shamu

托的 made a good point regarding family priority. But I want to go deeper. First, one needs to distinguish first-generation Chinese immigrants like me, which is what I’ve been discussing, from Chinese living in mainland China, Hong Kong or Taiwan. As I mentioned, as first-generation immigrants (with generally humble nature) we have no choice but to work ten times harder than everybody else to survive in this extremely competitive country. If that means sacrificing time with family, so be it. After all, our parents endured much rougher scenarios when they were our age. Even I myself were in much worse situations when I was in China than what I’m facing here. (For that, I’m forever grateful for the opportunities this country offered me.) Being away from my wife three, four days a week does not seem all that miserable, especially in today’s 24-7 connected world.
That said, what’s more ironic to me is that even though, as 托的 claimed, that Americans seem to hate to live away from their spouses, they also have a higher divorce rate. It was nice while it lasted, I guess.

It’s late night and I was about to sign off but the urge to blog kept coming back to me. “Alright”， I told myself, “if there’s a visitor in the next minute I’ll owe him/her a new one”. And truth be told, the counter just went from 1900 to 1901.
One of the nice momeries of life came last week when I went to pick up my wife at the airport. It was a long flight from Beijing to Chicago. I was wandering in the terminal, with the two dozen roses in hand. It’s just less than two months since I left Beijing, but it seemed so long.
“请问您讲国语吗?” (”Do you speak mandarin?”) I heard a man asking me and wondering how he knew I was Chinese.
“是” (”Sure.”) I nodded.
“Are you also waiting for someone from UA 850?”
“Sure.”
“Is it here yet?”
“Yes, they are passing the customs, I guess.”
…
“Where did you buy the flowers? In this airport?”
“No, I brought them in.”
A hint of disappointment came and went away, quickly. By now, I started to be curious about the guy. Why was he so eager to talk to a Chinese and getting something for the person he’s picking up? It must be some special person and there must be stories behind him.
It turned out to be 40 minutes before I met my wife, and the conversation never stopped as we both stared at the big screens monitoring the exits from the customs area. A long but brief story, told by his nondescriptive tone:
He’s a delivery worker in Chicago’s Chinatown, speaking no English. An ex-restaurant waiter, he was caught once by the INS as an illigal immigrant. Desperate, he went to fight in the court (with some help from an agent). Luckily, he won the case and became a citizen. The wife, who was in China and has not seen him for five years since he left, just immigrated to the US. Literally, as she was on the flight and was passing the customs as we spoke. His child, now 12 years old, was still waiting for American immigration approval. He was telling this little by little, as if it was just something natural, everyday life. And the woman he had not seen for five years was coming out any time!
I wanted to turn my head from the monitors to him, to again watch a man, a Chinese man, moments before the time he probably dreamed about for all these years. But I didn’t, not because I did not want to seem strange, but because I knew I could anticipate what I would see. A face that would have no sign of excitement. After all, he’s been through too many dramatic things in life, and this one, as comforting as it would be, is just another step towards his next chapters in life.
Still, I was deeply moved. By the resilience of life. By the endless pursuit of opportunities in the worst conditions.
I offered him the flowers, joking it didn’t really matter much for our short separation. But he politely declined.
In no time, my wife appeared in the right exit. A different, and prettier, look from last I saw. A hug and kiss later, we found ourselves pushing her cart towards the guy. I told her the story, and she happened to know his wife as they met in the check-in line in Beijing. I also told her about the flowers. Being a super sweet person, my wife offered the flowers again to the guy with little hesitation. And with some persuation (”We don’t need the flowers any more…”), the guy happily accepted.
Four days passed and I couldn’t help but recall the whole scene over and over again. I am sure the wife was beyond herself when she saw her husband first time in five years, and am positive the little roses would bring more joy to the reunion. I hope the guy didn’t tell the truth to her, and even wanted to have him describe how he carefully selected the flowers instead. That would be the best use of our flowers and our blessings will always be with them, secretly.
I wish I were a better writer to capture the feelings of us humans. But regardless, this would stuck me as one of life’s treasurable moments. My eyes are always open for such times.

It’s been two hectic weeks for me–my parents were visiting me, wife just came back from China and will start working in a different city. Now that my parents left and the wife has settled into the new apartment, I’m ready to go back to my normal life (with a new, two hours commute each way once every week). I don’t know what it’s going to be like. But we will have a little more money now, and as economists would say, we should be strictly happier because our choice set has strictly increased. I hope we will not prove economists wrong.
I’m still in this bigger city, and will drive back to the city where I work tomorrow morning. From the hustle and bustle of big city to the quiet neighborhood of a small town. From the glitzy high-rise apartment we just moved into to the now-familiar house we’ve been living for two years. From the world of two to the world of myself. I feel I’m fortunate to be able to switch between the two extreme worlds. I don’t know which one I will feel more attached to.
Oh well, we will see.

