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hymn2000 · 4 years

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Don’t Shoot Me I’m Only The Piano Player - MCU AU Fanfic - C18

(Previously Ideal Confusion)

Story summary: Giving into the constant pressure from the press, Tony decides to put a rest to the rumours that Peter is his biological son - once and for all.

Previous Chapter(s): 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17

Part of my Frostiron and Spiderson series.

Warnings/themes: family, family stuff, family conflict, adoption, DNA test(s), pressure, peer pressure, social issues, mentions of alcoholism, mental health problems, potentially some minor medical inaccuracies, corporal punishment, hurt/comfort

You can also find me on AO3

Chapter 18 - So Much To Prove

Peter stirred uncomfortably, whimpering as he woke up. It was dark - too dark. He’d fallen asleep so quickly that he hadn’t even turned the night light on. He whimpered again, tears pricking his eyes, and became aware of someone’s arms round him.

“Shh, it’s ok, I’ve got you”

Peter relaxed, somewhere between asleep and awake, pressing a hand against whoever was holding him, reassuring himself. He shifted slightly and slowly drifted back to sleep.

“Did I have a nightmare last night?” Peter asked Loki at breakfast.

“Surely you should know the answer to that one?” Loki said, putting his mug down.

“Well, I don’t always remember, especially when someone’s with me like you were”

Loki paused, quirking an eyebrow. “I didn’t go to you in the night, chick”

“Oh” Peter sat back, confused. “But then who..? Um...”

“Finish your toast. You don’t want to be late for school”

“I don’t know if I’m up to it”

“You are” he nodded at the door. “Blazer’s there when you need it”

Peter swallowed hard, tearing his eyes away from the car window.

“Did you and daddy talk last night?”

“That’s none of your business” Tony said abruptly. “Don’t be so nosey”

‘A definite yes’, Peter thought. He looked at Tony, trying to figure him out. He was rubbish at hiding things, but he also neglected to talk about things that were most important, so sometimes the full effect got lost.

“What are you staring at? You’re putting me off”

Peter shrugged and looked away. They were quiet until Tony parked up in front of the school.

“Try to have a normal day today, kid” Tony said.

“What happened yesterday wasn’t my fault”

“I never said it was. Just don’t have a repeat, alright?”

Peter pouted at him.

“Just be good, kid. Now go: you’re gonna be late”

“You’ve changed your tune”

Tony smacked his thigh, hard.

“OW! Dad!”

“Don’t be so cheeky. Now sling your hook”

Peter didn’t need to be asked twice. He grabbed his bag and stepped out of the car, all but slamming the door behind him. He didn’t have high hopes for the day ahead.

Malaki was on everyone’s minds and lips. There were a lot of rumours, and some of them were pretty worrying. Unfortunately, some of them were true, but, having not heard anything more from Malaki since the day before, Peter wasn’t sure about all of them. He didn’t really want to think about it.

Not that he had much choice in the matter.

There were too many reminders. Almost everyone in the form had seen what had happened, and there were a lot of pale faces in the discussions. Peter turned round when the bell rang, looking at the conspicuously clean patch on the carpet, at Malaki’s empty seat - and Nigel’s too.

Flo rested a hand on Peter’s to get his attention.

“I think he’s gone and told the truth” she whispered. “I’m not entirely sure, though”

The door opened, making her jump, but it was just Ms Hathersage.

“Settle down, now!” she barked. “Well, well, well! It’s nice to see you all in one piece! Just about. How’s your head, Stark?”

Peter didn’t respond. He’d almost forgotten about his own injury. He probably would have done altogether if Loki hadn’t changed the dressing when he’d woken up. It seemed so insignificant, especially with Malaki in hospital.

Mr James’ practice room seemed like a refuge from the heavy stresses and talks of the morning.

“How’s your head?”

Peter shrugged.

“Yeah, I thought as much. Any news on your friend?”

Peter threw his bag down and plonked himself down at the piano, ignoring him. Mr James understood.

“Well, I’ve got some marking to do, so I’m taking this corner” he said, slinging his briefcase onto the little table. “It’s easier to focus in here. Less people knocking on the door, you see”

Peter nodded slightly, not really listening. He flexed his hands and tapped a few keys, not sure what to play. His head was all over the place: Malaki, Loki’s house search, leaving school, being Tony Stark’s biological son... He hadn’t even got his head around the first problem, let alone those that had followed. He didn’t have a clue what he was supposed to do about any of them. He didn’t really know how he felt about any of them either.

Well, he was worried about Malaki. He didn’t know what was going to happen to him. What if it was serious and he had long-lasting problems? He didn’t even know how he was now. He wasn’t sure it was his place to text and try to find out. Malaki’s phone could be dead, for a start, or he might be indisposed. There was nothing he could do, anyway.

Leaving school was just a fact of life now. He hadn’t had much time to, but if he really thought about it, he wasn’t really sure he wanted to leave anymore. He didn’t have any control over that either.

Loki’s house search was more confusing. Peter still wasn’t sure why Loki had lied and said he’d been asked to go back. Sure, they kept in touch, but why not tell Tony the truth? As much as he’d enjoyed his sabbatical, Peter wasn’t convinced he’d actually leave. But, Loki was nothing if not unpredictable. Besides, he’d heard his outburst about his time in hospital. Maybe the stress of that memory and not being able to talk about it was getting too much for him. If it was, maybe Scotland really did beckon.

Some, everything was piling up, but those bloody DNA test results still felt like the biggest problem. Peter hadn’t had the television or radio on, or even checked his phone properly since the press release, but he could imagine all too well what was going off. He was still surprised no one had cornered him at the hospital about it. It wasn’t the press that bothered him, though. Not really. What got to him, was the massive uncertainty that came with learning that the past you thought you knew was nothing but a fabrication. Plus, there was the whole issue of Tony seeming furious at the results one minute, and acting like they’d never had them the next. AND, on top of that, Tony and Loki were at odds, and Tony seemed to have started smacking again. Peter hoped what happened just before Loki rang Marco was an isolated incident, but he couldn’t be sure. His leg had throbbed for a good ten minutes after he’d been struck in the car that morning. He didn’t like the feeling that Tony might be taking his frustrations out on him. Sure, Loki had mentioned he was seeing someone to work through his problems, but he couldn’t be sure. Tony wasn’t great at the whole opening up thing.

“That was energetic”

Peter looked round at Mr James.

“Energetic. But sad” Mr James said. “It was good. You’ve always been good at the classics”

Peter turned back to the piano. He’d just played from the list on the wall, half-hearted but heavy-handed. Still, even then, he felt better for it.

“Did you do any playing last night?”

Peter shook his head.

“Can’t say I’m surprised. Tired?”

Peter shrugged.

“You’re quiet today” Mr James came over and stood beside him. “What’s burning in there today? We can have a little chat, if you like?”

Peter froze, reassured himself that it was only his parents who always used ‘chat’ to mean he was in trouble, and breathed out. He shook his head slightly.

“Well, I’m in the corner if you change your mind” Mr James said, squeezing his shoulder and returning to his table.

Peter was quiet a moment longer, before resting his hands on the keys and starting to play. Calm and light at first, and then a few heavy notes mixed in. He got into the rhythm, and soon started humming along under his breath. He felt safe in the funny little room, piano at his mercy, Mr James quiet in the corner.

He grew immersed in the music, his humming become more pronounced, a type of mumble of almost-words. And...

“-Caesar's had your troubles, widows had to cry. While mercenaries in cloisters si--ng; And the king must diiiiieee”

God, it felt so good to sing without worrying what people might think.

“Some men are better slaying sailors. Take my word and go.. But tell the ostler that his name was; the very first they chose”

Somehow, he was thinking of other things as he played. Mainly about school, and about what people might think if they overheard this. Oddly... well, he didn’t care. ‘Let them hear’ he thought, hammering out the final notes. He paused a moment, catching his breath, still on the same train of thought.

