti-depressants to help if needed. Look, unless you’re going to commit suicide, there’s no excuse for giving up and being lame. Obviously, I’m not talking about people who are terminally ill, too weak, or like my mother who has a cognitive disease… I’m just saying: not everyone has the advantage of resources. Use that advantage to help your damn self.

And don’t look to me for compassion or empathy. I grew up with both mom and dad as cray, cray tiger parents. Do better, goddamnit.

Sandwich Generation

So the shit’s been hitting the fan for many months now. I mean, I don’t know why I keep belaboring the fact that it’s been a crappy year—Hello, welcome to life and especially, welcome to The Sandwich Generation, right? Sometimes it just takes me some time to accept the muck and try to get over it.

In July, I got a call from my cousin about my youngest aunt. She’s 64 y/o, and earlier this year, she was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer– one of the most aggressive and deadliest types of cancers out there. My relatives in Taiwan all seemed rather incredulous bc just a few months prior in October, John and I had been in Taiwan for our annual visit, and my aunt was as energetic and as lively as she’d always been. We did that road trip together up north to Keelung, and it was such a great time despite the pouring rain (and my lame brother).

But after the new year, my aunt went to the hospital for abdominal pain, and that’s when it was revealed that she had a belly full of tumors– too many to count, and being that the cancer had metastasized, she was in Stage 4– the final stages, with a prognosis of living only another 3-6 months.

As the new year progressed, my dad was having more trouble with his eyesight (his two cataract surgeries in November and December didn’t go as planned), my mother was increasingly inconsistent with her cognition, John’s mother was declining, and then in April, Bentley got crazy ass sick. My work, which had been dead the earlier part of the year, suddenly got busy, my listing imploded, and I was feeling stressed way beyond belief.

Now it’s July, and my aunt has made it this far. She endured two rounds of chemo, plus Vitamin C treatments, among other things, but the tumors continue to grow. Three weeks ago, my cousin called and said she was near the end, so my parents (who were in Maryland) and I booked our flights.

I’ve been in Taiwan for almost a week now. My aunt appears much better than I had expected– she is still lively in voice and spirit, And she still goes for walks, but her body is a shadow of its former self. I’m not sure what to say, so we just talk about my parents and the usual family dysfunction. 🙂

My stupid listing continues to be a thorn in my side. In May, the buyer side got pissed about the very late discovery of the home having deed restrictions which prohibited its sale; they asked for money; I had to consult all the veteran agents plus the legal team on retainer at my brokerage… After nearly four months, the buyers finally agreed to cancel the transaction. But the co-listing agent and I are still helping our client navigate this complicated situation. Many calls, emails, and meetings with the housing authority and the city housing department… now we’re heading into August with two options: Sell the home now back to the City at a below-market rate, or wait for an alternative where the City considers selling the home at a higher price to a different housing agency. The latter plan would require that my clients wait another three months for that to get worked out. I’m trying my best to carry this through, but at times, I’m exhausted by the extra effort. Maybe if I didn’t have so many other things going on all at once…

Thankfully, Bentley is doing better. I mean, there have been several blips in the road to recovery, but for the most part, he is stronger and getting back to his old self. We took him on a short road trip in early July to celebrate his progress, my belated bday, and to take a short break, and then as life would have it, he developed that skin infection on his snout PLUS an infection inside his front leg joint. Ugh!!! Another round of vet visits, and he’s now on super strong antibiotics plus he needs to drop some pounds, as he has plumped up 20lbs on the prednisone. SMH.

In positive news, I’m currently in contract. Yeah, one of my clients with whom I had initially met in March, got back on the house hunt in June/July. I was very thankful to have some business brewing again. My clients found a real gem of a home in early July, and we got into contract a week before my flight to Taiwan. I’m so happy to be working with lovely, gracious people. That said, with my Taiwan travel, shepherding the transaction through has required a ton of calls and emails in the middle of the night. I’m hoping we are in the homestretch now, and closing is set for mid August.

My time in Taiwan is going ok. Lots of errands and elder care kind of things like finding activities for my parents, figuring out meals, cleaning, etc. The first three days, I visited with my aunt as well as my three grandparents. I cannot believe those grandparents are still going. It’s mind blowing, honestly. I’ve been shuttling my parents around, so the good news is that I’m becoming more familiar with the lay of the land here. I’ve also had quite a few opportunities to hang out one-on-one with some of my cousins. I’ve gone to the pool a few times too at the condo complex.

But I’m ready to get home. My brother came down from Taipei yesterday, and he’s on some 6-8 day fast to cleanse his gall bladder or whatever, so all he does is stay in his room. My dad still invites him to go walking or to go to the gym, and he always declines. In the middle of the night, he and my father were arguing and yelling again. I mean, I know my mother likes to see him, but really, his visits are so damn lame. He can never eat anything and then he’s so weak and fucked up from the fast, that he never does anything outside his room. What’s the fucking point. Honestly. I’m there prepping meals, finding activities, washing dishes, cutting fruit, cleaning the kitchen, doing laundry, and he sleeps in until noon and does his kooky bullshit. Yesterday, while I was re-heating food in the microwave, he told me microwaving food is really unhealthy and dangerous. I said, I was still going to do it. I mean, is it as unhealthy as having a shitty-ass, ungrateful, money mooching, entitled asshole son??? Fuck off. My ultimate wish with my brother is for him to be out of our lives. I know my parents fucked up with our childhood, but hello, this is real life. Get over it and move on. Nobody owes you anything. If you want to be a weird person living a fringe lifestyle, go ahead but leave us the hell alone. I do not need to be graced by your presence. Don’t do me any fucking favors. I get so annoyed that all these years later, we are still having to deal with his bullshit. If there is any silver lining to my mother’s condition, I hope that she can one day forget about Johnny so the rest of us can fucking live in peace.

