Flying Potatoes and Stained Shirts

I find potatoes extremely difficult to prepare.  I hate to claim superiority here but I have to state the facts: Rice easy.  Potatoes hard.  Potatoes take FOREVER to cook through, and they're only good crispy yet mine always turn out soggy.

This evening I tried a new recipe in which one boils the potatoes first until fork tender, then lightly mash them on a greased cookie sheet before roasting in the oven.  After 20 minutes of boiling and being able to fork the potatoes with ease, I figure it's ready.  I was wrong.  A ready potato would have yielded to the pressure of my potato masher and result in a perfectly appetizing mound.  You know, the way it looks on Pioneer Woman's pictures.

My undercooked potato slipped out from underneath my kitchen tool and aided by the slick olive oil on the cookie sheet flew through the air, achieving that appetizing mound I intended - right on the kitchen floor.  To make matters worse, as the cookie sheet was balanced only partly on the kitchen counter, the unexpected jar to the tray catapulted most of the other potatoes hurtling towards the ground.

Could I have declared major catastrophe on dinner, given up on the sizzling pork chops in my pan, threw out the steamed veggies, and ordered out right then and there?  The thought indeed crossed my mind, but Husband came to the rescue.  Together we picked up the hot potatoes (fingers still raging red here), rinsed them out and salvaged the potatoes.  Sure, they're not pinterest pretty individual mounds of mashed potatoes like I originally expected, but one massive heap of scraped up potatoes didn't taste half bad, if I may say so myself.

The point is, with all that kitchen drama going on, I neglected to notice my shirt and shorts were stained from the greased flying potatoes.  You know how grease stains at first just look like water stains, but then an hour later you wonder why your shirt hasn't dried and BAM, you remember the greasy potatoes.  I immediately googled how to remove stains and proceeded swiftly with necessary action.  As I sat waiting for the detergent to soak through the stain, I muttered:  "Oh well, I didn't like that shirt very much anyway."  Except I did.  It's one of my favorite T-shirts, but now with this stain I either have to throw it out or live with the defect.  Unless laundrymom's tips work, my shirt will no longer be pristine.

Interesting how we are so quick to devalue something when it is broken.  Our justification serves to manage our pain.

When I feel excluded and hurt by friends, I tell myself I didn't care for them anyway.

When a project you're passionate about goes awry, you tell yourself it didn't mean that much to you to begin with.

When we have to uproot from a beloved home to another community, we tell ourselves to move on.

But life is so often the opposite of pristine.  It is filled with disappointments, unfulfilled promises, broken relationships.  Stains even the most powerful cleaning agents cannot remove.  I guess the decision we have to make is whether to throw out the shirt with an indifferent shrug, or live with its defects.

My old T-shirt is in the washer right now, cold water cycle, just as laundrymom suggested.  If the stain's still there, I'll probably throw it out or give it to good will.  Let's face it, it's just a T-shirt.  But when it comes to my friendships, my most passionate projects, my beloved community, I hope the choice is always to embrace the stains.  Yes, the miscommunication stings, the lack of interest hurts, the conflicts bring pain.  But if I throw them out, I'll never know how it ends.  I won't get to see how redemption delivers.  I'll miss the beauty healing may bring.

The stains may remain, but the rest of the outfit might create an ensemble more dazzling than we ever imagined.

Lost in Translation

I am not a professional translator, but because I am bilingual I often have opportunities to translate.  In fact, for my job I translate our school newsletter every week to ensure both our Chinese and English readers can comprehend the information.  A rule I abide by in my translating work is to make sure I translate the meaning, and not simply word for word.  The reason google translate fails so often is because the mechanics are not yet sophisticated enough to decipher the meaning behind the words - it can only rigidly substitute words with a close equivalent.

Language is more than strings of an alphabet (or strokes in a character, as the case may be in Chinese).  Language is merely a vessel for meaning.  In order to translate with integrity, one must transfer the concepts, worldview, values and history from one cultural framework to the other.  As you can imagine, this is a momentous task, and thus much of the meaning merely transfers superficially or are simply "lost in translation."  This is why in order to fully appreciate a work of literature, you must read it in its original language.    

