As I read Japan, Checking on its Oldest, Finds Many Gone by Martin Fackler of The New York Times, I found it interesting that many statements in the article resonated with what I have been thinking about for quite a long time--but now more than ever.
"Or was the whole sordid affair, as the gloomiest commentators here are saying, a reflection of disintegrating family ties, as an indifferent younger generation lets its elders drift away into obscurity?
“This is a type of abandonment, through disinterest,” said Hiroshi Takahashi, a professor at the International University of Health and Welfare in Tokyo. “Now we see the reality of aging in a more urbanized society where communal bonds are deteriorating.”
It should come as no surprise that I ponder deeply about all aspects in regards to family. But through my observation, it seems to me that familial bonds presently, in the 21st century, are not as strong or important as they seemed to be in previous time periods. It saddens me to think that while my aunts, uncles, and parents gather together quite often (at least three times a month, if not every other week), I can't see myself having such frequent reunions with the family members of my generation (the F1 generation to be exact) in the future.
"Some health experts say these cases reflect strains in a society that expects children to care for their parents, instead of placing them in care facilities. They point out that longer life spans mean that children are called upon to take care of their elderly parents at a time when the children are reaching their 70s and are possibly in need of care themselves."
When I was younger, my aunts and family members would ask me if I'd take care of them and give them money when I grew up. Of course I said yes without hesitation. Now, I am sure that it still holds true...no matter how strained our relationship. Because, unfortunately at times...family is still family. But I cannot see myself living with my parents or anyone else in my family for the majority/the rest of my life. I would absolutely go insane. Another example that adds to my theory that family bonds are disintegrating.
...Sigh.
Showing posts with label family. Show all posts
Showing posts with label family. Show all posts
Sunday, August 15, 2010
Monday, August 9, 2010
Earlier in the night, my aunt asked me if my uncle from my mother’s side of the family ever kept in touch with me. I said no. She said that she thought it was quite strange considering he and my mother were siblings, and thus very close, even up til her death. I said that it didn’t seem strange at all. I mean, I’m not my mother, so why should he bother keeping in touch with me? She then retorted, “Then why do I care about you and your cousin?”
Both my cousin and I lost our mothers and were largely raised by this very aunt, even though we had fathers. It isn’t a wonder why she is the most important and beloved person in my life.
It was 11 p.m. as my aunt lay on the sofa, when she brought up my mother’s last few moments.
She said that even though my mother was comatose, that she could not move or speak or open her eyes, and was nearing her death, it was as if my mother could hear that she was being spoken to—my mother’s hands twitched and tears rolled down her face from her eyes when she heard my aunt reassure her that she would take good care of me.
It was the first time I had heard about this. I was surprised to find a single tear roll down each side of my cheek. It happened so quickly. My father often told me (and he still does, once in a while) about how he promised my mother as she lay in the hospital bed during some of her last moments that I’d become a well-educated woman, but I never cried when he told me about that moment all those times. My aunt’s recollection of my mother’s final days added an even heavier weight on everything I had ever heard about my mother’s final days.
Something struck me deeply. It grieved me that even though my mother was unable to wake up, speak, move or open her eyes, and that she never would wake up…tears formed from her eyes. It turns out that it was not only my father that promised my mother something on my part—to make sure I became a well-educated woman—but also my aunt who promised my mother that she would always take good care of me.
I knew nothing about my aunt’s promise or my mother’s tears when she heard them.
Sometimes a single word will resound in my head bearing an emotion. It’s hard to explain, but it just crashes down on me. As shocking as this may sound, I’ve never felt this strongly about my mother’s death.
Grief.
After birthing me on June 30, 1994, Tina Shen went into a coma thereafter, passing away on July 29, 1994.
Once in a while, I wonder whether things would have been different if I had never been conceived. I think that life would have definitely taken a different course.
Both my cousin and I lost our mothers and were largely raised by this very aunt, even though we had fathers. It isn’t a wonder why she is the most important and beloved person in my life.
It was 11 p.m. as my aunt lay on the sofa, when she brought up my mother’s last few moments.
