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I am in the small bedroom next to the other small bedroom in the house I grew up in. It is almost four in the morning and I can’t sleep thanks the sixteen hour time change from my adopted home of beijing. Somewhere else in the house it is likely that my mom is awake trying to deal with her chronic shoulder pain. Pain severe enough that her chronic knee pain is no longer so visible. I’ve done this trip a bunch of times – maybe 15 – so I should be used to the jet lag, but I am not and my brain won’t get quiet when it needs to get quiet. i suspect sleep will come soon, but then the alarm will ring at six and I will be on my way to seattle. funny the things that go through my mind during these sleepless nights. i keep pushing back the work thoughts because i think they will keep my up longer. i try to play a mental round of golf in my head to no avail. i think of old friends and old girlfriends. old girlfriends not in a longing way, but in a low key way. its weird being at my parents house. they seem to have an ok life all and all. not the life i would want, but i can see their comfort in it. i here the same stories over and over again. the same patterns repeating over and over again. my parents are getting old and have been getting old for sometime. they’ve both slowed down a lot and makes me wonder how much more slowing they have in them. i keep thinking i will take down their story, but i never do, and i guess it will just pass one day. maybe next trip. ...

Aidan, you are six today and I can’t be more proud of you. Not proud because you turned six healthy and happy – this is a relief – but because of who you are. At some point in the past year you became a boy and the event almost slipped by without my noticing. But I did notice, the way your body folds on the bed is now longer and slightly awkward, the way you tolerate Lydia when she’s fussy vs. whacking her up side the head, the way you sit down and diligently do your homework, the way you likewise work to assemble your legos, the way understand when ask for more and when to ask for less. There have been other changes too, of course. You’ve had a few tough stretches at school where the bigger kids picked on you (your father can relate) and you came home with scratches and bruises. But you have adjusted to it and have improved your kicking skill. You’ve even adjusted your story a few times about what happens at school which means you are beginning to lie and discover what us other humans can detect. Keep in mind the two principles about lying that I’ve already told you. First, never lie to your family. Second, only lie about something important. When you are mad you bend your head and storm out of the room, not making a sound. You don’t get mad very often, and less often as the year passed, but when you do it is mostly because me or mom said we were going to do something we didn’t do. Like buy you a toy. At some point during the past year you stopped taking naps but you did start getting scared at night. Right now you wake up most nights and say in “very scared” in Chinese. I don’t so much raise you as I observe you and do everything I can to make sure that the part of you that is your essence does not get stepped on and recedes. Because your essence is so beautiful and uniquely you. It is in everything you do. When you cry when I leave on a business trip, when you beam with pride when you assemble a bionicle, when you run with joy chasing me, when you talk endlessly with your sister explaining what is real and what isn’t, when your voice is always too loud for a restaurant and you lower when i ask. Lower it for a good syllable or two. Your essence shines through in the photos of you, from day one to today. ...

I’ve been telling bedtime stories to the Aidan and Lydia and I enjoy it pretty much. I stand in between their beds, lights off, and walk back and forth talking away. Sometimes I aim for a moral, sometimes just try to be funny, sometimes just to get them to sleep. Lydia allows no scary stories. A couple of days ago…on the last day of the Chinese New Year celebration Beijing’s sky lit up with fireworks. It felt and it sounded like people where emptying out the inventory. We drove to a nearby Santana Row-ish mall and walked around with the kids. I was a bit tired and wanted to sleep but the kids wanted to light fireworks so we headed off to a fireworks stand and bought some. Aidan and Lydia enjoyed it quite a bit but the overwhelming sense from the people around us are that Chinese people are a bunch of pyros. They just have this look that I imagine an arsonist who enjoys his work has. Speaking of which, on the way home we saw fire trucks heading towards the business section of Beijing. Don’t hardly see fire trucks here, even more rare to see them with lights on rushing somewhere. But hey, it was national shoot flames night. And when I got home, I found out that is exactly what happened. One of my facebook friends who lives near the new CCTV complex reported a huge fire. Luckily the building was still under construction and vacant although sadly one firefighter died. Some pictures: ...

Yang told me that Cui Ayi and her daughter had left for Chinese New Year. And that when they said goodbye to the kids they cried. I told Yang that I guess they just quit. Occasionally I get asked on how to find a good ayi by someone who has just moved to Beijing. I give them the run down – mainly all the problems with finding a good one vs. the best way to actually find one. I then close by saying that Yang handles the ayi hiring thus significantly lowing the value of the wisdom I just bestowed. Then comes the whopper…I tell them we’ve had…give or take…15 ayis since 2005. At which point my “ayi hiring for dummies” is viewed as “dummies hiring ayis”. And, well, the numbers actually get worse. We’ve had two ayis at a time, one live in and one that comes in during the day. Until two weeks ago, the one that came in during the day was the same person, Cui Ayi. So the other 15 were from the live in position. And even there, we had one ayi that was with us for a good eighteen months. Here are the “long haulers” of our ayis: ...

