We are Siblings

    I was not with my little brother when he was born. My earliest memory about him starts from his round and soft face, red lips, big eyes with long eye lashes. He was about two years old, wearing a bright red jacket that I had worn before and a fuzzy blue Bennie. He was so adorable and no one could confidently tell he’s a boy or a girl. When people asked, he would shock them by answering “I’m a boy” in his super scratchy voice. I don’t know if it was embarrassing to him, but it’s fun to see other people’s reaction after hearing that. He had a very good sense of pitch, tone and beat since he was a child. However, no one believed he would be able to sing a song because of his scratchy voice that accompanied him till his teenager years. Surprisingly and fortunately, his voice turned to be deep and clean after the changing period. He fell in love with singing and is an attractive singer, even a “mic hog”, in karaoke.

    In my childhood memory, my little brother was the most adorable boy in the world. I was willing to give him all of the cute names I knew, including those I learned from cartoons. Cutie pie, sweet dough ball,  Little Mole, Denver the last dinosaur, Yixiu the smart little monk… I liked to rub his face and played our secret games with him under the quilt.

    At the same time, he was also super naughty and sometimes annoying like typical boys. He had tons of energy everyday to plays tricks. Luckily he liked sports too which consumed most of his energy and saved me. His early years were devoted to soccer and often played it till it was completely dark. Later when my mom bought Ping-Pong and badminton sets for us, my brother quickly mastered the skills as well and turned to be a competitive Ping-Pong players in his school. He was selected to join the track and field team when he’s in elementary school. The most impressive thing I remembered when he was about 9 or 10 years old was that one day he came back home to tell me he decided to quit 100/200m but train for 3000m. I was surprised because he liked sprint. But he said too many boys wanted to do sprint as it’s fun; although he’s one of the top runners, it’s hard for him to secure champion every time. He found he had a much higher chance to win in 3000m, the longest distance running in his age group, as much fewer people were willing to devote into such a hard endurance training. That was the first time I admired my brother.

    My younger brother is super dedicated to anything that he is passionate about. He was a varsity basketball player in his high school and college. The extra training hours he put in was tremendous. He fell in love with guitar when he was in high school and spent hours after hours to practice chords, even on toilet seat. He likes movies. After watching the same movie numerous times, he could recite the actor’s lines precisely and taught himself Cantonese through it. He likes video games as many other boys and without doubt he was one of the best players in the games he played. I prayed he would find the same passion on his school work one day so he would be the top student in academic. Unfortunately this never happened.

    I have to say he is a very different person as I am even though we are from the same parents. The way he opens this world is from an aspect that I didn’t understand and could not accept at that time. Only till mid-age, I could see his colorful life more clearly and start appreciating such a different lift style. Of course, it’s also partially because he established his career and I saw him turn to be a responsible husband and father. I regret I gave him too many lessons when he was young because he’s not a typical model student as I was. I regret I didn’t spend time to communicate with him in his way and see a different world from his eyes. I could have learned more from him.

     He probably has different options. Once he told me that he suddenly realized how much influence I was on him when he chatted with his friends. Although both of us denied it for many years, actually what we are alike is much more than what we are apart. After all, we are siblings.

Dear Grandparents

    I was born in a Tiger year. My grandparents said it was a good year. I am their first grandchild and surly caught much attention, especially from my grandpa. Although he tried to treat all of his grandchildren fairly and actually did very well, I always know I am his favorite one. We had similar personalities, interests and values. We spent years together, visited each other, wrote many many letters to each other till he was too old to write. The bond between my grandparents and I is extraordinary. They are my first lighthouse, and forever anchor of life. 

    When I was one and half years old, a deadly earthquake occurred in Tangshan, a city about 100 miles away from Beijing. To escape from the aftershock, my parents sent me to Shanghai to stay with my grandparents temporarily. Well, that was the original plan. Later the temporary stay turned to be much longer, eventually more than four years till I had to go back Beijing for school. From what I heard, part of the reasons was I refused to go to daycare, which was what I had to do in Beijing since both my parents were working, and the other reason was my grandpa could not bear to let me leave him. 

   Grandpa had not been retired at that time. Most time of the week, my cousin and I stayed with Grandma. My grandma is a very gentle and elegant lady, never spoke loudly. She was raised in a well family, with maids and a big house. Unfortunately everything changed after wars. She had to learn to take care of all the chores and raise children by herself. My cousin is several months younger than me. Grandma was our first teacher, teaching us reading, writing, calligraphy, math, Tang poetry, as she did to my father, uncle and aunt. She must be an excellent teacher, as my father, uncle and aunt all went to top schools and have admiring calligraphy. My grandma loves Tang Song poetry and Yue opera. For many years after I returned to Beijing, I always recite one poem or ci for her at the end of my letter. Those poems soften my heart and connect her to me every time when I read them. 

