Where is he?
I scan the audience searching for him. The stage lights are blinding and hot. The crowds are cheering. The entire studio is booming with Avril Lavigne's "Girlfriend". Hey! Hey! You! You! I don't like your girlfriend!
Hey! Hey! You! You! I don't like your girlfriend!
I hold Shauna's hand as we run up the stage with 22 other single ladies. She's glittering in a silver mermaid dress. Hair combed back into a slick bun. She's as regal as the Statue of Liberty if we'd just give her a torch.
We wave and smile at the cameras, each pair of us. And then we split into two lines on each side of the T shaped stage. I let go of Shauna's hand. With a smile plastered to my face, I search through the audience again for him. Left and right. I see Le Jia. I see Huang Han. I try to maintain a strut in this friggin' tight mini skirt and land each step on beat, while balancing on 5-inch stilettos. But I keep searching...
Where is he? He said he'd be here.
I scan the audience again. There are so many of them. Cheering excitedly. Their faces upturned and expectant. They're so stoked to be here. It took the broadcasting company 3 months to prepare for the Canadian Edition of Fei Cheng Wu Rao (You Are the One) – The hottest TV show in China. A reality dating show with 300 million viewers worldwide.
I look around at the single ladies standing behind their podiums. Some of them are truly breathtaking to behold – stunning in a way that you wouldn't want to take your eyes off them. And you can't help but wonder, how could they be so perfect? Not only perfect in their doll-like faces, but also tall and big bosomed at the same time. (I thought usually you're either pretty and short and small-bosomed, or pretty and tall and small-bosomed, or ugly and tall and big-bosomed). But pretty and tall and big-bosomed? To get all three? Holy of holies! Pretty, tall, big-bosomed, smooth-skinned, strong, curvy, sexy, classy, womanly perfection. As if that's not intimidating. Sometimes I just want to dig a hole and hide.
Aside from pretty, some of these ladies are wealthy, some incredibly intelligent, some younger, some older, some went to Harvard, some are soon-to-be lawyers. 3000 people across Canada applied to be on the show. Only 16 ladies were chosen.
Now where is he?
----------- One Year Earlier ------------
"You're 26 years old, you should get a boyfriend," grandma bosses me over the phone.
"Yes grandma...maybe you could hook me up?" I joke.
"Would you come back if I found you a good Chinese boy?" grandma asks in all seriousness.
"If we really liked each other, yes, I would," I say in all seriousness back.
"Ok, I'll ask the neighbors," grandma concludes decisively.
Grandma and I are very close. Dad calls her every weekend. They talk about health, family, work, and I tell her about my boy troubles. Grandma always lends a patient ear for the boy in question, and the issues at hand. Sometimes she'd tell me to give him the benefit of the doubt. Other times she'd say it's downright unacceptable. And this night is no different. Another evening of friendly exchange on modern dating dilemmas, and tried-and-true, century-old advice on love. You know – girl talk.
Just because grandma's one of the "girls", doesn't mean our lifestyles in any way resemble one another's. Grandma lives in China, and I live in Canada. She's 89. I'm 26. She begins the day with watering the plants in the morning, followed by a light lunch taken leisurely with aunt and uncle; nap in the warm afternoon sun; and then watch Chinese Opera while sipping at a cup of jasmine tea. Meanwhile, I bounce out of bed at exactly 7:15 – after slamming the snooze button for the nth time – slip into something professional-looking, and spend the day trying to management consult our clients on how their businesses can be efficiently maximized, with every single risk carefully calculated and resources fully optimized. At the end of the day, grandma looks as radiant as a youthful yogi, and I come home looking haggard like an old lady.
Which doesn't help, especially if you're single and looking...and aging rapidly...
Chinese people often say when you have an elder in the family over the age of 90 – you have a Buddha living at home. What this means is – the accumulated wisdom and goodness from this one person, will bask the entire family in glory.
I didn't believe it...
And thought it was just something nice people like to say to grandma...until a fleck of that blessing fell upon me...
You know – like pixie dust.
