World of Susie

Yamei Visiting New York - Sunday 3/22/2009

2009-03-25T14:10:00.000-07:00

Yamei and husband Bob paid a short visit to New York to do some house hunting for their daughter who has been working and living in Manhattan for the past few years. I saw Yamei last November, 4 months ago, in San Francisco when I visited my daughter. She was still going through chemo, her hair slowly growing back to fine and budding shape, her spirit high but physically still somewhat weak.

This time, she is a different story – energetic, warm, interested, in her natural happiness, with a head of full and hardy hair (how I remember her hair used to be) and her usual lightness of style.

We (Chin-ming, Wei-ping, Yamei, Bob and I) met for brunch at the “Tavern on the Green”, an upscale garden dining place, before their Sunday house-hunt. Outside was still quite chilly (maybe in the 40F), but inside we bonded instantly. We still saw in each other the 18-years-old young girls from Beinu, despite the ages (It’s been 35 years since Beinu). We’ve found so much to enjoy in each other, as if we had never been separated before – This is true, enduring friendship.

Yamei told us that what helped her post-chemo recovery was work, “I started working right after the chemo. Everyday I worked, I was busy, I forget about my illness, and I didn’t think myself into a corner.” Work was, and is, her therapy. I suspect that to be true for the rest of us. “However, I have changed my priority after cancer. I’ve learned to put things into perspective.” Part of the priority is to take time off, to be with the loved ones, no matter how busy we are.

Bob is a nice man, funny, gentlemanly, no doubt a great husband. This is the first time I’ve met him, but we’ve already wholeheartedly accepted him into the Beinu family.

As we took a stroll through the busy Central Park, I mentioned an idea to Yamei of inviting Beinu alumni to write their individual “This I Believe” essays - a few hundred words to express the core principles or convictions that guide each of our lives till now. I know this project can be daunting. But I think it’s worth the try; here is why: As we grow older, slowing down from our busy lives of being mothers, wives, and professional women, and becoming more comfortable in our skins, we begin to reflect more on what we have done, what life is for, where we are going, and what is the one belief that has carried us through all these years. It won’t be a simple task (how can you condense one’s life in a few words?) or easy thing to write (should you tell a personal story, or just make a grand statement.) But we owe it to ourselves for not writing those words down, if not to sum up our lives before we pass on.

Three hours with Yamei was a short time, but we’ve really accomplished a great deal - We managed to make every minute count.

Susie Li
3/25/2009

Around New York with My Friends - Saturday 12/6/2008

2008-12-07T18:12:00.000-08:00

My Beinu friends and I were on the go again, this time exploring Harlem and Upper West Side of Upper Manhattan in one day.

Around New York

The Cloisters, A branch of the Metropolitan Museum of Art
(Devoted to art of medieval Europe)
Fort Tryon Park
(Special Tour: The Christmas Story)

The museum was built in the 1930s with the generous endowment from the philanthropist John D. Rockfeller Jr. The “Cloister” is like a Chinese courtyard surrounded by art galleries (Chinese living quarters). The works of art cover chronological periods from AD 1000 to 1500 – the Romanesque period, the Gothic era, Medieval art.

We came initially to admire the magnificent museum architecture and attend a special “Christmas Story” guided tour.

I am no expert in European art; but I must say that, an excellent guide would make a world of differences for neophytes like us. We were lucky to have an extraordinarily animated, funny, and knowledgeable lady volunteer as our guide. Watching her telling the intricacies of Western religious/Christmas/nativity stories and the art spawning from them was like watching a one-woman performance, immeasurably enlightening and entertaining. I have gained a heightened appreciation of the Christianity faith and the European religious art and as a result.

Admission: $10 (We used a friend’s museum membership ID to obtain a discount)
Friends: Agnes Young, Kathy Ding, Susie

Cathedral Church of Saint John the Divine
(This magnificent cathedral was burned down in 2001, and painstakingly restored to its finest form today.)

St. John Cathedral is one of the greatest urban cathedrals that blend great medieval Europe with modern New York traditions. After the fire, it took 8 years to clean and restore the architecture, stained glass, stone and wood carvings to their previous grandeur.

It wasn’t just the holy feeling walking through the restored church. It was actually a happy experience - There were public performances of edgy music and story-telling going on when we were there. We heard the fascinating stories of modern artist angst told by a poet named Master Lee, a long-hair, bearded, middle-aged man of Chinese descent in tuxedo. He was whimsical, philosophical, and occasionally even profane in his story-telling. I remembered him questioning about “out of the box” (What’s wrong with ‘in the box’? We live in the box – our houses, we die in the box – look around the church, it’s full of the tombs of deceased abbies. The box containers today enable the global trade, etc…)

Admission: Free
Friends: Agnes Young, Kathy Ding, Shan Lo, Susie

Saigon Grill – Vietnamese Cooking
620 Amsterdam (corner of cross street 90th)

I suggested this place on account of an old colleague’s recommendation, and my Chinese friends quite liked it. We didn’t know what we were ordering. So we asked the waiter to order for us.

And we ended up liking almost all what we’ve ordered, especially the Sate Vietnamese rice noodle dish, the shrimp summer rolls, and the Sate chicken dish. The price was also very reasonable. This restaurant is definitely our favorite West Side story.

Lunch for 4: $60 (4 dishes and soup)
Friends: Agnes Young, Kathy Ding, Shan Lo, Susie

(PS: We had coffee after dinner at, guess what, one of the Dunkin Donuts shops. Agnes and I both realized how Dunking Donuts meant so much to us, because both of our kids loved the Dunking donuts when they were little…now they are all grown up. This place brought back the unique memories of us as young mothers and our babies together…)

Susie
12/7/2008

One Week of San Francisco 11/9-11/14/2008

2008-12-07T17:47:00.000-08:00

Sunday 11/9/2008 – Weather was fantastic, a sunny and brilliant fall day. I met with my Beinu friends and my daughter – Kristin, Grace, Koren and Yamei – in a famous restaurant in Chinatown, R & G Lounge, for lunch. We then took a long walk through Fisherman’s Warf, while stopping at Peet’s Coffee for a relaxed cup of coffee. We ran into one disturbed, disruptive person, loud and unruly, at a Safeway store. My daughter told me, “In SF, you’ll get a lot of this type of crazies. Usually they don’t do harm if you don’t provoke them. In New York, you can get into big trouble with similar type of people.”

Monday 11/10/2008 – My husband Steve and I went to Berkeley, checking out our old haunts (we lived nearby for one year in 1980). Not much was changed. We toured the Spral Plaza famous for the political rallies and riots in the 60s, then went on to Albany where we rented a place on the street of Ordway (We never located the house – they all looked the same.) “Walker’s Pie Shop” on Solano Avenue where old people liked to congregate and socialize back in those days, where one could get a decent size of meal and pie for a fair price, is no more. We then strolled down to Vivarian the snake aquarium, and browsed the REI where we used to do a lot.

Tuesday 11/11/2008 – Veteran’s Day and Kristin had a day off from her paralegal work. Steve, Kristin and I first went to the DeYoung Museum, but it was too crowded. So we turned around and went to the Asian Art Museum instead where they had an early Afghanistan art exhibit, mostly gold pieces from the period when Alexander the Greek occupied northern Afghanistan. Afterwards, we toured around the Japan Center which seemed a bit quieter than I’ve remembered. At night, we met with my sister-in-law and niece at an Indian restaurant, the Rotee, near Kristin’s apartment on Pierce Street (in the Haight-Asbury neighborhood). San Francisco is a beautiful city distinct with its colorful and varied Victorian or Edwardian architecture, much prettier than New York City. It also seems to be friendlier and easier for young people like Kristin to start out, except the rent is quite high for her.

Wednesday 11/12/2008 – I took the day off resting at my in-laws’, only went out at night to meet Steve’s high-school buddy Tom in Berkeley. Tom works for a prestigious architectural firm in SF for over 30 years.

Thursday 11/13/2008 – Steve went with another of his high-school friends, David Gowen, for a strenuous hike. I went by myself to explore Oakland Chinatown on account of Kristin’s recommendation (She thought Oakland Chinatown is a bit more “authentic”, less “touristy” than San Francisco Chinatown.) Indeed, I was able to take care of my mundane Chinese business quite well there: I ate a hearty Vietnamese meal; bought a pair of utterly comfortable walking shoes; picked up some nice jade pieces for my new craft projects,; finally visited the popular Asian community library sampling the large selection of Asian and Taiwanese magazines. I came back and met with David, Steve’s friend, who was quite an amazing individual in his own right: an autodidact who never went to college, but has a great love for nature and is becoming an well-known expert on Bay Area plants, publishing articles in respected journal and all that.

Friday 11/14/2008 – Steve and I went to visit the San Francisco Aquarium. Steve didn’t like it as much as the old one before all the remodeling fanfare (He thought, in an effort to make the aquarium environment feeling “more natural”, the new aquarium was becoming less friendly to the visitors – It was hard to see the creatures, and hard to move around exhibits.) I was happy nonetheless - I got to see the weirdest creature I’ve ever seen in my life: the leaf sea dragon. After the aquarium, we drove to Sausalito for a quick tour, again, not much change there – same old, same old!