I often encounter words in English I can't translate to Chinese and vice versa.  For example, the word "fun" is inexplicably difficult to translate.  It feels quite defeating to be stumped by such a short word!  In Chinese, one sometimes translates "有趣的“， or "好玩的“, both of which connotes childish playfulness.  And yet, in American culture you use the word fun to describe a myriad of activities for grown-ups.  "The music was really fun at the wedding!" or "What do you do for fun on the weekends?" The value American culture places on entertainment and "having fun" just does not translate into Chinese culture, where fun is reserved for children only.  I hate to break it to my foreigner friends, but sometimes what you think are fun, whimsical behaviour are viewed as ridiculous childishness precisely because of this cultural disconnect.

In recent years, the value of bilingualism (or multi-lingualism) is being praised for its many benefits.  The most important of which is the way our worldview expands as we confront the limitations of a monolingual worldview.  I can't help but marvel at the incredible diversity of ways life can be done because I am offered two windows through which to view our world.  As a Christian, it reminds me of how big our God is, and how other cultures reveal more ways to be faithful as a follower of Jesus.  

An example of a Chinese word which does not find an easy equivalent in English is the word "陪“ (pei, pronounced "pay").  Chinese people often say, "wo pei ni *insert activity*".  It means, I'll accompany you "on your walk home", or "to the movies".  It can also be used in a more longer term perspective, so a husband might vow to "pei" his wife forever.  However, the word "accompany" or "do something with" does not fully convey the Chinese value of companionship and togetherness.  Americans find accompanying as something you do along-side someone, and it is viewed as either a formal escort, like children who need chaperoning, or two individuals enjoying an activity together.  The former interpretation implies a weakness in one party that needs to be addressed by the one accompanying.  The latter implies two parties in an unspoken contractual agreement to do something together so long as the activity is beneficial to themselves.  Neither one of these definitions accurately capture the essence of "陪“, which assumes an interdependent relationship.  When a Chinese person says, "wo pei ni" or "ni pei wo" (I accompany you, or you accompany me), the implied understanding is a mutual need for each other.  This is a spirit which is easily dismissed in American culture where value is found in independence, and needing company is a sign of weakness.  

I quickly discovered this cultural difference in my encounters with American friends and husband.  I realised if I asked someone to "pei" me, it was a sign of weakness.  Why on earth would I need someone to accompany to the grocery store, something I can easily do by myself?  If I feared the dark and needed someone to "pei" me to assuage my fears, I should just get over it.  To better function in the American cultural context, I learned to become independent.  I learned to be self sufficient, and to tuck the vocabulary of "pei" away for a while.  

Yet in my life journey of interweaving cultural paths, I am rediscovering the beauty of this Chinese value.  I am a firm believer in the missiological concept that God is already at work in every culture, and I believe he placed this gem of truth inside the Chinese language to reveal a foundational element of the Gospel.  

Because the astounding mystery of the Gospel is this:  God, the Creator of all things, came to us in the Person of Jesus, the Great I Am clothed in flesh and blood.  Emmanuel, God with us.  

The Promise is not that everything will be okay in life, but that He will never leave us nor forsake us.  

Though I walk through the darkest valley, I shall fear no evil, for You are with me.  

The truth of the Gospel is God "pei" us through this battle of life.  And He asks us to "pei" each other.  No more walls of hostility, no more judgment.  No more lies of individual strength, no more isolation.  Our fears are meant to be overcome in community, not on our own.  Our needing others is a sign of strength, not weakness.  We become heroes in our life stories not because of our own resilience and might, but because of our utter reliance on each other.  

So dear American readers, the next time your Chinese friend asks you to "pei" them, say yes.  Not as a chaperone or even as a partner.  Pei them and you might discover you need them as much as they needed you.  

My Beauty Regimen

I have never been a girly girl.  I never cared about the way I looked.  Here's a picture of me in Middle School to prove I put little to no thought to appearances.

Lovely, isn't it?  While my girlfriends begged their moms to let them start wearing make-up, I shunned the idea of putting glob on my face and became the poster child for the "au naturel" look.  I'm so low maintenance it wasn't until recently I started using conditioner in my hair.  I prefer simple classic styles over trendy fashion.  I only sometimes shave my legs.  *gasp*

As I am coming of some age, pesky little lines are starting to show, those "smile creases".  Being a busy mother I can't avoid these ever widening dark circles around my eyes.  It's getting harder and harder to avoid looking wasted without some sort of help from the cosmetic industry, so I have developed a very simple routine which I thought I'd share with my low maintenance sisters out there.