------------
I think I was going through what you'd call – Quarter-Life Crisis.
What do I want to do with my life? What kind of man do I want to marry? Those are probably the two most critical questions people my age are going through. The underlying assumption with the second question is that I wanted to get married. I really wasn't sure about that. And it might very well be dependent on the answer to the first question. What is it that you want to do with your life, Michelle?
What is your plan A?
I'd spent the past 8 years building the backup plan, going to school, getting good grades, participating in all the extra-curricular activities, beefing up the resume, finding a good job, working like a dog climbing the corporate ladder. I was exhausted. While it was nice to watch the number in my bank account grow bigger and bigger, and I could buy myself necklaces from Tiffany's, designer things for my friends, one weekend I was in New York, then flying off to L.A. the next – why was I feeling a diminishing sense of self?
I felt lost and frustrated and angry. I found myself less and less interesting, and wondered how anybody else could be interested in me?
I didn't know what to be proud of anymore.
I talked to my friends and family, mentors and former bosses to figure out what was wrong with me. They all told me reassuringly, "Everyone hates their first job. You just gotta suck it up and do your time." As if in jail, a self-imposed prison, but I hadn't committed any crimes. "Pay your dues," they said.
What if I didn't want to become a Senior Executive in a consulting firm? What dues was I paying for? What if I had no desire spending all day mapping process flows, writing training manuals, scheduling which server was migrated when? I admit, it does get more interesting as you get higher up in the organization, lift your head out of the weeds, and start looking at the whole picture. And we do make a big difference for our clients' businesses. It can be a very rewarding career if that's what you would like to do. I saw our Senior Executives – charismatic, energetic and intelligent – walking into meetings with clients, convincing them where they need to adjust their business model, what the industry best practices are, how our high performance operating model can be tailored to their specific needs and drive X amount of additional profits. 10 years later I could be like that. Traveling in business class, hanging out at airport VIP lounges, having lunch with CEO's, CTO's, CMO's of Fortune 500 companies, making million dollar deals. I will be comfortable. My parents will be proud. But what about that dream I've had ever since my teens, the little voice in my head that just kept saying – I want to live by the beach and...
I was really just selling my soul in exchange for money.
Those years working at the consulting firm were a really difficult and confusing time for me. On the one hand I hoped the firm would give me what I'd wanted – interesting work. On the other, I was reaching deep inside myself desperately asking, what is interesting work?
I'd go back to school and take personality tests, buy myself self-help books to figure out where my strengths are. I would reach back into my memory and find my happiest moments, looking for clues as to what I might enjoy and be good at doing. I flew myself on my own dime to Toronto; just to check out advertising information fairs to see if that was a field I maybe, perhaps wanted to get into.
Amidst all this soul-searching, I bought a house, went on a bunch of dates, worked 40-80 hours a week, flew between Vancouver and Toronto, (or Fort McMurray, or San Francisco, or Montreal, or Calgary) every week, constantly jetlagged and sleep deprived. I was literally, all over the place, physically, and emotionally. I was a helicopter that had lost its main rotor, spinning out of control into oblivion.
What kept me from walking away sooner was the question – what do I want to do instead? to give up this "glamorous" job I'd worked so hard for. There were a whole bunch of options, I could be a copywriter at an advertising firm, or get into marketing, or start my own business, or move to China and find a Chinese husband (and be a housewife), or move to Korea and teach English for a year, or be a writer, but that doesn't make any money, so that's out of the question. I really couldn't find anything that would offer better emotional and financial compensation than the job I'd already held.
So I stalled,
and stalled,
and stalled, my life was on hold, I felt stuck. I was paralyzed with indecision.
As I was going through all this internal turmoil, my friend Will sent me a link to a podcast given by a Stanford professor – Randy Komisar, talking about how to find your passion and pursue it. He addressed the question: what if I'm passionate about everything? Instead of thinking you're only allowed to have the ONE and only passion, free yourself to think a portfolio of passions, marrying whatever you're interested in now with whatever opportunities in front of you. Think short term. Let life make sense in the rearview mirror, because it doesn't make sense through the windshield.