;Well’ he thought. ‘If anyone’s listening, I’ll give them something to listen to’

“You can never know what it's like.. Your blood, like winter, freezes just like ice.. And there's a cold and lonely light that shines from you.. You will wind up like the wreck you hide, behind that mask you use”

He played it heavy, a little slower, much more Rocketman than Too Low For Zero. Mr James looked up from his papers, watching closely.

“And did you think this fool could never win? Well look at me, I'm-a coming back again.. Got a taste of love, in a simple way, and if you need to know while I'm still standin’ you just fade a-way..”

Mr James stood up, carefully, slowly, not wanting to interrupt. Not yet.

“Don't you know? I'm still standing better than I ever did! Lookin’ like a true survivor - feelin’ like a little kid. I'm still standin’ after all this time.. Picking up the pieces of my life, without you on my mind..”

Mr James put a hand on Peter’s shoulder, and he stopped abruptly. He swallowed, hands still on the keys, and slowly looked up at him, biting the inside of his lip.

“How do you feel about breaking the rules?”

Breaking the rules though it was, it felt right with it being a teachers idea. However, that didn’t help at the end of the day. At first, he still felt brilliant - incredible, energised, on cloud nine - but then the butterflies were replaced with moths, fluttering replaced with thudding, and he felt sick with nerves.

It wasn’t like Tony was going to find out, and, honestly, it wasn’t as though he’d really done anything wrong - but his father was so unpredictable right now that anything seemed to be a possibility.

“Not a bad lot of work for a Wednesday afternoon” Mr James said. “See you tomorrow, Master Parker-Stark”

“Thanks, s-sir”

“No problem. Well, you’d better be going. Bye now!”

Peter went out to the carpark, praying that it would be Loki, or even Happy, waiting for him.

No such luck.

“You took your time” Tony grumbled as Peter climbed into the car.

“Mr James’ lesson ran over” Peter said, not untruthfully.

“Mm” Tony said, obviously not listening. “Your father wants to have a word when we get back”

“Oh... About Scotland?”

“What? No, don’t be ridiculous!”

“I’m not!” Peter scowled. “Well, what is it about, then?”

“You and me. And... this” he gestured between the two of them. “I think”

“What could he know that we don’t? We’ve got the results, and you don’t remember my mother”

“We’ll find out soon enough, won’t we?”

There was a short silence.

“...Dad?

Tony sighed irritably. “What?”

“Do you regret getting us tested?”

“Just put your headphones in, kid”

“But-”

“But nothing! Put your bloody headphones in or I’ll smack you so hard you won’t be able to sit down for a week, understand?!”

He could have been bluffing - but Peter didn’t want to take that risk.

Loki sat Tony and Peter down at the kitchen table, much to Tony’s annoyance.

“Is this going to take long?”

“It takes as long as it takes!” Loki snapped.

There was a pause. Peter looked down at his hands. Loki sighed, and placed a brown A4 envelope down on the table.

“I don’t want you to get angry at me because of this. I didn’t really register at the time, and I’d honestly forgotten until I saw it today”

“What is it?” Tony asked.

Loki pushed the envelope towards Peter. “I think you should do this”

Peter hesitated. He didn’t like the feeling of them watching him, but he took the envelope nonetheless. It was thin, obviously not much to it. He slipped the piece of paper out of the envelope, turning it over and looking at it, reading it over. It all seemed pretty normal - aside from one thing.

“The birth certificate? I forgot you’d requested that. What’s the big deal?”

“Hand it to your father, Peter”

“Loki, I know what a birth certificate looks like. I don’t think-”

“Just read it, Tony”

Tony humoured him, taking the certificate from Peter. He glanced it over, and then stopped. His expression changed and there was silence as he set it down in the middle of the table. He pinched the bridge of his nose, looking pained.

Peter swallowed hard, not that it helped. “What does it mean?”

Loki brought the certificate close, looking at the blank space where a father’s name should be.

“It means your mother knew”

#my writing #fanfiction #mcu fanfiction #marvel fanfiction #frostiron #irondad and spiderson

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purplesurveys · 5 years

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488

Have you ever been afraid to get up and go to the bathroom? Only in the early morning, cause everything’s louder and darker by then. Do you get any magazines in the mail? No, we don’t get anything in the mail other than bills my parents take care of. How many websites do you have an account for? I’ve signed up for a lot. This question was probably easy to ask back then given that this survey was made back in 2009 lmao, but the Internet has since exploded and you pretty much have to sign up for everything if you want a website’s full features. Have you ever paid for any kind of online membership? My dad pays for the family Netflix account, but I don’t have a credit card of my own. Do you try clothes on before you buy them? I’m usually lazy to so I go ahead and buy them. If they don’t fit well I’ll either ask my grandma to alter it or just give it away.

Have you seen The Blind Side? I’ve caught it on TV. I know it’s supposed to be a really good film, but it’s never grabbed my attention enough to be interested in it. What's the best movie you've seen this year? Hintayan ng Langit (Heaven’s Waiting). Do you know how to fire a gun? I’ve never even held a gun. What would you do if you knew a robber was in your house? Scream. As loud as I can. Have you played the Sims 3, yet? I never got to play it. What's your favorite type of pizza? Barbecue!!!!!!!!!!!! It’s the only kind I can eat like five slices of in one sitting. Do you have a favorite local pizza place? Mmm no not really. My favorite store is Yellow Cab. What are you afraid of? Flying insects. Have you ever been afraid of falling in love? I was, once. It was my best friend and we had an amazing relationship at that point, so I had every reason to feel scared of what I was starting to feel. How do you let someone know that you like them? When I knew I liked Gabie, I started to spend more time with her and do the little things that I knew she’d appreciate, like buying her favorite snacks or a book by her current favorite author. Have you ever asked a friend to ask someone else out for you? No. Who'd you last see in a tux? I had to assist in a fancy internal party of one of our clients during my internship, and I saw a lot of guys (none of them I know) in formal wear. Were you sad when Tim Urban got sent home on American Idol? Name’s familar, let me look him up... hmm. He was one of those I never cared for in that season. I was all over Crystal Bowersox and Siobhan Magnus for season 9 hahaha. What about Jason Castro, 2 years ago? The dude with the cornrows and played guitar! I was generally a fan of his. He was good, but I remember just being more enthusiastic over David Archuleta for that season. Do you record any TV shows and watch them later? When I was a kid, my parents would do this for me. We don’t have a sort of gadget that does this to our TV anymore. Do you have difficulty pronouncing any words? ‘Beautiful’ is a BITCH to pronounce if Filipino’s your stronger accent. I have a hard time with it myself. When my mind is thinking to say that word, I always end up saying ‘pretty’ at the last second cause my tongue seems to get all tied up. Would you rather take a shower or a bath? Bath, if I had all the time in the world. How many times do you shower in a week? Like a maximum of 6 days. I always skip a day. What brand's your cell phone? Apple. Have you ever sexted? Yes. I never did enjoy it when I was still doing it.

How many contacts do you have? Err too many to count, I know that much. Do you have your own computer? I have my own *laptop.

