A Real Dilemma

Both Boston and New York got hit with snow this Halloween weekend, which made dressing up for the holiday a new dilemma for me and my brother.

Bro: Question. Do you think I could wear pants with my sailor outfit? Because it's snowing and I don't want to be walking through Brooklyn in short shorts.

Me: Sure. You could be like Gene Kelly from On the Town.

Bro: But I don't want to be that kind of sailor. I want to be a prepubescent boy sailor.

Me: Of course you do.

Bro: [trying on the costume as he's talking on the phone] Ugh, the costume really is much cuter without pants.

Me: Don't you have a long coat?

Bro: No.

Me: How about wearing pants to the party and then changing into the shorts in the bathroom?

Bro: That's too much trouble. Argh! My life is so difficult!

Me: [also trying on my costume while talking on the phone] Crap. I forgot how short this Strawberry Shortcake costume is. I'm going to freeze my ass off.

Bro: Fuck it, I'm just going to freeze my ass off.

Me: Snow really makes dressing slutty for Halloween rather difficult.

Bro: I know!

END.

This is How You Find a Husband

My mother, like many mothers who have a 30-year-old single daughter, is worried that I'll never get married. Whenever the topic comes up, I get a little snappish, so she's learned to employ a code question: "Are you making any new friends?" She used to be much more explicit in offering advice on what I should be doing to fetch myself a husband. Here is a conversation from when I was in graduate school. I'm chatting with my mom and her sister, whom I call Ee Ma, which is my phonetic rendering of "Second Aunt" in Cantonese.

Mom: So your friend, D, is married?

Me: Yeah.

Mom: How did she meet her husband?

Me: She was an undergrad at Davis, and he was a law student.

Ee Ma: Davis has a law school?

Me: Yeah. And a good one, from what I hear.

Ee Ma: So Davis has a business school, medical school, and law school.

Me: Yeah...

Ee Ma: Then why is it so hard for you to find a boyfriend??

Me: ... uh... What am I supposed to do? Walk into the medical center with a head wound and go, "Help! Help! I need a doctor! But wait-- Are you single?"

Ee Ma: No no no. You find out where the medical students go to eat lunch, and then you go there, too.

Mom: Should be simple.

Ee Ma: That's what Auntie Mimi did.

Me: Who's Auntie Mimi?

Mom: You know, your cousin Amos's mom.

Me: I have a cousin Amos?

Mom: I've TOLD you about Amos! He's very funny. His wife is a doctor. They just had a baby.

Me (still not having any idea who these people are): Um. Okay.

Ee Ma (cutting in): Anyway, Auntie Mimi and her friends would go to the place where the Stanford medical students would eat lunch, and she would whistle at them.

Me: WHAT?

Ee Ma: Yes. She would whistle, and that's how she got Uncle Gerard's attention.

Me (seriously impressed): Wow. But wait... I thought Uncle Gerard was married to Aunt Vivian.

Ee Ma: He is.

Me: So he and Aunt Mimi dated?

Ee Ma: No no no. Mimi was interested in Gerard, but he didn't want to date a Shanghainese girl. So Gerard introduced her to his brother Raymond.

Me (thinking, "What's wrong with Shanghainese girls?"): Oh really!

Ee Ma: And at first Mimi hated Uncle Raymond, probably because she was still mad at Gerard. But eventually Mimi and Raymond started dating. And then they got married.

Me: Huh.

Ee Ma: So that's what you should do, too.

Me: You mean whistle like this? *Demonstrating my best suggestive whistle*

Ee Ma (laughing): Yeah!

Mom (cutting in): Where did you learn to whistle like that?

Me: Don't you know, mom? I got mad skills!

Mom: ...

Ee Ma: See, so easy, right?

Me: So I guess I'm ready to find myself a doctor now!

Ee Ma: Don't go by yourself! Go with some friends. Or people will think you're weird.

END.

Birthday Card From Mom

For this year's Mother's Day, I sent my mom a Hoops and Yoyo card, partly because I think the two characters capture the spirit of me and my brother, but also because I really wanted to send my always-sensible mother an obnoxious singing greeting card. She actually found the card delightful, and for a few weeks kept opening and shutting the thing just to giggle at the song. Not quite the reaction I was expecting (it's always more fun to baffle or exasperate her), but cute.