Our trip to Malaysia was the first time I had been to a predominately muslim country and a bit to my surprise I found it quite comfortable. But then again I’ve always found diversity more comfortable than a lack of it. Which is one of my struggles here in China, because there are…well…a lot of Chinese people here and my lack of language skill means I see people in less than their full dimensions..and they I. But, anyway, back to Malaysia. We are at our resort, located in the center of a small bay on the island of Langkawi. I am following Yang and the kids down the path to the beach. Walking up the path is a blond eastern euro women who is not too young, not too pretty, and certainly not too shy about wearing a bikini top over her rather substantial assets. Walking directly behind me is a muslim man and his wife. The wife is wearing a black burqa – you know the head to toe, only the eyes showing (if that) outfit some muslim women wear. The man is in a pretty contemporary western style outfit. Even though the burqa is as black as night I’m pretty sure the muslim couple are on their honey moon because they are holding hands and have “that look”. At least from what I can see. I can only imagine what the woman in the burqa though when the blond woman walked past. I don’t need to imagine what the man was thinking. Have you ever wondered whether the united states has more churches or gas stations? I’m not sure what the point of question is, but I’m guessing gas stations are the clear winner. Well, in Langkawi mosques outnumber gas stations by, I would estimate, 10-1. And not for a lack of cars either, its just seemed that every mile or so there was another mosque but it could be an easy 10 miles before you came across a gas station. As we found out leaving the airport with an empty tank of gas and asking ourselves “hey, you think mosques sell gas?”. In addition to mosques there are prayer rooms in public places like airports and hotels. The prayer rooms are broken into men and women sections and it is very easy to mistake then for restrooms as the signs reads “men/women’s prayer room”. I’m not saying I walked into one thinking it was one, but I’m not saying I didn’t either. ...

He biked her to piano lessons from the time she was small until the time she wasn’t. He piano play inspired him and he forever held out hope that she would become a protégé. When he was young his mother used to play for him and he later learned she could have been a famous concert pianist but that she gave it up to start a family. To bear him. He tried to play but the gift did not stop at his generation, so he waited for the next. At first his daughter showed great promise or so said the piano teacher. With some hard work and years of effort, she too could be as gifted as her grandmother. The mother, for her part, was interested in the lessons as a way to improve her chances in getting into a top school and not for this silly dream. While it was true that the grandmother’s music talent did pass on to the granddaughter, the genuis did not. For genius requires more than skill; it requires passion and the ability to dream. For a while, it seemed the father’s dream and passion might be enough for both of them, but at last it was not. She got into a 2nd tier school and let her piano skill fade as she concentrated on her studies. The difficulty finding a job and a direction for her life after she graduated, only made manners worse. She married a man like herself – serious, kind, practical – which meant no piano in the house. When her father was entertaining guests on this cold winter day, she declined knowing she would let him down. He persisted. She played, hitting some tough notes, missing some transitions. She felt he let her down. He continued to asked her to play. Eventually, she had to stop. As she left for dinner, she wiped the tears away. Generations lost. ...

I’m waiting for our luggage to come rolling along the figure eight carousal when Yang comes by and says she’s bargained the car rental down to 300RM. RM is Malaysian money and I’m not sure what the letters stand for or how to say it. I certainly don’t know the exchange rate to either RMB or USD. For all I know 300RM is $1000 or $1 RMB. So I ask the next logical questions “for a single day or the entire trip?” I find I often do this..asking the exact right question but no having a clue what I would do with the good answer. Yang said for the trip and I said “sounds good”. Next dilemma is that neither of us brought our Chinese driver’s license. For some reason we just keep that license in our car. I have, however, carried my expired California’s driver license…apparently just for these situations…where the airport car rental agency just wants to see a license, and the expiration date is not important or at least ignorable. As we sign the forms the agent is trying to explain that for any damage to the car, there is a 20% copayment. No attempt to up sell more insurance. He used a RM number as an example, a number which didn’t make sense until later. Yang asked if it was a “new car” and the agent blinked once and said it was a “good car” which is when I knew we probably didn’t get the best end of this deal. He smiled and gave us his number in case anything went wrong. I used an ATM to get some RM cash – the exchange rate turns out to be about 3.5 RM for every dollar so the car cost us about $20 a day. Not bad, I’m thinking. We get to the airport parking lot directly across from the terminal. The car rental agency shuttle consisted of a young Malaysian man standing beside and opened trunk of a car parked right in the middle of the aisle. At first I thought he was smiling at someone behind us – perhaps a relative arriving from out of town. But he was in fact smiling at us. And the smile seemed genuine vs. laughing at the woman pushing a five month old while sipping a venti java mocha frappuccino and the man pushing a luggage cart containing two insanely large pieces of luggage and two insanely hyper happy children. It would be forgiven if he thought we were moving to the island and not just visiting for a few days. The “good car” turned out to be a Proton Miva. It had electric windows that opened on the passenger side, an empty tank of gas, and air conditioning that worked if you drove fast. After our luggage somehow fit into the trunk, the attendant gave us his card and like the front desk man said to call him in case we have any problem with the car. While his tone was even more personable than the front desk person, this time it came across as both a warning and a threat. Like this car can and will break down. And if you call anyone else, they will never know you rented the car from us. They next day when heading into town I noticed the toolbox in the trunk had the usual assortment of tools. Plus brake pads and a plunger. A plunger? Oh, and they drive on the wrong side of the road in Malaysia. Buckle up kids! ...

