Clearance Gas

 One morning as we were driving to school, my daughter was looking out the window and told me, "Mommy, gas is on clearance! I see a 166." Now I've been alive long enough to know gas does not go on clearance. Only if there is a signage error is anyone able to get gas for anything close to "clearance" prices. Gas does not go on clearance, ever. But there was a reason she was telling me this, and I knew she could read. So while I was at the stoplight, I looked over toward the gas station and looked everywhere for a clearance sign. I looked at the gas pumps. I looked at the window to the little store. I did not see a clearance sign anywhere. 

The light turned green and I had to move on and keep driving. I told my daughter gas does not go on clearance and the conversation ended. We went to school and that was the last I heard about clearance gas for a few weeks.

After a few weeks, we were stopped at the same light, and again, my daughter told me, "Mommy, look, there's the clearance sign!" I turned to look again. This time, I saw it. Because of where the car was stopped and the angle at which I was now looking at the gas station. I saw the clearance sign. 

Finally, I understood what she was showing me. And then I explained to her what the word clearance means in this context. She's been very familiar with the word clearance in regards to shopping. Mommy looks at the clearance at Lowe's. She looks at the clearance at Kroger. She looks at the clearance at Walmart. She scans aisles for clearance at Sam's Club and Costco. We look at clearance at Michael's. We loved the clearance at Bed Bath and Beyond before they shuttered all physical store locations. Clearance has been a part of her life since she was a newborn. 

But this was the first time she's seen it in regards to height. So I explained to her that certain trucks or vehicles are very tall so they need to know if they can fit underneath. The sign lets the driver know how tall the top is. If the driver's vehicle is taller than that, he/she cannot drive underneath. And that is the second definition of clearance she's now acquainted with. 

I was glad to solve this mystery. 

An Alternate Universe

One of the books I read last year was The Time Keeper by Mitch Albom. It was one of the more unsettling books I'd read by him since I discovered Mitch as an author in my late teens. In it, the characters explore a life between time and experience what's most easily called an alternate universe. 

I think we all catch ourselves thinking about our alternate universes sometimes. What if I married this person instead? What if I had moved to a different state? What if I had made a different decision?

For me, I have many of these in my life. I think about how my life would have been different had I chosen a different major in college. What if I'd gone to a completely different college? My friends would have changed. My career path may have changed or been affected at the very least. My husband may be different because the circumstances which we met would have changed. And we always say had we gone to the same college, we wouldn't have dated or gotten married. I believe it.

We recently visited one of our alma maters with the littles.

I think about how my life would have been different if I had switched piano teachers or even had a different teacher altogether. How would my ability have been affected? Would I play better? Worse? Would I have enjoyed it more? Would I have taken lessons longer? All these possible outcomes are valid, but it's also valid that because of the path I was on, I started accepting accompanying work at the age of 19 beyond doing favors for friends. And although untraditional, it set me up for the career I have now. And I really wouldn't change that. 

The biggest alternate universe I used to toss around was by far the hardest to come to terms with. What if my mother didn't die? It's true that one complexity of my current life now would not be there, and in that aspect, I will always feel a little defeated. However, having my mother in my life would not have simplified everything.

I was able to be my own person in high school because she wasn't around. I proved I had maturity, discipline, responsibility. I was also able to live my life, enjoy parts of childhood and the "fun" of it which I did not before being a primary caregiver, as primary as a minor could be. 

I was able to make decisions and not have to think about someone else. I still remember starting 8th grade and overhearing someone say they thought I had moved because I was not on the yearbook committee as the editor. Everyone thought I was going to be the editor after 7th grade. Everyone on yearbook wanted me to be the editor. But I wasn't even on the committee. I've never told anyone this, but I did not re-apply to be on the yearbook committee after 7th grade. At the time when applications were due, my mother was alive. I had made the decision to stop joining yearbook so I didn't have to stay after school once a week. I was going to go home everyday after school and be with her. And help her. During 8th grade. 

I didn't know she'd be gone before the end of my 7th grade school year. And that's why I was not on the yearbook committee, much less the editor, in 8th grade. After that, I could freely choose which school clubs I wanted to join, what jobs I wanted to take after school, and where I wanted to go. It came at a high cost, indeed, but I had gained certain freedoms which a normal teenager should have been able to experience to some degree. 