Saturday 11/15/2008 – This concluded my 1-week vacation to San Francisco. Susie

Overachieving Beinu Geniuses

2008-11-30T20:48:00.000-08:00

It has been a pleasantly busy November for me. I took a one-week trip mid-month to California, visiting Kristin, and got to see Yamei, Koren and Grace Wang – my greatest reward. Everyone seemed to be doing well, which is something to be thankful for.

It was interesting to come back to New York and talked with Agnes about the fate of the many overachievers from Beinu in America. (Her sister was one of them, and we had a couple, sort of, from the Shu class too.) The culture in Beinu was such that all we had to do was to work super hard to stay on top of the class, and we would be recognized for our “talents”. Unfortunately, once out of school, there is more to life than getting good grade. All the Beinu advantages could not guarantee success in America. In America, some Beinu achievers may succeed where others fail, and some Beinu geniuses may just get a little luckier than other Beinu geniuses.

Overachievers are by nature hypercompetitive, no matter how old they become. Life is unfair. There is surely a lot of later-day disappointments for the Beinu genius type in the Chinese quarters of American cities. This phenomenon is nothing unique about Chinese, however, we Chinese have perfected the art of jealousy and envy.

Is it necessary to be disappointed? I don’t think so. We may have spent too much time naval gazing - Time to rise above the narrow circle of Chinese and look around at this beautiful adoptive homeland, with all its intelligence, creativity, energy, interesting experiences to offer, and fascinating people to meet. I was fortunate to be exposed to the culture early on, through my American husband and his friends. I lived away from my Chinese friends back then. I had to struggle to learn new things by myself; I felt inadequate for not knowing the different forms of Western music, English literature, arts and sciences, and history in this country that made life worth living for; at the same time I was excited like a child about learning all these new experiences. Suffice to say that I have turned my competitiveness into competing with myself; I have worked hard trying to be a more cultured, broadly intelligent and happier person. Considering how far I have become, I feel personally fulfilled: This is not a wasted trip; it is certainly good enough for me; and I quite enjoy myself.

The conventional wisdom says, "If you aim higher, so will you fall harder." Ted Turner turned it around and observed, "If you aim higher than you are capable of, then you will always have something interesting to work on all through your life (so that you don't die off 24 months after you retire...)" The key is to satisfy yourself, not others.

Attached are a few Christmas gift jewelry I've recently made.

Happy Holidays.

Susie Li
11/30/2008

Around New York

2008-11-04T02:12:00.000-08:00

I heard this story over the radio: Two friends from Philadelphia, in their 80s, after one's wife passed away, made a pact to go to a museum every two weeks within 200 miles of radius. They have visited well over 50 museums so far, some spectacular, some mundane (like traveling all the way to see a horse...granted it was some special horse of historical value.) My Beinu friends and I are doing similar things right now.

New York Botanical Garden

(Special Exhibit: The Flower Art of Kiku)

The New York botanical garden is having a flower show "The Art of the Japanese Chrysanthemum (Kiku in japanese)", which covers a wide range of exquisite Oriental landscape objects: flowers such as chrysanthemum, camellia, lotus; trees such as red maple, pine, bamboo (Take), bonsai; settings such as lotus ponds, rock gardens, and a monumental bamboo sculpture.

The bamboo sculpture was huge bamboos being twisted and turned into a canopy. A lot of work, but not exactly beautiful.

As far as the centerpiece chrysanthemum goes, they come in all sizes and colors. I personally prefers the small, delicate kinds, which work equally well as ground covering as show pieces (or simply as the main ingredient in the Chinese chrysanthemum tea), so vibrant and effortlessly beautiful. The large breeds were too much for my taste, like peonies. It’s freakish to see how these huge flowers were “bent” (or “woven”) out of shape in the Japanese hands, like being made into a bouquet of 230-bulbs from one spindly flower stem all precariously propped up by massive amount of wires and contraption.

After the flamboyant outdoor flower shows, the indoor bonsai displays seemed a little pale, and, a little diminutive in comparison.

Very nice overall. I had all the pictures to prove it.

Admission: $20
Friends: Agnes Young, Hsiao-Hwa Hsu, Echo, Susie

Brooklyn Academy of Music (BAM), NY

(“Meeting with Bodhisattva” – the drum dance show by the U Theater, a Buddhist inspired dance group based in Taiwan, ROC)

In Buddhism, a bodhisattva is an enlightened being who postpones the attainment of nirvana in order to alleviate the suffering of others.

I guessed the show told how a person attained enlightenment through facing life’s many unknowns. I got only one act right: when the center character wielded his stick as an oar (Buddha’s path to enlightenment included the stint of being a ferryman.)

Ode to Buddha, my spiritual leader – I got that.

However, it would be quite difficult for the lay audience to understand the point of the dance without some preparation. There was plenty of acrobatic drumming and physical aerobics, but the movements were stealthily quiet, and there was no music.

Objectively, the dance was a bit too mystical and obtuse for popularity. Fortunately, it was not too long, lasting only 1 hour 20 minutes, and no intermission. On my way home, inside the Union Street subway station, a man and a woman were drumming vigorously on an array of improvised tin/plastic cans. They sounded almost familiar, and quite good.

Friends: Agnes Young, Hsiao-Hwa Hsu

More garden pictures are available at:
http://picasaweb.google.com/li.chungying/20082009Activities#

Susie Li (11/4/2008)

Six-Day (10/4-10/9/2008) Fall Foliage Drive to Maine

2008-11-02T09:15:00.000-08:00

(It has been a while since I wrote. Life had been all work until this fall. Now that kids are gone - Jake went away to college at Buffalo, and Kristin works in San Francisco - the adults get to play...)

Sunshine everyday (high in the 60s, nighttime in the 30s), State of Maine (mind) goes like this: Shorelines (beautiful coasts, cold waters); meticulously preserved lighthouses; abundant seafood (lobsters, haddocks and shrimps); Arcadia state park has everything recreational one could ask for: ocean + Cadillac mountains + lakes + fjords + sea birds (Elder ducks, loons, puffins, American bald eagles, sea gulls) + plants (blueberries, cranberries, rosebuds, maple syrup) and fall foliage + hiking trails + rocks + boating or sports fishing, moose and miniature squirrels.

10/4/2008 Saturday (Day 1) Sunny and crisp day

- Drove 400 miles from Mount Kisco in the morning
- Arrived early afternoon in Maine: the “pine tree” state, the beautiful state, sunny
- Visited LL Bean at Freeport, ME. Not in a buying mood. Same stuff as in the catalogue. Too crowded.
- Stayed in Trade Winds Motel in Rockland dock side. Ate lobsters at the Big Fish Restaurant, my first. Morning breakfast at the motel was quite sumptuous.

10/5/2008 Sunday (Day 2) Sunny and crisp day

- Arrived in Arcadia State Park; stayed at the Seawall Motel on the Quiet Side (met Dave Loyd); met “speed bump” the cat and Dave’s daughter and guests at breakfast. It was a surprisingly warm and intimate breakfast. Lots of great conversations.
- Took a 3 mile beach loop hike around Wonderland. Ate at the “Dry Dock Café” (which was not much). Bought a cane-sugar green apple soda from Canada at a corner market, quite tasty.

10/6/2008 Monday (Day 3) Sunny and crisp day

- Visited Bar Harbor, the Sausalito of Arcadia; bought a beautiful red “father” vase at the tiny Asian/American “Eclipse” Gallery run by a lady from Beijing named Hongrun Lee (part-time resident from May-October)
- Drove to Cutler point, looked around, almost ran into a big moose on the way to the border town Lubec (the northern tip of Maine bordering the great state of Canada). Ate dinner at this cute but quite good restaurant, “Murphy’s Village Restaurant” (no more than 2 restaurants in town). Steve liked their Southern Burrito.
- The dockside motel in town is booked full. So we drove back to the next big town Machias. Retired to a roadside motel (not much of place to mention).

10/7/2008 Tuesday (Day 4) Sunny and crisp day

- Quoddy Head State Park and its Lighthouse (the Eastern most point of the US). Took a short 2.5 mile hike along the coast. Turned around at the Green Point.
- Stopped over at the Cutler Trailhead Public Conservation Land, and took a very strenuous 5.9 mile hike (1/4 along the coast, the rest was rugged, hunter trails with rocks and more rocks, not many switchbacks.)
- Had a slow leak in one tire. Went down to Machias, and stayed in an AAA-rated motel, quite nice.

10/8/2008 Wednesday (Day 5) Sunny and crisp day

- Had the tire repaired at a gas station, a very friendly neighborhood business.
- Stopped by the Jasper Beach at Machias. Jasper is a type of dark-greenish jade-like rock that forms the mountain whose erosion turned into beach pebbles. Collected Jasper stone pebbles and drift wood to complete my miniature beach garden at home.
- Back to Arcadia State Park, the Quiet side, stayed at the Seawall Motel again.
- Ate a pretty good lobster dinner at the “Gilley’s Head of the Harbor” restaurant.

