C U L T U R E N O T E S :
1. Krista is a second-generation Chinese immigrant. She and her family speak a mixture of Mandarin Chinese and English commonly referred to as Chinglish.
2. Krista Ming's Chinese name is 明飞鸿 / Ming Fei Hong, which expresses a parent's ardent hope that their child will have a bright future.
3. I transcribe Mandarin Chinese using Simplified Characters because I think it's important to have a visual representation of her family's (and my family's) native language in my writing (as opposed to simply italicising foreign languages).
There are terms like
吃饭了
that don't translate fully into English. It's not just food's ready. It's not just let's eat. At least, not to me, who feels a shiver of urgency to get my ass to the dinner table every time. I want to preserve and represent my culture.
When this occurs, I will narrate the general meaning of what is said. After I've uploaded all the chapter, I might come back to add inline translations, but I also would love if anyone could help me out with this if they feel comfortable!
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A NOTIFICATION CHIME ALERTED ME to the phone call I had scheduled with Mom.
I opened WeChat and saw her name immediately, since she was constantly sending me concerned and questioning messages. Dad really didn't care so long as I graduated and didn't get myself pregnant. But Mom just happened to show her love through endless nagging and setting impossible standards.
She picked up the phone after five rings.
"Hi, Mom. How are you?"
She skipped greeting me back. She didn't really need to, because between our phone calls and her messages, our relationship was one continuous conversation. Outwardly I rolled my eyes at her probing, paranoid nature, but inwardly I loved that she was so attentive to me.
One day in freshman year, I'd caught a bad cold and taken the whole day off classes. Lying in bed, with no one bringing me a scalding jar—yes, like a full-size jam jar, because Mom always kept and reused them—of steaming ginger and lemon and honey tea, no-one to confiscate my phone to force me to sleep, no-one to press a cold flannel to my forehead, I'd realised my mother's love language was something that would never be put into words.
"飞鸿, 你要我送你茶吗?" Mom asked me over the phone.
She was talking about sending me the herbal wormwood tea that she insisted on every time I came home. It was apparently anti-inflammatory, probiotic and good for digestion.
Sounds good, but imagine being sent a two litre glass jar full of twigs that, when steeped, looked and tasted exactly like swamp water. And then imagine explaining to your flatmates why you've left a cup of sewage sitting on the coffee table.
"No," I told her, hoping she wouldn't send the tea again.
She immediately stated that I didn't drink enough water, "你喝不够—"
"—yes, I do—"
Or eat enough food, "—你吃得不够—"
"—yes, I do," I argued.
YOU ARE READING
Nightlife ✓
RomanceWhen an online influencer meets (and falls for) a social media skeptic, she has to decide whether to keep her masks on ― or finally show the world her real self. ⋆☆⋆ Krista Ming has perfected the art of duality. She's a bookish introvert by day and...