And the opportunity that presented itself to me was – grandma's 90th birthday.
-----------------------------------------------------------
Oftentimes we need a catalyst to initiate change.
Grandma's 90th birthday was exactly that – the life-saving straw to pull me out of this life stuck in second gear. The decision to take 3 months off work was a gradual process, kind of like the way Canada gained its independence. I didn't just wake up one day and rushed into my boss' office to announce I wanted a 3 month vacation. We probably all secretly wish for it, but when it comes to time for action, need a logical reason, a sound excuse, to pursue dreams that seem to give us no tangible benefits other than pure pleasure, as if the pursuit of happiness isn't good enough of a reason.
Of course, I am acutely aware, especially with constant reminders from grandma and my loving Chinese parents, that another major contributor to happiness is – love. And I needed to find that too.
My love life had been, more or less, a blank one for the past few years. That is not to say, I hadn't been trying to meet people. The dating scene in Vancouver offers quite a bit of multicultural diversity. If you wanted to date an Indian, or Korean, or Chinese, or European in Vancouver, it is as easy as going to any of the above listed restaurants. And with this diversity comes quite a wide range of interpretations of what it means to be a gentleman – if it is still cool to be a gentleman. (Some believe chivalry is dead, and act like it is.) And equally importantly, what do the men want? Do they want the Asian face but none of the Asian values and habits that come with the face? I'd been struggling with this fusion (or perhaps more accurately, confusion) of identity. Do I want an Asian boyfriend or a non-Asian one? Just exactly how Chinese am I? Sometimes I feel like I connect with the locals better, other times I feel like there's a big part of me, the Chinese part of me, that they can't understand and don't care to know. What do I want and what can I realistically expect from the dating scene here? How much of it is cultural and how much of it is individual? Is the reason I haven't had much luck because I've been looking for oranges among a pile of apples?
For the past few years, grandma had been not-so-subtly hinting that she would like to have everyone come back to China for her 90th birthday. In Chinese culture, obeying your parents, grandparents, and respecting your elders is number one in the rules of proper moral conduct. So my dad and I from Canada, uncle from Japan, and cousin from the US, we all book our flights to go back to Tianjin, China, to celebrate this important day with her.
I am lucky in the sense that I work in the consulting business, where it's possible to even take a year of unpaid leave-of-absence if you ever felt like you needed to volunteer in Africa. The firm will simply not staff you onto new projects. So I book one month off in my work calendar, notifying my HR rep and career counselor. But when it came time to booking flights, I thought about all the places I wanted to see in China, which would take at least 2 months to cover. Why not book the return flight two months out, and ask for an extension once I'm in China? If the firm insists on having me back, I could change the date, or quit.
And then, almost as an afterthought: since I'm already in China, why not go to Bali, live by the beach and experiment with my dream for a month? Could living my dream, however temporary it may be, be this close to reality? Great idea! I give myself a pat on the back and change return date from June 10th to July 10th – three whole months of freedom. I clicked confirm, and the flights were booked. I sat back into my chair, and relished for a moment, the sweetness of having to decide between Window or Aisle?
On a cloudy Sunday in April, I packed my bags, boarded the plane, and set out on my journey to return to the motherland.
Before I land in China, I should tell you a little bit about me. I was born in China, and moved to Canada when I was 11. Like most Chinese girls in their twenties, I still live with my parents. And like most Chinese girls who moved to Vancouver at the end of elementary school, I spent my summers watching Asian soap opera, reading Kung Fu novels, and listening to Jay Chou's music in the car. I had my fair share of fantasizing meeting this Hong Kong star or that Taiwanese actress, with an intensity no less than the affection I feel for any of the heart achingly beautiful people from Hollywood. Of course, in order to understand all that Chinese pop culture, I still speak and read Mandarin fluently. All of these signs have led me to believe, that despite having lived abroad for 15 years, at the core, I'm still very Chinese.
With this fully loaded trunkful of Chinese heritage, you'd think returning to China would be a lovely affair.
But no...
No, no no no no...
