Happy Happy Pig Pig!

Holy smokes. Literally. It's 00:44 am Chinese New Year Eve, and just in my neighborhood alone we've burnt through enough fireworks that'll put all of Texas on July 4th to shame. A Google Earth Hack of China should reveal an expansive blanket of smoke covering the whole of this big ol' country. For the past sixty minutes, colorful, sometimes circular patterns have been pounding the sky non-stop, one after another. In my neighborhood there are about 15 high-rise buildings, and each alone has stocked up enough ammo to last through the year (I swear my complex has a van parked out front full of explosives.) Strings of red firecracker explode from the 10th, 20th, 30th floor of the Shanghai skyline.

Funny, these Chinese people. I live in a country in which the idea of celebrating is to place ten pounds of fully loaded fireworks directly under a set of power cables, and then proceed light them all up. After igniting the explosive fireworks directly under the power cables they then watch from no less than 15 feet away (because, apparently, any further you wouldn't be able to see a single darn thing) But however we celebrate it, today signifies a new beginning, carving out a fresh start, a resetting of all parameters. Goals are decided, reflections made, and most importantly, little red envelopes are passed out by the lovely folks of marriagedom. Happy New Year!

Best Gift EVER

During the cultural revolution in China, most of the photos, journals, heirlooms, and other relics that belonged to my family were either thrown away, burned or buried somewhere forgotten, for fear of being caught with these items by the Red Guards or other telling eyes. During this period, whole histories were vanished overnight, replaced by the ideology that we must start from a New Beginning, to improve the new China. This was called the Great Leap Forward. Good job Mao.

I never had it in me to dig in the past. I've been pounded by the mantra, "never look back." Sure, I love books. History too. But my parents were never big on letting us in on their history, let alone show us photos they probably don't remember having from an era they long forgot. (Useless sidenote: It took my dad twenty eight years just to reveal to me that, back in his days in Guangzhou, he was a baller. My response: Um, ok dad. Thanks for the memo.)

Last night my dear sister sent me this photograph of my dad's family from the 1960's. It made me feel like a little boy in a dream I had... He stands with his large family in a busy restaurant... he seems happy, content. He's holding something in his hands carefully, as if not to be too rough with its contents. He walks up to his parents, and shows them what he's been holding. His face beaming of a combination of pride and a careless embarassment, he opens his hands and says, "Look! I've got the whole world in my hands!" He was holding a pencil.

That's the dorky pride I feel right now, sniff sniff. Thanks Lisa for making this the best gift ever, Stephen for making me a proud sibling, and I thank someone somewhere for allowing me such a great pack of kinfolk to be so proud of.

Happy Holidaze!