She said that even though my mother was comatose, that she could not move or speak or open her eyes, and was nearing her death, it was as if my mother could hear that she was being spoken to—my mother’s hands twitched and tears rolled down her face from her eyes when she heard my aunt reassure her that she would take good care of me.
It was the first time I had heard about this. I was surprised to find a single tear roll down each side of my cheek. It happened so quickly. My father often told me (and he still does, once in a while) about how he promised my mother as she lay in the hospital bed during some of her last moments that I’d become a well-educated woman, but I never cried when he told me about that moment all those times. My aunt’s recollection of my mother’s final days added an even heavier weight on everything I had ever heard about my mother’s final days.
Something struck me deeply. It grieved me that even though my mother was unable to wake up, speak, move or open her eyes, and that she never would wake up…tears formed from her eyes. It turns out that it was not only my father that promised my mother something on my part—to make sure I became a well-educated woman—but also my aunt who promised my mother that she would always take good care of me.
I knew nothing about my aunt’s promise or my mother’s tears when she heard them.
Sometimes a single word will resound in my head bearing an emotion. It’s hard to explain, but it just crashes down on me. As shocking as this may sound, I’ve never felt this strongly about my mother’s death.
Grief.
After birthing me on June 30, 1994, Tina Shen went into a coma thereafter, passing away on July 29, 1994.
Once in a while, I wonder whether things would have been different if I had never been conceived. I think that life would have definitely taken a different course.
Wednesday, August 4, 2010
[photograph] when you smile in a family photo...
You know it was taken right. Because the memories it held--you remember them fondly.
I must admit, I was not the one to take these photographs. It was my cousin's uncle who was visiting with his wife (my cousin's aunt, to the right of me above) that took these photographs with a Leica M8.
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| Aunt Lily, Aunt Donna, Me |
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| Capitol Hill in the distance |
I must admit, I was not the one to take these photographs. It was my cousin's uncle who was visiting with his wife (my cousin's aunt, to the right of me above) that took these photographs with a Leica M8.
Friday, July 23, 2010
I love my little sister and the tooth fairy.
My little sister makes me realize a lot of things.
I wanted to give her a bear hug just now.
At dinner, she lost her first baby tooth. So obviously the tooth fairy will have to visit her tonight. She’s never met the tooth fairy before, so at the insistence of my mother, she decided to write a letter to the tooth fairy.
She came up to my room and asked me to help her write the letter.
So I did.
And after we finished the first few sentences, she asked me,
“What does the tooth fairy give me? Does the tooth fairy give me something to eat—a treat?”
I laughed and told her no.
She then tells me, “I watched Clifford [the Big Red Dog] and Emily Elizabeth gave Clifford a big treat.”
Oh.
Goodness. My little sister just really makes me remember how innocent kids, or myself, at least, are at her age. How trusting and vulnerable and adorable they are. You just want to hug them and protect them so that nothing will ever hurt them.
Since we could only think of two sentences, I suggested that she draw a picture for the tooth fairy after signing her name. She decided to draw herself on the right side and her tooth on the left. She asked me how to draw a tooth, so I showed her on another piece of paper.
And then, when it was time to put the letter in an envelope, she asked to choose a sticker from my extremely sacred sticker box. (Yes, I collected stickers as a little kid and put them in this box especially designed to hold stickers. It’s one of my childhood possessions that I really treasure and NOBODY uses it.) I agreed, and we rummaged through the sticker collection. I had a lot of animal stickers, but she said, “I want something…cute.”
Eventually I came across a Barbie sticker collection and there was a cute butterfly there, so she chose that one.
She asked me how the tooth fairy comes. And what kind of “presents” she gives. And whether or not mom calls the tooth fairy over.
I told her that the tooth fairy will only come if she sleeps early :)
So now she's fast asleep.
Little moments like these mean a lot to me.
I wanted to give her a bear hug just now.
At dinner, she lost her first baby tooth. So obviously the tooth fairy will have to visit her tonight. She’s never met the tooth fairy before, so at the insistence of my mother, she decided to write a letter to the tooth fairy.
She came up to my room and asked me to help her write the letter.
So I did.
And after we finished the first few sentences, she asked me,
“What does the tooth fairy give me? Does the tooth fairy give me something to eat—a treat?”