She had brought her lunch with her on the hike … a big bag of pre-cooked popcorn. It was both her comfort food and her means of exerting control over what was sure to be a disastrous lunch situation. Here’s the picture…two 60ish in law parents have brought along sandwiches of who knows what inside…it could run the gambit from butter and bread to spam. The one sure thing was it wasn’t going to be under her control. It was bad enough that she had to put on the happy daughter in law face for several hours just so she could get some exercise while fulfilling her sense of duty. Her sense of duty. It never ends. So she brought her own bag, a quite big bag of popcorn with her. At lunch she opened it anxiously and felt under control. Then the father in law unit asked for some. She joked that it was all hers. At least she appeared to joke but in fact she was dead serious. Her husband unit gave her that “just let it be ok” thread. She pleaded nicely with the f-in-law making up a new word for the f. Told the f that it was her treat and she wasn’t sharing…all in a good natured joking way. It seemed to work for a while but then towards the end of lunch the f asked again. The husband with the pleading eyes again. She gave in. A small handful to the f. She look at her husband and smiled. Her other planned duty item of the day she would leave unfulfilled. ...

Lydia told us she did not want to go to Harbin after it was announced Aidan was going with me. For a few days before the trip she was more fussy than her normal fussy four year old self. At times she was simply a terror, screaming and inconsolable for large chunks of time. I think Yang even gave her a good smack on the butt once. When Yang booked our family Chinese New Year trip to Malaysia Lydia steadfastly said she did not want to go. She wasn’t giving an inch. When Aidan and I arrived at our hotel in Harbin I walked to the registration desk and stood at the counter. There were two young woman behind the counter looking busy shuffling and counting receipts. I waited for one of them to look up. And waited. Zero eye contact. Other guests walked up right beside me, said in Chinese to one of the women, and checked out. Someone did the same thing over my left shoulder. Eventually, I spoke up and we got our room. They same exact thing happened on checkout. I stood right on top of the front desk, didn’t say anything, and didn’t get any attention. When I got home I talked to Yang about it describing it as “very china”. She explained that unless you say you need something there is no expectation that you do. At that point it kind of clicked in my head about why lines are so problematic here. Why people just walk up to the front of a line and ask for what they want. Another case is driving and interaction with pedestrians and bikers. Often it seems pedestrians have either a death wish or have just been startled awake from sleep walking. One case recently, I was driving about 40mph and a middle age man turned his bike directly in front of me and attempted to cross three lanes of traffic. He survived. In another case two days ago, I was going through an intersection when a young woman jolted herself to a walking stop. It was as if she had no concept a car might be coming. This pedestrian/car interaction is the subject of much Chinese/foreigner discussions in China. I’ve heard many theories on why it is so different here than in the states or anywhere else with indoor plumbing. The theory which is sticking with me is this. In China, people driving are expected to be looking out for those with lesser transportation capabilities (bike, feet, cart) and not hit them. To, in fact, take care of them. So its not like they are being rude when they walk in front of the car just as the light turns green – just the opposite – they are trusting you. A few weeks back…mid December I guess…Lydia decided to spend the night with Cui Ayi. Cui Ayi has been our Ayi since we moved to Beijing and is quite close to Lydia. Lydia packed her little backpack and off she went. Aidan was crushed. As Lydia left, he came out of their bedroom with a couple Lydia’s toys, holding back tears, asking what toy Lydia would have to play with. Lydia’s mood has turned for the better. Just yesterday she said to me, “Baba, I’m going to Harbin” and she grabbed her little backpack. I asked her to wait. She said she was going. She walked to our front door, opened it, stepped outside, stepped back inside, and said “I’m back from Harbin”. ...

It is cold and the conversation colder. I am bored and take a sip of diet coke and play with my cell phone. I tell myself that I should be more social, so I lean forward and try to listen. Try really hard. But my mind still drifts, unfocused, not able to engage. My defense mechanism. Then I am hot and I wonder if my health may be slipping away. No one else seems hot. My right arm is sore from the shoulder to the wrist and I wonder why that is. I stretch out my leg…preparing to stand… but not standing yet. The preparation is to offset the boredom. My knee has a kink and gets stuck during the extension. It hurts. I grimace. No one seems to notice. But I do, boy do I. I get up and make my way to the restroom. Looking cool I think. My second thought is no one looks cool walking to the restroom. It is like everyone can picture you standing there dick in hand waiting for the flow stop. As if people are judging if I am a tinkler or a faucet. I get back to the table and I am still hot. At least in spots. ...