on regret

I wrote this elsewhere about a week ago. The feeling has not diminished in the least. I wish there's some way to directly communicate with my grandmother still. No wonder some people get into seances and stuff.

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諷刺的是，本週算是這學期的最後一周。

我去年九月回台那天立刻開始教這學期的第一堂課。一個月後，在拜訪外公外婆時，外婆表達了一個心願: 請我記錄她的生命歷史（從她母親的背景開始）。她是如此渴望，那時當場就開始述說她母親的家庭，直到其他在場的人跟我們說，現在時間不合適，我們要出門了。我告訴外婆，我們以後有更多時間時再繼續。

因為我的新工作和老二還在我大部分全職照顧下，我決定這學期先把重點放在安排調整好我的工作/家庭互動。記載我外婆的人生為這學期結束之後的重要項目之一。

這學期已要畫上句點，只等我提交所有班級的總成績。但最終我的外婆也只有這學期一段時間與我們同在這世。

我爸說遺憾的定義就是永遠無法贖罪的感覺。我非常非常非常的遺憾，自己如此的愚蠢。

It's ironic that this week is the finals week of the fall term. I came back to Taiwan from a three-months-long visit to the US to start teaching immediately that day at the first week of the fall term. A month later, during a visit to my grandparents, my grandmother expressed her desire for me to document her life story (starting with her mother's life history).

She was so eager to begin that she started on her mother's birth circumstances right then and there until the others with us said there's no time right then and I told her we'll pick it up later. With my return to work while Petra is still at home under my mostly full-time care, I decided to focus on balancing my work-life-family responsibilities; I would make chronicling my grandmother's life a priority after this term ends.

This term ends when I submit all the grades by next week. But in the end my grandmother only had this term left to her life on earth.

The definition of regret is never being able to atone for something that could have so easily been otherwise. I regret, so much. It consumes me every time I remember.

on death

Ever since my grandmother died, about a week and a half ago, I feel at a loss.

I started this blog entry wanting to set all the emptiness down on paper, so to speak, in hopes of depositing it here so I can go on my merry way, which is finishing this school while taking care of the kids by myself now that Daniel's off in New Zealand for two weeks while I've cancelled my and the kids' tickets.

But I just realized emptiness is not something that can be conquered with words or anything of substance. Not this kind.

Remorse and regret are also my constant companions. My mom just gave me an Hermes scarf that my brother had given our grandmother, and which our grandmother had treasured, treasured so much she had only worn it ever just once and still kept the box. She had, on the hospital bed, told my mom to return the Hermes scarf in its packaging to my brother if she died so it's not wasted or thrown away. And I thought, why didn't I ever buy anything that special for her?

Would I be less devastated now if I had taken this semester, instead of promising to next semester, to record her life story? Would I be less unwilling to let her go from this world if she had not told me with her literally last remaining coherent words (before she started having trouble breathing and then slipping into a coma) that "you will write my life story when I'm discharged from the hospital"? Would I?

I remember how my dad still cries when he remembers how his dad had requested a trip to visit us in the US and how that never happened before my grandfather died. I never thought I will also come to carry one of these kinds of regrets.

How could I think we had so much more time? Why didn't I realize how old she is and how tenuous life is? It is still inconceivable that she is gone. That one day my last grandfather will too. One never gets used to death. Never. never. It's one of those things that only gets harder to understand.

small burbling

I know, I know, I haven't written in a really long time. The last time was while I was in the US; I've now been back in Taiwan for over a month. I had hit the ground running, literally hopping into a taxi straight from the airport upon landing to the first class I'm teaching for the semester. Did you know that the shuttle from terminal two of the Beijing Airport has to go onto the highway before it routes back to the terminal three part of the airport? Did you know that takes about 40 minutes during the usual traffic congestion in Beijing? I didn't, and so I missed my transfer flight that required me to disembark, change terminals, and check in within 90 minutes. I lost before I even started the race against time. The result was that instead of arriving back in Hsinchu at midnight so I can get ready for the semester with a leisurely couple of hours the next morning, I arrived at the department at precisely five minutes before the bell tolled. At least I made it, right? My level of stress since I missed the earlier flight may have warped the ends of all my telomeres just a little.