I didn’t realize it till it’s too late.
Tonight NBC was showing the men’s volleyball match between US and Greece. When they started it was Game 4 and the Americans were trailing at 12-16 or something. Then the US came up and the two teams exchanged leads until the US won the game 26-24. By then, I could have imagined who’d won the match eventually. Ah, not yet. Game 5. More watching. Finally, not to my (or anybody’s) surprise, the US went on to win the game and the match.
To be sure, it’s a fantastic match. I’ve always liked watching men’s volleyball and like before enjoyed the incredible spikes, blocks and digs the two teams put up to win the match. But the way NBC tailored the match to preserve and show the *whole* comeback process of the US team totally ruined it and made me want to vomit. Oh my gosh, CCTV could have done a more smooth job!
Guess I only have myself to blame. Whoever stupid enough to watch the Primetime NBC Olympic coverage, for that long, deserves this royal treatment.

Table Tennis women’s doubles:
Just read about the new tournament rules of the table tennis match in this Olympics–that double players from the same country must be placed in the same half of draw. Well, guess what? We still won the gold (and the bronze), and the world did not see the best match in the finals. Sure, it’s meant to break up one country’s (read, Chinese) dominance, but this simply does not work–the other countries are already catching up, but this rule only hurts the legitimacy of the result. In America, this would be called discrimination! Shame on you, ITTF!
Ironical reality:
The US probably has the most guns in the hands of its citizens in the world, but they are not the best country in shooting in the Olympics. And guess who is: China, the country where no citizen has access to guns. By contrast, China has the largest number of bikers, yet claimed only one silver medal so far. Oh, by the way, we also won the women’s double in tennis, which if by the average number of tennis courts per capita, China is likely ranked at the bottom. Well on a second thought, maybe that’s why we won the DOUBLE.

Some strange things about Olympics and its coverage by NBC:
1. Michael Phelps:
Eight golds? NBC and other media for that matter, give me a break! The guy didn’t even get silver in 200 Freestyle. I didn’t even hear one mention of the Dutch guy that beat him after the race. It’s as if there were only two athletes competing. Nothing could be farther from the Olympic spirit. Also, what’s with the turn of tone after the bronze? Suddenly, the media is listening to what the kid has to say.
2. Delayed coverage:
Like any intelligent American, I cannot stand any delay (and re-packaging) in broadcasting a game. Yeah, right, at 7PM CDT it’s still “tonight” in Athens. It’s so painful to watch poor Bob Costas pretending everything is happening live and there’s no such thing as a time difference. Even worse, the ever innocent eyes of Bob Costas make it infinitely intolerable. Hello? Did you know that the earth is round???
These are my observations so far. More to come…

Gotta continue on what I have started.
The first place I wanted to go after seeing my parents was….. the grocery store. Yes, I know it’s silly but it’s the grocery store I miss the most. All the ready-to-eat cooked meats and vegetarian produce, the yogurts and diary products (yes, they are 100 times better than the American ones), the pickled dry fruits, and not to mention the sunflower seeds. Just standing between the isles and knowing that I can enjoy 99% of the foods here (vs. maybe 10% in an American grocery store) gives me such a warm and fuzzy right-at-home feeling. Plus exploring all the new products developed after I went abroad–I could spend two hours just in a neighborhood grocery store maybe one tenth of the size of a typical American grocery store. And I don’t need to buy much to actually eat–the smell and touch is all I need.
Now I remember how excited I was even to enter a Ranch 99 in LA. It combines the Chinese smell and the American size. But not quite in the smell department. Even that could make my heart pounding like I’ve just run a 3k race. Yes, I know this is embarrassing to admit, but right there, I sensed something that would not change for the rest of my life, no matter how westernized I become.
Back to Beijing, I could not resist but bought some tofu products. Those of you who’ve been to China know how much variety we have in tofu–dried, fried, pickled, frozen, and other processing I can’t even find English for. To us, tofu is like cheese to westerners. We simply cannot live without it. As much as I love cheese, tofu is where my heart is.
I AM home.

This theater is in Chicago’s newly opened Millennium Park. We visited it last Thursday. What a magnificent park!


Speakers hanging from the metal frames can bring the music to audience sitting on the lawn way behind the rows of seats:

Besides the theater, I also loved the Family Album exhibit. As well as the Cloud Gate sculpture below:

Notice the reflection of the architecture on the other side of Michigan Avenue. Isn’t it gorgeous?
Besides the park, we also visited Lincoln Park. My cousin and I enjoyed Korean BBQ, and topped it off with tea and live music in a small coffee shop.
This neighborhood rocks!
It took only one visit to fall in love with Chicago. I only wish I could move here for good.

I’m leaving for Chicago tomorrow (I should say later today) till the weekend. Will stay in a hotel in the loop. Hopefully I will find time to update my blog there. And post some pictures.
I can’t wait to visit the newly opened Millennium Park!

The white bass I cooked for dinner. Here’s the Chinese recipe (without exact measurement, which is in typical Chinese style). Please ignore the follow-up.
It tasted wonderful. I don’t know why these “net friends” at Paowang are sooo picky. Everybody that has tried my fish couldn’t have enough of it.