Dear Mom

A playwright friend contacted me to ask if I would be interested in participating in her new project. The new play would focus on mother-daughter relationships, and she asked if I would consider writing a letter to my mom as part of the material that would be collected for the play. Here is the letter that I wrote:

Dear Mom,

I have vivid memories of falling asleep to the sound of you cleaning up in the kitchen after dinner. The clattering of the dishes and the running of the tap as you washed up served as comforts to a little girl who was terribly afraid of the dark. I’m sure that you remember that it took me until I was well into my teens to be able to sleep properly some nights without my bedside light on. Those sounds of you clearing up for the evening and putting the house to sleep assured me that I was safe and protected. I remember coming to you for such protection once when some of my friends told me that they didn’t want to play with me anymore because I was a bully. When I came to you crying, you did not take me in your arms and hush me, telling me that I was a good girl; you replied, “serves you right for being a little brat.” Tough love, they call it. I couldn’t be more thankful that you raised me on tough love. You never led me to believe that I was good at something that I wasn’t. You hit me once until your hands were black and blue because I was acting like a spoiled brat (a story that I’ve heard many times, but that I have no recollection of). When you watched my ballet classes on parents’ nights, you didn’t tell me that I was a beautiful dancer, but that I should smile more. To this day, if you don’t have anything positive to say, you remain quiet, rather than lie to my face. Consequently, I have grown into a woman who appreciates honesty, and who cannot be anything but honest. I am well acquainted with my flaws, and do not live in a state of delusion. I still ask you for your opinion when I am tired of the bullshit I hear from others and I know that you will give a straightforward answer. You taught me, “the only people you can rely on to be truly honest are your family.” We don’t stand on ceremony in our family, and for that, I am proud and grateful. We have enough people around us who lie to us, even if it’s an attempt to protect us. In our family, we need not lie to each other, because we protect each other with unconditional love and honesty.

When I look in the mirror these days, I see you in some of me; in my cheekbones. In my severe jaw line. In some of my facial reactions. I have you to thank for my slim figure. Partly because of your great Asian genetics, and partly because you made sure that I didn’t get fat by calling, “Celia! Are you going to the refrigerator?!” when I was a teenager and I’d try and sneak in a snack after dinner. To this day, I still obey your rule of only one piece of bread before the main course. I still hear your voice in my head as I reach for the bread basket: “Celia, ENOUGH. You’ve already had one piece of bread. You have an entire meal coming.” I acquired my rule of one soft drink a week from you, because you only used to let me drink it as a treat. And thus, I am almost 30 and still have visible ribs.

You took absolutely no interest in my studies whatsoever, even though I barely scraped by with C's. Not because you were a neglectful parent, but you had the instinct that I would learn when I was ready. You were not a pushy parent who ever made me do anything I didn’t want to do (how un-Chinese of you). You knew that, when the time was right, I would make my own choices as to what was important to me. And, if I may say so, I ended up making pretty decent choices. I choose to be a decent person and to work hard. Alas, you never taught me how to save my money from working hard, but instead gave me this nugget of advice when I purchased my first Louis Vuitton bag: “Celia, a Vuitton is for life.”

I remember telling you in the car on the way home from ballet class that I didn’t want to be a ballerina. All those years of time and money put into the prospect of my becoming a ballerina gone to waste, and I cried when I told you, because I thought that you would be so disappointed in me. But, you told me that I wouldn’t have to be anything that I didn’t want to be. And when I decided that I was going to be an actress, I think you thought for the longest time that I was going through a phase. I think that you are still wondering when that phase will end. Being an actor is not considered by the Chinese to be a noble profession. But, you humour me and support me, because you know that it is my passion. You and Dad always told me, “you do whatever makes you happy, as long as you don’t hurt anyone.”

So, thanks, Mom. Because of you, I was using chopsticks when other kids were still trying to handle a knife and fork. How unique. You are one half of the reason that I am the unique (and skinny) Chinese-Jew that I am very proud to be. I love you.

Idiots Abroad: A Tale of a Man and an Elevator

Tourists are weird. When I'm a tourist, I believe that I, too, am a weirdo. What is it that turns normally bright, alert people into stupid, idiotic versions of ourselves when we travel? I have definitely been that tourist who has asked where the bathroom is, only to have a waiter point to a door that is clearly marked, "toilette." Once, I visited that Sistine Chapel, and I was that ignorant bafoon who huffed too loudly, completely unmoved by the experience, "is this it??"

