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.

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.

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.