When I started dating, I didn't have to get my mother's approval. She would have been a tough cookie to impress. Nobody would have been good enough. She would have said something negative about everyone. Yes, I'm assuming, but I knew my mother. She could have protected me from a lot of hurt. She could have lectured some of the guys I'd dated in the past when they deserved to be lectured. But she may have also held me back from taking risks, taking chances, and ultimately, allowing me to learn and discover for myself. Not having her there put me on the frontline. I felt every punch and jab. But it also meant I could grow stronger. 

I've said before she would have hated the house we bought. I practically hated it myself when we bought it. But you know what? It's turned out to be the best choice we ever made when it came to housing. We love our neighbors. I've blogged multiple times about our neighbors. Just search "neighbor" in the search bar and you'll find a plethora of posts. This one is still my favorite. Our house really is my dream home in many ways. Not all, but many. Because when I come home, I feel comforted. I feel at peace. I feel satisfied. If I didn't like a wall color, I'd notice occasionally. If my shower bothered me, I'd notice it periodically. That's not to say everything is exactly the way I want, but a lot of it is. And the things that aren't are not worth my headspace to fret over. I'm not sure my mother would have been able to see the end result the way we did when we closed on this house. We saw the potential. We saw the future. And we made it a reality. And I'm thankful I didn't have to hear my mother gripe about any of it. 

Today marks 20 years. Just seeing it written out makes my heart sink. The wave of heaviness and emotion still overcome me. And a part of me will forever be sad my mother died so soon. But when I look at the life I'm living today, my job, my husband, my children, my home, myself. 

I wouldn't change any of it. 

Nostalgia

The last time I had a passport photo taken, I was 19 years old. After my husband took some photos, he showed them to me. My first reaction was, man, I look old. Honestly, when I look in the mirror, I don't see myself as old. In fact, I see places in my image which are more beautiful than they were to me a decade or two ago. Are they actually younger? Of course not. But the perception of myself has changed, and that's a good thing. I also have to remind myself. The 19-year-old in my last passport photo did not live abroad for a year away from close friends and family. She didn't get married. She didn't experience two pregnancies and two beautiful babies. And she didn't find her dream job yet. I prefer the woman in the photo who looks "old" because she has experienced so much more out of life.

I put off renewing my passport for years and years. I had even filled out the paperwork once only to put it aside, forget about it, and not do it. I not only needed to renew my passport but I needed a name change. It expired during Covid and there was no pressing need to renew because nobody was traveling internationally with two young children anytime soon. For the longest time, I also did not want to send them my marriage certificate. Would they treat it delicately like I do? Of course not. To them, it's a piece of documentation - a piece of paper with the right information on it. To me? It was the beginning of a new life.

Renewals must be done within five years of the expiration. Otherwise, it will count as a new passport application. I was just under the limit so this was the year to get it done. I filled out the forms, took a photo, sent them my old book as well as my marriage certificate and taped up the envelope.

Believe it or not, there was no line at the post office when I went to send off my renewal. I smirked when I pulled up to the parking lot. 13 years ago, I bet a friend there was a post office at this intersection. He didn't believe me because he knew there was one at the next major intersection - which is true, there is. But, I was also right. There was one at this intersection and when he saw it, he was in disbelief the city would build two post offices one major street away from each other. I don't remember what I won, but the same location is still there after all these years.

It's the same post office my grandparents would go to when they lived here. That's how I knew it existed. I'd been many times with my grandfather running errands, back in the day when bills needed to be paid with a check and mailed off with postage. And here I was, driving with my son, to the very same post office my grandparents used when they lived here. 

As a teenager, the thought of returning to where we grew up felt boring. We wanted to go somewhere else, explore, be adventurous. And if we were lucky, we didn't come back. On the other hand, returning to where we grew up was the easy choice. We knew everything here. We knew people. We knew the streets. We knew the stores. 

Being an actual adult and in the same city where I grew up and went to school, it's a different feeling. It's actually nostalgic and nice. Are there times when it's boring? Yeah. But I can drive familiar places and be reminded of memories - mostly good - and share them with my children. 

