When Israeli Snails Talk

In between agonizing over Hebrew labels of chips at gas stations, pulling up Bible references of Christ's ministry at Capernaum/Sea of Galilee/ Jerusalem, and mediating the younger siblings' rivalry in  their Tiny Towers game app, I watched the ancient world fly by outside the window.

Sometimes, we would pile out of the car, reverently survey the holy sites and share how dipping our hands into the waters that Jesus walked on added color to our understanding.

Other times, we were just kids, road tripping on any country road, squashed in the backseat and annoying the heck out of our parents.

After a particularly frustrating morning of Hebrew road signs and a few (or ten) missed turns to the Sea of Galilee, my mom snapped her head back and yelled at us to stop joking about irrelevant stuff.

We gave it a moment of respectful silence.

Cody: Do you know what the Sea of Galilee said to the sea gull?

Me: I see Sisi. Wait . . .  I was blind but now I see?

Jody: See ya later, sea gull!

Cody: Nah. It said, "I'm single!"

Jody and I looked at each other and ate another hazelnut wafer.

Cody: Yeah, I didn't get it either.

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Soon, our mom crumbled and joined in. 

Mom: I have a joke. A snail went to the Salt Lake and said uh oh, this was the Dead Sea!

We waited.

Mom: Put that on your blog! It's my first joke! I made it up last night before going to bed.

(Before you judge, let me say that my mom has the best Chinese fart jokes. Ever. Perhaps our hummus diet this week and collective indigestion inspired her. Cody will try telling them in his Mandarin class next time to see if he scores extra points.)

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We weren't the only ones taking liberties.

A Chinese tour guide sat solemnly on a rock and started intoning her version of biblical stories to her nodding atheist tourists:

"Once there were fishermen who gave up their fishing boats to follow Jesus because they thought they would get better lives once He became King. After He was crucified, they were mad because they had to start all over again. So they came back to this village and tried to fish in vain until Jesus came back from the dead and helped them catch fish. Then they realized that they were not very good at fishing so they became teachers instead."

Next time I'm contemplating a career move, I better read up on the apostles.

Camels on the road side always makes me feel like 

Lawrence of Arabia.

Hummus. Falafel. Shawerma. Tehina. Chicken Shishlik. 

These soldiers like photos. And texting.

Tile paintings in Armenian Quarters.

Somehow Cody can make crossing himself with holy water at the place
 where Jesus fed the five thousand look like he just stole
 an ancient relic and hid it Indiana Jones-style.

Peddling outside the Garden of Gethsemene.
My proudest tourist shot.

Strawberry Gloves Forever

I kept punching my memory foam pillow and readjusting my sleeping position within my down comforter cocoon, but I just couldn't ignore it.

My wisdom teeth were growing out in full vengeance. They were violently penetrating my fragile gums and trying to make their {teeth} mark in this world. And instead of counting sheep, I was trying to decide whether to rank this higher than period pains or not. 

 

I picked up my favorite croissant on the way to work this morning and happily plopped down on my office chair to get a bite before my conference call. I opened my mouth, ahhed, and closed it again. Food wasn't even worth it anymore. The receptionist was unsympathetically happy at my plight because it turned out that she hadn't had breakfast either. 

Your pain = someone else's gain.

I even looked at some GMAT practice questions today during lunch and was disappointed that I didn't get two full wisdom teeth's bump in IQ points. 

As a self-respecting adult, I naturally sent whiny SOS texts to my parents. My dad said to contact mom and make an appointment with the dentist right away. My mom, majorly proud that she's never had wisdom teeth before (her fun party fact), told me that 1. I was probably not getting my wisdom teeth and 2. I might just have Korean BBQ infection. 

I knew it. She wasn't happy with me texting her back at 1:30 am with the excuse of hanging out with friends. I suppose parents have to sneak their lectures in somewhere.

Hopefully, the dentist will wear strawberry-tasting gloves when the time comes. 

Korean BBQ with American roommate, French intern, 

and Uzbeki Russian friend in China.

United Nations much?

Progressive dating advice

Tonight, over rocky road, I mentioned to my family that I probably wouldn't date for an entire year in China.