Apparently, my mother has also decided to reciprocate the gesture by sending me a singing greeting card. In anticipation for my birthday next moth, she has sent me a card that plays this song:

Okay, if I had a daughter and I sent her a card that played a creepy Christian rock ballad to go along with its saccharine message about letting the joy in me shine through, I would expect that she would know I was doing so out of irony. But given that this is my mother, that she doesn't always understand my jokes, and that the one wish she has for me and my brother is that we would be more "serious," I'm not sure how I'm supposed to react. When I asked her, "So how did you pick this card, mom?" Her only response was, "What? It says I pray all your dreams come true!" So even though I can't keep the card open for more than two seconds without shuddering, I have to thank my mom for being very sweet.

Or maybe the woman knows me better than I think. Maybe she's at home laughing at the fact that I'm creeped out by this singing card. Maybe that's why she insisted that I open the card over the phone so that she could capture my reaction.

Well played, mom. Well played.

Food For Self-Esteem

My mom makes the best beef noodle soup I have ever had. I decided to learn how to make it after moving to Boston, when I found that even the best Chinese food only paled in comparison to my mother's cooking. Nothing I ever make is quite as good as hers, but I tell myself it just takes practice. My mom loves that I'm finally taking interest in anything remotely domestic (she fears that my being a "career girl" renders me completely useless in the house), but she still doesn't quite know how to provide encouragement. When I told her I was having some friends over and that I was going to serve them her beef noodle soup, this is the conversation we had:

Mom: What are you doing?

Me: I'm cooking. I'm having some friends over for a dinner party.

Mom: What are you making?

Me: Your beef noodle soup! And scallion pancakes.

Mom: Oh, you know how to make that?

Me: I try! I think I did a pretty good job this time.

Mom: What kinds of friends are these?

Me: All professors like me. From various universities in the area.

Mom: That's nice!...

[pause]

... Are you sure your beef noodle soup is edible?

Me: Yes it's edible! Because I'm clever!

Mom: You're just like your dad. Why do you always talk about how clever you are?

Me: What should I do instead? Talk about how stupid I am?

Mom: You shouldn't talk about yourself at all.

Me: Shit, I have to go. The pancakes are burning.

END.

[Postscript: For the record, my friends found my execution of my mom's beef noodle soup very edible!]

Getting Ready for Halloween

One thing I miss about living closer to my mom is being able to enlist her to help me construct my Halloween costume. She always made the best costumes for me when I was a kid, so once I got old enough to make my own, I often asked her for some tips. One of my favorite memories from the last year I was in living in California (as in, when I was 29 years old) involved my mom driving me across town to Walmart (yes, evil, I know) to search for a hot pink jumpsuit for my Care Bear costume. (I was Love-A-Lot Bear. I offered to make my mom a Grumpy Bear costume, but she declined.)

It gets tricky, though, when my costume ideas get a little bit slutty. My mom's rather prudish, so I tend to shield her from parts of my life that would only upset her. So here was how I ended up asking for her help the last time I was home searching for gear.

Me: Mom?

Mom [looking up from her newspaper]: Hmm?

Me: Do you have any white socks that go up to here [points to knees]?

Mom: I don't think so. Maybe. Did you look in my sock drawer?

Me: Yeah, but I couldn't find any knee socks.

Mom: I could dig up one of your old Sacred Heart uniforms.

Me: Yeah! That's perfect! No, wait! I was six years old when I went to Sacred Heart! I can't fit into those anymore!

Mom: It's fine! You haven't gotten any taller since then anyway.

Me: HEY!

Mom: What do you need socks like that for?

Me: I want to be a Catholic schoolgirl.

Mom: Why?

Me: ... Um, no reason...

Mom: [looks at me suspiciously]

Me: It's for a costume party.

Mom: For Halloween?

Me: No, not for Halloween. Just a costume party. It doesn't have to be Halloween for there to be a costume party!

Mom: Will you stop [Cantonese phrase which I don't know how to translate, which sounds like "gao gao zung," which I think means something like, "bothering with nonsense."]?? You have a paper to write! Get back to work!

Me: I need a skirt, too, if you can find one.

Mom: Stop bothering me! I'm trying to find my coupons.

END.

Dad Keeps It Real

My brother, who works as an interior designer and project manager at a design firm, recently got his first set of business cards. To show them off, he sent some copies to mom and dad. This was their conversation.

Dad: This looks good! But how come it doesn't list your title? Is this fake?

Bro: No, dad. It's real.

Dad: How do we know your job isn't just to sweep the floors?

Bro: It's a very small office. No one sweeps the floor.

Dad: Maybe the secretary does.