I only wash my face once a day (oh gosh, I'm blurring the fine line between low maintenance and basic hygiene), which happens at the end of the day when I shower.  So in the morning, I have to rehydrate my skin with a moisturiser.  After that basic lotion, I put on this super hip product that is all the rage here in Asia, called a BB-Cream.  BB creams are basically a tinted sunscreen.  Us Asians, in case you don't know, do not want any sun on our face.  Or arms. Or legs. Anywhere on our dermis.  So an SPF protection on the face is an absolute MUST-HAVE.  Find me one Asian woman who doesn't wear sunscreen on their face and I will give you a million dollars.  Just kidding, but seriously, everyone wears them.  Every single cosmetic brand in Taiwan has come out with their version of a BB cream, here's the one I use:

I try to find a color that matches my skin tone as closely as possible, but the sales ladies will always try to convince me to go a shade lighter to achieve the coveted "white skin".  I like the BB cream over liquid foundation because it provides less coverage.  Not that I don't need coverage, trust me I do, freckles anyone?  But I really can't stand wearing make-up and I feel the BB creams are less burdensome on my skin.  

Then I quickly brush on some powder to give that matted look.

If I am going out to dinner, or if I feel like some color on my face (which is rare), I'll put on some eye shadow.

But I suck at putting color make up on (um, lack of practice), so sometimes I look weird.  Therefore I avoid it.  Which makes me less confident and leads me to despise make up even more.  The vicious cycle of the low-maintenance-girl.

I can't wear lipstick because I am allergic to a lot of the brands.  My lips start itching and swell, which defeats the beautifying purpose.  No worries, I have a secret weapon at my disposal.

*giggle* I'll never forget the look on my friend's face when I pulled this out of my purse one time reaching for my lip balm.  I swear by this product, my mother in law introduced it to me.  She lives in the dry Colorado mountain air and NEEDS a serious hydrating product for her lips, and this baby does the trick.  I love how it keeps my lips moisturised forever, plus it gives it a nice sheen so it almost looks like I have lip gloss on.  Especially on good days when my circulation is good and my lips are naturally flushed red.  On bad days when I'm slightly anaemic, I do sort of wish I could wear colored lip gloss.  Oh well.

So that's it!  I told you it was a simple routine.  Three steps and out the door.

The money I save on buying make up I do splurge on my cleaning products.  Here's what I use at the end of the day.

Shu Uemura is the best brand for Asian skin because it specifically targets our needs.  It is not cheap though.  Their face cleansing foam is amazing because it has a slight and not overwhelming scent and is divine.  After face wash, I put on Lancome's Genefique serum, which supposedly makes you skin younger.  I don't actually believe it, it's one of those bold faced lies the cosmetic industry feeds insecure aging women to beef up their profits.  No amount of serum is taking away those "smile creases" people.  Why do I use it then, you ask?  I do not have a good answer for you.  Sometimes we don't always live what we preach - hypocrisy at its best.

Anyway, then I use that red lotion to complete my regimen.  Isn't the red so pretty?

That's it, folks.  Don't forget to recycle the used containers, let's take care of our earth!  Beautiful, environmentally conscious women unite!

For The Love of Typhoons

There are all kinds of storms brewing around us.  Typhoon Tembin has been threatening to invade our small tropical island for daaaays.  Seriously, this is the most wishy washy typhoon I've ever met, she looks like she's heading this way, but then she's taking her sweet time, giving the weather forecasters and the general public plenty of time to create drama.  The intensity, the direction, the speed, the amount of rain it will bring, the level of winds that will come, all this changes as fast as my daughter changes her mind about what to have for breakfast.  Though our young maiden typhoon Tembin is indecisive, she has a suitor!  Yes, another typhoon is trailing behind her, and get this:  his name is Beloven.  No kidding?!  "Beloven Be Lovin' Tembin." The setting is perfect as Tembin makes landfall on the Chinese Valnetine's Day. Okay, enough with the cheesy puns, people, two typhoons heading straight for us, this means business.  Stock up on stuff, cuddle cozy with your family, it's time for a storm.

