You make it look so easy –
everything clockwork:
cracked egg
noodles crispy
soy sauce
pork
perfect
I’ve been cooking all day
but can’t seem to get it –
sauce too runny
noodles overcooked...
something’s off
I promise
I’m doing the steps
just like you showed me.
I’m trying my best
but I could really use your help right now.
I’m out of place here.
The mouse-faced man knows. Forever hunched and wringing his hands, he peers over his computer monitor with beady eyes, always watching, watching, watching. I feel him looking through me, asking me why I’m in his line of sight. Even just sitting here, I’m a bother to him. Every sneaked glance is an affirmation - “You don’t belong here.” He doesn’t think I see him staring, but I know. I know that he knows, and that he’s watching.
I wonder if he’s like that at home too – if he peeks at his mousey wife and mousey kids over the edge of his tilted bowl as he sips the last drops of soup. I’m not sure what type of soup (whatever kind that mice like to drink). I wonder if, after meals, he has crumbs he doesn’t know about stuck to his face (I can’t imagine him not).
Crumbs or not, I know one thing for sure. He is always watching, sneaking, affirming. “You don’t belong here.”
I think my favorite color is green
because green is never bad.
Green means go. Or safe. Or eco-friendly.
Because when I think of green,
I’m laying down
in a great big field of tall grass -
You know, the kind of grass
that molds itself into a bed around you
when you lay in it - the kind
you see in cute cartoon movies.
Or, I picture a big, BIG bamboo grove
that just goes up, up, up.
It was a love I took for granted –
I naïvely thought our bond was unbreakable,
Eternal.
I looked at her today
And realized I no longer loved her,
She had changed too much –
McChickens were a dollar eighty-five.
Perhaps I’ve changed too.
Eighty-five cents might seem like
A tiny, miniscule difference.
Perhaps, an onlooker might say,
If our love were true,
We would not only conquer this change,
But even learn to embrace it.
But in the end,
True love is all about the little things.
It was a tearful break-up,
Sadder because no one was to blame.
We were simply victims of inevitable change.
We vowed to stay friends,
Both knowing things would never be the same.
I thought of simpler times –
Scrounging for cup holder change
During 5 AM drive-throughs –
And wished for just a moment
That we were still young and in love.
Sometimes, I’ll go outside
All by myself to sit down
On a random patch of grass
And just watch people pass.
I like to make up stories
About their lives, thinking
Of their hobbies and how
They enjoy their spare time.
Today, I saw an old couple
Strolling past, hand in hand,
Him in a gray coat and hat,
Her in a bright yellow jacket.
Words weren’t necessary.
They smiled and silently
Thought the same thought:
We should take more walks.
I decided that she
Teaches history in college
And that he
Makes amazing lasagna.
Hey Grandpa,
It’s cold in Rochester today. It snowed a bit last night. I love when there’s a layer of pure snow in the morning - something about it gives me hope for the day to come.
I’m missing you today. Do you remember when you took Vincent and me to Tiananmen Square to fly kites? We were yelling and laughing so loudly that everyone turned to watch us. There was even somebody who took his camera out and started taking pictures of us. I remember thinking at the time that no picture could ever capture what I felt during that moment.
All I have of you are these brief, fleeting memories: sitting on your lap, playing Gameboy Pokemon in Japanese while you faithfully translated every scrolling line of text; sitting by the piano after dinner while you played and sang at the top of your lungs; waking up to see you outside raking leaves, always in the same gray hat; wrestling you to the ground during snowball fights.
I remember the last time we saw each other. We were leaving your apartment in Beijing to go to the airport. The taxi had come to pick us up, and you and Grandma were crying. I guess you both knew this might be the last time we would see each other. I was too young to know or think about anything like that - I only remember being excited to finally be going home to America. I wonder what I would have done if I had known at the time. I guess it would have been harder to watch and wave at you guys as we drove away.
Mommy tells me about you all the time. She always says I remind her so much of you. I’m an English major, you know. She says you would be so proud of that, since you were a literature professor. She tells me stories about your students running up to you in the streets to pay their respects; about how at your funeral, hundreds upon hundreds of your former students came from all around the world to say goodbye.
Sometimes, I want so badly to see you one more time and just talk to you. I’m not a man yet, but I’m trying. I hope I’m becoming someone you can be proud of - someone you want to brag about to all your friends while exchanging stories about grandchildren. I wonder if you know that I’m thinking about being a teacher too. Or that every time I see a professor jump up and down in class, or break out in song, or cajole students into hysterical laughter, I think of you.
I’m just writing this letter to let you know that I’m doing fine. Jiujiu, Jiuma, and Satsuki visited America this year for the first time in a couple of years. Jiujiu told me he was so surprised by how much I was like you. He and Mom both say I’m always happy, whatever that means. I guess you were too. I think about you a lot - I think we would have made a hell of a team. I hope everything is going great for you too. All of us miss you and Grandma a lot. Someday, we’ll be together again. Until then, I’ll hold these brief, fleeting memories close to my heart, always trying to make you proud.
Love,
Jason