I laughed and told her no.
She then tells me, “I watched Clifford [the Big Red Dog] and Emily Elizabeth gave Clifford a big treat.”
Oh.
Goodness. My little sister just really makes me remember how innocent kids, or myself, at least, are at her age. How trusting and vulnerable and adorable they are. You just want to hug them and protect them so that nothing will ever hurt them.
Since we could only think of two sentences, I suggested that she draw a picture for the tooth fairy after signing her name. She decided to draw herself on the right side and her tooth on the left. She asked me how to draw a tooth, so I showed her on another piece of paper.
And then, when it was time to put the letter in an envelope, she asked to choose a sticker from my extremely sacred sticker box. (Yes, I collected stickers as a little kid and put them in this box especially designed to hold stickers. It’s one of my childhood possessions that I really treasure and NOBODY uses it.) I agreed, and we rummaged through the sticker collection. I had a lot of animal stickers, but she said, “I want something…cute.”
Eventually I came across a Barbie sticker collection and there was a cute butterfly there, so she chose that one.
She asked me how the tooth fairy comes. And what kind of “presents” she gives. And whether or not mom calls the tooth fairy over.
I told her that the tooth fairy will only come if she sleeps early :)
So now she's fast asleep.
Little moments like these mean a lot to me.
Tuesday, June 15, 2010
对不起
My dad just came in and asked me if I would like to accompany him to visit my grandparents in Taipei, Taiwan during the week of July 4. It will have been the first time in at least 10 years that I've gone to Taiwan. I of course said yes without hesitation even though I am not sure that my father and I will get along during the trip. But the reason I said yes so willfully has to do with my grandfather's situation.
This, I hesitate to say. He is not well. I will not say the unspeakable.
The grandfather/grandparents I speak of are the only ones I have, as far as I'm concerned. They're from my late mother's side of the family. My father's side--I never had the chance to meet them since they passed on already.
But because my mother passed away, my grandparents probably have little reason to linger around me. Their only ties to us were through my mother, who I myself never met. So to say the least--I don't really know much about my mother's side of the family (my grandparents). They only visit during the summers. They spend the rest of the time in Taiwan because that is where their medical expenses are covered. It gets harder each and every year for them to make their annual trip to the United States for the summer. For the past few years, each time they've expressed that they might not be able to take the trip. Yet, every time, they end up painstakingly arriving here. But this year, it really does seem doubtful.
Every time I tell myself that the next time I meet them, I'll ask them things and try to converse with them better in Mandarin, I can't bring myself to do it. I'm at a loss for words. My grasp of Mandarin is not enough (my home tongue follows that of my father's side--Cantonese).
And what's worse is that both my grandparents are very ill. My mother's side of the family has had hereditary heart problems. That was the reason she died at such an early age, and that is why my grandparents suffer so.
I don't want to think that it is too late for me to start to reach out to them more. It's not that I don't love them. I'm afraid. I can't articulate well enough.
I want to ask them the questions I've always kept in my heart. I want to ask them, what was my mother like? What did her voice sound like? Could I listen to a tape recording of her voice? What did my mom seem like as a teenager? As a young woman?
I want to ask them if they've ever blamed me for mother's passing.
I want to ask them what their favourite food is, what they think of life, what they were like as teenagers.
And beyond these infinite questions, I want to tell them things.
I want to tell them that I regret so many things, that I wish we could know them better.
I want to know their life story.
I want to take their portraits. Infinite portraits.
I want to tell them that it breaks my heart every time I see them cry when my family leaves after our visits.
I want to tell them that I love them very much even though we've only met a handful of times in all my fifteen, almost sixteen years of life.
But how can I do that when I don't even know how to speak eloquently with my grasp of Mandarin? How can I tell them these things when I've never asked them these sorts of questions before?
This, I hesitate to say. He is not well. I will not say the unspeakable.
The grandfather/grandparents I speak of are the only ones I have, as far as I'm concerned. They're from my late mother's side of the family. My father's side--I never had the chance to meet them since they passed on already.