So currently I should be prepping for my second class (out of three). I have blocked off every Thursday i.e. my non-teaching day to prepare for all the classes of the following week. Working professionally again with young kids as part of my existential responsibility is psychologically daunting. Previously, there's a sense that if I feel like slacking off a little during allotted work time, I can always make up for it by curtailing some of my expected down time later. Now, my down time consists of the half or full hour after the kids miraculously go to bed for the night. My margin of error for sloth has decreased dramatically.

On that note, I must return to the task at hand. Just feel like I should pop in briefly to prevent this blog from going completely dormant.

an embarrassing (but kind of cool) thing happened on the way out the grocery store

I returned from Pittsburgh to Carbondale with the two kids yesterday, along with a dwindling amount of cash on hand as Daniel the cash replenisher drove on solo to Indiana. After last night’s Chinese takeout, I wanted to resume my usual cooking for Daniel’s parents today. Even as I still wondered if I had tipped too lightly the shuttle driver that took us from St. Louis Airport back (a two-hour drive), I knew that there’s only around US$20 in my wallet. And I had no credit card.

So it shouldn’t had been surprising when the cashier at the Co-op indicated a price over US$4-5 more than I could pay. I mean, it did kind of surprise me because I had only four items with me (a bag of Israeli couscous, a packet of marinade sauce, a single serving of coconut-based yogurt, and a pound of chicken). So I tried to return the sauce first, then the couscous, but even then I was US$2-3 short. Clearly the one thing to return that would have made all the difference immediately was the chicken, and if I were just cooking for the two kids and myself, I wouldn’t have included it in the first place. It’s hard to imagine other people in the family being willing to eat a vegetarian dinner though.

As I withdrew the yogurt from the to-buy pile, I said, “Declan, I’m sorry, but I don’t have enough money to buy your yogurt right now.” Declan’s face got that sad puppy frown; he was really looking forward to being able to eat non-dairy yogurt for the first time ever. Last night, he watched his sister snack on a chocolate yogurt and lamented his dairy allergy. I figured once I get some more money from…somewhere, I’ll walk back to the Co-op to purchase the coconut-based yogurt in time for his bedtime snack. But then—the woman behind me in line said, “I’ll pay the difference.” The cashier and I looked at her in surprise, so she said again, “Just put the amount she can’t cover on my card.” I think several other people turned around from the other lane to take in the situation, and I was by turns amazed, thankful, and flustered.

“Would you like the rest of my coins?” I offered stupidly.

“That’s okay, just…pay it forward.” She declined with a breezy smile.

As I reflected on what happened once I’m back at the kitchen counter, peeling and chopping carrots, my feelings of thankfulness and chagrin continued their attempts to sumo wrestle down each other. Feeling thankful is obvious; there was no reason for the woman to help me and no benefit aside from any illusory warm fuzzy feeling, but she did it anyway. Feeling chagrined surprised me a little; Do I really have such a pride issue that I cannot receive grace wholeheartedly? I realized the sources for this latter feeling were:

(1) Before I had gone to the Co-op, I had gotten most of the vegetables for the stew I planned to make at another corner store. It was the first time I stopped in, and I may have gotten a little carried away by the discount section (three blackening pears and an overly ripe peach I can use to make popsicles for the kids!) and the lower produce prices. Forgoing the carton of blueberries alone would have enabled me to cover all the costs later. The truth was I impulse-shopped on a pint of crimini mushrooms (that didn’t even end up in the stew), the aforementioned discounted fruits, and extra onions I could have gone without. So my chagrin was over the fact that I could have in fact paid for all of my purchases, and my lack of funds in the end was poor planning. How could I overspend at the first store when I knew that money was tight? Am I really incapable of living within a frugal budget?

(2) When the woman had said she would cover the difference, did she mean the yogurt only? Because the cashier had returned the previously rejected couscous and sauce back to my to-buy pile as well when she offered. I had been so embarrassed at the time that I didn’t even think to give the cashier all of my change rather than offering them to the woman, let alone thinking to just let her cover the yogurt cost. I feel bad about the possibility that she might have paid for a lot more than she had originally offered. Argh, I hope she didn’t feel like I was taking advantage of her kindness.

(3) And in the end, yes, I think I’m still really proud about “the way I am”. “The way I am” is not someone who goes shopping and let someone else cover her expenses for her. Part of me sees how nice it is to see such graciousness, and so to accept it, but still part of me exists that groans about such poor self-sufficiency.

