In memory of my 奶奶...

[ I found this entry on April 4th, 2007 in my livejournal, but I wanted to put this here so I can find it more easily]

Four Years.
Four years. Time really flies. Four years. That means that I was only entering high school. Funny how I can't seem to remember those times.

The weather was funny too. Yesterday, it was nice and sunny, but today, a sheet of fog drifted in and obliterated the sun from view. The car ride was long. Mom was avidly talking about something, but I couldn't hear her since the smells of the food keep reminding me that I hadn't eaten that morning. There was roast pig, a whole piglet, two chickens and a bunch of small pastries. I couldn't think about anything except how long the ride was.

Everyone chose this day to go. There were countless cars in front as well as rows of cars trailing behind. In fact, I couldn't even see where the line of cars ended as they stretched up a hill and passed my line of vision. My dad remarked that we should have came last week. I tried to read my book, but it didn't hold my attention and found myself thinking about food again. Why didn't I eat that morning? My grandma makes a remark. It was something stupid. We tell her that her remarks are stupid. I join in, but I know that she's old and isn't used to our way of doing things. My brother next to me keeps complaining about going to court. I tell him that it was only a minor violation and that he was only going there to pay his fine. He seems to calm down knowing that. But a few seconds later, he starts up again and begins worrying. After a few consecutive trials, I decide it's easier to ignore him. My grandma makes another remark. My dad tells her that she's as ignorant as a child, like my youngest brother. I laugh. My little brother protests. He thinks that he's much smarter than grandma. He's only 6. What does he know? My mom agrees. He is much smarter than a senile old woman. I think grandma takes too much crap from us.

The ride is long. The car is warm- warm with the smells of the freshly whole roasted pig. I can't wait to eat. My dad opens a window and curses. It is too crowded today. It's just that time of the year. We get near the site. We see people exit from their cars carrying goodies similar to ours. I see another roasted pig. I feel bad for these pigs, like I feel bad for turkeys during Thanksgiving, but my mouth still waters at the though of food, overpowering any moral thoughts that I held the moment earlier.

We now had to find a parking spot. There were hundreds of cars. Some were parked correctly, but many parked in places that normally wouldn't allow parking cause they knew that today, it didn't matter. It was a day of responsibilities.

We were lucky to find a parking spot. It was pretty close to the site. We unpacked and walked to the entrance. There was a big threshold, as if to signal the path between the two worlds: the living and the dead. I look up to the sky. Still gray as ever. Maybe it was a gathering of souls. The beloved ancestors knew that this day was coming and choose to stay close and watch over what their children are doing for them. Something good, they hope. Otherwise, they'll curse us.

I walked in and saw families upon families paying respects to their ancestors, their mothers, their fathers, their grandparents, their great-grandparents. There were multiple barrels of fire, ready to burn gifts for the dead. I see that a family is burning a paper house. It was a mansion. I'm sure the recipient will be pleased.

I found grandma's grave and look upon her picture. I can't even remember our last memory together. I just remember someone telling me that she was dead. I can't even remember who. She had cancer. What kind? I think it was liver. Or it could have been lung. No, I'm sure it was liver. I don't want to ask because my family doesn't want to talk about these sorts of things. Besides, I'm just a young girl, what do I know? The last time I saw her face was at the funeral. She had a coin in her mouth. I almost laughed because it looked so ridiculous. I wonder if grandma wanted that. But I looked at her picture and it didn't look like the grandma that I saw at the funeral. She had a full head of hair and she had color to her face. I don't even remember what she really looked like.

We waited for family to come. I looked around the cemetery. I couldn't help but notice that some of the guys were pretty cute. Then I gave myself a metal shake. Totally inappropriate. Besides how morbid is it to meet someone at the cemetery? Still, I found myself glancing back a few times.

More people arrived with provisions. There was incense and a lot of money and goods for the dead. It will be warm when we burn these. For some reason, the air didn't seem that cold. But when we breathed, we were able to see our breaths. How peculiar. It seemed like we were giving the dead some of our life force. The dead didn't need to breath. They were probably jealous. So the weather made it so that we can offer some comfort. To tell our ancestors that we're alive.