But because my mother passed away, my grandparents probably have little reason to linger around me. Their only ties to us were through my mother, who I myself never met. So to say the least--I don't really know much about my mother's side of the family (my grandparents). They only visit during the summers. They spend the rest of the time in Taiwan because that is where their medical expenses are covered. It gets harder each and every year for them to make their annual trip to the United States for the summer. For the past few years, each time they've expressed that they might not be able to take the trip. Yet, every time, they end up painstakingly arriving here. But this year, it really does seem doubtful.
Every time I tell myself that the next time I meet them, I'll ask them things and try to converse with them better in Mandarin, I can't bring myself to do it. I'm at a loss for words. My grasp of Mandarin is not enough (my home tongue follows that of my father's side--Cantonese).
And what's worse is that both my grandparents are very ill. My mother's side of the family has had hereditary heart problems. That was the reason she died at such an early age, and that is why my grandparents suffer so.
I don't want to think that it is too late for me to start to reach out to them more. It's not that I don't love them. I'm afraid. I can't articulate well enough.
I want to ask them the questions I've always kept in my heart. I want to ask them, what was my mother like? What did her voice sound like? Could I listen to a tape recording of her voice? What did my mom seem like as a teenager? As a young woman?
I want to ask them if they've ever blamed me for mother's passing.
I want to ask them what their favourite food is, what they think of life, what they were like as teenagers.
And beyond these infinite questions, I want to tell them things.
I want to tell them that I regret so many things, that I wish we could know them better.
I want to know their life story.
I want to take their portraits. Infinite portraits.
I want to tell them that it breaks my heart every time I see them cry when my family leaves after our visits.
I want to tell them that I love them very much even though we've only met a handful of times in all my fifteen, almost sixteen years of life.
But how can I do that when I don't even know how to speak eloquently with my grasp of Mandarin? How can I tell them these things when I've never asked them these sorts of questions before?
Wednesday, May 5, 2010
In the end, there is always a person I will love unconditionally and for all eternity.
My aunt.
She is like a mother to me, the greatest woman with the biggest heart on earth. She cared for and loved me when no one else did for the most untarnished years of my life: childhood. And she still does.
It makes me very sad. I have a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach; the sort of feeling you could relate to as a child when you were caught by your parents in the act of doing something ostensibly bad.
Just yesterday she looked so sad, so weary and beaten from seeing how terribly I was doing in school. If there is anyone who could ever sway me from any resolution I make, she would be the only one. One glance at her teary eyes made me guiltier than I had ever felt before; so guilty I could not look her in the eyes.
When she dropped me home and drove off, I stood at the doorway of my house. Guilty, guilty, guilty. Even though I am indignant and relentless and unwilling to compromise my dreams, it pains me beyond words when the person I love the most suffers from my own selfishness. But while I will not yield to anyone, not even this great woman, I still respect and love her more than anything or anyone on this earth.
If there is anyone worth dying for, it would be her.
She lives by herself. She has no children. She is growing older and older, wearier and wearier, and clumsier and clumsier as the years go by. I can see prominent white in her hair, her hands wrinkled and more worn than crumpled paper, the limp that constantly plagues her.
I am always worried about her. Sometimes she can't remember how many high blood pressure pills she has taken. Sometimes she forgets how to go home. Sometimes she slips and falls. Just recently she slipped on water on the kitchen floor. I was there, and I watched in the utmost horror, seeing the whole incident unfold right before me. The scene drove a stake into my heart. She was a broken heap on the floor, clutching her knee in agony. My blood turned cold.
She called me just now at 8:30 p.m. Her voice was strangled. She said that her ear hurt intensely, as well as her jaw. Ear-splitting pain is the best way to put it, I suppose. But the pain in her voice really drove home. She didn't know what was wrong, so she asked me to research the possible problem since she can't really use a computer. It is only in these times that I would ever wish to be a doctor.
When I was a little more religious; before I abolished the notion of a so-called "religion," I always prayed every night for one thing, and one thing only. It would be the same verse every night:
"Dear Heavenly Father. Please let my aunt and all my loved ones be happy and safe for all their lives."
Whether there is a heavenly deity or not, I still pray for the same--now more than ever.
My aunt.