Out of everyone you know, who was the most heart? Laurice or Jane. Who's the bravest person you know? I was gonna say Gabie till I found out recently that she’s afraid of killing cockroaches lmfao so I’ll go with my dad. Who would you want to have your back if things got tough? Gab. Do you ever make up retarded words with your friends? Ah, back when using the word ‘retarded’ to mean ‘stupid’ was acceptable. Have your friends ever given you answers to homework, last minute? Lmao yep, that is high school in a nutshell my friend. Have you ever dated someone who was real sportsy? My girlfriend used to play softball and basketball in high school. She’s not as sporty anymore as uni keeps her busy, but she has a gym membership and is super into the whole working out thing if that counts haha. Are you any good at writing? Certain types of writing. I like research, essays, and academic writing but you cannot trust me to write poems and short stories. What's your favorite form of writing? Autobiographies, whatever they count as. What do you think about Lil Wayne? Whatever. Lil Wayne vs. Eminem...? Idk, I’m pretty sure both have problematic content on their songs so I’ll pass. Have you ever given up on someone before? Yes. Did you end up regretting it later in life? No. Have you ever read Shakespeare? We had to read Shakespeare in English class throughout high school. It was Romeo and Juliet in freshman year, The Merchant of Venice in sophie year, Macbeth in junior year, and Hamlet when we were seniors. What did you dream about last night? Oddly enough I dreamt that Gab died and its aftermath, which was me continuing to visit her family after she passed. It was weirdly realistic and I hated it. Have you ever looked up the meaning to a dream? Some, sure. I did it just for the lols. Have you ever tried to change someone? I don’t think so. Can anyone really change anyone that doesn't wanna change? It’s a tough hill to climb but if it’s to change someone for the better, it will be worth it to try and do so. Do you think that anyone currently has a crush on you? I know my girlfriend does; idk about anyone else. What profession do you admire the most? Teaching. Have you ever made a fake profile, for any reason? Nope. What's the hardest lesson you've ever had to learn? World’s not gonna stop for you when a loved one does. Yours will end, but no one else will care. Life goes on. Suck it up. Learned it the hard way when my grandpa died. What are you wearing right now? I have on a black and white dress that I haven’t changed out of yet because I’m too lazy. Do you miss your ex? What's the first thing you notice about the opposite sex? If they’re jerks or not. Have you ever questioned your sexuality? Yes. I questioned it for a very long time because I had never been comfortable with any of the bazillion existing labels we have now, and I thought I was just a weirdo. Then Dan Howell posted a video for Pride Month and let me know that I didn’t need a label to let people know who I am and I could be a formless, label-less blob if I wanted to and that I shouldn’t give a shit what others think. Thanks Dan. If you could change one thing about your life, what would it be and why? Having more money. Because buying stuff makes me happy.

#survey #surveys

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filipinosmakinghistory · 7 years

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Meet Josh Abalos a Super Senior at UMass Boston! He is a Filipino/Filipino-American who grew up in a setting that emphasized the Filipino culture. Today is his birthday! What do you think is the most common misconception about being Filipino? That we're Mexican or that we speak Spanish? That the United States DIDN'T straight up colonize us after ownership of the archipelago was transferred from the Spanish to the US after the Spanish-American war? That we're dirtier or less civilized than northern/paler Asians? How did you become aware of your cultural identity? I grew up for my first 10 years around New York and New Jersey where there were huge Filipino communities. My parents raised me with the customs that they carried over when they moved to America. They just acted like themselves around me and I absorbed that. So I knew from an early age that I was Filipino but when I moved to Massachusetts at age 10 where there were markedly less Filipinos, and I became mostly surrounded by white people, I started noticing how the color of my skin, and the culture and behavior that I brought with me, stood out from everyone else. The lack of diversity in the new town didn't help either. How much do you identify with the history of the Philippines? Lapu Lapu from the Visayas was pretty badass. He killed Magellan, that cocky Portuguese bastard, and defended the Philippines before the archipelago even had a name. There's also the legend of Urduja (pronounced: urd-oo-ya) from the region of Pangasinan, where my dad's side comes from, though scholars are divided on whether or not she was ever real (I'd bet she was real after some internet research). Anyway she was a fabled warrior princess in the pre-colonial archipelago, who led a band of female warriors and defended her kingdom from foreign invaders as well. Legend has it that she would not marry any man who could not best her in combat. Thus she died a virgin. Wowza. What a woman. Check out the veracity of her story for yourself. http://www.urduja.com/princess.html. Then there's Jose Rizal, who is widely regarded as a polymath, is very respectable in my books for that very trait (also v v v respectable for igniting the revolution just through his writings). He was also a nerd who got around with the ladies (20 different girlfriends), so while I don't necessarily promote promiscuity and especially not infidelity, let it be said you can totally be an over-the-top nerd and still get laid (and inspire a country). Wish I knew that in middle school lol. Otherwise, in regards to my family's history: my lolo (grandfather) on my dad's side fought in World War II. He was at Bataan. He hated the Japanese, and with good reason. They made him and the other 80,000 POWs march some 60 odd miles malnourished and abused. They would torture, physically, and mentally attack them while marching. He watched his buddies die right next to him from exhaustion, starvation, and bullets to the back of their heads. Whenever a POW couldn't keep up, they were either shot or just left in a ditch to wither. He almost didn't make it, and I might never have been born. Bittersweetly, he survived only to die of cancer right around the time I was born. I wish I had at least met him. My dad recalls these memories of his to me. He tells me that lolo always used to hate when dad did Japanese stuff. Lolo never wanted his son to drive Japanese cars, eat sushi, or to learn karate (all of which he did anyway; the damned rascal was a 2nd degree blackbelt in wado karate). Given all that, sometimes I wonder what my lolo would think of me if he were here today. I watch a lot of anime, I pretend to (ironically) act japanese sometimes, but you could say I look like a total weeb. It's weird to think about. I don't hate Japanese people, although I think some of the them are weird (have you heard of waifu body pillows? jeez). Would my grandfather disown me? Would he understand what it is to be a kid in this day and age? Is religion important in your household? Describe a situation illustrating why or why not. It's pretty important. My parents have poon amongst which is the Santo Niño. We have a prayer group which rotates amongst different families' houses where we pray the rosary together and praise Jesus and stuff but I'm not so much into it anymore considering I don't align myself with the Catholic Church anymore. Have you ever struggled with your racial/ethnic/cultural identity? Describe this struggle and how you overcame it. Yea people called me a twinkie or a banana all the time because I acted so white. Yellow on the outside, white on the inside. I wanted to believe I was just like all the other kids in middle and high school but nothing could be farther from the truth. Oh sure, I learned how to fit in reaaal good but that doesn't mean I still wouldn't get sly remarks like "oh I didn't know you would be into punk rock" or the not so subtle "I thought you were Mexican!" and "Oh you're from there? You must eat dog then". Everywhere I go, I'm reminded that I don't exactly belong. You don't see a lot of Asians at punk shows, especially around here. Kids at concerts assume I don't know the scene, I don't know the bands, that I'm just a casual show goer, or worse a "poseur". At the kind of shows I go to, three is a crowd in terms of Asians being there.

Sure Asians are supposedly the "model minority" but I'm brown. I'm a "dirty Asian". On top of which, I have a full bushy beard and moustache these days. I don't look so innocent anymore (I try to avoid cops and follow the law). Filipinos don't even recognize me as Filipino at first glance anymore. I was in a crowd of Filipinos from my parents' generation and they all spoke English around me, but as soon as I stepped away, they felt comfortable enough to speak Tagalog. I had to tell them I was fully Filipino and that my parents grew up in the home country. What's worse is I don't speak any Filipino language so even when they know I'm full-blooded Filipino, the older generation sees me as less because I can't speak Tagalog. I was at a Filipino birthday party over the summer, where this tita (auntie) overheard that the birthday girl's new boyfriend barely understands a single lick of Tagalog. Soon as she heard that flew off the handle shouting at no one in particular "ANONG PROBLEMA NG MGA KABATAAN NGAYON. THESE KIDS SHOULD UNDERSTAND TAGALOG. THEY SHOULD BE ASHAMED. THEIR PARENTS SHOULD BE ASHAMED. SUSMARYOSEP" and I'm just here like lmao chill out tita, sorry we grew up in America.