When everyone arrived, we began to burn incense. My aunt took a bunch of sticks and lit them all together. I watched the embers race down the stick and the ashes become limp in the wind. My aunt remarked on how the fires were hungry today. I don't even know what the meaning of incense, but it looked like the ancestors wanted more. I took a little stack and prayed to my grandma. My mom told me to tell her that I was going to college soon. I tell her and placed my pile with the rest of the families'. I was only entering high school when she died. She missed a chapter in my life and many more to come.

When everyone had a chance to pay their respects to our grandma, we began to chop the food. The pig was split in half, the chicken was diced, and we offered food to our grandma. While my aunts worked away at cutting the food into bites, the children began to burn money. We looked at the bills that they gave us and found amusement that they said “Hell Bank Note”. There was no heaven or hell in our ideology. There just is. My aunts remarked that she'll spend all her money at the casino just across the street. They must have a lot of business in the underworld. My grandma loves to gamble. And she wasn't going to be short of money either.

My aunt gave me package to burn. There was a watch taped to it. I thought it was a gift or something. As I looked closer, it was paper. I half smiled and read the scrawl that read Women Clothing. It was a new set of clothes for grandma to wear. I burned it and hope that she will stay warm.

The children had fun throwing in paper. Some of it flew back at us since it was lightweight. Even the smallest gust caused the paper to miss its target and fly away. We had trouble picking up all the paper. But grandma needed it to gamble, right?

After all the burning was done and put away, we sat down for a meal. Now I thought this was quite peculiar when I first did it. But as time goes on, it becomes normal. There are families who bring out picnic blankets, chat about activities for the next week. Children run, laugh, and play. This was certainly not expected at normal cemeteries, but it was quite normal here. Perhaps it was to show that we were okay. That while we loved you, we're getting on with our lives. I don't know. My parents don't tell me about these customs so I just make up my own. I kind of like this even if it's far from the truth.

Anyways, we eat. One of my cousins refused to eat. I thought it was normal. After all, we're eating in a cemetery. We cut the food on the dirt floor (though it was on top of a large piece of plastic and cutting board). Ashes from the incense and the burned money floated away and there was an unattractive, unappealing sprinkle of gray ashes on the food. But I was hungry. I ate a lot.

As the day went on, families left and the sky began clearing. The sun began to peek out from those gray clouds. It seemed like something out of a cheesy book or movie. We packed up, not before leaving an offering of pig and chicken and headed back down the hill, past the threshold and into the streets.

I walked with my grandpa. He had become old over the years. I could still remember him being the robust grandpa who took me to and from school every day. Now he has a cane and is hard of hearing. Before, I used to have to catch up to him, not I have to slow down, and occasionally stop, for him to catch up to me. I walked on the side that cars drove and inched toward our car. He remarked on how old he was getting. I listened quietly, nodded, and gave encouraging mm-hmm's. I told him that I was going to college soon. I told him that I still remember those times that he used to be younger. Those times that he didn't need a cane. That he could hear. I don't know how much he was able to hear, but that's okay. Because I know. I know.

922. NineTwoTwo.

When I was born, I lived with my extended family. Mom, dad, aunt, 2 grandmas, grandpa, cousins and a few people who came in and out of our house. We called it 922. It was a pretty small place too. What can you call it? It wasn't really a house since we didn't own the building, but can you call a place that can house that many people an apartment? It was one of those three story houses that sat on the outskirts of Chinatown and lead the way to Fisherman's Wharf. We lived on the first floor.

Our distant relative lives on the third floor. I don't remember how we're related to her. I think she is our grandma's stepsister? I'm not totally sure. But we're related somehow. She has a grandchild name Arthur. I don't remember anything about Arthur but he gave me a bunch of workbooks. I think I still have some somewhere. Apparently Arthur married someone that the family didn't approve of. I haven't talked to that grandmother who is related to us for a long time, but she always fondly talks about Arthur. Apparently someone from that side of the family also married a black man who left her for a black woman. This is big gossip in our household and we disapprove of black people. My family is narrow minded.

I don't know who lives on the 2nd floor.

I remember when I was around 7 or 8 years of age. My parents had already moved out and was living elsewhere, but I stayed with my grandparents sometimes because the school bus stop was close to 922. Plus my new house was cramped and often 4 people slept in the same bed. I used to play on the steps of 922. Countless times we would roleplay on those steps. I think it was Power Rangers. I was Pink ranger because I forced my cousin to be Yellow. I was older, that's why.