She is like a mother to me, the greatest woman with the biggest heart on earth. She cared for and loved me when no one else did for the most untarnished years of my life: childhood. And she still does.
It makes me very sad. I have a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach; the sort of feeling you could relate to as a child when you were caught by your parents in the act of doing something ostensibly bad.
Just yesterday she looked so sad, so weary and beaten from seeing how terribly I was doing in school. If there is anyone who could ever sway me from any resolution I make, she would be the only one. One glance at her teary eyes made me guiltier than I had ever felt before; so guilty I could not look her in the eyes.
When she dropped me home and drove off, I stood at the doorway of my house. Guilty, guilty, guilty. Even though I am indignant and relentless and unwilling to compromise my dreams, it pains me beyond words when the person I love the most suffers from my own selfishness. But while I will not yield to anyone, not even this great woman, I still respect and love her more than anything or anyone on this earth.
If there is anyone worth dying for, it would be her.
She lives by herself. She has no children. She is growing older and older, wearier and wearier, and clumsier and clumsier as the years go by. I can see prominent white in her hair, her hands wrinkled and more worn than crumpled paper, the limp that constantly plagues her.
I am always worried about her. Sometimes she can't remember how many high blood pressure pills she has taken. Sometimes she forgets how to go home. Sometimes she slips and falls. Just recently she slipped on water on the kitchen floor. I was there, and I watched in the utmost horror, seeing the whole incident unfold right before me. The scene drove a stake into my heart. She was a broken heap on the floor, clutching her knee in agony. My blood turned cold.
She called me just now at 8:30 p.m. Her voice was strangled. She said that her ear hurt intensely, as well as her jaw. Ear-splitting pain is the best way to put it, I suppose. But the pain in her voice really drove home. She didn't know what was wrong, so she asked me to research the possible problem since she can't really use a computer. It is only in these times that I would ever wish to be a doctor.
When I was a little more religious; before I abolished the notion of a so-called "religion," I always prayed every night for one thing, and one thing only. It would be the same verse every night:
"Dear Heavenly Father. Please let my aunt and all my loved ones be happy and safe for all their lives."
Whether there is a heavenly deity or not, I still pray for the same--now more than ever.
Tuesday, April 20, 2010
Today I applied for a page editor position on my high school’s newspaper.
It means more than ‘a lot’ to me. But nobody realizes. But that’s not the point.
When my aunt found out later, she told me,
“I hope you don’t get the position.”
Because she thinks that my joining the newspaper has made me deviate from school.
When my dad came home today, he started attacking me (verbally, as usual) at dinner.
He gave me shit about me and journalism, and then he starts talking about how his friends’ daughters are getting “full scholarships” and how they’re all majoring in computer science or the medical field.
Well. Congratulations, you people I don’t know.
But I honestly don’t give a shit, even if my dad thinks that my current state and dreams are the most pitiful, shameful things he has seen all his life.
He goes on about, “If I were you, if I were younger, I’d be a doctor.”
Shut the fuck up. You’d end up killing people. You think everyone can be a doctor?
You think I can be one? You think I want to? You think I’m going to be making six figure salaries? Fuck you.
I should just starve myself from now on and skip dinner so I don’t have to fucking hear any of this anymore.
My aunt told my dad that she had a friend who had been working in journalism for twenty years, and now *has* to switch over to IT because the journalism industry is so shitty.
Hmm. Yeah. It sucks that I’ve ended up missing the technology bandwagon that’s so hot these days. I’m not a math or science geek. I’m not a lawyer. I’m not the miracle woman who can bring the dead back. I’M A FUCKING ARTIST.
If I were to wake up one day, and not have to hear any of this shit for a day, that would be heaven. Just how much longer will I have to put up with this?
Someday, I’m going to prove every single one of these people wrong. And it all sounds so sketchy with the ‘someday’, and right now I have no idea how I’ll go about accomplishing that task, but I am going to make every single person in this family that gave me this shit apologize to me.
I want to punch people who go, “Family is the most important thing. Do it for the sake of family! Trust your family 300%. Be obedient to your parents because they say so! Family will never hurt you!” Yeah. Meet my family and then we’ll talk.