What self-sufficiency? Even if I had enough money, it would still have been grace that I could have them, pay for food, have access to food that nourishes my family. I hope I can pay forward the kindness obviously given to me today, of course. And I’m equally reminded of how many things I don’t deserve or have never earned—which I enjoy everyday anyways.

inspiration

I attended an arts forum of sorts at someone’s home the other day. It was attended by mostly (if not all) Jewish retirees of the surrounding Carbondale area…and me. The person who hosted the event is basically an arts patron, who often provides the space and reception for artists and cultural endeavors. Her house is a cross between an art museum, a community center, a bistro—with a honest-to-goodness small film screening room (which also has a studio space full of musical instruments behind the movie screen). Touring the house was a social experience all on its own and erased the misgivings I had before arriving at the scene.

The luncheon preceding the main event was a tad bit painful as I wasn’t sure if I was crashing the table of old friends or how interested my three table companions were with anything to do with me. We then completely filled all the seats of the screening room and watched a 30-minute-long documentary called “Blue Like Me: the Art of Siona Benjamin”—a crowd-funded, by turns thought-provoking and whimsical, introduction to the Jewish-Indian community in Mumbai (Siona’s community and hometown), the mythological/ethnic/cultural fusion of Indian and Middle Eastern heritages in her art. Siona fielded some questions and elaborated on her artistic process as well as some of her commissions.

One of my favorite artworks by Siona Benjamin:
"Vashti", with elements of Indian and Jewish symbols

The blending of political commentary, sarcastic/sly humor in identity discourse, and appreciation of human nature in Siona’s works really interests me, and I wish—I really wish—that I could be contributing…inspiring…providing food for thought…the way she has and is doing.

I don’t know how to begin. If only I had not fought against the limitations, or so I felt, of me being a girl ergo only being capable in the humanities according to my grandparents and parents. My art teachers and English teachers had recommended me for things that I had turned down in pursuit of more “hard science” focuses, and now I regret not having entered university as an art or creative writing major. Regret is a pretty useless emotion though; I’m so over it. But is it really too late?

the current trend in running

Since our visit to Ann Arbor about two weeks ago, I've started running again consistently with a rest day here and there. When I don't feel like running in the first moments that I wake up, I remind myself how edgy and restless I feel (even more than usual) for the rest of the day. And the suggestion that I'll just run later in the day or at night rarely comes to pass, so the first thing in the morning it is.

Sometimes when I really don't feel up for it, I convince myself to just run for 20 minutes. Twenty minutes is nothing. If I had rolled over in bed or just went about the rest of my morning routine, 20 minutes usually dwindle invisibly in brief email or news checking. So far, every time I convince myself to just run for 20 minutes, I would reach the mark and want to keep going since it's only been 20 minutes and I'm already out the door and now sweaty anyways. Usually around the 20 minute mark, I'm closing in on two miles or more, in which case, why not aim for a 5K? It's just about one mile more, so I keep going on. Then when I hit 5K, sometimes I think why not go for 5 miles? It's just a little less than two miles more. Then when I hit 5 miles, sometimes I still feel pretty okay, so I think why not go 1.2 miles more and make that a 10K? Once, I ended up running three more miles after the 10K, and started thinking I might as well go four more miles and finish with a half-marathon. But then I remembered how I've always gotten feverish for a week after the half-marathon events I've done, and my past experiences told me not to push it for now. Maybe one day when I consistently reach the 10 mile mark on my daily runs, I'll change my attitude towards the half. If I can consistently run 10 miles every day, chances are doing another 3.1 miles isn't going to do me in anymore.

So now a routine, a habit, is being set: at least 20 minutes -> 5K (3.1mi) -> 5 miles -> 10K (6.2mi) -> 9-10 miles... are my various daily run lengths, depending on how I feel that day, how late I went to bed last night, etc. I'm not sure why, but running regularly really makes me feel more sane. I hope I can keep this going.

tucking in a little note

I recant some of my recent comments I made about life in the United States, especially the ones that are critical of the lifestyles and abundance of resources in the US. My most central reason for doing so is that several conversations and observations occurred in the last few days in Buffalo that's made me understand some things about myself that are quite judgmental and a perception based on a worldly culture masquerading as a godly attitude (which makes it all the more insidious and gnarly).

Instead of, I appreciate family, and legacy, and God as the source of all good things a little bit more and more rightly than I have before. Hopefully I can elaborate more when I have more time, so I myself don't forget about these rather important personal revelations.