This afternoon I went grocery shopping in preparation for some indoor days.  Supermarkets in Taiwan are often scattered with various sales people offering samples of food items being sold.  It is very popular amongst Taiwanese people but I typically find them irritating in the way one feels when one is being forced to buy something one doesn't want.  I am browsing the aisles with my extra large umbrella (it had started raining on my way in the store) sticking awkwardly out of my tiny shopping cart.  A saleslady shoves a morsel of food on a toothpick in my face offering a sample and as usual I pull a crafty evasive maneuver with a quip of "no thank you" before moving on.  A few moments later, I hear her call out after me in a tone of voice stripped of the sales pitch,

"Has it started raining outside?" She didn't miss my ginormous rain gear.

"Yeah, yeah it's raining."  I'm a little disoriented having been interrupted from my focused path to the next destination: frozen peas.

"Is it raining hard?" The supermarket is three levels below ground floor, she really has no idea what the weather is like.

"Yeah, it was starting to rain big drops out there."

"Is it windy?"

"Yeah, wind is starting to pick up."

"So it's coming, the typhoon is really coming."

We exchange shy smiles filled with an air of nervous excitement knowing the storm's upon us as I continue my errand.  Yet that small conversation lingered in my mind as I reflected on how the weather somehow connected us, two strangers who have nothing in common except a briefly shared space in a department store.  It reminded me of how I must be missing the big picture if I passed by this woman thinking she was just another commercial tool used to coerce an economic transaction instead of a fellow citizen on our little island.  We may have different families, ideas, jobs, background, but we were there in the same geographic location, sharing in the anticipation of a big storm together.  And for that one moment we bonded.

I went through the checkout register and decided to pick up some bread.  As one of the workers at the bakery were helping me, I smiled at her and said, "hey, it's raining outside."

Names, Numbers, Formulas

I just finished up the third week of my new job as an administrative assistant at the school.  My responsibilities include sorting through student applications, compiling lists on excel worksheets, processing information on school demographics records, pulling up attendance reports, and doing this with efficiency and accuracy.  Names, numbers, formulas.

Don't get me wrong, I love office work.  I enjoy staying organized and I play with excel worksheets for fun (blush).  These tasks need to be accomplished as a means to deliver a quality education for our students.  And yet the paperwork induces restlessness deep down inside of me.  I think because somehow numbers reduce our humanity.  The applications can't tell me about the nerves these new students feel approaching a strange environment.  The paperwork can't deliver the nuances of each family's struggles and successes.  Lists are not life producing.  They manage, categorize, and control.  They do not tell stories.  They cannot love, forgive, have fun, and cry.

Sometimes I fear our society has become so fast paced and cluttered with to-do-lists a mile long that we have become merely names on applications and numbers on lists.  I hope I am not alone in wanting to wiggle myself out of checkboxes and demanding to live a more abandoned, dynamic life beyond routine reports.  We are more than another name and status update on someone's news feed.  We are more than numbers on someone's list.  We are more than another slot in someone's schedule.

We are human beings created in the image of an intense, dynamic, unpredictable God.

A God who has thrown together a cosmos with a dizzying array of planets, stars, suns, and moons.

A God who has a seemingly limitless palette of colors with which He paints the sky, the earth, and the waters.

A God who loves, forgives, parties, and weeps.

This God gave us life, and damned if we let ourselves be confined to names, numbers, and formulas.

My Daughter and the Gilmore Girls

I know it's totally last decade but I've been watching the Gilmore Girls while I exercise on my treadmill.  Some nights when Jason is working I'll watch some episodes in bed by myself.  He won't watch it with me, go figure.  Last night he walked in on me tearing up to Luke and Lorelai breaking up.  It's just SO sad!!!  Yes I get a tad involved in my dramas, it's a good thing.  It means I am empathetic.

Anyway, my dear daughter who is nine years of age, begs me to let her watch with me.  She, being the mini-me that she is, also leans towards the dramatic side.  Like any human, sensible mother, I say no (it's not a show for children, come on) and then cave (I'm tired, there's no will left to fight).  I wince a bit whenever a "what the he$$" pops up, or a "da$m" slips in.  I recoil as "adult themes" are referenced. It's quite stressful watching a show keenly aware of a nine year old's perspective, I don't recommend it.

Last night she inevitably asks again.

"Please, please, pleasepleasepleasepleaseplease?"

"No, honey, I just want to relax, I'm sorry."

"Why?"  Flashback to the three year old life stage.

"Because I get nervous watching it with you knowing there are parts that aren't appropriate."

"Why is it inappropriate? Give me one example." Oh geez, brain cells dying slow and painful deaths.