10/9/2008 Thursday (Day 6) Cloudy in the morning and a little rain overnight, sunny afternoon

- Seawall breakfast with Dave: learned so much about his life story, and how he made a go of the motel business (was a Hartford Insurance executive to start out; laid off in 1999; remembered a business traveler that he met on the plane talking about Maine and Arcadia a year and half before his layoff; decided that no need for the insurance job stress, took a trip to Maine, and bought up the rundown Seawall motel on the spot and the land it sat on in 2000, renovated the place since and offered artist workshops (his wife Vicky is a painter); motel marketing through internet booking and the local chamber of commerce and word of mouth; offered breakfast as a way to communicate with guests; the reward of living in a beautiful park land with the peace of mind (in the deep winter, there is no guests, you could cuddle in an armchair, covering yourself with an afghan, with speed bump by your feet, and a good book in hand, classical music in the background, and just look out the window for the gorgeous winter coast – life cannot get any better than that.); found stage-3 testicular cancer and cured in 2006 (everyday now is a blessing, this place gives him strength to recover and fight on); final advice: follow your passion.
- Checked out of Seawall. Took a short hike of the Beech Mountain trail to the fire tower, 1.1 miles, easygoing and fantastic view of 2 autumn lakes of fall leaves (can’t be beat, like Norwegian fjord in my imagination).
- Sun came out in the afternoon. Heading home at 2pm along the same coastline.
- Arrived in Mount Kisco around 11pm.

Fearless Seagulls ..............

..... Mussel Tidal Pool

Cadillac Mountain .................

Wish all of you well !!

Susie Li (10/31/2008)

Journal -Take A Break, Really

2008-03-04T17:26:00.000-08:00

I’ve made a pact with myself – One day a week, on Sundays, I will completely shut down my computer, my TV, my cell phone and blackberry, fully disconnected for 24 hours. I’ve decided that living a good life requires a kind of balance, a bit of quiet. I need time to think, to reflect, to find the real me (not the virtual me.)

Unfortunately, turning off the screen did not turn off my brain. I managed to walk, nap, and read the whole New York Times, without hyperlinks. Skimming through the Sunday Times, full of thought-provoking articles, I experimented with discovering my humanity, if I still have any left. I stopped to take notes of where I wanted to revisit, stories that touched me, things that interested me:

Real Estate section - Michael Heller Chu, a flamenco guitarist, and a UN humanitarian relief worker: A peripatetic musician finds a place of his own, a one-room coop on the Lower East Side, for $500,000

My Thought: Musicians are a special breed (writing good music is extremely hard); international relief work is hard work, if not hardest of all careers; super-expensive Manhattan still has a little room left for a rambling musician (His house-hunting story reads like a romantic dating story. “This is how you find good places - by chance, by random conversations,” he said. “We met in an elevator; I told her I was apartment hunting; she told me that she had one for sale. I walked into her place, and it was just what I was looking for.”)

Political Opinion section – by Frank Rich: McCain channels his inner Hillary (trumping fear of terrorism and the prospect of perpetual war)

My Thought: Obama, on the contrary, is not naive. His upbeat campaign tone speaks to American pride and idealism. His prescient anti-Iraq war judgment is not something “experience” can buy, and the organization of his campaign superior. He is smart about talking hope and change, because he may not want to be held hostage to the policy promises he made during the campaign.

Obituaries section - John Lewis, son of a Wall Street titan who became a lawyer to fight for the rights of the poor and powerless, and in December persuaded gov. Eliot Spitzer of New York to pardon a paroled convict, died at 64 of lung cancer. He deserted his upper-class way of life, giving away his generous inheritance to the down-and-out and to causes like Indian welfare, and never stopped.

My Thought: How many heiresses have the heart and brain to do the right thing?

Ideas and Trends section - Religion is less a birthright than a good fit (author Dana Jennings eloquently wrote about his conversion from Rockweiler-like Protestant Christianity to soul-searching Judaism.) More than 1/4 of Americans left the faith of their childhood, either choosing a new one (from mega-church to Buddhist monastery, or from mosque to the Cross) or easing into a life of no faith. This isn't all bad: this cross-pollination breeds tolerance and understanding, and carries with it an unexpected energy and spiritual melting pot to all traditions.

My Thought: We seem to go through the same path. Before 40, we are indifferent, agnostic, and too busy with one thing or another. What happens after 40s, we became hungry for wisdom, meaning, and purposes, even though we are adrift in relentless shallow information. Our lives begin in mystery and end in mystery. In between, we try to explain ourselves to ourselves. We became seekers. I became a Buddhist, because I believe in the metaphors given to me from the Buddhist philosophy. And Buddhist metaphor is how I choose to lead my life - it is no better than your metaphor, and vice versa - just something deep (and beyond words) that moves my soul.

Sunday Style section - Eye of the Artist. How to work a creative mind. Mr. Gondry, the French-born film director who made “Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind”, talked about how our brains and eyes have a way of modifying reality to fit our preconceptions of it. “Your brain is very creative,” he said. “It makes up all sorts of meanings and shapes. We build up our reality from very little information.” For example, he saw an end piece of a baquette on a Air France flight, he could see only one thing: the breast of his former girlfriend (There's some sadness in it. It was a breakup that was never explained.)

My Thought: Everything has the possibility to have a different reality. If you are a creative person, or if you are forced to make things up, just use your eyes. Be assured that you will see what you want to see. With enough practice, you can harness that creative energy too.

Finally: I picked up a few new words: peripededic, pique, prescient

My Thought: English is such a rich language that never ceased to fascinate me - Reading it has the same effect on me as writing it, or speaking it out in the Toastmaster club.

I dearly love the NYT. With all its reporting on the arts and sciences, commerce and humanities, politics and religion, I don’t have time (or the need) to keep up with my virtual friends.

Susie Li

Journal - Winter Snow, Dream of Spring

2008-02-25T17:16:00.000-08:00

>>> MY VIEW OF ASIAN HERITAGE GROUP AT WORK

I’m an equal-opportunity striver. My personal American experience has made me into a “social Darwinist” – I want to be the best at what I do (being the best business decision scientist, the data-driven strategist, and middle manager.). I want to be judged on my own merits without regard to my race or class.

At the company where I work, we have 450 (~10%) Asian employees out of 5,000 in the US branch. All Asians are not the same. There is no need for preferential treatment from our employer; we don’t need to be categorized into one cultural group which tends to promote stereotypes and group psychology of self-pity (and incite unwanted suspicion and resentment, or reinforce prejudice.) We shouldn’t ask the system to lower its standards to accommodate our inadequacies. In a competitive work environment, Some, but not all, of us Asians are perfectly capable of adapting, rising up to the challenges and succeeding within the system, whereas others may fail, and that’s just fine. This thinking makes me a “Social Darwinist” - I am for an organic growth and natural selection (of the fittest) process. Although painful at times, this process ultimately results in an enduring improvement of our conditions.

I support the idea of establishing an Asian Employee Resource group at my workplace only to offer customized assistance/resources for the Asian strivers to become successful at work, but not to offer life-support help to keep those un-prepared, uninitiated, lazy, stubborn Asians alive (they are not worth the trouble saving; and they make the rest of us look bad in the long run.)

“We’ve all grown up differently. That’s why we are different…I like the way just you are.” - Fred Roger

I’ll push the idea a bit further: We are all different and unique in our own way. So, let’s celebrate our diversity as humans, and learn from each other, rather than patronizing one group while neglecting others.

>>> SPEAKING OF FAITH – LISTENING TO ELEPHANTS AND WHALE, AND OUR MORAL CONFLICTS

Elephants and whale are the most social and intelligent (and huge) mammals on earth. They use constantly changing sounds (in the case of elephants, sub-sonic) to communicate with each other.

Interview with Katy Paine of Cornell ornithology in bio-acoustics (her book is “Silent Thunders”), “If we can restrict what we want to what we need, then there will be more for everyone. After all, this is the only planet we have to live in the universe.”

We can all do our own part. For example, if the newly rich Chinese can stop desiring ivory tusks (one of their ugly cultural traits), then there won’t be poaching in poorer countries to satisfy the insatiable appetite of the rich at the expense of destroying bio-diversity. Humans need nature to make their lives richer.

>>> CANDIDATE’S VOICE

As eyes are the window into one’s soul, so is voice the window into one’s heart. A leadership voice should convey authority, passion and empathy.

For a women leader, it poses a difficult dilemma. People seem to approve of only two kinds of traditional women voices, both non-threatening: (1) A little girl’s voice (which conveys helplessness and neediness, like that of Jackie Kennedy.) (2) a siren’s voice (conveys a woman’s sexuality and mating call, like that of Lauren BeCall.) So, what should a women leader sound like? With authority and that elusive connectedness (?)