Anyway, today is my last day with everybody. I’m going to be driving my dad to run errands and then we’re headed south to my grandparents’ and aunt’s house. After dinner, we’ll drive back to Kaohsuing and tomorrow I fly home. Thank goodness. I gotta get back to home base for realz.

From the Beginning

John’s mom passed away earlier this month. Her condition had been up and down since the start of the year, but more recently, we noticed a gradual decline with increased confusion, physician weakness, and many hours of sleeping. The kids were all with her, and I have the deepest gratitude that she felt truly loved.

The days that followed were an a absolute blur– between making funeral arrangements and clearing out her apartment. It was a weird feeling thinking back to when this all started: she suffered a minor stroke five years ago and then everything just cascaded from there.

I will say, John’s parents never made things easy. They fought the changes every step of the way and even until the end, they denied what was so clear and apparent to everyone else. Then again, maybe none of that should come as a surprise: denial seems to be a common theme among the aged, even as they lose their capacities, mobility, and clarity.

A friend lamented how sad and tragic it was that the people who knew us “from the very beginning” are now gone. I had never really thought of it that way, but later, I read a similar statement.

Do my parents know me? I’ve never felt like my parents truly saw me. But maybe they do, and I can’t admit it bc what else could I use to explain the decades of conflict and fighting? I have always been amazed by the heart of John’s family. No matter the disagreements, the unkind words, the frustration, etc. there is a durability and enduring quality that everyone values. In the end, love and duty is unshakeable– it’s accepted without fuss or resistance.

Mom E’s passing was not completely void of discomfort through the final days, but her family was there, all on the same page about treatment and care. Whenever discomfort was observed, adjustments were made. And in the end, she was surrounded by love and she passed peacefully.

I’ve always been confused by the whole process that ensues following a death. I mean, who wants to make decisions and create programs and deliver speeches after losing someone they love? In so many ways, it seems like added stress during an already difficult time. But a friend of mine who grew up Catholic, offered this very interesting perspective: in a time a grief, the funeral and arrangements allow people to channel their sadness into doing something. And bc the services typically follow a set sequence or pattern, mourners have a way to go through the stages of grief. Her explanation actually made sense! Bc others had passed previously, many of the funeral home details were repeated. Then, the agenda and party afterwards brought people together to reflect and share their memories. True to my friend’s words, the send off was surprisingly consoling.

And if you think about it, every culture has some kind of ritual or tradition that celebrates and honors death.

Whenever I go home and witness how John and his siblings treat his parents, I fall into this pathetic pit, feeling sorry that my parents got the raw end of the stick.

But my friend N explained that the two families and relationships simply cannot be compared. Like I’ve written about before: everyone did their best with what they knew at the time. Certainly, the immigrant experience is powerful, as it brings in so many strong, cultural forces… and maybe she’s right. I feel like many of my ABC friends also struggle with their relationships with their parents. There’s an odd disconnect and distance that just can’t be bridged. And the way N explained it, some things I may never be able to verbalize and say to my parents. But that’s exactly where John comes in: bc he just doesn’t have the same history and baggage that’s so deeply ingrained, he can deliver the message. And she’s right.

For example, every time we make the case for my parents to move to California, I get so angry and annoyed by their resistance, which to me, is strictly based on money and the high cost of living. It conjures so many feelings about how they just hoard the money… and for what?

To me, the point of money is to make your life more comfortable and enjoyable. But no, every time I go home, dad gives a run down of all the places they eat and the cost of a Filet O’Fish at McDonald’s vs the rice bowl at Chipotle vs the chicken sandwich at Chick-Fil-A. Look, I’m all about the deals, but we’re talking about how you want to live the rest of your life! You already worked your butt off for decades. You did that to have security and stability. But now you’ve lost sight of the ultimate goal. You have security and stability. Now the focus should be about enjoyment. I dunno. I’m probably just imposing all my values and judgements onto them. I just can’t stand the constant obsession and discussion about money. Maybe that’s his success. That’s how he feels good about his life. Fine. But there were sacrifices and consequences to maintaining that level of focus… None of those are ever acknowledged or addressed. I just get the same bullshit story told over and over again about how when dad was a kid, he told his dad (my grandfather) money was not that important and no one needed that much money to live… but now, he sees that money can do a lot of things.

Yes. Yes, it can. But still, it’s not THE most important thing. And frankly, humans are ridiculously adaptable. You can still live and thrive while not being wealthy. Anyway, I can’t stand when he preaches that bullshit over and over. It’s like he’s re-validating his choices or wants us to say he’s right.

I’m telling you: this is just one example of the lifetime of nagging. It never fucking ends… Lily, blow your nose this way. Pick up your feet when you walk. Swing your arms wider to get bigger range of movement. Don’t eat the bread…

It is constant. Partly, dad just sees himself as a teacher and he’s sharing knowledge. But, the thing is, not everyone feels the need to learn something 24/7 and optimize every goddamn aspect of their life! Some people want to be left alone to enjoy shit the way they want to enjoy.

It just gets under my skin. No wonder there’s nothing to ever talk about. At this point, nearly all my energy goes into trying not to flip out. I could say so many things back but shit, who’s gonna argue with a 73 year old man? I just bite my tongue and shut up. After all, what’s the use in pointing out the shitty relationships with his kids, the awkward dynamics with friends and families when he always insists on paying for everything all the damn time…

I know his intention is good: he’s very generous, but at the end of the day, most people do not want to be a mooch or to be beholden. People want to contribute their portion bc they value fairness and equity. Anyway… I just don’t say anything and we try to do something else like go for a walk or play mahjong. In that sense, I try my best to be like John and his siblings. But goddam, it nearly kills me to bite my tongue.