There's a donut shop across the street from the post office I went to. In high school, I skipped class exactly one period one time in 12th grade. It was 2nd period, my statistics class. Three of us (from all different classes) went to this donut shop and ate donuts and chatted in the middle of the morning. I would have forgotten about this memory had I not been at the post office across the street. Nothing special happened that morning. We all ended up back at school for 3rd period. But being at this post office was able to bring back that memory for a little bit. 

The elusive post office I've known about for longer than most apparently.

The donut shop is no longer there. It's occupied by some other business now. But this post office still stands in the same spot. And my son got to come with me. 

Two Decades of Grey: Overseas

I kind of got stuck after writing the previous part of this series. Do I know how the story continues? Of course I do. I lived it. But I got stuck because I wasn't sure how to share it in a way which was productive. Honestly, it was symbolic of this period of my life. I didn't love my grey hair, but it was becoming more and more a reality. I was now an adult, learning to live with it, but also still dyeing my hair consistently. 

My husband is not the first person to tell me he doesn't mind my grey hair. But he is the first person  I've believed. He's also the only person who has seen it in its full extent and still looks at me the exact same way. And even then, it took nearly a decade for me to get here. I dyed my hair for the better part of eight years of marriage. 

I wasn't ready to believe it before then. I didn't even  like it myself. How could I believe someone else?

**

When I lived overseas, I'd wake up in the morning and go to my bathroom to get ready in the morning. Because of the lighting of my bathroom - not great - it would appear like my grey hairs were gone. Even when I fussed around my roots, the greys would appear to be colored. I'd have a moment of shock, amazement, hope, and then I'd run to the mirror in a different light, and there they were again. It's like they literally reappeared after disappearing for a moment and tricking me. I still remember that elated, bubbly excited feeling as if something miraculous was happening. And of course the deflating feeling after when I saw them again. 

Even during these moments of false hope, I'd wonder to myself. What was I expecting, a miracle? Sure, it’s possible. I believe God is capable of taking away my grey hairs with the snap of a finger. But will He? I think He has bigger fish to fry. I don't think eliminating my grey hair is high up on His agenda. 

At the same time, if I wanted to give God the chance to perform this miracle, I had to stop hiding. I had to let it be for what it was, and if He ever wants to show Himself in this way, then He has the chance. 

When I lived overseas, it was the first time I saw younger girls with premature grey hair. And then I thought, it must be an Asian thing. So I felt less alone, but I still fit the category of a young Asian with premature grey.  I'd shared about my grey hair with my teammates early on. I even packed myself two boxes of hair dye to bring overseas. Later in the year when my hair was growing and the roots were showing again, one of my teammates even mentioned, "Oh, I thought you were exaggerating when you said you had grey hair. It's actually more than just a few."

Nope, I was not exaggerating. 

**

Having not colored my hair for over a year, I've learned that hair can re-pigment itself over time. Most of the hairs which are grey stay grey at the root. But every now and then, I see a hair that is grey in the middle and dark at the root. If I kept dyeing my hair every month whenever I started to see grey roots, I would have never have seen this for myself with my own hair. 

This is how I know God is capable of changing my hair color if He wanted to. Will He? I don't think so, and it's not because I doubt His power. It's because I understand the choices made as an Almighty Being must be made carefully. Every wish cannot be granted. Every prayer cannot be answered. When you know the ultimate outcome, you know every sequence it will take to get there.

Joy

The first year I tried planting things was more experimental. I wasn't sure what would and wouldn't work. So whatever I got was bonus. Last year I had more confidence being my second year. I had high expectations, and unfortunately, most of them weren't met because the weather didn't cooperate with me. 

This year, I'm growing for the joy of it. Lots of things are growing. I've harvested some sage to grind down to use in my cooking. Everything else is slowly getting into the groove. There's been a lot of covering and uncovering because of multiple cold snaps we've had since our 90 degree February days. But so far, everything is still alive.

That's not to say I haven't failed this year. I've actually "failed" twice already. I got a grow light at the end of last year for my indoor plants. As 2024 started, I was reading about people starting seeds indoors already with their grow lights to get a head start on the season before the temperatures became too hot. What a great idea! I wanted to try it.

My first failed tray of seeds.