John McCain – an old voice, warm but trembling
Obama – preachy
Hillary Clinton – an angry mother (which makes her children feel insecure).

>>> HOW TO DEAL WITH TRAGIC LOSS IN LIFE

You’ll never get over it, but you’ll get used to it.

>>> WAR

Why were American soldiers failing in the war in Afghanistan? American army was too fascinated with technology, and neglected to fight the war at a political, cultural and human level.

>>> MAINSTREAMING OR BALKANIZATION – AN IMMIGRATION PARADOX

Americans have a tough time making up its mind about immigration: Republican politicians don’t want immigration, not because the immigrants take the jobs away from ordinary Americans (which they don’t), but because the bulk of the immigrants (especially the less educated Mexicans) don’t integrate well with the rest of the society. Democrats are counting on the immigrant votes, and businessmen want the cheap labor that immigrants bring.

Immigration should be more than economics. The issue is a complex one, beyond just mainstreaming or balkanization of the Mexicans. What if we mainstream all the Mexicans in this country; and they all become better educated; and they all want what Americans want; with prosperity comes plights like those facing Americans today, the Mexicans would no longer be able to insulate themselves from the societal ills, and they will suffer the same fate as the rest of the Americans (subprime mortgage debacles, manufacturing decline, lowering of living standards.)

For me, the priority of the immigration policy should be concerned with border security and national sovereign. I have never seen any country with such a confused policy and lax control of its immigration as America.

>>> HOW TO COMPETE AGAINST CHINESE CHEAP GOODS

To differentiate your product from the cheap knockoffs from China is through superior quality and smart marketing.

Put money into R&D, quality control, and marketing, and you are likely to win over your competition. It may take a while to work, but it is not impossible. Examples: 1 in 3 of the world’s saxophones are produced in a small place in the middle of Taiwan (manufacutring high-quality products priced for the mid-range consumers, rather than the bargain hunters or luxury goods market); Toyota is noted for making quality cars with superb value.

Happy New Year!

Susie Li
February 25, 2007

Journal - Meltdown of World Stock Markets

2008-01-23T15:18:00.000-08:00

The volatility of the world’s stock markets over the long weekend has taught me some important lessons in world economy:

>>> The emerging economies (India, China especially; less so are the developed economies) are still dependent on Americans’ spending - despite whoever told you otherwise. Therefore, their governments have been so willing to subsidize Americans’ borrowing habits in the past. The prospect of American recession has given them a rude shock and awakening.

>>> People in China or Japan are earning more than what they spend (they are countries of savers.) Their economies are cushioned by rich cash reserves and can withstand recessions. Americans are spending more than what they earn. American economy is driven entirely by borrowing and consumption; and when the credit lines dry up, Americans stop consuming, and the economy goes into a recession.

>>> America is run by “market capitalism” trumped by Wall Street financial wizards and Corporate America, while China or Arab oil countries are run by state-planned “national capitalism”. In times of duress, America will be available for sale.

>>> A nation which doesn’t produce its own goods or services for its citizens is on thin ice. A country which lives on credit (or the whims of their financial gurus) runs the risk of self-deception.

>>> George Soro was right on with his long-range economic predictions:
- Re-regulation of American financial/banking industries is needed to fix America’s subprime mess.
- FED’s lowering its key lending interest rate can only fix the problems temporarily. American recession is inevitable and cannot be solved quickly or painlessly.
- Asian economy is still healthy, and has more room to grow their own demand. Emerging economies will learn from this lesson and move on to do the right thing.

>>> It’s not so bad that the world weans itself from American economy. It’s not so bad that America cedes its economic power to other countries.

>>> The Republicans have no economic policy:
- The only thing they know is tax-cut.

Robo-Heads

2008-01-09T19:00:00.000-08:00

A computer consultant driving a rental car drove onto train tracks Wednesday using the instructions his GPS unit gave him. A train was barreling toward him, but he escaped in time and no one was injured.

The driver had turned right, as the system advised, and the car somehow got stuck on the tracks at the crossing. He jumped out and tried to warn the engineer by waving. He got out of the way just before the train slammed into the car at 60 mph, Metro-North railroad spokesman Dan Brucker said Thursday.

The car was pushed more than 100 feet during the fiery crash. Some 500 train passengers were stranded for more than two hours during the Wednesday evening rush hour. The accident also heavily damaged 250 feet of rail, Brucker said.

Copyright 2008 The Associated Press.

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A true story that happened practically in my backyard near Bedford, New York. And the train involved in the crash was the beloved Metro-North Harlem train.

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Things like this make me wonder: Are these techno-gadgets having the effect of dumbing down human brains, or what? In the old days, to prepare for a trip, I would study the map way ahead of time, drive more attentively and cautiously on unfamiliar roads. Today, with the ever easy-to-use GPS and a car which almost drives itself (with cruise control, automatic transmission, etc), any dummy can drive anywhere with his eyes practically shut (or he thinks he can).

We always compare ourselves with our previous generations. True to tell, our fathers are handier and more self-sufficient than we are; and sadly, we seem to be handier and slightly more self-sufficient than my children.

I’ve imagined a future, from how my kids have developed, of robo-heads (no arms, no bodies, just the heads) living in a techno-bubble. They can’t eat or drink, can’t drive, can’t imagine, can’t have sex, with eyes glued to the TV and Internet. They are good for little, quite dependent, and completely hopeless without their gear.

Have you read Neil Gaiman’s science fiction, “American Gods”, where the gods are what’s left of human intellect (in the novel, gods were those brought to America from the old countries by early immigrants and then forgotten), and the evil is the modern-day technology? The novel was about the big fight between the good and the evil. I don’t know who won in the end yet – I haven’t finished reading it. But I’ll be smart enough to stay away from those mind-numbing devices: TV, mall, video games, IPOD, and GPS (mind you, I’m not above using technology to make my life easier.)

This morning, I’ve heard that GM has unveiled a new electronic contraption for their future cars in this year’s Las Vegas Consumer Electronics show. This device will allow you to eat, drink, talk, do makeup, shave, watch TV, go on Internet all while you are driving – things that you are quite capable of multi-tasking now inside your car without technology (I won’t tell.) Here is just another smart invention of a master distraction in our lives, eh?

New York, New York

2007-11-27T21:06:00.000-08:00

I asked my daughter recently if she would go work in New York after graduation from Cornell, like a lot of her young friends have done. She replied, “I don’t think so. I don’t like how my friends turn out after living in New York.” Her response gave me something to think about.

It is every small-town New Yorker’s dream to end up in the big City someday. Not just for the young boy or girl, the dream occurred even to me. Seven years ago, at the age of 46, bored of Ithaca, I packed up my belongings, and moved 220 miles south to be near New York. For the following five years, I lived in the suburbs, and took the train into the City for work everyday.

Today, I’ve retired from the City – Since November 2006, I took a job in Connecticut, doing the reverse commute away from the City.

What has caused my change of heart about New York? The City? The people? Me? All of the above? Or just me? All I remember at the time was this “I began to tire of the City” feeling.

In hindsight, there were reasons deep inside beyond me that bothered me, but I could not tell their names at the time which I only know now.

Toxic Manhattan may be nice on certain nights, but awful on other nights.

The City is but a romance. When you are younger, you live for the promise and potential that the City presents you (including high heels, cocktails, and charge cards for the new girls). When you get older, you have caught up. The magic dims, and you begin to see the ugliness around you: the lonely people; the class divide; the greed and arrogance of the Wall Street sucking the soul off the City. Good people will then move on, repulsed by the nastiness in the air.

By the time I left the City, a mere one year ago, New York was on speed: a terribly unaffordable place, a playground for the idle rich, a city financed by the dirty money from one dominant, yet infamous industry (an industry that takes in the country’s brightest and molds them into a bunch of corrupt capitalist lemmings). Underneath the gilded façade, average folks toiled, moving farther and farther away from Manhattan to save on rent, robbing the City off its vital essence of ethnic colors (now suffering the final indignity of credit crunch on their dwellings at the hands of the unscrupulous Wall Street traders of the exotic mortgage-backed securities.)

What I value in a friendship has always been intelligence, honesty and originality. I see little evidence of any in the friends I’ve made inside the City. I seemed to run into a succession of selfish, flawed, mostly single professional women. No matter how hard I tried to be nice, I knew my relationships with them would not last. Till this day, I often wonder if the City has made them, or they have made the City. (Oh, there are so many of them…Terrified to be left alone, and yet unpleasant to be around long.)

New York is Starbuck, and I am Duncan Donut. You go to Starbuck to see, to be seen, and to hang out; that’s where you spend $4 on a coffee of a cup size that you cannot even pronounce. I prefer Duncan Donut, because I can get my good-to-great cup of medium-size coffee on the run for $2.50.

I understand my daughter’s ambivalence about New York. I’ve been there myself.

But one certain thing about young people is their uncertainty.