But yea there is that slight pang of regret that I can't connect with my people on that level. Nowadays I'm President of my Filipino club, Hoy! Pinoy!, at UMass Boston. Second Term whoop whoop. I try to re-acculturate myself with the Philippines and try to provide the opportunity for members of my club to do the same. I helped found the club specifically to find my roots again, and be around people who were like-minded.

And I recommend to anyone and everyone who is disconnected from their family's original home land, to join a cultural group, such as a college Filipino club in my case, so you can be surrounded by people who work together to find yourselves and your identity in something other than just the fads, memes, and trivialities of American life. So you can understand the struggle your ancestors, your family, have gone through to get you where you are now. So you can understand why you face the hardship you're facing now from society around you. If your family isn't perfect, it's probably in large part from the /STRESS/ of they and their ancestor's way of life being uprooted and changed so many times and so often, that life has been just chaos, whether if it's the Spanish colonizing us, the Japanese abusing us, the white Americans imperializing us, or just the immigrant experience as a whole. And if your group isn't asking the hard questions, like where y'all came from, how will you know where to go next? You cannot grow as a person or even take a step forward if you don't have a place from where you began. You can't build a house without a foundation. As humans, we build narratives, personal stories, which we use to identify ourselves, and figure out who we are and what we want. Take psych 101 and you'll hear this. Take Asian American Psychology and you might find a group of students who would help you understand who you are as both a Filipino and an American. Who cares if it's not a course that teaches you how to make money or where you learn a marketable skill? You'll be unhappy in life if you're rich and successful but don't know who you are and what you truly want. Ask me how many people I grew up with that are like that now.

If you really, truly know who you are as a person, that can never be taken away from you, no matter how many times you're told who you are by dominant ethnic group who have never experienced what it's like to not be white, what to want by advertisements and product reviews that just want your money, or what to change so you can try to be just like them and not so foreign and scary. You're an individual which is both scary and exciting. But you're also human, and you need to be loved, regardless.

As Uncle Iroh once said: "It's time for you to look *inward* and begin asking yourself the big questions. Who are you and what do *you* want?"

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aYkuuu9u3EI What are you most proud of as a Filipino/Filipino-American? FOOD. UGH BUT WHY DOES IT TAKE SO LONG TO COOK?? . . . . . . . . ANS: BC IT'S MADE WITH LOVE. What challenges did you face, growing up as a Filipino/Filipino-American?For those not from the Philippines, have you ever been to there? Tell a story or favorite memory from you visit! I was probably 7 years old when I visited my extended family in the province of Pangasinan, in Lingayen. Pros: Watched Darna on repeat Cons: Almost drowned in the monsoon. Great times. Told my parents "When are we getting off this wretched Island already!!! 😭" Describe a significant event in your life that shaped who you are today Seeing other Filipinos (-Canadian) my age underage drink and "sin" (lol) when I was still a goody two-shoes in high school. Didn't help that I had a crush on this one girl who I looked up to. I started drinking in college. What do you feel most grateful for your life? Being born into a family that is economically advantaged. I mean, look, we live in Massachusetts, I go to one of the best public university systems in the nation, and I'm not going to be up to my neck in loans when I graduate. That's more than most can say. Tell us about someone who has had a big influence in your life? Ghandi. Civil Disobedience. Pacifism. Anti-colonialism. What a guy. What traditions have been passed down your family? Eat with your hands. Don't leave the bathroom door open. Describe your immediate/household family. Mom, Dad, and brother who is a sophomore in high school. Is having a knowledge of family history important? Why or why not? Yes. Maybe you should know if you have a family history of trauma or diabetes so you can get diagnosed earlier in life to see if you need to change your lifestyle to prevent life-threatening situations or lasting damage to your mind and body. Maybe. What does it mean to be successful in your family? Be a lawyer or a doctor. Be rich. Have kids. Whoopee

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ritztower-apt151 · 7 years

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Concept: In a world where there's no Ng, no crazy!Jack, Yvonne doesn't try to take over (fuck up?) everything, and the Sorvix lay low for at least a couple of nights, Team Torchwood (plus Rhys and Andy of course - and heck, if you will, even Yvonne) is invited to a dinner party at the Colchesters'. A proper one this time. And soon enough, Colin is the center of attention - for once, much to his husband's chagrin. Because while pretty much everyone at the table (who hasn't already) has been dying to meet him, the man who turns their resident sarcastic badass into a big puddle of mush (or a remorseless terminator depending on the situation, but that's beside the point); what they're getting is so much more than any of them could've possibly hoped for.

Soon as Colin realizes they're actually interested in those kinds of stories, he starts telling them about how he first met his husband, and how said husband had completely failed at appearing smooth around him - in any way. Featuring tales like,

"I worked part-time at the local bookstore in Leeds, and it was nearing the end of my shift when he walked in. A particularly large order of books had just arrived, so large in fact I had to help the poor postman with carrying them in. I'd just put a box on the counter for a short rest - they were really heavy, and it was a warm summer's day - and was wiping the sweat off my forehead when I looked back to check where the postman was, and saw him in the entryway. Blatantly staring. But before I could even think of a witty comment, or as much as adopt a playful facial expression, he walked straight into the nearest bookshelf. I'm not even remotely kidding when I say I've never before or since seen such a thing outside of slapstick comedy, but there it was happening right before my eyes. I immediately ran over to him of course, but thankfully he didn't seem hurt badly. "Are you alright?", I remember asking. But he just. Stared at me. "Do you need anything?", I tried. Still no reply. To this day, I do not know what he even came into the store for. He just stared for a few more seconds, then got up again and scrambled out quickly."

"He didn't come in again for a weeks after that, but my colleagues sometimes pointed out that there was one guy who sort of often lurked outside the shop, particularly during my shifts. But I wasn't really interested in following that up / approaching him myself, as they were likely hoping for. Granted, I found his weird way of looking at me more than a little adorable, but 'better safe than sorry' was my motto of choice at the time. If he really was interested in me, he should make the first move. Only that he... didn't. More weeks passed and I began wondering if this would ever go anywhere, or worse - if I'd aquired a stalker. Until one day.... well. I was about to enter the shop for my shift, when he spotted him from afar, walking towards me. 'Alright, now or never', I thought to myself, and even slowed down almost comically just to be sure he got the message. 'Talk to me', I almost begged internally. He'd nearly reached me - when we suddenly heard a mother call for her daughter. "Annabelle! Come over here right now!" Her outburst was short but loud, and sadly, enough to break the moment. At that point, I'd accepted it as fate. We just weren't destined to be... anything, in any capacity. I turned to open the shop door - when I suddenly heard a deep voice yell, "Watch out!" and the sound of someone running very fast. I turned back to face the road instinctively, and barely believed my eyes. It was him, running onto the street, trying to grab a little girl - Annabelle, I supposed - before she could get run over by the nearest car. And he did manage to shove her away just in time - but not to remove himself from the scene also. The car's brakes screeched horribly, the driver's quick reflexes likely saving his life. He still got hit though, and this time, when he went down, he didn't get up. The next few minutes were a blur of screaming people and me calling for an ambulance before I'd even registered that my fingers had moved. I was distantly aware of the mother scolding her Annabelle with a tear-soaked voice - "If it hadn't been for that brave man!" - but all I could see was him, lying on the pavement, bleeding from a (hopefully) shallow headwound. I couldn't help myself, I ran over to him and tried to pick him up. I barely knew this strangely shy man at all, but I never realized more clearly just how much I wanted to get to know him. How much I hoped that'd still be possible now. It was, obviously. In fact, as luck would have it, he regained consciousness moments before the ambulance arrived; giving him just enough time to blink up at me in obvious confusion before settling into a bright, if dazed, smile. "You're really pretty...", he croaked out, slowly but clearly pronounced, not slurring at all. I was immediately fascinated with the dark timbre of his voice, and of course couldn't help but smile at the endearingly honest compliment. Then, the paramedics swooped in and took him away. I realized I hadn't even gotten his name, but the chance was missed. I could only hope he'd be fine and swing by again someday. Which of course, he did. Two months later."