Honestly, my set up was okay. My mentality was good. But the execution was not good. I learned grow lights need to be placed mere inches above the top of the seedlings in order to get them to sprout. I learned more about bottom watering and figured out what I did wrong - not only was my grow light not close enough but I kept them covered too long. Mold claimed this tray of seedlings. But it's okay because my pepper seeds are plentiful.

As a result, my pepper plants are behind this year, I think. I finally was able to germinate some sprouts around March 20th but that's pretty late for growing from seed. Oh well, we'll see what happens. 

This year, I don't have expectations. What grows will grow and what dies will die. Am I working hard to protect them and care for them as best I know how? Absolutely. I might be checking the weather more than I'm checking social media. And my husband jokes I pay more attention to my plants than I do him. He's not entirely wrong...but he lives in a climate controlled building with ready-made food for him. My plants live outside and are at the mercy of the weather. 

But there's one key difference in growing things this year. I find it so joyful and I'm recognizing the joy I get from growing my plants. Would it be nice to get a great harvest? Of course. Is it sad and disheartening when things don't produce or grow like I wish? Definitely. But the process of it all excites me and motivates me to get out of bed in the morning. Also because sooner or later we'll reach that point in the year where if you want it to be less than 90 degrees out, you need to beat the sunrise. 

Here's to year three of growing! 🪴

Those Five Words

April 3rd is my daughter's birthday. But before it was my daughter's birthday, it was the day my grandfather died. Last year, I blogged about one of my dad's finer moments. I honestly do appreciate him for the way he responded in that situation, and I will forever remember it as a positive part of my upbringing. However, there were many lows, and potentially, they triumphed the highs.

The days around my grandfather's death may have been one of his lowest parenting moments that still haunts me to this day. 

I found out my grandfather died via email. I checked my email in the mornings before school everyday. It was my routine, something I liked to do before going to school. I also woke up early enough to be able to have luxury time to check my email. Rare for a teenager. And the day my grandfather died, I checked my email in the morning around 7 o'clock and saw it. I went to school in a daze that day, feeling like I didn't belong anywhere I was, even though it was what I was "supposed" to do. 

That evening, my dad received the phone call at dinner. It was brief. After he hung up, he passed on the news to us and told us he'd send flowers.

Send flowers. 

That was the moment I knew we weren't going to the funeral. There would be no buying plane tickets, no flying up, no going to be there with the rest of my family. This was my grandfather, my mother's father, who brought us back presents after every trip he took. This was my grandfather, who picked us up from school and let us stay at his house when my parents were gone getting treatment for my mother  because we had to keep going to school (🙄 I have other thoughts on this. For another time.) This was my grandfather who created a special signal when calling so we knew to pick up before caller ID was invented. This was my grandfather who is the earliest person in my memory who told me I was smart and wise. And I wasn't going to be at his funeral.

The funeral was that Saturday. My dad had other plans for us. He told us about them in the morning. I didn't get ready. When he came upstairs to tell us to get ready and leave, I didn't move. I just sat there fuming. Why aren't we there? It was all I had to ask him. He knew what I was talking about. He knew why I was mad. 

You didn't ask to go. 

These five words haunted me and continue to haunt me 19 years after the fact. Because in these five words, he shifted the responsibility, the burden, the blame onto my 14-year-old shoulders. I didn't ask to go. I didn't say anything. I didn't communicate my wishes. 

This. This was his lowest parenting moment of my life. 

***

As an adult, I understand there was another perspective where had I spoken up and said something, the events which unfolded may have played out very differently. However, there are reasons why I did not speak up when I potentially should have. I wasn't raised that way. 

I grew up learning I needed to follow instructions, do as I was told, and not to ask for unnecessary things or I'd get shot down. Ask for a toy? Rejected. Express my opinion on something? I was wrong. Not agree with an adult? Disowned. This mentality over the course of the years sank in, and I got good at being "good." So when my dad received the phone call and responded to us with simply sending flowers, I didn't verbalize anything I was feeling inside. I was being the "good" child I was taught to be - accepting the decisions of the grown-up. 

And then he blamed me for it. 

My grandfather died on a Wednesday. In the four days to his funeral, I must've grown up about a decade's worth because I rebelled and stood up to my dad for the first time in my life on Saturday. Had it happened four days earlier, the situation would have played out differently. But there's no time for what ifs.