November 27, 2007
Susie Li

REUNION, A STRANGE THING

2007-10-18T20:23:00.000-07:00

Reunion is a strange thing. It could feel like a mental torture, for the first timer at least. The thought of it was downright scary and threatening for me: What am I going to find out? What if I don’t like what I hear or see? What if I do? What does it all mean? Who would show up in one of these meetings anyway? The accomplished? The survivors? The showoffs? The has-beens? The retirees leisurely sneering at the working stiffs?

It also begged the next set of questions: Who DO NOT show up? The forgotten? The depressed? The shy? The sinking ones? The wash-outs?

I know I shouldn’t doubt myself, but I can’t help it. With this, I tiptoed into the Beinu 35th reunion held in Washington DC on the weekend of October 13, 2007.

*** How did it turn out?

Not as bad as I had thought, although I must admit that I felt awkward in the beginning, being one of the five Shu classmates from among 120 attendees. 120 was a respectable turnout, considering the size of the total of 1972 graduates (about 1,000 girls), and considering whoever made it to America all these years since…

They say that you’ll make new friends at the reunions. It’s sort of true; but it will take more than one reunion to know your new friends well. I still prefer my Shu confidants (“Si Dang”). Too bad that few of them bothered to make the trip from the West Coast to join us this time.

I picked out some friends from as early as when I was at the West Gate (‘Ximen’) Elementary School 40+ years ago. One girl (or one lady now) in DC was apparently doing quite well, wheeling and dealing in real estate, while working as a pediatrician, married to an elderly white man from the FDA (who was once a cardiologist.) Her current status and reputation (a dragon lady to be sure) seemed at odd with the image I had of her when young - fresh, demure and understated.

Such a scenario played out over and over again in the reunion. In the end, I’ve decided that people grew to match their lives; and life is full of accidents/surprises. The majority who came to America, took the road of least resistance, working for large corporations, played by the safe rules, tended to become cautious, reserved, and appropriately polite. The few who took the roads less traveled, working for themselves as entrepreneurs, tended to become resourceful, outgoing, and appropriately aggressive. This was true with or without the blessing of previous dispositions.

I belonged firmly in the former group. What I am now is a somewhat timid, conservative, and risk-averse individual, contrary to what my Beinu classmates have thought of me as a wild teenager. Was it my age? My coming to America, compelled as a perpetual foreigner to stay invisible? Or, my marriage to a settled and conservative academic? I don’t know. I suppose it could be a little bit of everything.

Ah, the reunion made me reminisce my vivacious youth. My good friend Sheila Chen from the Shu class, now in Tempa Florida, told me how, in high school, I showed up one Saturday morning at her house in Taipei, asking her mother to relay this message to her (who was still sleeping), “If my mother calls to find out where I was last night, tell her that I spent the night with your daughter at your place.” It was a boldface lie, told to a wrong person -Sheila’s mom. Now everything came back: I did have one boyfriend in high school whom my mother detested. He was a cool kid from a rotten, second-rate school. I was sentimental about him, and rebellious about my mother’s strict forbiddance of my association with him. My boyfriend was to be sent off to serve his military duty; and we spent a night together sitting in a nearby coffee shop, bidding each other farewell and crying all night. The next morning, I must be desperate for an excuse to get out of my mommy trouble, so I thought of Sheila…When you’re young, you do stupid things…

In the big gala on Saturday night at the reunion, I stood up to recall an adventurous journey through Africa, the dark continent, with my little family back in 1987: My American anthropologist husband would not suffer an escorted, guided tour with a group, but we wouldn’t pass up the opportunity to visit Kenya and the game parks that we had heard so much about. So he rented a white Toyota wagon, with me and my 6-month-old infant daughter in toll. In Kenya, you wouldn’t dream of camping once stepping out of Nairobi the capital. For foreign tourists, reserving hotel stays in game park resorts was a must. This was, after all, the real THIRD WORLD. But being a naïve traveler, my husband underestimated the time it took to get from Nairobi to the first game park resort. 40 short miles on a map took us a full day to travel through dry dirt roads and muddy puddles, not to mention the blown tire, low gas (no gas stations until the resort), and many curious, threatening stares from the 6-7 foot tall spear-carrying, loin-cloth clad Masai warriors coming and going by our dirty white Toyota (for the dirt road was the main thoroughfare connecting villages where people’s only means of transportation was their two lower limbs.) There were more harried tales to follow: My infant daughter was locked out by accident by her young mother at the game park, while the baboons outside stared right in, ready to jump in to devour her whole (or kidnap her from the crib, whichever); We were blackmailed by two border police from the neighboring country of Tanzania for trespassing while following a school of loitering hippos up the river (An obvious tourist trap, for we only remembered seeing a dry cow skull hanging by the roadside, hardly a legitimate border symbol between two states.)

When my classmates clasps their hands for more of my safari stories (or they were just being nice), I realized that I had had some pretty amazing experiences that were beyond “normal” for my fellow classmates, thanks to my husband – A true explorer, and a renaissance man from the 60s. I also realized that so many of our lives were forever changed by the men we were married to, in ways that no schooling, career or parenting could have ever made a difference.

Through finding things out about others, I found out about myself. This reunion has made me step out of myself, learn about myself, discover my past, re-examine my present. And because of it, I am refreshed, waiting for the next chapter of my life to unfold – and that is intriguing. There lies the beauty of the reunion.

On the way back to New York from the reunion, in the car, all seven of us who have warmed up to each other quite well by then, were scheming for our second lives. We talked about some dreams, not too distant in 10-15 years, when we shall retire from our day jobs, or from being someone’s wife or mother or daughter. We may pool our money and brains together to invest in a kind of reunion complex (built to be like the Beinu “GuangFu” hall where we once studied at), to work on a skill co-op (I’ve counted a lawyer, a business analyst, a cancer researcher, a wine expert, an artist, and a property manager among us).

There you have it.

October 18, 2007
Susie Li

Social Grace and Cultural Sensitivity – East Meets West

2007-07-25T19:23:00.000-07:00

Nothing makes a mother prouder than seeing a daughter growing up nicely from an immature, rebellious, selfish American youth into a mature, understanding and culturally aware world-class citizen.

My daughter Kristin did not much care for the Chinese side of her heritage as a child living in a small town in upstate New York, despite my best effort. But after she entered into Cornell University down a few blocks from where we are to study social sciences, things have changed: She has not only opened her mind to the intellectual learning of a great college, but also embraced the diversity and her own Chinese ethnicity in full force.

For this summer, through some personal contact, she found herself a counselor’s job with a bi-lingual summer camp in the city of DaLian, in northern LiaoNing Province. She is spending a total of 2 months in China, touring Eastern cities and teaching English to little kids ranging in ages from 7 to 12. This is her first trip abroad alone, not as a tourist, but as a cultural ethnographer (sort of).

I’m all in favor of her adventure into my homeland, getting to know my people and their ways of life (although I myself have only seen China for the first time last year.) My secret hope was that she might learn to appreciate the struggles of her mother adapting to America in her earlier years coming from Taiwan, much like China today.

We are in constant touch with each other, and I am writing down what she sees and hears, and the change of her perceptions of China and Chinese people for all to share.

Susie Li
7/25/2007

Social Grace

“How is it possible for such an ancient people as Chinese to degenerate to such a state of ugliness - crass, noisy, uncivilized, uncooperative, boastful, dirty, unforgiving? Not only have we been bullied by foreigners; we’ve been bullied by our own kind – from tyrannical emperors to corrupt officials and ruthless mobs.” So said Bo Yang, the satirical Taiwanese writer, in the 70s.

You would think things have improved now that China is fast forwarding to the 21st century. Not quite. Even in many of China’s most modern cities, Kristin has noticed the lack of basic etiquette and prevalence of disgusting old habits. With the 2008 Olympic just around the corner, these may be the very behavior that Westerners who come to visit would use to define China (how about barbaric, for example):

Kristin was prepared for people spitting; but SPITTING IN PEOPLE’S FACE? Oh please, that is rude!

Her Chinese acquaintances are not shy from picking their noses or picking the dead skin off their feet in public.

No one lines up for anything in China. No one respects law, and perhaps, there are no laws.

Chinese love money. While they have it, they’ll flaunt it, quite crudely. Unfortunately, there are a lot of newly rich Chinese who have not learned the virtue of modesty…

There are one billion Chinese in China. It is competitive out there. People will lie, cheat, or cut corners to gain every bit of advantage over others. What you get are street fights, car crashes and mob scenes.

Education of the Young

Kristin suffers from the consequence of China’s one child policy: She has one class of 6-7 years old kindergarteners under her charge. Most of them are boys; a lot are brought up by their grannies (who do the spoiling) while parents are working; and all of them are spoiled and undisciplined. Her experience has firmed up her own belief, “Two is better than one.”

The conservative Confucianism discourages independent thinking and encourages fear of authority. Chinese parents demand homework and progress everyday from schools for their kids. By the time the kids graduated from schools, they have been molded into robots, capable of only studying and surviving exams – no creativity, no questioning the authority, no free will, no social skills.