Sunday, April 11, 2010
to never forget 41110
I will not forget this day.
The tension between my father and I came to a head today. He was the only one in a frothing rage, shouting the most terrible things to me that I've ever heard from him about me. He has always said plenty of terrible things to me, but today was the worst of it all so far.
Normally in this situation, I would've been very afraid and I'd be praying in my head for forgiveness, but today was different.
I was not afraid that he was angry (understatement) with me. I was only indignant, and dangerously calm.
I will not forget this day.
I will triumph.
I will be strong.
The tension between my father and I came to a head today. He was the only one in a frothing rage, shouting the most terrible things to me that I've ever heard from him about me. He has always said plenty of terrible things to me, but today was the worst of it all so far.
Normally in this situation, I would've been very afraid and I'd be praying in my head for forgiveness, but today was different.
I was not afraid that he was angry (understatement) with me. I was only indignant, and dangerously calm.
I will not forget this day.
I will triumph.
I will be strong.
Monday, March 29, 2010
[diary] midnight piano with my sister
I expressed my doubts to one of my best friends. Directly quoting what I said earlier, "I don't know if the majority of people understand how terribly smart and sneaky little kids are." I think I have a point since I actually have a five-year-old sister. And three-year-old brother.
Although I might not spend a lot of time with them, when I do, it's normally to help them. Like piano practice with my little sister.
It usually goes smoother than it did today. I mean, tomorrow/later, she has a piano lesson at 10:30 a.m. It is currently 12:35 a.m. and we just finished one segment of practice. I told her I'd give her a 20 minute break, and we'd get back to practicing until she has 'perfected' all her pieces.
I'm a drill sergeant. I say "again" every time she finishes playing a piece if it isn't perfect. I've said "again" for at least 10 times in a row, literally. But it's for her own good. And I do that to myself, too. For the most part. But that is how I train her. And myself. I know she gets frustrated whenever I say "again" in a flat voice. But that's the only method that I can think of that works--repetition--grounding the concept into both her mind and fingers over and over again so that she knows it upside-down in her sleep. Whenever I review for tests, especially math and science, I do the same problems over and over again. Do the problem. Erase. Do the problem. Erase. Rinse and repeat. It's terribly monotonous and frustrating, yes, but I've gotten used to it and it seems to be my most successful method. I don't know what else that I can do to ground piano in my sister.
But after the most frustrating piano practice I've done with her, a part of me feels very sad, yet I feel troubled and wiser at the same time. I've already placed myself in my parents' shoes before. And this time I do it again. And again. And again. I try to reason about what it's like to be them. And then I try to reason about what it's like to be a five-year-old. So I know. I wish I could sit my sister down and explain why I'm "tormenting" her with these drills. I admit, often during this practice, I wanted to do something abrupt because I was so aggravated. But I didn't yell at her like my parents. I didn't slam my hands on the table or piano like I would have wanted to. I didn't slam her hands on the keys like my first piano teacher. I'm sure that often, when I don't obey my parents, that's exactly what they want to do--dole out physical punishment. Or say terrible words. They do that. But they don't do physical punishment. But I still think it's just as bad. But when I was practicing piano with my sister for those consecutive two hours, I really wanted to yell, shout.
I am seriously dubious of how difficult this really is. It's hard to explain, but if I know you in person, I'll show you. I honestly don't think I had this much difficulty with piano even when I was her age doing the same thing. I often suspected that my sister was intentionally pretending not to know how to play certain parts just so she could try my patience.
As if the entire world hasn't tested my patience today.
Today was a truly terrible day. A perpetual headache. More than annoying, nosy, loud relatives. No peace, no quiet. Just claustrophobia, a racket of gossip, practicing piano without very fruitful results for two hours. No stomach for food.
Whenever I get frustrated, mad, or sad, I have no stomach for food. Either that or I start indiscriminately binging--stuffing whole foods into my mouth and tearing savagely, swallowing in huge gulps, blinking back hot tears. That happens quite often--well, at least, when I'm sad/mad at meal times. Today I stuffed a whole square of radish cake (蘿蔔糕) into my mouth after being unhappy with dinner (because I was in a foul mood I couldn't savor the food).