"It took him no less than ten tries and a solid fifteen minutes to actually ask me out on our first date, and I'm reasonably certain he nearly fainted when I actually said yes. The date itself didn't go much smoother. There weren't a lot of places we could go to at the time, you see, and especially not home to me since I still lived with my parents. So we went to his place; and promptly outdid each other in being disastrous at cooking. He burned himself so badly one time I almost called 911 again! But ultimately, it was us being idiots together, and that was what counted. By the time he'd actually walked me home and the most he touched me throughout the whole evening was a kiss on the cheek at the end of that, I was properly sure that this would go places. Especially when he was so flustered by that he nearly fell down the stairs leaving."

"For my first birthday since we started dating - or, well, techincally the second one, but I didn't tell him it was my birthday the first time 'round because I didn't want to make a huge deal out of it - he got me a leather jacket. A red leather jacket. It took almost 30 seconds and his proud/hopeful smile morphing into an increasingly worried grimace - the unspoken "Well???" so loud in the room it was nearly deafening - for me to realize that he wasn't kidding. I quickly tried to make my own face convey pleased (instead of of shocked/horrified) surprise, and kissed him in thanks. "It's.. incredible!", I managed to say, only stuttering slightly. I wore it for the rest of the day - but never again. I still have it though, on the very end of the rack. It was expensive after all, and if nothing else, I genuinely appreciated the gesture."

The evening only devolves from there. Jack tries everything in his power to pry even the smallest 'details' from Colin, Orr helping enthusiastically and Gwen torn between scolding them and listening raptly. Tyler mimicks throwing up every other minute, quickly forming a I'd Rather Nope club with Andy. Yvonne tries distracting a despairing Mr. Colchester with work talk, and Rhys skips between conversations happily (if slightly confused). It's the best evening in recent memory for all of them.

#I JUST WANT THEM TO BE HAPPY #otp: we're gay. (very.)#fic-ish things #my stuff #aliens among us #torchwood

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indiemandsss-blog · 6 years

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10 Indie Bands You Should Listen To

Our patriotism doesn't stop at the end of the month of August. Supporting our own crafts should always be an all year act. Since Filipinos are very much talented especially when it comes to Music, I made a list of Indie bands that is worth listening to. Here are some of my favorite bands that are deserving to receive more recognition and support :

1. Bita and the Botflies

One letter can describe this band and it is the letter — C. Why? Because their music is "creepy" and "cute". Bita and the botflies' music mainly reflects the society towards women. How women are objectified (Sisikat Ka Iha), exaggerated version of women's reaction to infidelity (Tagu-taguan), and also the perspective of women towards cheating (Chop-chop Blues). Their music is perfect especially this season for their songs can give you the Halloween vibes. Plus, the vocals will surely give you the Melanie Martinez feels. Their most popular song, Sisikat Ka Iha will make us all 'sayaw' even though Nene is not our name, this song talks about the harsh reality of Prostitution and how impermanent our beauty is.

2. BennyBunnyBand

Do you ever just wake up and won't stop thinking "Man, I want to write a song about my favorite fast food meal" because they do. BennyBunnyBand's music features ukulele which gives more fun to their music. They have the most honest songs and they even created an anthem for f**kboys and f**kgirls called "Forbidden Song #2 : Kamandag #PogiProblems" which have a brother entitled "Forbidden Song #1 Sa'yo Lang Titi". Before you start to judge the lyrics, it actually has a sweet message. I mean, we all want someone to tell us, "Sa'yo lang titi, sa'yo lang titi, sa'yo lang titi—bok"

3. CHNDTR

Loving their music won't be as hard as pronouncing their band name. This female fronted band received the title "Paramore of Philippines (I don't know why would people always label a band with female vocals as another version of Paramore but well, let's just take that as a compliment lol) CHNDTR's most popular song "Martyr" is the best sound track for masochists, as what their tag line has to say "Masayang Nasasaktan" it's the right song for people who want to get over someone yet her/his actions aren't aligned to something she/he wants to happen. Hmmmm??? Sounds like someone you know??? Another song of them that you should listen to is their song, S.I.L, it captures the perfect moment of having a crush. All the daydreams and imaginations that remained as imagination.

4. Munimuni "Kakalimutan na kitaaaaa, siguraduhin mong hindi talaga pwedeng tayo~" Poetic. This band must have mastered the art of poetry and song writing. I remember the first I saw them live, someone at the back yelled, "Ouch! Ang saket!" I can't blame him though their lyrics are really heart touching and after hearing their song "Sa Hindi Pag-alaala" you'll find yourself crying over your ex (that you never had because you're NBSB/NGSB ha!) Also, their song "Marilag" will increase your love for our language for sure! I mean, Marilag???? Is that even a word??? But Munimuni proved to us that yes, it's a word and it means beautiful, just like this band.

5. Flying Ipis It's very rare to find an all girl band here in Philippines that's why I'm very thankful for God has gave us this band. If you feel like empowering yourself, as a women, this band is for you for their songs best describe female anger. This band definitely sounds cooler live and it will give you the power to remain standing and going on your life after your crush have left you on seen. Flying Ipis also fights for the rights of LGBTQ and promotes #Roachmance in every gender! (They invented that pun don't blame me)

6. The Ridleys How do I start with The Ridleys? They are amazing. Their music is the kind of music you would want to dedicate to the love of your life. Their music will surely put you above the clouds because once you listen to them, all you would want is to float. Have you ever experience the scene on the TV where everything is blur and all your focus is on something or someone? I did and it was when I first heard them live. Listening to their song "Maybe" will surely make you feel as if they are serenading you. Aside form this, they are also kind and very interactive with fans. You can even ask them for a picture (but as a friend) as what they have said on their Twitter account.

7. Nanay Mo Yes, I know that your mom is cool as hell (hmmm kinda ironic) but this band is on different level. When I first heard their song "Take A Man And A Bird", I thought that it was a song of late 80s international band but they aren't. Their music is perfect when you're on the road and it's traffic because another road project is on going. They will make you less stress even though you're almost an hour late from your work. All the anger will be converted through headbanging because their band is 'headbang-able' and yes, I just made up that term I'm sorry I cannot think of something else lol.

8. Tanya Markova Have you ever cried over a song because the lyrics are too relatable and deep? Well, listen to "High End" and let's cry to the line, "Tinanong mo ko kung gusto ko ba ng Mocha frappe, sagot ko sa'yo ang kape ko yung sa Ministop" together. That's a relatable one, why does everything have to be expensive??? Kidding aside, their genre is called "pasayorock" and their music is mostly funny, deep, and creepy. Their music also reflects the reality through Figurative Languages and allegories. At the same time, their music can also be simple and funny just like their song about how they want to go Disney Land.

9. Ourselves the Elves This band screams Indie. Ourselves the elves has the songs that you can listen to when it's 2 am and you just feel like reevaluating your life. Their song Cincinnati Clock must be made for us to play it while we're on the road at midnight, like in every young-adult fiction books. "Baby, I Love You So" is like their sweetest song for me. It captured the innocence of romance and their vintage vibes makes it even more romantic.

10. Mayonnaise This band isn't new to this industry. They have been here for years but I just appreciated their music this year when I first saw them performed at Fete Indie 2018. They are the coolest band, I personally think. They can transform literally every song to a 'headbang-able' song even the corniest ones. When they are on the stage, your love for rock music will surely increase. This band can make you feel more the moment, the moment of living and not just breathing. You'll find yourself still headbanging even though it's already 3 am and the spirit of sleep is slowly getting into you. Their guitar fight and changing the lyrics of songs reflects their love for this industry, it just shows their genuine happiness whenever they are performing.