 I do fancy myself as a pro-active traveller; I may ask stupid questions from time to time, but on the whole, I manage to visit foreign places while taking care of myself quite successfully. I certainly always try not to look like that idiot abroad. You know, those loud Americans on the tube in London who create a bad name for the entire country. And then there are those travellers who just don't give a shit about how they look to an outsider's eye. Like this man I met today by the elevators. I was on my way back to my cabin after our weekly guest safety drill which we do at the beginning of every cruise. At this point, guests have only been onboard for a couple of hours and have not yet had time to acquaint themselves with the ship. Such as the man by the elevators and his two kids.

He asked me how to get to the Screening Room to watch a movie which was playing, which is actually a very valid question. Because of where our onboard ice rink is, you cannot walk from one end of the ship to the other on decks 2 and 3 (well, crew can, because we take those "private area" routes, but guests cannot). The Screening Room is on deck 2, but this man and his kids were on the wrong side of deck 2, so I explained to them that they had to go up two flights to deck 4, walk across the ship, then come back down to deck 2 on the other side. This would take all of 5 minutes. 3 minutes at a brisk pace. I could probably make it in under 2 minutes at the speed of which I walk in New York. They responded as if I had told them that the only way to get to the Screening Room was to run a marathon. "But, HOW do we get to deck 4??" The man asked in exasperation like a 12 year old child. I am surprised he did not accompany his whining with stomping of his feet. We were standing right by stairs and elevators, both of which I pointed out to him. "Show me," he said, pointing to the elevator. So, I took the 3 steps to the elevator (we were that close to it), and pressed the "up" button for them. Oh, the things one can be degraded to when in a customer service position. "Now, you're going to take this to deck 4," I said very slowly...

 As we waited for the elevator, the man pulled out his Cruise Compass (a daily planner which tells guests of all the activities onboard), to ask me about a couple of activies: the sail away party at 5pm, and the parade at 6pm. I explained each activity to him and where to go for them. He asked me which was better, and I told them that they were both really fun, and that his kids would enjoy each of them. Then, I kid you not, he whined,"guide me, tell me what to do!" To which I calmly said, "Sir, one activity is a 5pm, and one activity is at 6pm, so you can easily do both of them." "But, help me, guide me!" he kept saying. Good grief. I mean, I already went 3 steps out of my way and pushed the elevator button for him, what else did he want me to do? Escort them?

 As we were still waiting on the elevators, I told him that they would get to the Screening Room much faster if they just took the stairs. He gave me a disgusted, couch-potato pout, and one of his kids giggled and playfully punched his dad in his middle-aged gut while I said, "it's only 2 flights of stairs, you can walk that easily." I, myself, make it a habit of taking the stairs instead of the elevators. The only time I use the elevators is when I'm going from my cabin on deck 2 to the restaurant on deck 11. While riding it, I am always surprised at how many people take it to go up or down one flight. Healthy, able-bodied people, I mean, who can't be bothered to just walk one flight of stairs. I really will never understand how or why people are this type of lazy.

 But, let's get back to Mission: Getting Man And His Kids To the Screening Room As Quickly As Possible So I Don't Have To Listen To His Whining Anymore. I was in the process of repeating to them that they could go to both the sail away party and the parade, when the elevator finally arrived. "Look! There's the elevator!" I yelled, and urged them inside before they could protest. The door closed as I yelled, "go to deck 4 then walk to the other side and come back down to deck 2!"

 I have no idea if they made it to the Screening Room, or if they decided to go to the sail away party or parade or eventually realised that they could make both. Just as I left them, another couple asked me where the sail away party was. When I told them that they could take the elevators all the way up to deck 11 and watch it there, they said that the Cruise Compass said it was on deck 2. Knowing that this was probably not the case, I asked to look at their Cruise Compass, and sure enough, it said, "Sail Away Party..............Deck 11." I pointed it out to them, and repeated that they could take the elevators upstairs. They looked at me like I was crazy, without saying thank you. I walked away thinking, at least I'm not the idiot who looked at "deck 11" and thought the two ones together meant "deck 2."