Well, one because there will probably be no church boys. And two because last summer when I did my internship in Beijing, I was mainly hit on by 30 year-old co-workers who still lived with their moms, creepy old men with jade rings, and overly buff marines who looked like they could crush me if they accidentally sat on me.

My mom just smirked and asked, "Well, do you know how to do email dating?"

She then told me that since I'm an intellectual (questionable), I can just email boys and be satisfied with imagined love. While reading poetry.

Jody jumped in with helpful tips about online dating websites that her other 11 year-old friends "accidentally" created profiles for.

But her advice did come with a warning: No matter what I do, I shouldn't share cups with those boys (the ones I meet online), because apparently in fifth grade, that's as good as getting married.

Mom Turns up the Heat

My mom just called and issued a gentle ultimatum: A complete thesis draft will be the best birthday present I could ever give her (said with a very sarcastic laugh).

Her birthday is in two days.

While I had originally hoped to be done by tomorrow night / Tuesday morning, adding filial piety to the mix somehow ups the ante.

She thinks I'm having a mental breakdown. So she just wants me to be done.

At this point, I think it's more like I'm being done for.

Color-coded Identity

I was always meant to like pink. The kind of pink that makes you think of bunnies, babies, and soft cuddly things. Everything I had were in varying faded shades of coral, fuchsia, or carnation. And that's what I wanted.

Chelsea was always dressed in blue. Rich dark navy hues, brilliant Indian-turquoise, or baby boy blue. She guarded her color jealously too, protecting it from her pink-faced sister who was too embarrassed to ask mom for blue pajamas for Christmas this year. Sometimes when she left the house to hang out with the boys in the park, I would try on her clothes, feeling momentarily bold because I'd shed my pink pink clothes. And my introverted book-worm personality.

Meanwhile, because Chelsea loved blue and Sisi loved pink, my mom would stick to those hues when she went Christmas pajama shopping.

I've since accumulated my fair share of blue. But I still feel slightly guilty when I choose blue over pink in permanent furniture fixtures or wedding color palettes.

I went to Walmart, the day before my freshman year started, to buy some bed sheets and bed spread. I was at the bedding aisle for forty minutes. I was inexplicably drawn to the Tiffany blue and dark chocolate brown comforter. But I felt obligated to the cardboard brown spread with pink carnations splashed haphazardly over it. I finally grabbed the comforter and marched to the registrar.

The lady asked tiredly, "Is this all today Ma'am?"

I paused, chewed my lip and went back and exchanged for those wilted carnations.

My Chinese Mother

 Kanas River, Xinjiang.

I just read an article today titled "Why Chinese mothers are superior," which describes the main differences between Western and Chinese mothers' viewpoints on parenting.

While I do think my mom is superior (as every child does), she does not at all fit the Chinese-mother mold of being scheming, pushy, and demanding supervisors who will not accept anything less than perfection from their children in academics.

In fact, it is the opposite.

My mom has never helped me with homework before. She is definitely more interested in my dating life than in my GPA. She constantly builds up my self-confidence and heaven help you if you speak negatively about any of her children.

Case in point:

I started kindergarten when I was three. In my first year, I landed a key role holding a section of the scaly dragon body in the school play. Somehow, on the day of the play - without prior notice - the teachers switched me into a harmless blade of grass by taping suspicious green stuff on my forehead.

My mom was not amused. She talked to the teachers. Then she arranged for me to transfer to another kindergarten, because, as she explained to me afterward, my teachers simply did not recognize "my potential." She even had a Chinese proverb to back up her decision: "The dragon that swims in a little pond gets teased by the shrimps." That simply would not do. Her daughter was destined to be a dragon.

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Who knows, if I had stayed at that kindergarten, perhaps I could have launched an acting career specializing as prairie grass.

Mother knows best

I talked to my mom for a long time tonight about some of my frustrations. I felt that a lot of people are advising or expecting me to do some things that I wasn't sure were right for me. After listening to me go on, she cut me off suddenly.

Mom: Sisi, do you think I have outstanding children?

Me: . . .

Mom: Well the answer is yes. And how do you think they became that way? It's because they didn't do what everybody else did. They are unique because they did what was best for them, even if it went against expectations. Why would you want to be anything less than outstanding?

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I love mothers. They make everything make sense.