There's still a lot more talented bands for you to discover! Different bands that just proves how talented Filipinos are. You can support them by buying their album, merchandises or just simply through streaming their music on YouTube, Spotify, and other websites. They would also be happy to see you on their gigs. Together let us #SupportLocals !

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helpfulmum · 6 years

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Since I started my blog, I have been lucky enough to experience some incredible things. But from a personal fan-girl point of view, getting to interview Celeste Ng (pronounced ing) is definitely one of my favourite experiences. Celeste is the author of two novels, Everything I Never Told You and Little Fires Everywhere. Celeste grew up in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, and Shaker Heights, Ohio. She is a mother to one son. Having read both of her novels this year, I was incredibly excited to be able to interview her for my blog. In fact, it took me absolutely ages to decide on my questions because I was really nervous as to what she would think of them! I absolutely loved her responses, and she's still making me question who I am through her writing! I found that Little Fires Everywhere is the kind of book that when you're not reading it, you're thinking about it, and I even dreamed about it! How intense is it for you when you are writing the book for a long time, having to live and breathe the characters? For me, story always grows out of the characters, so I spend a lot of time thinking about their lives, who they are, how they’d react to different situations. What their formative memories are, what they’re afraid of, what embarrasses them. It’s a little bit like being a method actor: I look around and try and see the world through their eyes. I often have insomnia, so when I’m awake in the small hours of the morning, I’m usually thinking about one character or another and imagining what it’s like to be them. There’s always at least a part of my mind that’s in the book, even when I’m doing other things. I questioned the kind of person I think I am, and really looked deeper within myself after reading the book. Is it a conscious decision of yours when writing to encourage the reader to question their own cultural biases? Absolutely. As a writer, I believe my job is not to provide answers, but to ask questions. One of the great things that fiction can do is to show how things are more complicated than they might seem at first, to hold open a space for nuance. When I write, I’m always writing about something that puzzles me, and writing towards a place of understanding. I’m writing to figure out why a character does something—so I need to know more about them at the end than I do at the beginning; I need to see them more fully at the end, as more complicated people. So does the reader, or I haven’t done my job. In my review of Little Fires Everywhere on my YouTube channel, I described the book as "all-consuming" because I simply had to keep reading to know what was going to happen next. Is it ever frustrating as an author that you spend such a long time writing a book only for someone to greedily read it in less than two days? Never—I take that as a huge compliment! I want the reader to be drawn into my books, to feel like they can’t wait to find out the entire story. When I’m reading, I like to be carried away myself. We often use the phrase “page-turner” as a slight, but I don’t think that a book that reads fast, or that is gripping, has to have less substance. I care less about how long it takes a reader to finish the book and more about whether a reader keeps thinking about the characters after the book is done. As a mother, I relate to the sacrifices that both Elena and Mia have made because of their children. Did you set out to portray this realistic version of motherhood? I’ve always been interested in questions of motherhood, partly because I’m both a mother and a daughter myself. It can be such an intense relationship, in both positive and negative ways, and yet it’s very different for everyone. I wanted to look at some of the ways that relationship might play out. The transracial custody battle within the book eloquently depicts the rift between social class and privilege. It is uncomfortable to read, especially the attempts made by the McCulloughs to ensure the child is connected to their birth culture. Was the court case based on any specific historical case, or was it there to ensure the reader further questions their concept of privilege? I looked at two real-life cases here in the US for inspiration: the “Baby M” case, in which a surrogate mother changed her mind about giving up her baby and kidnapped her baby back; and the “Baby Jessica” case, in which an affluent couple adopted a poor single mother’s baby, and then the baby’s biological father came back into the picture and sued to get custody of the baby. I drew on those cases but added the element of race, to complicate them further, and to ask the reader to consider whether (and how) ethnicity factors into all of this. But I hope that when readers read that courtroom scene, they see that the McCulloughs are indeed trying—even though the cultural resources available to them are limited—and that they truly love the baby they wish to adopt. I wanted the case to be complicated and for the reader to be torn: there’s no easy answer here, and I didn’t want there to be. Your characters are perfectly imperfect, and wonderfully relevant in society now. I thought there was a subtle political undercurrent throughout the book. Do you find that your writing gives you a platform to magnify current political issues? I never thought of myself as a political writer, but in the past year and a half, I’ve come to accept that my very existence is politicized, whether I like it or not. I’m a child of immigrants, a woman, a person of color, a mother of a biracial child, the sister of a person with a physical disability—there’s really no aspect of my life that isn’t politicized in some way by our current cultural discourse. I’m still adjusting to the idea that anyone cares what I have to say, but if I have a platform, I want to use it to talk about things that are important to me. In my writing, I never come to the page planning to make statements, but the issues that I think about and the world I live in inevitably work their way into my fiction. Off the page, on Twitter and elsewhere, I’m more deliberate in trying to use my microphone to call attention to issues that we need to address, and I’m grateful to have that opportunity. Growing up, I was obsessed with reading Enid Blyton, but my favourite book was One Hundred and One Dalmatians, which I have read countless times. What was your favourite childhood book? Ah, I love Enid Blyton and I loved One Hundred and One Dalmatians, too! I was a voracious reader as a kid, so I can’t narrow to just one: I loved everything by Roald Dahl, especially Matilda; the Little House in the Big Woods series by Laura Ingalls Wilder; the Wizard of Oz series by L. Frank Baum; The Secret Garden and A Little Princess by Frances Hodgson Burnett; and the Edward Eager books, among many others. I still have my childhood copies and am starting to read them with my son. Who inspired you when you were younger? My mother was very into biographies of famous people, especially women, so my inspirations were rather lofty: Susan B. Anthony, Clara Barton, Marie Curie, Louis Pasteur. My mother and sister were big inspirations to me as well, as both of them were women in male-dominated fields (chemistry and engineering) and set me a wonderful example of doing what moves you, regardless of obstacles. What advice would you give to children who would aspire to be an author when they are older? Read a lot—reading is fuel for writing. Read whatever you like, but also try things you’re not sure you’ll like, just to see. Think of it as tasting a new food: you don’t need to finish the whole thing, but at least take a bite. You might be surprised. And write a lot, because writing is a skill like playing piano or playing a sport, and it takes practice. Thank you so much to Celeste for taking the time to answer my questions, it has been a huge honour. I think that she really made me realise that as bloggers or influencers, we really should use our platforms to promote social change where possible. An example of this would be that although I have mentioned on my blog and vlogs about my sister and her disabilities, I should be championing change that would make her life better. Thank you Celeste for helping me to see that, and I hope you all found this interview as inspiring as I did! (function() { var li = document.createElement('script'); li.type = 'text/javascript'; li.async = true; li.src = ('https:' == document.location.protocol ? 'https:' : 'http:') + '//platform.stumbleupon.com/1/widgets.js'; var s = document.getElementsByTagName('script')[0]; s.parentNode.insertBefore(li, s); })(); HelpfulMum

http://www.helpfulmum.com/2018/05/an-interview-with-celeste-ng.html

#IFTTT #Blogger

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masterswhistleblower-blog · 6 years

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The 2018 Steroid Masters Patrick Reed

The Masters has been Disgraced...

To make a very very very long story short, we did not want to do this, but we were forced into a corner, and all we wanted were some questions answered...

We're a group of players who monitor the well being of OUR TOUR when the PGA administration can't and/or won't take care of certain things. We have been around since the beginning of the tour. We all have won the MASTERS, and this isn't the first time we've had to act, but it is the first time we've made it public...so...