“No wonder those Chinese students at Cornell seemed so boring,” Kristin remarked.

“What else could they do? They were not comfortable with English. They were at least good for going to the library!” I replied.

Cultural Sensitivity

I told Kristin that China is going through the growing pain: thrusting first from an agrarian society into Communism where everyone lost everything, everyone was poor; then thrusting again into capitalism. There may be enough time for economic adjustment, but hardly enough time for mental adjustment. It will take some more time (30 more years?) and many citizens traveling overseas to bring home societal changes.

She assured me that she is adapting well and enjoys her new friendships and surroundings in DaLian. She is equally at ease living in the downscale hostels in Beijing Hutong as using the squat-down toilets (It is more sanitary according to her.) In her calculating mind, she is already planning for next year back in China for a longer stay, more cities, more learning, and better Mandarin Chinese.

Writing and A Speech

2007-07-10T20:16:00.000-07:00

I’m human like all other Chinese immigrants, except I am a better writer. Like others, I came to America with just enough English to get by. But over the past 10 years, through small steps I have undertaken to better myself as a writer, and continuous improvement and persistence, I have attained a certain level of proficiency and confidence in my writing. I am no genius. If I can write elegantly, so can my fellow Chinese, in English even.

I was invited to give a speech at my local Toastmaster Club recently. Before, I sat down and quickly drafted a script titled, “The 1% Solution”, which meant to be motivational. The speech went well, not super spectacular. (Hey, at least I delivered my speech without the crutch of the ubiquitous Powerpoint.)

However, the speech evaluator gave me a fine pointer: “Susie, you gave good examples. But you ought to add your personal experiences to the examples. That would make the speech more effective, more human.”

So, what would be my own experience that I have successfully applied “the 1% solution” to? It must be my writing. Writing is something I know about, that I have worked very hard at (still continuously), and my loyal companion through the early years of boredom, loneliness and solitude. It all began with a simple passion for learning, whether about my newly adopted country, its people, or its art and culture and literature. I write only when I am inspired, or when I have this hidden life inside me blazing to come out. As far as style is concerned, I am not a prolific writer, but a constant gardener. Beautiful language motivates me to write, as I read the following passage from W. Somerset Maugham:

“We went along very slowly. and the sound of the paddle in the water was the only sound that broke the silence. It was delightful to think that I had all those hours before me to enjoy the sense of well being, and I thought to myself how, when I was once more in Europe, imprisoned in stony cities, I would remember that perfect night and the enchanting solitude. It would be the most imperishable of my memories. It was a unique occasion, and I said to myself that I must hoard the moments as they passed.”

- in Maugham’s “The Gentleman in the Parlour” (1930): near City Hue, on the Huong River in Vietnam.

So here is my revised speech, including a piece of my writing life.

Susie
July 10, 2007

The 1% solution

I believe in the 1% solution. Say, you have a big ambition, whatever it is - to lose weight, to be a better communicator, to improve on customer service, to improve on your kids’ test scores. To improve what you do by 20% sounds very hard, if not impossible.

People talk about breakthrough solutions, silver bullet kind of thing. The reality is more like the Toyota way: You get 1% improvement with each improvement cycle; you’ll get 20% improvement by going through 20 improvement cycles, not by finding one 20% solution.

Let me give you some examples:

(1) Michael Bloomberg is famous for being an effective, pragmatic city manager of the great New York City. What he does best is to break down big problems into little ones, and hold people accountable for solving each of the little problems. Over the years, he managed to ban smoking in bars, take over the broken school system and put it on track, and make a name for himself.

(2) I like writing. For some people, writing is cathartic, therapeutic to the wounded soul - You essentially write away your sorrows. For others, writing reinforces the positive experiences, even improves on them to make them sharper, more shapely and memorable, such as my reminiscences about my recent meeting with my high school friends from long ago. For me, writing is for both.

I started out small, by writing diaries. I AM a string of my memories. Life is rather empty and uninteresting without memories. But memories are fleeting, so I took notes. If I didn’t take notes, I won’t remember how I lived, how I did, how I thought, good things and bad things that happened to me, in my life. I would be nothing without my memories. The other day, my dear friend Agnes gave me a golden advice that I was compelled to write down lest I should forget, “Some Buddhist teachings urge women to renounce themselves to become men creatures. Why? Is it chauvinism? I think not. In the Buddha’s time, men had careers and fulfilled lives out of their homes, but women didn’t.”

Recreating memories is interesting – It can be an act of imagining, which fuels my writing. The more I remember to write things down, the more it’s about me the writer, and not necessarily about the reality. For example, my first love may have never existed; but in the back of my mind, I believe it did, and it became more beautiful than life.

Imagine this: You ran into someone on the train. Suddenly you remember that she was your high-school crush. You had only one kiss with her, and that was it. Now you remember back, and that one last kiss was sweeter than never, romantic as hell.

I can give you thousands of reasons why I write and how I would like to write, but it all started small: a passion, reading, observing, note-taking, diary-writing, and last but not least, years and years of persistent practicing.

(3) Merrill Vargo, who is the consultant of the Springboard Schools, talks about what she advises schools to do to raise their kids’ test scores. Vargo says, there is no single solution for improving a school's performance, but a lot of little ones.

The problem with the test score may be: A lot of kids in elementary schools these days don’t have English; they go to school hungry. So what do you do: You give the English vocabulary-building classes; you serve snacks before tests; you send books home for parents to read to their children. These are the 1% solutions. They do not require you to fire all the teachers, or reconstitute the school administrations.

Sometimes all schools have to do is simply to reprioritize. Life is full of trade-offs. If you've got a student body that is struggling to learn English, their lives depend on their getting good at that. And if you need to walk away from the music classes, the art classes, to have the English classes, you may need to do that. That's not the best of all possible worlds, but that may be the best choice in the real world. It sounds awful. But it’s pragmatic.

We are not starting from scratch; we are starting from where we are.

So, if you want to be a better reader, a better writer, or a better communicator someday, you start by doing small projects, practicing it, and sticking to it. Over a period of time, you learn the tricks of the trade, the mistakes to avoid, and your strengths and weaknesses. You keep tinkering with your work until you get what works best for you and your audience.

But don’t just talk about it. Get up and do it.

When We Were Young (May 18 – May 19, 2007 Bei-nu Shu class reunion)

2007-06-13T20:13:00.000-07:00

Back in March of 2007 when I picked up the phone call from Koren in my Mount Kisco, New York apartment, I was stunned.

I heard Koren’s voice at the other end, “I’m Koren, your high school classmate. We want to see you!!! It’s been more than 30 years. We had our high-school reunion and everyone was asking about you. Nai-Chu is in the Bay Area. Come soon to Palo Alto before she goes back to Taiwan.”

High school is to Taiwanese kids as college to American kids, where true friends are made, where kids depend on other kids before being thrown out to the open pit of adulthood.

But I must admit that I was ambivalent on Koren’s call: All these friends from my Taipei First Girls’ High School classes I used to know, and now I couldn’t even remember their names; for the past 30 years, I buried my head deep in the northeastern US snow, cut off from the world outside (not to mention my Taiwanese connections); I have not kept up with even my closest friends like Nai-Chu or Yamei. What would they think of me? What would I think of them? After all, 30 years is almost a lifetime for some people.

But I could not say no to Koren. On May 17, I packed up my little bag and embarked on my journey to the West Coast. I did not know what to expect, but was determined to have a good time of it.

I spent two days with 20 of my “old” friends (friends and their relatives from the Shu class) and “new” friends (friends from other classes of the same year of Bei-nu). I had a blast. There was not a single dull moment. I was once again a happy child, traveling in time, backward and forward, picking up new gems and old stones, laughing, thinking, serious, light-hearted, endless emotional connectedness. I looked into my dear old friends, more beautiful than I had ever remembered them 20 or 30 years ago, with few graceful lines on their faces to mark the lives well lived. By now, I can’t see how we ever parted, and how I ever forgot what they looked like.

I want to thank all my friends who so selflessly embrace me, the lost one. So I pick up this rusty pen to chronicle my emotional journey in dedication to the memory of you.

Susie Li
June 13, 2007

NAI-CHU

First night, I went to Nai-Chu’s Half Moon Bay house where we had an intimate dinner party with only the few Shu
classmates including Agnes’ family, Koren, Yamei, my sister maomao. Of course, Nai-Chu’s husband/business partner/soul mate, aka Stan Lai, the famed dramatist and playwright, movie director and TV producer, was by her side all night to assist with the party.

Beautiful and thoughtful as ever, today Nai-Chu is also a gourmet cook. The banquet she put together for us was exquisite. It was nothing that you could order from a neighborhood kitchen. I counted these dishes: free-range stew chicken, Dong Po Pork, 2 vegetarian concoctions, chicken hot pot, all expertly prepared.