On the contrary, my first few days in China were anything but pleasant. Especially upon seeing my extended family.
I wasn't quite showered with love and adoration like a homecoming baby. Instead, I felt like fish out of water, unsure of my place or how I should behave.
It turns out, there're a lot of unspoken expectations in everything: table manners, drinking manners, social manners involving how to treat your father, your grandma, your aunts and uncles, your aunt twice removed, relatives I do not know the names of or how they're related to me, family friends and their families, etc., that I'm totally unaware of. But hey I'm back, aren't you delighted by my sheer presence that no matter what I do, or do not do, you'll love me just the same?
Hmm... not quite.
I thought I was Chinese, until I came back to China.
I will shamelessly admit here, that I don't do any housework at home. I do clean my room from time to time, but I'm in no habit of making the bed when I wake up in the morning. When I'm not at home, I live in a hotel. As you can imagine, when I go back to China and stay at aunt's apartment, how irritated she'd be to witness this.
It's like the whole family hates me for being so...dysfunctional, on matters of a household nature. Finally, my aunt, my plump, pushy, Nazi-commander of an aunt, (who's really just trying to friggin' help you for god's sake), couldn't take it anymore, and says to me, "I wish you would start taking care of your Dad. Put food in his bowl. Insist to wash the dishes. Don't just let him wash them when he offered to! You're so inefficient at arranging your things. And you don't even know how to use the washing machine. You have no basic life skills and are completely dependent! How do you expect anybody to want marry you if you don't even know how to make dumplings?!!"
On top of that, my aunt and grandma and cousin (who's 28 and male by the way) critique me on my dress and attire, constantly, like, every time before I go out. "Why do you show your bare shoulders like that? Nobody dresses like that in China. And what are those two black rings around your eyes that make you look like a panda? Good little girls only wear mascara!" (I seriously thought I had a great sense of style. What used to be sexy and cute and unique is now repulsive, awkward and weird-looking?) When they've collectively expressed their opinions through horrified stares and verbal outbursts on my outfit, they'll try to pick something out of my suitcase that's more...China-appropriate, but only to discover it's full of sweat pants and tank tops. Then, they'll dig through aunt's closet and dress me in her clothing, which are way too large for my size. I walk out one day in a silk chiffon dress and sparkling stilettoes (I was only going to the mall for god's sake) thinking I'm finally all prim and proper and lady-like, my friend Angela takes one look at me and says, "Whose dress is that?!"
I swallow my pride and let them say what they want. It's more important to maintain peace and harmony, and obey your elders, whether you agree or disagree. I will tolerate this. The Chinese character "tolerance" literally looks like a knife above the heart. Living with family is not nearly as painful as that. I can handle it. No problem. But after a few days, it starts to bother me. And that tolerance concept went completely out of the window. I mean, my mom doesn't even interfere with what I wear or what I draw on my face, especially when I'm 26 years old! And on top of that, I came all the way from Canada, to celebrate your birthday and visit the family, bringing gifts for everyone, and all you could do is pick on my flaws and FIX me? (Flaws or not, that's another question) But really, can't you just focus on the positive and enjoy my company for a while? I almost started to wish I hadn't come back at all.
One day I'd had enough. I blew up at my Nazi-commander aunt, "I'm on vacation," I said, "why do I need to be efficient? I get to be efficient 12 hours a day, 5 days a week at work. I take care of my parents in ways you may not see. And that washing machine... uncle doesn't know how to use it either, does that make him dysfunctional in basic life skills too? We don't make dumplings! We buy them frozen from the supermarket!"
My aunt fell silent, and started doing the dishes. I felt bad right away for talking back at her. Everyone started looking at me in silent hatred. I wanted to dig a hole and hide in it, or move out.
And I did, well, at least temporarily. Coincidentally, my good friend Angela had invited me to sleepover for the weekend, my perfect escape. I felt like a twelve year old running away from home for the first time. The rebel in me is somewhat of a late bloomer, considering at the doddering old age of 26, I'm doing what most people have done at 16. Well, we all grow at different paces.
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