Anyhoo. Back to the subject of practicing with my sister.
She just went to sleep despite my mandate of resuming practice in 20 minutes. That means I'll have to wake up around 8 or so and wake her up to practice. Didn't I say I was a drill sergeant?
While I may not do everything that I have to recently, when I do do it, I put my mind to it for the most part. Discipline is something that I lack but also have. Repetition is one of the pillars of my methods. You could say that I have a lot of discipline, but at the same time, you could also say that I can be reckless and wild.
I just can't stomach the fact that if my sister doesn't do well in her piano lesson tomorrow, I will bear the brunt of it from my parents. And I myself will feel guilty and responsible, because I am responsible for her success this time.
But I know, that it's frustrating. For me, for my sister, for my parents, for everyone in the world who has family.
Although I might not spend a lot of time with them, when I do, it's normally to help them. Like piano practice with my little sister.
It usually goes smoother than it did today. I mean, tomorrow/later, she has a piano lesson at 10:30 a.m. It is currently 12:35 a.m. and we just finished one segment of practice. I told her I'd give her a 20 minute break, and we'd get back to practicing until she has 'perfected' all her pieces.
I'm a drill sergeant. I say "again" every time she finishes playing a piece if it isn't perfect. I've said "again" for at least 10 times in a row, literally. But it's for her own good. And I do that to myself, too. For the most part. But that is how I train her. And myself. I know she gets frustrated whenever I say "again" in a flat voice. But that's the only method that I can think of that works--repetition--grounding the concept into both her mind and fingers over and over again so that she knows it upside-down in her sleep. Whenever I review for tests, especially math and science, I do the same problems over and over again. Do the problem. Erase. Do the problem. Erase. Rinse and repeat. It's terribly monotonous and frustrating, yes, but I've gotten used to it and it seems to be my most successful method. I don't know what else that I can do to ground piano in my sister.
But after the most frustrating piano practice I've done with her, a part of me feels very sad, yet I feel troubled and wiser at the same time. I've already placed myself in my parents' shoes before. And this time I do it again. And again. And again. I try to reason about what it's like to be them. And then I try to reason about what it's like to be a five-year-old. So I know. I wish I could sit my sister down and explain why I'm "tormenting" her with these drills. I admit, often during this practice, I wanted to do something abrupt because I was so aggravated. But I didn't yell at her like my parents. I didn't slam my hands on the table or piano like I would have wanted to. I didn't slam her hands on the keys like my first piano teacher. I'm sure that often, when I don't obey my parents, that's exactly what they want to do--dole out physical punishment. Or say terrible words. They do that. But they don't do physical punishment. But I still think it's just as bad. But when I was practicing piano with my sister for those consecutive two hours, I really wanted to yell, shout.
I am seriously dubious of how difficult this really is. It's hard to explain, but if I know you in person, I'll show you. I honestly don't think I had this much difficulty with piano even when I was her age doing the same thing. I often suspected that my sister was intentionally pretending not to know how to play certain parts just so she could try my patience.
As if the entire world hasn't tested my patience today.
Today was a truly terrible day. A perpetual headache. More than annoying, nosy, loud relatives. No peace, no quiet. Just claustrophobia, a racket of gossip, practicing piano without very fruitful results for two hours. No stomach for food.
Whenever I get frustrated, mad, or sad, I have no stomach for food. Either that or I start indiscriminately binging--stuffing whole foods into my mouth and tearing savagely, swallowing in huge gulps, blinking back hot tears. That happens quite often--well, at least, when I'm sad/mad at meal times. Today I stuffed a whole square of radish cake (蘿蔔糕) into my mouth after being unhappy with dinner (because I was in a foul mood I couldn't savor the food).
Anyhoo. Back to the subject of practicing with my sister.
She just went to sleep despite my mandate of resuming practice in 20 minutes. That means I'll have to wake up around 8 or so and wake her up to practice. Didn't I say I was a drill sergeant?
While I may not do everything that I have to recently, when I do do it, I put my mind to it for the most part. Discipline is something that I lack but also have. Repetition is one of the pillars of my methods. You could say that I have a lot of discipline, but at the same time, you could also say that I can be reckless and wild.