You can never really know someone, so it's TIME REED WAS EXPOSED

Now, we are just now releasing this report because we were waiting for the lab results to get back to us before actually doing something about it. We also wanted to give Reed plenty of time to take the test himself, he didn't, and just gave us the runaround...

We started watching Reed closely in 2016 after he started running his mouth about our Greatest Golfers. Then around 2 and a half months ago we heard a rumor that REED was using cutting steroids, and at that time we treated it like a rumor too. But on Monday of the MASTERS everything changed when an informant overheard a conversation with Reed explaining what certain pro hormones worked best for him, we even found out which ones he was using, they were EPIANDROSTERONE, along with SARMS called OSTARINE and CARDARINE, very powerful PEDS. That gave us the motivation to see if our guy was was right, so we secretly got a sample from REED and sent it to a lab to be tested, and his story checked out. REEDs sample said the drugs were in his system. That was PROOF enough to start acting on the rumor. So, before we did anything else, we asked PGA doping officials to have Reed pop-tested, they told us they wouldnt do it at that time. And Reed wouldn't submit to a voluntary tests of course, and he should've if he had nothing to hide. So nothing was done...no one did anything...except give us the runaround the past three weeks... and A HORRIBLE WON THE MASTERS...

And if all that wasn't enough, we have given him chance after chance to shut his mouth about past and present champions, he wouldn't, so we call him "TWO-FACE"...and these are REAL QUOTES recorded by people who know him, and about four of the greatest golfer to ever live. Here's how he talks about the greats, and this isn't even the worse ones...

I can't believe Phil has kids, I still think he is a HOMO...

He's made fun of NICKLAUS' Wife's on several occasions...

He calls Tiger the word Niger behind his back, but pronounced like Tiger with a N instead of a T...

And on Masters Sunday he said " Arnold F---ng who? He wouldn't stand a chance against me here(at Augusta)" It'd like Chrissy Evert playing Serena"...

We are very sorry this happened this way, it's unacceptable. Patrick Reed has disgraced the 2018 Masters and mocked our greatest players for the last time. We have him a chance to make it right. He is an embarrassment to the tour and WE WILL NEVER ACKNOWLEDGE REED AS A REAL MASTERS CHAMPION, PERIOD!

P.S. I am just a messenger, they only wanted me to make an anonymous account and leak this information. Because no one would help them, they decided to stay anonymous and had a hard time deciding whether or not to let this get out. So they talked this morning and went ahead with it...but they assured me that this is not over, they are determined...

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kakayunita · 7 years

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How to be Chinese-Celeste Ng

Take pleasure in the surprise on people’s faces when you say, “My name is Mackenzie Altman.” When they ask, explain that yes, your mother adopted you from China; no, you don’t know your birth parents; no, you don’t speak the language. Smile politely when they say you have no accent.

At eighteen, accept a place at a small liberal arts school in Ohio, four hours away, just over the state border. According to the website, the incoming freshman class is 450. Its average Asian population is three percent. Do the math: thirteen and a half Asians in your class. Try not to think about who the half is. Announce to your mother that you want to get in touch with your heritage: make it a going-to-college resolution. She will be delighted. “Kenz,” she will say, “Oh Kenz, I’m so proud.” She has wanted this since you were an infant, since she carried you off the Beijing–Detroit flight swaddled in a Minnie Mouse blanket. She has taken you to a Chinese restaurant on your birthday every year; she has always bought you panda teddy bears, the Asian Barbie. Your mother will kiss you, her eyes glossy with tears.

Don’t bring up the difficulties of learning to be Chinese in the middle of Michigan. Don’t remind her that except for the waiters at The Pearl of the Orient, you have never met another Chinese person. Don’t tell her you have no idea where to begin.

Begin with a false start. In your first week of college, join the Chinese Students Association. At the introductory meeting, in a conference room in the union, there are fourteen of you. Look around and think, “This is what China must be like.” Then blush. Look around and think, “My god, we all do look alike.” This meeting’s get-acquainted activity is mahjong. The other students are all international, from Beijing and Shanghai, with vaguely British accents. Pull a chair up to the corner of a table. “Watch,” one girl says. “We’ll teach you how.” It is glamorous, like The Joy Luck Club. Prop your elbows on the table and feel porous, ready to soak up culture.

Except you have no idea what’s going on. In the middle of an English sentence a patch of Chinese will pop up, sudden as switching the station on the radio. “My boyfriend, you know, he m-m-m-m. And I said, you know, I don’t think m-m-m really m-mm, but it’s like m-m-m.” Parts fall out of the conversation like paper snowflakes you cut out in kindergarten, mostly holes. You want to ask the girl next to you to translate, but you glance at her name tag and don’t know how to pronounce what’s there. Xiaoxia. She looks over at you and smiles.

“Do you get it?” she asks. Four pairs of hands stack mahjong tiles into brick walls. Suddenly the table is a tiny fortress with you on the outside. Nod and smile. Tell her you have to go. Forget to say thank you on your way out the door.

Begin again, in that most American of all places: McDonald’s. October. You’re at the register waiting for your Big Mac when a voice behind you says, “What would you recommend?”

“What?” you say, turning. This is a question you associate with steak houses, with restaurants that have specials. The boy behind you is Chinese too, hands tucked into pockets, a soft doglike expression in his eyes. Wonder if this boy is screwing with you. You get your order and the cashier turns to the boy, who points to your tray and says, “I’ll have the same.”

Ask him about himself as you peel the paper from your burgers. He tells you his name, Winston Liu; that his family moved to the U.S. a few months ago from Hong Kong and lives half an hour away; that he’s a freshman too. Marvel in unison about how you haven’t met until now. Listen to Winston’s voice for a trace of an accent, but don’t find one until he says the word strawberry. After that you can hear it everywhere: a faint Britishness in the vowels, a slight mingling of L and N, the hard ch when he says Chicago. It’s sexy, the way the voice and the face don’t match; like artfully clashing clothing, like mussed-up hair.

“Say something in Chinese,” you tell him.

“Like what?”

“Like anything.”

He thinks for a moment, then says something. English words lurk in the sounds: Jaw, deem, naugahyde. “What does that mean?” you ask.

“‘Pardon me, miss, my hotel room is full of monkeys.’”

Lean across the speckled plastic table and kiss him. His lips taste of salt and ketchup, which you find strangely exotic. Don’t realize that this is the taste of your own mouth as well.

For your first date Winston takes you to dinner. There are two Chinese restaurants in town, in strip malls across the street from each other. Peking Garden is the one you know. It has tasteful, smoky watercolors of mountains on the walls, and each sugar packet teaches you the name of a Chinese boat: sampan, junk. But the food comes on pink and white Corningware; the waiters bring coffee after the meal without asking, and they’re all students, white kids with the same flat midwestern tones as you and your mother and everyone you know. Winston takes you to the other one, Happy Buddha, which is tucked between Office Max and the Home Depot. Everyone says it’s much more authentic and, as a result, when you go in on Saturday evening, you’re the only customers there.

Look around to see what it’s like in a real Chinese restaurant. The tablecloths are pink and the napkins maroon. The teacups don’t have handles. Honeycomb balls of red paper and gold plastic bats dangle from joins in the ceiling tile. Worry that your people have bad taste. A woman croons in Chinese over the speaker system. Sit in a corner booth and imagine you’re in China. In a minute you recognize the tune being piped in: it’s the theme from Titanic.

The waiter at Happy Buddha is the age your father would be, if you had a father, with skin the deep tan of tea. He has an accent and needs a haircut. When he asks if you want ice water, his tone is almost an accusation, and it takes you a minute to understand what he’s said. Say, “Yes please,” and smile brightly. Try not to be disappointed when he doesn’t smile back.