Bro: The secretary doesn't have business cards.

Glad to know Dad maintains high expectations for us.

My Mom Loves Me. Really.

I have, like, eight friends who are pregnant right now. So babies have been on the mind. My mantra used to be, "Babies = Death," but maybe because I've been around so many of them lately, or maybe because my "clock" has skipped forward a notch since turning 30, I've started to warm up to the idea of having kids someday. The thought still terrifies me, though. I already feel like I don't have enough hours or energy in a day to do all the things I want to do. I like that I can go to work, go to Taekwondo class, volunteer in the community, find things to do spontaneously, sit down and read a book, spend an absurd amount of time painting my toenails. I've witnessed how kids have completely overhauled my friends' lives, and frankly, I don't envy them for a second. But the thing is, I don't want to wake up one day and wish that I had kids when it's too late.

I was talking to my mom about babies on the phone the other night. When it comes to advising me about how to plan my life, she's on the fence about this particular issue. She definitely wants grandkids, and she has a hard time picturing a life that doesn't entail being settled down with a husband and kids. But she has never recommended her own life choices for me and envies my freedom. Here was one portion of our conversation.

Me: I'm so glad I don't have babies right now. I really like my life.

Mom: Yes, you are very lucky.

Me: Babies ruin everything. They make your life terrible.

Mom: Yes, they really do.

Me: Did I ruin your life?

Mom: Why do you think I look so old?

END.

Revolution in the Genes

Today marks the 100 year anniversary of the Xinhai Revolution, which brought about the collapse of the last imperial dynasty in China. When I started getting involved in student protests at the University of California two years ago, my dad first told me that I have an ancestor who was prominently involved in the Xinhai Revolution. It seems only appropriate that I revisit that history today, not only because of the anniversary, but also because of the exciting spread of activism happening right now. (I'm getting involved in Occupy Boston.)

In an email dated September 19, 2009, my dad wrote:

Hi Prof,

I remember you have some revolutionary genes. Your great grandpa was a revolutionary. He helped organize the Chinese Republican Revolution in the south against the Ching Dynasty around 1905. The revolution succeeded in 1911 when China became a republic. But then the Nationalist Party (mom's party) became the dominant party with no checks on their corruption. Then came two world wars until the Communist Party took over in 1949. That was one of the darkest pages in Chinese history.

Your great grandpa's name is Wong Wai Yin. He is the father of my mom Wong Po Ching. He used to live in Canton. When the Ching government went after him, he fled to Vietnam where he married a third wife of Chinese origin (how nice!) who gave birth to only one daughter, who is my mom. He shuttled between Saigon and Canton many times. In Canton, two wives took care of him and provided shelter (how nice!). Uncle Gerard's father was the only son of his first wife. The second wife had no kids but was said to be very beautiful. He had written some nice poems to describe the second one. He also wrote something about the third for her ability to make plenty of money. I saw the writings when I was small but no trace could be found now. I don't know what kind of business he did but he obviously could afford three (maybe with help from the third one). How jealous am I! And how I want to become a revolutionary!

The revolutionary gene definitely comes from my mother's side. My mom is a small gentle woman so the gene was suppressed. It might have bloomed in me when I was a sexy young man at age 20 in Berkeley. But I was too busy to get out to make money. Now it's too late because I even want to make more money. I am afraid that the gene has the urge to explode through you like a volcano.

In addition, the Fung family carries the destructive anarchy/anti-authority gene that is obvious in both Yeye and me, and you guys too. The anarchy gene provides the twisted mentality and attitude, while the revolutionary gene provides the physical urge for action. I think this is a real deadly combination, especially exhibited in a female. Look at all the Fung females! I just hope that mom's obedience genes can provide some checks and balances. Else, I don't know what to do with you but pray only.

Furthermore, do not pollute Cynthia and Philip with your call for action. They've inherited these kinds of destructive genes through my sister. These genes may be dornant now subject to agitation. I don't want you to be the agitator.

Dad

Fungism: Tai Ching Cho Di!

My mother has an expression, which in Cantonese sounds like, "Tai Ching Cho Di!" It translates to simply, "Look more carefully!" That's the one piece of advice she gives in matters of dating, finding love and getting married. My dad, evidently, has realized how lucky he is that my mom wasn't so good at applying that advice to herself thirty-two years ago. In an email he sent to me and my brother dated April 20, 2009, he reflects on my mom's favorite phrase. I really love it on so many levels.