    Sunday was absolutely the highlight of each week. Living in a busy and crowded city like Shanghai, kids had rare opportunities to play outdoors. In sunny Sundays, Grandpa would bring us to parks to meet his brothers and friends. Sometimes we got a treat, sometimes a book; I read every street name and shop sign along the way, but my favorite part was to climb in the playground. Other people said I was "too bold to be a girl", but Grandpa told me girls had no difference to boys; girls could be able to do everything boys could, like Mulan. He never said something like "dream big, fly high", but I knew he would support all my adventurous decisions and encourage me all the way along, because he was also an adventurer. In the year when he was 15, he traveled to Qiantang River by himself to shoot pictures of the famous high tide. And in the year when I was 15, he experienced some adventurous moments together with me and witnessed my growth. 

    When I was 15, my whole family was in America except me, so my grandpa came to Beijing to live with me for a year. That was my last year before high school. School work was heavy and I was sometimes stressed out, hiking at weekend is something soothed me. Simply packed with bottle water and some bread, my 73-year-old grandpa and I were heading to places we both liked. We stopped at creeks to refill water, bought watermelons for lunch, explored unpaved trails to avoid the crowd and seek other creatures. We didn't have GPS, maps, or even trail signs back then, but never got lost in mountains until one day. I could not tell if Grandpa was panic because he's always calm in my mind, but I knew I was not because I had him by my side. It was such a long day that we encountered many up and downs, critical turning decisions, even discussed overnight hike. Luckily, around 9 o'clock in the evening, after another hill, we saw the village and bus stops from halfway of the mountain. Although there was still over an hour to finish, we were so happy to find our way...

    Grandpa and I always have something to chat, from history and culture to science and philosophy. I used to lie down on the floor by his bed and chat with him till falling in sleep. Grandpa started learning English when he retired. He read newspaper and novels in English, listened to radio stations in English, taught me grammar and vocabulary, and even started writing letters in English with me. I have a box in my drawer keeping all of his letters to me from my elementary school to graduate school. My last letter to him was placed by his head at his funeral. I believe he has carried it with him in heaven. Nowadays although I don't physically write letters to him anymore, I often wrote one in my mind and received his messages back. 

    I will forever remember the old time when my grandma was preparing my favorite dishes, I was the only one being allowed to sit besides my grandpa when he had a small glass of wine before dinner, and took a lick of the wine from the tip of his chopsticks. I can smell the delicious dinner, which is the smell of yearning. 

Chinese New Year

        Believe or not, I didn’t like festivals when I was a child. Wired, right? Chinese New Year was the favorite festival for almost all kids, including my younger brother. Delicious food, new clothes, TV shows, game time, no homework, no disciplines… My brother’s favorite was definitely firecrackers, which he could play day and night for weeks.

        But I would rather find a quiet corner to hide during holidays. Visiting relatives was a big burden to me. The only comforting place was one of my cousins’ house because she is as “antisocial” as me. When we met, after the basic curtesy to greet each elder, we quickly locked ourselves in a room to talk about the books we read, the pictures she painted, and the music we appreciated. She even likes Laosheng in Beijing Opera and Kun Opera. Time went fast in our small world.

        I didn’t feel at ease to be antisocial and actually made efforts to be more cheered up in Chinese New Year’s celebration. I helped my mom clean house, wash bedsheets, cook festival meals; I played firework with my brother and skated on icy lake with my friends; I did enjoy the time to make dumplings and watch TV with all the family members, but all of these were not truly satisfying celebration in my mind. I remember in one of the New Year’s Eve, I felt I should do something for myself, something to celebrate the festival in my way. Luckily, a flower shop was still open in the late afternoon of that New Year’s Eve, so I brought back a bunch of red carnations to decorate the house. Carnation is not typical New Year flower that florists would recommend, but I like them as it is meant to signify love, fascination, healing, and strength, and has a long flowering period. That’s probably the most memorable Chinese Year’s Eve in my teenager years.

        Chinese New Year turned to be more meaningful only after I went to Canada. Just like home, it is something that is more clearly defined only when a distance exists between us. I had some cool and memorable celebrations during the years I was studying abroad along. I started skiing and waved to New Years on the top of snow mountains. I biked to downtown to see festival lights in a -40F night; my eye lashes turned to be mini icicles. I hugged with my best friend to welcome the new millennium; my tears welled up at the moment when the glorious fireworks illuminated the sky above us in the Inner Harbor. I traveled many places to chase dreams, but nothing could replace the gathering with Chinese friends at Chinese New Year to create an extended family in a foreign land. When Chinese food is not a default any more, we learned to cook one after another traditional Chinese dishes to create a taste of home.

        Finally family was settled when kids were born. Home suddenly has a new layer of meaning. Suddenly you are not the one who has to follow all the family traditions reluctantly, but the one who creates traditions for the family. You don’t have the option to treat the New Year’s day just as another exciting day, but are counted to open the window for your kids to understand Chinese culture and history. Many things I didn’t care before turned to be happy obligations. We dress up together with Tangzhuang Qipao, hang red lanterns, post red “Fu”, cook New Year dishes with special names and blessing meanings. Over the years, my daughter learned to make dumplings, sweet rice bowl (八宝饭), sweet dumplings (汤圆), even 酒酿。They learned to speak and read Chinese, laugh at Chinese comedy shows, and be able to appreciate Chinese cultures. I can see one day they will carry over the celebration and carry on this memorable festival in their life.