We spent a lot of time going to the library too. I would go with my cousin, who was two years younger, and together, we would walk down to the library. I wonder why no one stopped us? We were only 8 and 6 years of age. Perhaps we didn't tell them. Once, we wanted to get library cards so we signed the forms ourselves. When it came to "parent's signature", I didn't know what signature meant, so I told my cousin that it's for our parent's name. We both signed in our parent's name. When we gave it to the person who handled our cards, she looked us. She probably can tell that our parents didn't really sign it. But one look at our innocent faces waiting, she gave us our cards anyways. It was my first library card. I think I lost it a few weeks later.

There was also a park nearby. I remember loving the swings as a kid. I don't remember this, but my cousin said that our grandpa would push us so hard that it seemed like we were gonna fall. Maybe he did, but perhaps I loved the swings too much to care. Or maybe she was just a wuss. I had an incident on the swings once. I was swinging on my stomach and one of my cousins ran in front of it. My head collided with his head. Unfortunately, it was more like my face collided with his rock head. I got a black eye from that. I went home that day and grandma rolled a boiled eye on my eye. It smelled funny. She ate it afterwards. We were frugal.

When I was living there, I would get some money. I think it was 5 dollars a week. I would keep it in my Spottie Dottie wallet. I saved about one hundred seventy odd dollars. When I moved to my current home, I misplaced it. I found it a few years ago, but it was empty. I'm still looking for the thief.

There was a basement in nine-two-two. I remember it being dark and full of cans. My grandma collected cans. She would go to the recycling center with bags full of cans and come back with something like 10 dollars. I remember that basement lead out to the backyard. We would crush the cans there. Those were fun times.

That backyard also held some watermelon seeds that we tried to plant. We had had watermelon the other day. It was delicious. We wanted more, so my cousin and I went to the backyard and dug some holes for our watermelon seeds, not knowing that San Francisco weather would never allow watermelons to grow and that our soil was ill nourished for any sort of garden. It didn't matter anyways because the next day, when we were gonna go water our little darlings, we had forgotten were they were. We went around the backyard with our little pails and tried to find it. We ended up watering the whole yard.

An aunt used to live with us. She was and still is my favorite. I didn't like her boyfriend though. He was greasy looking and he always was sucking on a toothpick or one of those floss/toothpick combinations. He probably had bad teeth. He was one of my uncle's friends. He looked too old for her. I used to spy on them. There was a keyhole that I could see through. Usually I couldn't see anything, but I would check anyways. One Christmas, they bought me a Chinese checkers game. We lost the marbles soon after. There was a feather duster in her room that I used to love playing with. But my aunt would always tell me that it was dirty. But it was oddly soft. I didn't care. Through her room, we were able to see fireworks. She said that we would have been able to see them better if they didn't build the apartment complex that blocked out half the view.

My aunt used to fold paper stars. She kept a jar of them in our bathroom. My cousin and I used to take them. They were made of shiny paper. I used to put them in my wallet. But then they would get squished. It was disappointing. A few years back, I told her that my cousin and I were the thieves. She laughed and said "No wonder they kept disappearing."

I said that our family was frugal. When it was time to go to bed, my grandma would have everyone pee into the toilet bowl before flushing. I was young; I didn't realize how dirty that was. We were "saving water".

While living there, I had to sleep with my grandma. My grandpa and grandma would sleep in different rooms. The room that I slept in was a glorified closet. It was narrow and long. We fit one bed and some miscellaneous things. My grandma was a heavy snorer. Sometimes my younger cousin will sleep with us and he would snore too. It was like a contest. Grandma snores. Kenny snores. Grandma snores. Kenny snores. And so on and so forth. It was hard to sleep.

I went back to 922 with my cousin last week. The place has changed. It's blue now. It was a beige when I lived there. It didn't seem like a Chinese family lived there anymore. Our distant relative has also moved away a long time ago. The steps that we used to find endless don't seem as long. I wanted to know what the inside was like but I couldn't go in anymore. I walked to the library. We wondered what made our grandparents trust us to go down this long street, cross the crosswalk and to the library/park. I sat in the swing that made me get my first black eye. I went down the slide. It was nostalgic. But everything seemed smaller and less imaginative. It was only a park after all.

A lot of things have happened since I lived there. But my childhood will forever be dubbed NineTwoTwo.