The Great Wall

My mom and uncle just got back from a month-long trip to China. As my mom excitedly told us, they pass out certificates as proof that you expended the effort to climb to the top of the Great Wall. I should ask her what was tougher, the Great Wall or the 161 steps of McGraw Tower.

Among the other things she peppered me with (did you call about wisdom teeth? why didn't you talk to your brother more?!), she mentioned that she felt like she didn't know enough Chinese. (Oy veh, I thought, what does that mean for me?) Mostly, this referred to lack of cultural knowledge. Apparently in Anhui, there is a sophisticated traditional table setting that neatly combines table objects and directional elements that result in a clever wordplay, imparting "lifelong peace and serenity." She also rambled on about some other ancient Chinese texts and customs (leaving a hat at the entrance to indicate the presence of the host), but it was midnight and I was tuning out.

My parents were born and raised in Vietnam, and this was probably my mom's third or so trip to China. That means heritage-wise, we're sort of an unconventional amalgam of SE Asian (probably half the stuff my mom cooks has Viet roots) and Chinese (which is hard to define since the country is ginormous). So where does that leave me, oh hapless chimera of American-Born Chinese Twinkie?

It leaves me wishing I'd had time to take more Chinese at Cornell (probably the best academic decision I made at college), but now that I'm out of undergrad and not working abroad in the foreseeable future, realistically it's not so much an option. Funny how the certificate I got threw up as many hidden barriers as it opened doors.