My grandfather died less than a year after my mother died. It was unexpected and sudden. When my mother died, it was like the half of my family related to her began to drift away, too. After all, this wasn't his dad. So it wouldn't have surprised me if he didn't go. But he didn't even ask if we wanted to go. 

I've speculated over the years if my dad selfishly didn't want to go himself, so that meant he wouldn't be taking us. At the same time, maybe he didn't want us flying alone or didn't think we'd want to fly alone so he didn't offer. Perhaps if we mentioned it ourselves, he'd feel less guilty letting us fly alone knowing we were okay with it. 

I'll never know.

***

My relationship with my dad is still hindered and I have no doubt instances like this in my childhood still have an affect today. There's a lot of baggage which needs to be sorted through and hasn't. I don't know if it ever will. My dad isn't the same kind of grandfather to my children as my maternal grandfather was to me. I know he has his own reasons and thoughts. But I can't help but be sad for my children in this regard. 

I know I parent differently and this experience is a big influential factor. I'm trying to spare my children from having memories like these. I know I can't prevent all of them and I will still make mistakes as a parent. But this hindsight helps to hopefully direct their upbringing on a better path, one filled with less resentment and pain. 

I thought about waiting until April 3rd to write this, but that is my daughter's birthday, and honestly, I'd rather remember it as my daughter's birthday. I don't want to forget my grandfather, and I know I won't. But being reminded of this date as the day he died brings back this memory with my dad. I want this memory to lose the heaviness it bears. I cannot control what grief looks like after 19 years. This is a small glimpse of it. Grieving doesn't stop with the number of years which pass. It simply changes. Sometimes, it looks like a random bout of emotion during a wonderful week with my family during spring break. 

And that's okay. 

The Green Life

When I was a child, I composted for the first time. I scooped up dry, dead leaves off the ground with some dirt and put it in a bucket. I left the bucket on our back patio for years. Yes, years. The rain got to it. The elements got to it. It sat out there in an orange bucket for years. One day, my dad needed his bucket for something so he emptied out the contents on the patio and took his bucket away. 

What was left of what it started out as was a cylindrical block of dirt. I can't say it was very nutrient rich or anything because it had both been overly wet and probably dried out due to summer heat, but all the matter that was in it broke down into a giant block of dirt. After that, I've always been fascinated with compost.

In the 7th grade, our science class planted basil in a pot to take home as an activity. My basil died. Last year was the first year I grew my own basil again, and from seed. I will always grow my own basil from now on.

In the 8th grade, I won a raffle. I was at the high school being introduced to their orchestra program, and my name was drawn for the raffle prize. My prize? A rosemary bush from that evening's decoration. I took it home from the event and it sat in my dad's garage. It dried up, died, and all the leaves fell off. Our garage sure smelled good for a while. Thinking about this rosemary bush makes me so sad because I didn't even cut the branches off to dry and use. Rosemary isn't used often in Asian cooking. At the time, I didn't know what to do with it. So this poor bush died without a chance in my dad's garage. The 30-year-old version of me mourns for this rosemary bush.

Gardening and growing plants in general has become a hobby of mine. I've done the outside gardening for a few years now, but in the past year, my attention has shifted to more indoor plants because they can provide joy year round. My husband gifted me with a grow light for Christmas. I now have over 10 indoor plants, 3 of which I have spent money on. The rest have been gifted to me or acquired through our local take a plant/leave a plant group. 

Last year, I bought myself an Aglaonema. The bursts of pink throughout the leaves really captivated me and I was hooked. It has done well in the last five months and I seem to have found an okay spot for it to thrive in our kitchen. 

I haven't named my Aglaonema...maybe I should. Agnes? Angel?

This year, I got ambitious and bought myself a Calathea. These plants are notorious for being difficult to care for and even experienced plantsman have a love-hate relationship with it.  

Meet Callie my Calathea. She was getting her first drink at home. 

I might be posting about my failed attempt at taking care of her....but for now, she's alive and I love checking her out everyday. She lives in our bathroom because after doing my research, I came to the conclusion the most optimal conditions were in there. 

I'll let y'all know if I was being overly ambitious. 🙈