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In a crowd, I
usually stay quiet and instead, just gaze, listen, and smile at
people when appropriate. I consider this a weakness...not being
more sociable, conversive, and gracious. Perhaps this is partly
because my responses tend to “turn off” people.
“No thank you.
I don’t like dancing clubs very much. It’s too loud and crowded for
me.”
“Oh, no
camping for me. No mattress, no showers, no clean bathrooms, and
it’s so physically demanding.”
“Sorry.
I don’t like Las Vegas. It’s too fake, loud, and I don’t like
gambling and the cigarette smoke.”
This one
receives not only quizzical looks, but smirks as well:
“No, I’m
not married. I still live with my parents. And it’s one of the
greatest things, I think.”
It really is
great...to live with my parents, that is.
I grew up
with six siblings, four of whom are married and have already moved
out, one is going to school in Tennessee, and one is a lab rat at UC
Irvine. That basically leaves me...the only child at home.
Oftentimes,
I wake up at 4:30 A.M. to get ready for work. Fifteen minutes
later, I hear mẹ’s footsteps, and momentarily, she is at my side.
As I mechanically sip my coffee and chew my breakfast, mẹ becomes my
second alarm clock. She asks with whom I am working that day, if I
want to pack lunch or eat from the hospital cafeteria, and if I will
make it home for dinner that evening. If I want lunch packed, mẹ
has it ready by the time I am out of the showers.
During the
winter months, when we “fall back” one hour, getting up at 4:30 A.M.
is difficult. The warmth of the bed and blankets clings to me, and
naturally, I do not resist. Still, as Robert Frost writes, “I have
miles to go before I sleep,” I roll off bed like a log. The only
thing that makes such mornings worse is when mẹ has the flu. She
isn’t at my side gently coaxing me out of slumber, and she isn’t at
the door kissing me good-bye. Stepping into the night is often
chilly and lonely.
After the
first month of working full-time, I lost 10 pounds, which freaked my
whole family out. Though I felt fine, to my family, I looked frail,
pale, and lethargic.
Hence, every
night that I come home at 12 midnight, bố greets me at the door.
“Thay đồ đi
con. Rồi uống ly nước cam mẹ vắt sẵn cho con để ở trong tủ lạnh.”
“Dạ thôi con
còn no lắm ạ...”
“Uống đi
không thôi ngày mai mẹ la đó. Mẹ dặn bố thức đợi con về bắt con
uống hết ly nước cam rồi mới đi ngủ.”
If it isn’t
ly nước cam, it’s tô canh I have to consume before I go to sleep.
When the
time comes to “spring forward,” the days become longer. On days I
join my parents for dinner, bố washes the dishes afterwards so mẹ
can walk with me for an hour at Thornton Park before the sun sets.
I need the exercise, they say.
When we are
too tired to walk, we wait for the sun to set then mẹ and I light
the seven lanterns in the garden. And we sit and chat about our
day. Sometimes we just sit and watch the flickering flames,
commenting how curiously “thú vị” this is. We sit until the cold
breeze brushes our cheeks, signaling us it is time to blow out the
lanterns and go inside. Bố joins us occasionally if we have snacks.
I get asked
a lot about when I am getting married. I used to become
self-conscious every time someone asks me that question, as if to
remind me that the “clock” is ticking. Sigh, sigh. I hear it
ticking. I also hear my footsteps “quickening” as I leave the
hospital to go home...to bố mẹ. That is when I think of the word
kairos... giờ trong Chúa. And that is when I understand...it is
their love...His love...that sustains me.
I suppose
when the time comes, He will loosen His embrace.
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