Family

We put our masks on to walk the dog, pick up waimai, or go to the market. They take our temperature when we come back to our complex. They disinfect the elevators three times a day. We stay in to eat, actually cooking our own meals. We watch lots of movies and TV shows. We write, or at least think about writing. Workplaces are closed. Restaurants are closed. Schools are closed. People walk past each other on opposite edges of the sidewalk. We check the daily infected count, trying to figure out if the latest new infections means the end is near or we are just at the beginning. We check twitter constantly. We check wechat constantly. We check the apps that show how close an infected person lives from your current location. 500 meters. That seems close enough. Things change daily. This is February 9th 2020, during the coronovirus outbreak. This is Beijing. ...

It’s the middle of January and my sixth night of staying at my ex’s apartment. But it’s not that kind of story. Yang is not there. Aidan is not there. Elisa is not there. They are on a six night vacation to Japan. Lydia is with me. The nanny is with me. The kids grandma who lives in the same complex slides through the unlocked door twice a day disrupting the household like Kramer from Seinfeld. I’m staying with Lydia because she could not make the trip. But this story is not about that. This story is about the myth of forgiveness. It’s just my view and I’m sure my perspective is messed up but it’s my perspective. ...

It’s Tuesday, January 28 and the no nicknamed coronavirus has reduced our Chinese New Year holiday to a staycation. It started out simple enough. A dozen reported cases of a SARs like virus in Wuhan. Nothing much to worry about. But then a dozen became a few dozen. And then it was reported that the infection rate was somewhere between 1.5 and 3.5. That’s exponential growth and I thought this could become a big problem. Wuhan and the province of Hubei banned anyone from leaving the city. A CNN reporter desperately tried to get out. A NY Times reporter desperately tried to get in. The next day, more cities in Hubei were closed off. The day after that, Sabrina’s hometown of Xiangyang, the second largest city in Hubei, was added to the list. We went to the Beijing train station, past the attendees in hazmat suits, and got full refunds. It would be a Beijing staycation. ...

It’s Christmas 2019. Late afternoon with an early supper ready to be served. But first it is time for the gift openings. Yang, since we are in her apartment, sits by the little plastic tree and picks a present. “Elisa..saaa” she says and hands one to Elisa. “Lydia..aaaaaah” she says and I ask her to wait. I want to enjoy this. See the gifts opened one by one. Elisa opens her gift. A bag. Gifts are not so much about the gifts anymore — we have everything we want — they are about the traditions that carry of anticipation, caring, and love. The ayi comes with a large plastic bag to collect the wrapping paper. Another tradition I got from my dad. Maybe not the best one. I don’t even need to ask the ayi to bring the bag. She just knows from years of Christmas. ...

It’s 6:30am and I’m sipping instant coffee starting my morning routine. No, not a gratitude list although I’m sure that would be more rewarding. On my phone, I scan CNN, a habit started since Trump was elected. Then ESPN. Then Instagram. Then Facebook not for the new posts but for the memories section which I linger over. It’s now 6:40am and I open the girls room door a crack and say “Elisa” and she stirs awake. Off to the kitchen I go to wash any dishes while Elisa gets ready. Kobe comes out from his perch and the sound of his nails clicky clacky brings warmth. Elisa pets Kobe, he stretches, and then lies back down. Elisa jacket on, backpack on. I check if she got her snack. “Yes”. We are out the door at 6:55am. Down to the first floor and I open up the Didi app to book a car. Elisa looks at the phone. Car is six minutes away. We sit side by side on a lobby chair until the car is three minutes away and then get up and walk into the 25F morning. Small talk until we get to the gate..does Elisa have PE today? English test? At the gate we wait a minute until our car arrives. The driver says in Chinese the last four digits of my phone numbers as confirmation. I confirm as does Elisa. ...

A letter to my children with some advice about emotions. Mostly, I don’t believe in direct advice since it’s like nostalgia and our lessons are our own to learn but today I feel like spewing a few words. First, I’ll say emotions are neither good nor bad, they just are. Don’t beat yourself up for how you feel. From my layman’s experience, three coarse sources of emotions. Emotional Triggers Trauma Waves Of course these are all somehow all connected in ways that are beyond my knowledge but I’ll share some of what I know. ...

It is a fall evening and I’m biking to meet my friend Steve and then we are going to meet Tyler at a French grocery store that has a few tables for patrons. About halfway to the meetup point, I stop at a red light and check my phone. Steve has arrived. But not at the location we had agreed on, at a place 20 minutes away from where I thought. I change course and meet him there. We walk together to the place on the map Tyler shared. No French market. We go into the bar that is there instead but after we sit down, I find the market on Google maps. 15-minute walk away. We set off for it. ...

We’ve arrived on Alcatraz and are walking up the grade to the prison where we will start our tour. A couple, maybe in their late 50s are walking down the hill. The woman says, “That’s finally off your bucket list. Are you happy now?” Lydia and I wait a beat and then start laughing. This becomes the tag line for the rest of the day and for each activity of our family vacation. Mist trail in Yosemite, Glacier peak, Alpaca visit, even Applebees, ends with Lydia asking: “now that’s off your bucket list are you happy now?” ...

Prologue : My phone rings. It’s 2am. It’s Yang. She’s distraught. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” she weeps. It has been seven years, so I’ll take it. But it wasn’t about that. “Kobe has been hit by a car”, she continues. Sobs. “He’s at the pet hospital and seems to be ok”. She could have led with that. It’s Tuesday morning and I had promised Aidan I would take him to Lake Merritt so he could have a run. It is an amazing day and we feel lucky to find parking spot at Lakeshore and Brooklyn. Aidan heads out. Originally I was going to run beside or behind him but feeling my age so I decide on a coffee sipping stroll. I walk 10 minutes out. 10 minutes back. Our rented minivan side window is smashed in. A city gardening crew is working close by and one of the men asks me if that’s my van. He says he saw them and it’s a shame. I’m standing in front of the van, brain scrambled. No idea what to do. We are supposed to drive to Yosemite in an hour. I don’t have insurance to cover this. How do I file a police report? A thought starts to form. We could cover the window in plastic and seal it with duck tape. Second thought. Cardboard. Given where my brain was five minutes prior I feel like I just solved nuclear fission. Aidan is finishing his run. He’s flying. Endorphined out. He walks up to the car, sees the broken window. Confusion. ...

They say that the voice in the back of your head is that of your parents. That the way the speak to you, the way you understood their feelings, and they way they made you feel are always with you. I’m thinking about this because of recent trips to the hair salon and the dentist. I really don’t like getting my hair cut or seeing the dentist. Really don’t like is an understatement. ...