"Well, it's a show about a mother who has a daughter without a husband.  I don't want you thinking that's what you want to grow up doing."

"Moooom (yes, just in that pre-teen sassy tone you're imagining in your head)!!  I don't WANT babies, you know that!  Give me another example."

"..."  Seriously, Cindy, two examples.  One plus one example, and you couldn't even come up with it.

"Honey, it's a show for adults. If you watch it, you're like an adult, and your childhood is way too short as it is, I want you to enjoy just being a child." I don't even know why I say things like that, it makes me sound like an old geezer.

"Moooom (yep, for the next decade, I better get used to it)!! I'll still play with my friends and stuff, I won't turn into an adult."

I think we went back and forth a few more times, or maybe not.  I just caved again and had another anxious evening of the Gilmore Girls.

Don't judge me, friends, unless you've got a better idea of communicating to your nine year old daughter why they shouldn't watch Gilmore Girls with you.

Boba Tea aka a High Ranking Love of My Life

Us Taiwanese have our challenges.  We cannot fly our own flag at the Olympics. We cannot grow very tall.  We cannot let go of our obsession over Hello Kitty. But we lay claim to introducing the world to the ingenious beverage that is Boba Tea.

Let's first talk origins.  Now I have personally read heartrending origin stories of boba tea in several tea stands all over Taiwan.  I have a healthy amount of skepticism, not unlike the doubt I cast over the old farmer who sits giving autographs by the Terracotta soldiers claiming to be the first to strike this amazing discovery (come ON, the dude never ages!), towards anyone who claims to have invented BT. There are two probable tea shops, one located in Tainan, the other in Taichung with a higher degree of legitimacy, but the verdict is inconclusive.  Suffice it to say, someone at some point, in Taiwan, decided to put tapioca balls in milk tea, increase the diameter of a regular sized straw, and start a world-trending sensation in the cold tea industry.  

Next let's try to nail down proper terminology.  In the beginning, the drink was given the lovely name of Zhen Zhu Nai Cha, the "Pearl Milk Tea", invoking the beautiful Chinese tradition of embellishing the names of our dishes, transforming plain old tapioca balls into a treasured jewel.  Later on, as the pearls evolved (got bigger), someone crassly named it Boba tea.  Boba is a Taiwanese colloquial term for large breasts.  It's kind of a bummer, really.  Luckily, some English speakers have taken to calling it "Bubble Tea", which is both a sound play of Boba Tea as well as descriptive of the round objects suspended in the drinks.  For the purpose of this blog, I'm going to shorten it to BT.

I LOVE BT! I HEART BT! I NEED BT!

For those who may have never tried BT, let me just break it down to you exactly what it is.  Bobas are tapioca balls.  Its primary ingredients are starch, water, and sugar, mixed together and shaped into small balls of varying diameters.  Originally, people ate them just by itself in sugared water as a dessert.  At that time, they were usually made to be clear in color.  Eventually people started liking the taste of brown sugar in them so the dark colored tapiocas came to be popular.  Taiwanese people are very particular about the texture of our food. A common description for bobas are "tan-ya", which literally means bounces-off-teeth.  For some odd reason we like to work to consume our food.  Chicken off bones, crab meat from the crevices of the claws, nuts encased in hard shells, the process is half the fun.  Consistent with this ethic, we feel simply gulping down liquid is hardly belaboring, let's work the jaw muscles as we drink. Boba tea is made by filling about 1/4 of a cup with tapioca balls, then filled to the brim with milk tea. It is consumed by straws large enough so you can enjoy a perfect proportion of both liquid and solids with each and every sip.

Adding boba to tea is like accessorizing.  It may not have cost you very much to add that colorful scarf or shiny belt to your cute little black dress, but it sure transforms the entire outfit.  Who would've thought something as plain and ordinary as starch and sugar could make a pauper of a drink into a prince? 

BT is more than my comfort drink, it is my Savior drink. I have had the darkest days of my life brightened by the presence of BT. My husband knows instinctively how to smooth over a fight. No flowers or chocolate for me, a cheap drink off the tea stand taps into the most romantic part of my soul. Stress melts when I anticipate that first cold rush of bubbles shooting up into the roof of my mouth, and the ensuing slow rhythmic chewing as the caffeine adds a kick to my system.  It's a perfect balance of white and dark, fluid and substance, yin and yang.  

You should try it.  I like it a lot, can you tell?