I stayed overnight at Nai-Chu’s beach resort. We had a long conversation the next morning. I told her how I, a naïve Asian girl, found my place in the strange America after leaving California in the 1980s with my husband Steve for Ithaca New York, having to live the life of a frontier wife. I eventually went back to Cornell to earn a statistics degree, fought against racial discrimination at work, had two children, then decided to strike out on my own in New York City. It took years to gain my confidence back. But I am fairly grateful for what I’ve got: work, passion, respect, family, friends, health. I think (and hope) I’ve found happiness.

She showed me her other side that I had not known. I had envisioned Nai-Chu to have an easy-going, pampered life in Taiwan all these years. It wasn’t always like that. For her, being the producer of a live drama troupe, the first and only one in Taiwan and China, means she is constantly juggling the money and people, making tough decisions about the present and future of the troupe, taking care of the tedious details not appreciated by the artistic folks. Being a close business partner to her creative spouse means she must balance lives and work delicately, walking a tight rope, keeping the feelings fresh. Although she didn’t disclose what her secrets were, I could see that it is her indomitable spirit, her natural charm, her Buddhist devotion and her administrative acumen.

Deep down beneath that beautiful face is a warm and caring heart that draws people toward her. There is this unique quality of Nai-Chu: she could easily be anyone’s best friend. You would feel it instantly if you are there with her.

STAN

Like wife, like husband, Stan is personable, effective and articulate, yet an odd antithesis to Nai-Chu the way I remembered her. Perhaps because I know where the couple was coming from – Nai-Chu is my best friend in high school; Stan is the younger brother of Bob, my older brother’s best friend in High school and also a JiangXi compatriot (rare at the time in Taiwan) – I was rather mystified by the pairing of the two. The only impression I had of Stan when young was him strumming the guitar playing to the tune of Jim Croce’s “Time in a Bottle” at the Idea Coffee House in Taipei. (At the time, the New York-based Jim Croce was big, singing ballads too maudlin for my taste. Funny, 30+ years later, I have become a fan of Croce, for the lyrics of his hits speak to me, of my life, perfectly. The lyrics are melodramatic, but so is life, and I only found that out in old age…)

At the time, Stan struck me as a hipster, a younger brother, a child prodigy to a sisterly Nai-Chu, who I was sure would be someday the wife of a diplomat or politician or scholar or journalist, someone from the stable society.

But in this trip I witnessed the powerful relation between a husband and wife, bonded by common interests, emotions and ambitions. It works like magic.

Stan and I had some spiritual discussions about Buddhism. I was impressed by his easygoing manner, not at all as serious as one might think:

Susie: “Buddhists’ desire to be empty of desires is a desire in itself. How do the Buddhists resolve this conundrum?” Stan and Nai-Chu: “Buddhism isn’t about getting rid of desires, but about not being controlled by desires. Some desires do lead to enjoyment. But you must remember that nothing is permanent, and do not feel sad when you lose what you desired.”

Susie: “I found American Buddhism a lot more approachable than Chinese Buddhism, and the translation of Buddhist philosophy more understandable in English as well.” Stan: “I agree. I am in the midst of translating ‘Western Pursuit of Happiness’ back into Chinese…”

Susie: “I am embarrassed to admit that the first book that inspired me to be a Buddhist is ‘Siddhartha’, the fictional biography of the Buddha written by Hermann Hesse, the Nobel poet laureate. I was haunted by the beauty and wisdom in the novel all my life.” (At the same time, I felt guilty not being touched by the “Heart Sutra” or the “Diamond Sutra”, etc.) Stan: “I made a special trip to visit Hesse’s house in Germany. He is one of my favorites.”

Susie: “Do you know who my hero is? It is the Buddha. Here he was, a human being of flesh and bone. If he could achieve enlightenment by going through all the suffering, rejection, peace and wisdom, then there is hope for the rest of us. This is powerful stuff.” Stan: “Hmm…(still thinking).”

In the end, I can’t help but remember the lyrics of Grateful Dead’s song “Ripple” – Very Buddhist in its reflective moment:

“ If my words did glow with the gold of sunshine
And my tunes were played on the harp unstrung,
Would you hear my voice come thru the music,
Would you hold it near as it were your own?

It's a hand-me-down, the thoughts are broken,
Perhaps they're better left unsung.
I don't know, don't really care
Let there be songs to fill the air. ”

“ Ripple in still water,
When there is no pebble tossed,
Nor wind to blow.

Reach out your hand if your cup be empty,
If your cup is full may it be again,
Let it be known there is a fountain,
That was not made by the hands of men.

There is a road, no simple highway,
Between the dawn and the dark of night,
And if you go no one may follow,
That path is for your steps alone. ”

“ Ripple in still water,
When there is no pebble tossed,
Nor wind to blow.

You who choose to lead must follow,
But if you fall you fall alone,
If you should stand then who's to guide you?
If I knew the way I would take you home. ”

Ah, life is ephemeral. You have to walk the path; only you, all alone.

KOREN

Koren is a bit of an enigma to me. Delightful, friendly, she was the thread that stitched together this loose network of middle-age girls. She looked good, but not in the way I remembered her, as most of my other friends.
The big party of the last day was held in her great house in the middle of the wealthiest district in Palo Alto. She’s done well…but then again, she came from a well-to-do family in Taiwan…who would be left to wonder if anything would have changed her, or made her life different?

I am truly thankful of her insisting that I come to California. This has turned out to be my happiest moment in a long while. Koren is an energetic, invaluable catalyst.

I didn’t spent much time with Koren back in high school. It felt like I spent more time here in her big house with her in two days than all the time we had together in high school. Somehow I sensed a glamour conflict: Her house is meticulously big, but empty; she felt incomplete even if she has bravely convinced herself that she is in the best place to be.

Not knowing what has happened to her in the past 30 years, and not wanting to probe too deeply, I see Koren as a strong woman, and by that I don’t mean that she is strong enough to admit that she feels comfortable with her loose skin or her yoga-toned body. Rather she is strong enough to know someday when she’s had enough.

YAMEI

Yamei hasn’t changed one bit since her high school, wearing the same hairdo since I last saw her in the graduation ceremony, laughing so effortlessly. I’m not exaggerating: If she were to put on her Bei-nu dark green uniform today, I would think she were “back to the past”. While we all show gentle signs of age, and some even assisted by injections and scalpels to wipe out the character from their faces, Yamei stood out as naturally as she could be (She used to be a bit of a tom-boy – it’s refreshing to see it still there.)

Her demeanor was nothing of an authority now that she has become one of the leading representatives of the Taiwanese government in Silicone Valley. I always got along great with Yamei in high school, especially when she moved into my neighborhood during my senior year. Both our parents had the roots in the Chiang Kai Shek army.

I needed very little update from Yamei to know that she was doing fabulously. She has always been a well-grounded, positive, honest person since I knew her. The fact that she has married well, has brought up two smart, outstanding (and occasionally mischievous) daughters, and has a fulfilling career came as no surprise. Her straight-lace charm not only worked well for me then, but must also work wonders with others now.

Yamei made the reunion after returning from a difficult trip to Taiwan for her mother’s funeral. (It has brought back the sad memory of my own mother’s demise 27 years ago. Ah, the frailty of life.) “Guess what I’ve found while cleaning out my mother’s place?” she pulled out something with tears still hanging in her eyes: A vivid, black-and-white, 3 x 5, picture of me and five of my middle-school girlfriends, taken by Yamei sometime in our high school years, in the yard of my house. We looked so young in that picture, fresh-faced,
hair short short and skirts even shorter, eager to be grownups in our demure lady-like poses.

For one second, I couldn’t recognize the faces in the picture, “Who are they?” “YOU!” Yamei laughed uncontrollably. My goodness - that was surely the happiest find of my trip.

GRACE

Grace picked me up from my in-laws’ place in Orinda where I stayed the first night. She was another friend who completely escaped my memory for 20 odd years until now, not to mention that we were even college classmates at Taida. Perhaps she hung out with different crowd from mine.

No matter! I quickly warmed up to her, getting to know her all over again – which was fairly easy because she has such a generous spirit and infectious laughs that you felt like having a great time yourself around her, even though she got us lost more than once on the highway to Koren’s place in Palo Alto. She was funny. She was self-deprecating. She obviously has a big heart.

I didn’t realize that she had lived in New Jersey for quite some time before moving to California in the last six or seven years. She sounded nostalgic about the East Coast, especially her family’s excursions to Queens for its famous Chinese food.

“California is wearing me down fast.” She said.
“The way you have to drive in this traffic, it doesn’t take much to wear anybody down.” I concurred.
“Working in a high tech job can be quite stressful too. You have to constantly invent, keep up.” Grace works for Oracle.
“How does retirement sound?” I asked.
“I’m not sure of full retirement. But I wouldn’t mind the life of a part-time consultant.”

Grace’s husband is also an academic like mine. No wonder we had so much to share. I can see that this friendship is a keeper.

AGNES

Agnes is someone in my Shu class I didn’t know well while in high school (because she was quiet), but grew to respect a great deal since we reconnected. A genuinely decent person, she has made a remarkable life for herself in America. All this time, nearly 30 years, she has lived in Queens, New York, not far from me (and I didn’t know.)