Winston skips the moo shu and the lo mein and the General Tso’s chicken, all the things you and your mother love, and orders dishes you’ve never heard of. “You sure?” the waiter says. He looks at you out of the corner of his eye. Then he says something to Winston in Chinese, and Winston looks at you and nods. Nod too, as if you understand. The waiter finally scrawls a few characters on his notepad. After he goes off to put in your order, ask,

“What did he say?”

“Oh,” Winston says, “he wanted to know if you were Chinese.”

The food, when it comes, isn’t bad, but it’s strange. Its textures unnerve you: blocks of tofu the consistency of your mother’s flan; crispy yellow noodles and brown gravy and knuckles of spareribs that are mostly bone. The waiter watches you eat from across the room, sitting at another table and smoking a cigarette. Try not to catch his eye as you put sugar in your tea, as the spareribs slip from your chopsticks again and you reach for a fork.

When dinner’s over, Winston pays with a fifty-dollar bill. Then he goes to the bathroom, and the waiter says something to you that you can’t quite make out. Say, “Hmm?” and miss it again. You can’t understand until he says, quite clearly, “Do you want to take this home?” and you realize it isn’t the accent: he’d been speaking Chinese. Say, “Yes, please, wrap it up,” and hope he doesn’t notice how red you’ve become.

While you wait for your doggie bag, look at the placemat, now stained with grease and drops of brown sauce. Find your birth year and learn that you are a dragon. It makes you think of yourself as sleek and powerful and assured, not small and traitorous. It says: You are determined and passionate, a quick learner. Look the waiter in the eye when he returns and tell yourself that the look in his eyes isn’t pity.

After Winston drives you back to your dorm, wait for him to leave, then slip across the street to Pinocchio’s and order two slices of pepperoni. Clap them between two paper plates and smuggle them back to your room to eat alone, with a rerun of Friends on.

A few weeks later, Winston calls and asks if you’d like to meet his mother for Sunday brunch. She comes down to visit, he says, every couple of weeks. Hide your surprise. You’ve gone out a few times—to a safe PG-13 comedy, and to the first football game of the season, where you held his hand in the pocket of his coat and tried to explain what a blitz was. You haven’t even mentioned him to your own mother yet. Is it time, you think, to meet parents? “She really wants to meet you,” Winston says. “She thinks it’s wonderful that I’m meeting other Chinese students.” Feel a rush of warmth, like a deep hug. Wonder about this woman: a Chinese mother. What does she look like? You can picture only your mother with her hair dyed black. Say, “All right, what time?”

Winston decides on The Vineyard, the wood-paneled restaurant everyone takes visiting parents to. By the time you get there, two minutes early, he and his mother are already seated at a white-clothed table. Mrs. Liu wears a fur coat, dark and sleek, and two gold necklaces. On her left index finger is a circle of jade the size of a dime.

“Mackenzie,” she says. She holds out her hand but doesn’t shake yours, so that you end up grasping the tips of her fingers like the corner of a wet dishcloth. “You so thin,” she says. For a moment you think she’s going to pinch your cheek.

“Thank you,” you say after a pause, and she smiles at you with her lipsticked lips closed, as if you’ve made a mistake. She orders a cup of fruit salad and a croissant, and you feel vaguely disappointed at the Europeanness of it, though you and Winston have both ordered waffles, with bacon.

“What your mommy do?” Mrs. Liu asks.

“An architect,” you tell her.

“And your daddy?”

You have a stock answer, a stock tone for this.

“Oh, it’s just my mom and me,” you say. “She adopted me as a single mom. Just the two of us girls.”

“Mm-hm,” she says, as if you’ve said something fascinating.

Winston’s mother is a feng shui expert. Feng shui, as far as you can tell, is good luck through interior design. She doesn’t work. His father is some kind of businessman, in China a lot. This week he’s in Shanghai. Mrs. Liu asks what your major is, and you tell her you haven’t decided yet. When she lifts her eyebrows, add, “But I’m thinking of East Asian Studies.”

“You want to learn about your culture,” Mrs. Liu says. “That’s gooooood.” She draws out the last word like she’s spinning a thread of silk. Then she smiles, a real smile this time, and slices a chunk of cantaloupe with the side of her fork.

“You adopted?” At your nod, she says, “Very important, you learn about your culture.” The way she says it, like an edict, makes you feel entitled. Culture glistens in the distance, like the prize in a scavenger hunt.

After that, brunch follows a pattern. Mrs. Liu speaks to you in Chinese. You can pick out only your name, which comes out like three words: Ma. Ken. Zee. Smile blankly while Winston says, “Mom, remember? Mackenzie doesn’t speak Chinese.” Mrs. Liu apologizes, patting your hand with hers, which is pale and cool and soft, like a little satin cushion. “You keep listening, you pick it up,” she says each time. “You born with it, inside you understand it. In here.” She taps her chest.

Don’t tell them about the package in your mailbox last month, the eight-CD set of Introductory Chinese from Barnes & Noble, the note from your mother saying, “Picked up one for myself too—we can learn together.” Lesson One: “How are you? I am an American. I speak a little Chinese, but I don’t speak well.” In your mouth the words tasted strange as gravel. Don’t tell them how Lesson Two bewildered you, how you forgot the word order, how you jumbled the words for “eat” and “is,” the words for “buy” and “sell.” How when your mother called last week, sounding like the woman on the tape, you understood nothing until she spoke in English. “Do you want to have a drink at my place? Lesson Eight: Meeting People.” After a moment: “Are you not there yet?” Try to forget the care package that arrived yesterday, chocolate-chunk cookies, hot cocoa mix, tortilla chips and salsa, a note from your mother that read, “I promise to stop propositioning you.” Focus instead on Mrs. Liu’s eyes, the same deep brown as yours. Chant her words in your mind: you born with it, inside you understand it.

After the meal, say goodbye in the parking lot. Mrs. Liu takes your hand and the jade in her ring presses into your fingers. She says, “Mackenzie, I buy a lot of art for our new house, Chinese art. Maybe you want to come and see it? Learn about your culture?”

“I’d love to,” you say. Behind her, Winston beams.

“Good,” she says, and gets into the car. Winston pecks you on the cheek and whispers, “Call you later,” and they’re gone in a streak of pale gold Lexus.

That night, go over to Winston’s room. Kick off your shoes and sink down onto the bed. Like you, like most other freshman, he has a single; the university believes it prevents rooming conflicts. But the rooms in his building are older, and awkwardly shaped: the desk has to go in the niche in the wall, the bed in the corner, with the closet at its foot.

“So that was my mother,” he says, looking at you sideways from the chair.

“She’s nice,” you say.

“She likes you. She wants you to come by the house. Next weekend, maybe.”

You feel a tingle in your shoulders and feel his eyes resting on you. Don’t meet them. Survey the built-in mirror on the closet door, the cinderblock walls painted dingy off-white.

Winston says, “So your mom adopted you alone?” Tell him yes. Tell him, “Nowadays that’s not allowed. Nowadays there are more rules. You have to be married. You have to be straight. You can’t be blind, or hard of hearing, or have a wooden leg or epilepsy or someone else’s kidney. Nowadays they screen you to make sure you’re not a criminal, or a crazy.”

Don’t explain that she’d always wanted a baby but never found the right man, that when she read that China was opening its orphanages she’d cried right there in the coffee shop, tears spotting the newspaper. That when she came to China to pick you up she had horrible stomach cramps all sixteen hours, threw up three times into one paper bag and another and another, as if her body were atoning for the lack of labor. Don’t tell him that when she first picked you up in her arms, she whispered, Hello beautiful, where have you been all my life? These are private stories. Push them to the back of your mind and give Winston your biggest ironic smile. Say, “Good thing my mother acted fast.”

#axwerk #literature #prose #xiaowei #chinese #new year #lunar

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