mealtimes and family discussions
Arya squirmed in her hardback wooden chair, delighted by the steaming bowl of pho noodles in front of her, with raw beef brisket piled up high on top of her dish. As soon as the waitress had set it down in front of her, she dug in with enthusiasm, while her mother watched with some disdain.
“Wah, tie your hair back! Eat like a lady,” Mother complained. The young girl paid no attention, and possibly was slurping up her noodles ruder than before. Mother shook her head and then expertly wielded her own chopsticks, elegantly wrapping a bite-sized amount of pho noodles around them. “Sometimes I wonder how old you are,” she said with a sigh.
This made Arya pause, just for a moment. “Oh yeah,” she said thoughtfully. “I was gonna ask. What Chinese New Year zodiac will it be turning in February?”
“Dragon,” Mother said promptly. She closely followed the Chinese calendar along with the Canadian one.
Arya did some quick calculations. Every twelve years, a person’s own zodiac sign reappeared. Her own animal was the monkey – a charming, clever creature that was highly impatient. Mother was a ram, meant to signify a demure and quiet nature. And father… “Papa will be turning 60 soon!” she exclaimed. The dragon: a powerful, strong character burning with passion and possibilities.
“Yes, yes,” Mother agreed. After a short pause, she added: “But he’s not really a dragon. He was actually born a tiger.”
Arya took a moment to tear her eyes away from her emptying dish to stare at her mother, first in shock and then suspicion. “What? How can that be?” she demanded. She knew that dates fluctuated and that the Chinese calendar was unpredictable. Did that have to do anything with the changing of one’s birth year animal? She couldn’t imagine how.
“No, no. Your father had to use fake papers to get into this country when he was young.” Mother slid another perfect bite-sized amount of noodle onto her spoonful of pho soup. “He has a different birthday. Doesn’t matter, we all forget about it. Long time ago.”
The savoury noodle soup lost its deep and rich flavours. Arya didn’t quite feel like eating anymore. How could that be? Weren’t birthdays and years significant to one’s own identity? And fake papers and passports and documents, made up for years and years and years until it became truth. It was like being part of a gripping novel, illegally slipping under the radar.
She realized her mother had trusted her with this information, and slowly straightened up in her chair. Fool them, fool them, something in the corner of her mother’s mouth said. They could be watching. Be careful. It didn’t seem to matter who you were, anymore. Just as long as you could convince yourself of the falseness.
*****
“I saw my mom the other night in my dream,” Daddy announced to no one in particular.
I stopped chewing the spicy green beans in my mouth, and slowly lowered my chopsticks to look at my father directly. I rarely had a chance to see or hear what he had to say, and this late in the stage, every single word needed to be remembered.
“She was cooking for me,” he said thoughtfully, and then gestured his arms as if he were stir-frying in a large wok. “A big pot of something, it smell very good.” Chew, chew. “And she had big smile on her face. Happy. She must be having a party or something.”
“Mhmm,” I agreed non-committedly. I hadn’t seen Ma-Ma just over eleven years, when she was struck by a car and became extremely ill afterwards, passing away when I was on vacation. Trapped in another country, I missed her funeral and never said goodbye. In my head, she is still standing at the breakfast table in her modest house, handing me sesame crackers and talking in her rough Vietnamese-turned-Cantonese language – indecipherable to a clueless child like me, but unique and familiar. I smiled at my father. Only he would be content and think of his mother having a party wherever she is, right now.
*****
PS. This is all allegedly.
PPS. Clearly food and family are important themes in my brain, plain as day in the two short anecdotes above. Oh yeah, allegedly.
PPPS. Arya is a name taken from A Game of Thrones, which is an excellent read. I plan on naming my poor unborn children at least one of them Sansa, though. Just to see how this affects one’s character.
Lastly. Sometimes, I regret ever learning more about the world and becoming an atheist. The world was far more logical when the only explanation was plain faith. Also, it means in my afterlife I don’t get to throw parties in heaven.
Nice
And sea otter! <3