Agnes came to New York after college, has raised two sons mostly by herself
while her beloved husband moved East to care for his aging mother and troubled younger brother. Being a single mother was a full-time job for most people, Agnes still managed to return to St. Jones Law School for a law degree. Now she is an established immigration lawyer in New York Chinatown. Her two sons are attending top college and graduate school. In her spare time, she helped her old friends from Taiwan find jobs in her law firm. She is the caring mother, loyal wife, career lawyer, supportive friend all rolled up in one. You cannot tell her courage and achievements by her quiet, unassuming demeanor.

Her whole family showed up for the reunion. They were on their way to China for a tour, celebrating the graduation of her elder son from Columbia University. I compared her two sons to Prince Harry and Prince William of the British Royalty, both exceedingly handsome, tall and regal, except Agnes' two sons have their mother to look up to, whereas Prince Harry and Prince William are motherless. You could tell that Agnes was quitely pleased with her two sons.

She told a little story about her two sons when they were small that cracked us up:

“My older son must have been 10, and my younger son 7. My husband was away. But father and sons talked often over the phone. One night I overheard the older son passing on some secret to the younger one. I was curious and listened in without them noticing me. I heard the old one say, ‘You don’t have to understand women. You just need to love them.’

Wow, where did this little kid get the big idea from? I could understand that the boys began to be interested in girls, but the wisdom? It had to be from their dad (and what ‘women’ would the dad be referring to anyway?).”

Behind every successful woman, there is a supportive spouse. This is true to all my successful classmates. Agnes’ husband was no exception. A fun fellow, he obviously enjoyed Agnes’ associations as much as she did, so much so that he quipped, “It’s enough to live with just one 50-years-old lady. How about having 20 50-years-olds talking all at the same time? It’s like you opened the door just a crack to peep in; then this avalanche of human female voices; then you have to slam the door shut QUICK!”

Yours Forever - A Short Story

2007-05-29T19:12:00.000-07:00

I was asked about my so-called boyfriends in high school in the recent reunion. At the time, I drew a blank. (When one is young and vain and all the usual things that young men and women are, one never thinks one is anything in particular; and, one never feels quite up to it.) So I responded to my old friends as honestly as I could, “I never had a boyfriend in high school. It was all a joke.”

I flew back to New York, and remembered a short I wrote when I was learning to write a few years ago. I had to dig deeper into my memory for creative inspirations, being a new writer. I did remember a secret, sad romance buried in me from a long time ago, perhaps from high school. In the essay, I aimed to tell a story as beautifully as I could (not necessarily as truthfully as I would.) Whether I succeeded or not, you’ll be the judge.

Here is the story.

Susie Li
May 29. 2007

Mount Kisco, New York

<~**********************************************************~>

Yours Forever

You were one I never had thought I would have. When we meet again in heaven, I will tattoo my kisses all over you, in China ink that never fades, and not let go of your hand ever - "It's been so long, my dear, I miss you." And you will introduce me to everyone, something you never did in life!

I was in high school, going on 17, when you came for me. Back then, I was shy and virgin, but I got tired of people judging me by my brain. I began to feel this lump in my chest wanting to be noticed by a boy, me in a strapless gown, him holding a glass of plum blossom wine crooning sweet romance into my ears.

When the telephone rang that evening, it was HanSheng asking if I could go to a party with his guests, a group of Cambodian officer athletes visiting Taipei. The party was given by the Cambodian ambassador in their honor before going home next morning, home where fighting was waiting, the U.S.-backed Lon Nol government against the Khmer Rouge. I was unsure at first: I didn't think I would be attractive enough with my short straight hair, my flat chest, goofy hands and awkward glasses; I didn't know what to say to these strangers who spoke only French. But, it was full moon tonight, too beautiful to waste, and I was a seething seventeen thinking of only the warm and woolly man bodies. So I spun a careful web to tell mama that I was going places with my girlfriend. My chance to act grown-up, to see somebody different.

In the dim light of the moving van, two young girls and seven men, I could only guess at these men's vanishing looks: Muscular copper-skinned men, nothing like the flabby Chinese boys I had seen. HanSheng did his best translating between French and Chinese. The trip to the party was continuing intrigue: the nervous how-I-wonder-what-you-are, the butterfly stomach, the quiet wars, the velvet laughs, like stray lovers chasing.

We arrived at the party pavilion on the outskirts of Taipei, capital of Taiwan. The warm breeze of the summer night felt nice, and the ancient music mysterious and regal with its gong and drum. But we weren't exactly relaxed, suddenly exposed to the bright light, the ambassador and his entourage. I shrank from gazing at the men with my naked eyes, crazy thing that proper ladies just didn't do. After small talk and courtesies, the Cambodian gentlemen would ask the Chinese girls to join in their classic opera dancing, with rich choreography of hands meant for the god.

Just as I sat there thinking of the sweet smell of a man and wishing for one, you came before me, putting out your smooth big hand. This face of yours, handsome of a grown man, the clear onyx eyes glittering underneath the thick locks of hair, a full mouth resting upon the strong chin, half-smiling at me tenderly.

Nobody had ever looked at me that way before, you with your eyes so deep they shook the soft heart of a virgin. I grew suddenly womanly. For the rest of my life, I should forever remember that brief moment, when you stood tall in front of me, when I faced my destiny with a frightened soul, when everything changed.

The party went on. We teased, sang and amused each other well into the night, more dance, teaching how to dance, than word, weaving the bond between our secret mind and flesh. Small touching, tender looking, ancient ritual, melody, messages, and sweet submission. You stuck by me and never let go. How easy it was to cross over to fall in love with you, beautiful and nice and thoughtful, from a different culture. The language barrier made us more resourceful, that I listened and watched you with a purer mind, with awe and respect and innocence. You were the crush I looked for all my life, I had no other lover. I swore to be your faithful wife one day.

Late at night, you held my hands close to your heart, asking your older brother, another athlete on the team who spoke a little English, to translate back to me, "I've been watching you ever since you stepped into the van." I knew it was true.

So sad that you must leave so soon, to catch that next plane home, to go to war for your country.

Of course, I would let you take me tonight, if you wished. I was going to. But while my lips were soft and red and my eyes filled with tears, you kissed me good night and let me go. "Wait for me, my love," you said it in the most lyrical English I had ever heard.

While I could not have known the full meaning of war, it was clear that you might not make it out alive. Whatever your intentions might have been, however faithfully you had written me for the next three years, the separation had taken its toll. "You must not think hard of me, my little one. I would give the world to see you one more time in my life. Pray for me and this cruel war to end," you wrote.

I thought of you often, keeping your only photo under my pillow to warm my bed. It was a breathy shot of you, all chest in black and white, lounging in a hammock, flashing the twinkle of a smile at the camera. We had loved. I dreamed that someday you'd travel back to take me home to Phnom Penh, to be your wife, to tell stories about my Chinese ancestors to our children someday.

When I got a little older, I felt a loneliness. My heart mourning over my prospect as neither wife nor widow, my eyes started wandering after other men. The truth was, I quit the hope of seeing you again. Bit by bit, you became a faded memory of my past, like a cloud crossing the sky, the hollow wind blowing behind my ears. For while I was sleeping, you could have been killed…And I, still living, fully breathing and smelling the flowers of womanhood ahead…the college, the men of the moment, and someday a real husband.

No longer a virgin, I turned a determined veteran of affairs armed with weapon. This business of men and love was tiring. The pursuit of pleasure left me dejected, even when I was winning. I grew up slim and silky, with a cool cold heart.

One day, three years later, I got a call from HanSheng, saying that you came back in Taipei for the same tournament. You asked to see me. This, after months of no correspondence. I felt a dizzy spell, like a wife caught cheating on her husband. But I went to the hotel where you stayed, for old time's sake. I thought I could be brave.

The war had shriveled you into a thinner man than I remembered you. Your eyes grew darker, more pensive and piercing, telling me that life had dealt you a tortured hand. Your eyes, they immediately connected with my inner soul. Ah, there was no need for me to explain. I loved you, and we still loved, the magic had never left. You accepted me quietly. Your mind's eyes knew how I had changed or not changed.

Then I turned around, just you and you alone in the room, all the other people were gone. Time had come. Gently you lifted me to the bed, the way a precious flower was put on a pedestal. This was how you took me, the first and the only time. Oh my life. My pilgrimage to heaven, my way back to earth with you, up and down, in and out, sad and happy, caring, indulging, only you. My body and yours, swallowing each other whole. My sexy, my husband, all my life I had wanted this with you. I can't forget you, your gift to me, I won't let myself.

Next morning, I saw you off at the airport. That was the last time I ever saw you alive. Forever you remain young and glorious, strong and beautiful. I am sorry I was powerless to stop your death, but I always pray that you come back for a visit.

I am so lucky to have had you, here twice with me, to teach me the grace of love.