Mama Fung and I Talk About the Winter Olympics

In a phone conversation:


Mom: Are you watching the Olympics?

Me: A little.

Mom: I don't understand the winter sports.

Me: Hm?

Mom: These people... Are they looking for ways to die?

Me: [laughing] Yeah, the ski jump is the crazy one for me. Who would think to zoom down a mountain and fly up in the air like that?

Mom: And they must crash many times while they are learning to do it. Who does this?

Me: [laughing] Guai lo? (Cantonese term that basically means "white people."

Mom: [pause] You are right. Guai lo are crazy.

Me: [laughing]

Mom: And the one where the two people have to ride down a slide in a little car? So ong geui. (Cantonese word that doesn't quite translate, but more or less means stupid or dim-witted.)

Me: [laughing] What do you think of curling then?

Mom: Which one is that?

Me: It's kind of like bowling on ice, but slow...

Mom: Oh, with the brooms!

Me: Yes!

Mom: They can come clean my house.

Me: [laughing]

Mom: [laughing]

Me: You know, if I stay in Boston, I will have to learn a snow sport so that I have something to do in the winter.

Mom: Which one would you learn?

Me: The biathlon. I want to ski and shoot people.

Mom: Shoot people? What are you talking about? What is wrong with you?

END.

Nephews Are The Best

During my past few visits with the family, I spent a lot of time with my cousin's son, my adorably mischievous nephew J, who's now about 20 months old. Maybe because I rough house him and goof off with him with abandon, he's taken quite a liking to me. In Cantonese, my kinship title is 表姨, pronounced like "biú yi," but for some reason the kid likes to say, "bía." In spite of him being perfectly capable of pronouncing it correctly, he still insists on calling me Bia. My stone cold heart melts a little when he exclaims, "Bia!" and runs to hug me. I love having a unique nickname. I hope he keeps calling me Bia even when he's thirty.

Apparently, even though my home is across the country, my nephew will think of me. When he goes to my parents' house, he'll walk into my old bedroom, the one I still sleep in when I visit, and declare, "Bia!" Sometimes he'll poke his mom and say, "Bia," signalling that he wants to Facetime chat, something that we'll occasionally do together. Gah, the kid breaks me.

He also points to pictures of other women and says, "Bia!" as if there's something about them that reminds him of me. Among them include:

Ronnie Spector, which perhaps makes sense, given that when I hang out with him, we always dance together to The Ronettes, which is something that his mom and I used to do when we were little. He'll remark, "Bia!" whenever he hears "Be My Baby" come on anywhere.

Teresa Teng, who is my mom's favorite Taiwanese pop star. My mom plays her music when she looks after him. I don't think I look like Teresa Teng at all, but I sing a lot around the house, so maybe that's the connection.

But apparently the kid has also pointed to a porcelain figurine of some Chinese goddess in his grandmother's house and said, "Bia!," so maybe he has some face recognition issues. Either that, or he thinks I'm pretty, given the flattering comparisons. 

My mom tells me that most recently, he pointed to some fashion models on television and also shouted, "Bia!"

My mom's response: "Your Bia is not that pretty."

Awesome.

Mama and Papa Fung Offer Their Congrats, For Realz

I realize I give my parents a hard time for the peculiar ways in which they offer their praises. But in truth, they really are very sweet and supportive. Today, I sent them a copy of an article I recently published. My mom called and left a voice message that went like this:

(It's all in Cantonese, except for the parts that are italicized, which she says in English.)

Hello [my Chinese name]? I just tried reading your essay. Sorry, too difficult, can't understand. But I'm so proud of you. Really not easy. How cold is it over there? Nothing important, just tried reading your article but couldn't, so I wanted to let you know. Well, then I know you work very hard. Okay. Don't work too hard. Okay? That's all. Bye.


Fuck. She always manages to make me cry when I least expect it.

My dad, of course, offered his congrats with his usual flair. In an email reply, he wrote:


Hi Prof,

This will help my insomnia tonight. 

Dad

Though in fairness, he was responding to my email, in which I wrote, "Try to stay awake reading this one, Dad." So I guess I was asking for it. 

Mama and Papa Fung Offer Their Congrats

I recently got an article published and received some good news about another. As always, I like to share my accomplishments with my proud parents. My dad tells me that he and mom were chatting about my good news when they had my aunt and uncle over for dinner. My aunt marvels, "Wow, I don't know how she writes so much! How does she even think of so many things to write about?" To which Mama Fung echoes:

"I don't know why she has to think so much... like a strange person."

END.