I just can't stomach the fact that if my sister doesn't do well in her piano lesson tomorrow, I will bear the brunt of it from my parents. And I myself will feel guilty and responsible, because I am responsible for her success this time.
But I know, that it's frustrating. For me, for my sister, for my parents, for everyone in the world who has family.
Friday, March 26, 2010
[diary] sisters
We took our second walk today. It was windy.
Somehow when I look at this picture I feel like crying. Someday Serina will grow up. Watching her from here, I just find it a bit difficult to accept that she's going to go through life, she's going to encounter unpleasant circumstances, she's going to go through terrible times just like everyone else.
It's terrible of me to think like that.
But I just worry for her.
I have no idea how she will 'turn out,' or what sort of character she will be, but I suppose that's what everyone deals with when they have a child (or in my case, younger sibling).
--
On a lighter note, I let her use my point-and-shoot again. I think this is pretty great for a 5 year old who has only tried using the camera about three times in her life.
And I of course took tons of photographs of her, too.
Wednesday, March 17, 2010
[diary] i took my sister for a walk for the first time ever.
Maybe you don't understand how this sort of thing could delight me.
But I am, oh believe me, delighted to say that I took my sister on a walk for the very first time. This will not be the last. If only I didn't have to stay after school tomorrow or Friday. You know what I'd do instead? Take her for a walk.
I want to take her for a walk every single day when she gets home now. That's how awesome it is.
Absolutely cute.
She was skipping across the sidewalk the entire time. Watching her makes me happy (lol, that sounds weird) to see the innocence and genuineness of children, of what I was possibly like as a child. No, not really. I didn't do theatrics like her when I was a child--at least, not in public. But anyway, generally, it's a good reminder of who you may have been, what you could be right now--free, untarnished, absolutely unafraid of yourself and more trusting than you'll ever be afterward.
But she's just awesome. According to one photographer, children are really great subjects. That's true. They jump. They hop. They skip, in my sister's case. And they're not wary of the camera. At least my sister isn't. She loves it. Absolute, genuine, perfect subject right there.
They are also indefatigable.
...You know what's the greatest thing about taking your sister on a walk? My sister on a walk, with me?
Because I just think it's nice that she'll grow up remembering that her own sister took her on a walk. So she'll be in school and she'll know what people are talking about, how it feels to go on a walk with their sibling, how it feels to spend time with their older sibling. And best of all, she'll at least know she had fun, had a fun experience.
That's one of the things that I find rewarding about being a big sister. I may not assume the role of a sister as often as I could, but when I do, I make the best of it. I think about things my parents didn't do for me, things I didn't grow up with that would've made me happy to know what it felt like--like having an older sibling. And it's great to see someone smile for you because of something you do for them. It's a great feeling.
P.S.
I let my sister take three photographs with my camera today. This is what she came up with on her last try:
^aside from being resized, it's completely raw--unedited. Taken by Serina, age 5.5.
P.P.S.
If you're viewing this via Facebook note, visit this link to the original post (via my blog) for higher quality photographs.
Tuesday, October 28, 2008
Nitpicking on nitwits?
It seems like all the elders of my family always have something to nitpick on, whether it's your hair, the way you walk, or what you eat. Or those big things, like school and crap.
Wednesday, October 22, 2008
[news]
...My siblings drive me nuts sometimes. ...Mostly my sister. I expected she would be more...talkative after she learned English. And she is. Too talkative. -_-
Anyways, guess what? In the future (meaning sometime this week or Monday) I will be posting Clazziquai Project's new album, Metrotronics, along with the download (I downloaded it, but haven't gotten the chance to listen to it yet) and Yiruma's album, P.N.O.N.I. Yes, Yiruma came out with a new album.
OHH YEAAHH. Keep tuned in.
Anyways, guess what? In the future (meaning sometime this week or Monday) I will be posting Clazziquai Project's new album, Metrotronics, along with the download (I downloaded it, but haven't gotten the chance to listen to it yet) and Yiruma's album, P.N.O.N.I. Yes, Yiruma came out with a new album.
OHH YEAAHH. Keep tuned in.
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