Hi Kids,

A sudden heart-felt sympathy descended on me when I passed by Home Depot and saw dozens of Amigos gathering at the car park looking for work.

Thirty years ago, I was in the same situation: no money, no job, no car, living with my brother in San Mateo. My situation was even worse because my student visa would expire in June. I could not stay because Immigration knew where to fetch me, while the Amigos with illegal status could just disappear into downtown San Jose. Man! I was in real dire strait! But I did not feel that bad because I was a happy-go-lucky disco jerk.

Luckily, a princess came to my rescue and saved me from this vicious circle. Otherwise, you guys were nowhere to be found. This makes me think that I must be an attractive sexy young man of great character. So I have to treat mom nicely by pushing less buttons everyday.

Anyways, whenever you find an attractive friend, remember to Tai Ching Cho Di !

Dad

My Mom, the Pep-Talker

Giving my mom an update on how my meeting went:

Mom: So was your meeting good?

Me: Yeah! I learned so much about how the association is run. And I'm meeting a lot of really cool people. Actually, it's kind of weird-- I'm the only assistant professor of the group. Everyone else is tenured and is already well-known in their field. I'm not sure I belong there.

Mom: Then how did you get on the board?

Me: Well, a friend nominated me, and then people actually voted for me, I guess!

Mom: Who voted for you?

Me: I don't know. It's anonymous.

Mom: It's good that people voted for you!

Me: Yeah, it is! I guess people are actually recognizing me somehow.

Mom: Are you sure they didn't make a mistake?

END.

My Dad Would Let Me Rot In Jail

I am currently serving on the executive board of an academic association, so I spent this weekend attending a planning meeting in D.C. Upon returning home, I called my parents just to let them know that I made it there and back okay. My dad, of course, always has a grasp of what my professional life is like.

Dad: Where are you?

Me: I'm at the airport, waiting for my flight.

Dad: Oh, good. I thought you were protesting this weekend and were calling me from jail.

Me: I wish I had time to protest! Our hotel was really close to the White House, and I saw people protesting at a park nearby. Would you bail me out if I got arrested, Dad?

Dad: I don't know. It would depend on how much time you wanted to spend in jail. You probably would want to lecture at people for a few days before I got you out.

END.

Hasbro Owes Us Royalties

K.I.T., Dad!

My dad often sends me and my brother emails that express his observations on politics today. It's kinda cute-- A way for him to do dinner-table talk while my brother and I are across the country. And we'll usually humor our dad by responding in kind, even when we're not in the mood to do so. This was my brother's response to my dad yesterday:

baFUNGu

BAFUNGU.

That is all.

And yet my mom still tells me she wants grandchildren...

I babysat a colleague's 8-year-old daughter last night. My mom called me on the phone while I was there:

Mom: What are you doing?

Me: Babysitting a friend's kid.

Mom: The kid's not afraid of you?

END.

My Dad Wants a Nobel Prize in... Something

Phone conversation with my dad earlier this evening:

Me: Hey dad.

Dad: The Nobel Prize nominees are being announced this week. I'm waiting for my prize in Economics.

Me: Okay.

Dad: And if they call you for the Literature one, don't just tell them you're busy and hang up on them, okay?

Me: Haha, okay.

Dad: How's work?

Me: Good.

Dad: Busy?

Me: Always.

Dad: Are you going to protest in New York?

Me: I wish! I just don't have the time to make it over there right now. But I might get involved in the Boston ones.

Dad: Don't get into any trouble. Since you can't afford to get arrested, I'm sending mom out there to occupy Wall Street on your behalf.

END.

Fung My Life!

Explanation: Fung is my family's name. And yes, I got called Fungus when I was a kid. As did my brother and all of my cousins who share the same name. The only funny thing about it was the fact that every asswipe who pulled the joke thought that he was the first person to ever do so.

My dad, like his dad, is strangely proud of being a Fung. He always says, "The Fung gene is very dominant. And Fungs always insist on being a little bit different." I don't know if this is true or even what it means. Actually, I don't even think the name Fung means anything.

So perhaps that is my lot in life: To always have to decipher the wisdom of my family, all the while knowing that the rest of the world finds us rather ridiculous. And it is with that sentiment that I dedicate this blog. In some respects, this blog isn't so different from the others out there that exploit the crazy things immigrant parents say. But being a Fung means that I have to believe my family really is funnier than any other.

So here is the start of a series of posts that document shit the Fungs say and do. And if you don't like it, well, Fung you.