For all the happy-ever-after believers out there, here's a read for you.

When you grow up, who do you want to be? Since I'm pretty much still stuck in my quarter-life crisis, I don't know much about who I am. In fact, if you hack my Facebook account and ask 80% off my Friend list to post a testimonial, you'll pretty much get mixed reviews. Sadly, that's what a crisis is.

Charisie here wants to be happy. Glad to know that. Here's my happy story. Well, it's not a happy story, it's more a story about happiness.

Princess

Growing up as a little girl, I was thought in the public eye as daddy's little princess, just because there are two big bodyguards (i.e. brothers) that I can hold my hands with, and a dad with thriving business, plus a cool young mom. Although, I'm never really that spoiled, because every time someone does something "wrong" in the presence of my mom, I would act the "right" way that I should.
Let me illustrate my point. I remember a random occasion when my parents and I are out together as usual, as weekends have always been family day, and guess what's new? The little princess gets all the shopping treats, even though I've never felt that I need that much stuff. We were choosing socks, and my mother asked me which one looked nice. I liked a white colored one, with no frills, no patterns, no nothing, and then my mother chose the other colorful one for me. And then I say, "That one." Somehow, I felt the need to satisfy my mom. And have always been ever since.

My mommy equals to reality. The word "mommy" to me is synonymous to "control". It's reality check, because one thing I know about myself is that I practically daydream 24/7.

OK. So I still get all the Polly Pockets and Barbie McMansions and Sailor Moon action figures everytime I aced an exam, and that's what I came to love doing - studying.

Control

My personal bodyguard, and a role my brothers are addicted to playing

Call me a nerd. But you discover so many things in the written word and math formulas applicable to real life, in general, once you solve all your problems handed in to you. There's a reason why it's called Applied Sciences. It's like RPG - You pose as someone, and then you become strategic, and then you come back to reality and you see yourself as Cloud Strife trying to save Shinra, i.e. the evil empire of the world. I guess it's one of the reasons why I've switched my aspired profession to journalism and writing, you know, as mediators.

I won't say I've been doing journalism in the past when I never knew such a profession even exists. It was more like writing words in meaningless jumbles, with tons of redundancies, which is pretty much what I always do during my transition from a little girl to a bigger girl, i.e. puberty: Blogging. Only difference now is that back then, it was a breeding ground for me to vent, to complain, to cry my loudest out of teenage drama stories, including my tearful bites of reality. I was even sued once by my homeroom teacher for saying some unethical stuff on my previous blogs, when I was about 15 years old or so, and that was one of those life lessons I know I will never forget: Be picky with your words. (Right now, she's actually one of the most identifiable teachers in my life. She's as picky in choosing question words when designing exam questions, as much as I do pick my words, and as picky as I am choosing a boyfriend too). Miss L, if you're reading this, let me just say that I'm not kissing-ass: Your pickiness has made me into a detail-oriented person.

Tide

A tide breaks.

OK. Get away from the study room for now, and let's go back to princess land at home. One day, there comes the tide at its peak, standing in your way towards the ocean's horizon. Some may call that big wall ahead as a failed marriage, others would just say it's the usual dry season after the first honeymoon phases of marriage life. Personally, I don't believe in families that can thrive without good parenting coming from both heads of the members. It's like teamwork in a mini-tribe - even if your leaders don't get along, both sides should know whatever their responsible for in order for the project to be successful. Or, in tribal situations, merely a matter of survival of the fittest.

Like Leo Tolstoy's infamous beginning line for "the best ever written" novel, Anne Karenina: "Happy families are all alike; unhappy family is unhappy in its own way."

And so little baby girl not only has to study even harder, but also learn how to be a tough female, leading a driven life, with a strong purpose. Why? Because I thought it was my will. Because I felt it's my responsibility. Because it's all to slick em elephant-sized glue so that all the broken pieces of my family photograph can come together again. Here's the picture: I was sitting down on the bed, with my brothers on each side, and my parents sitting cross-legged ahead of me, and we're all playing cards and munching on grapes and drinking wine late at night, and then my mother would ask me to play the horrible cha-cha cassettes and dance with my dad like silly schoolkids. And then they would all lie to me that the grape seeds I've swollen would grow into a giant plant someday inside my stomach, and I believed them. Because I was 8. And I drank wine.

When I was 10 or so, I distinctly recall a night like that, where I had a glue in my hand to put back all the pieces of that photograph, which is unlike many other weekend nights, because it was, strangely, not as a happy as the many nights before. On the late evenings every weekend, our family days tend to end with a single night's stay at a random five-star hotel, just to experience living in them - their swimming pools, their saunas, their many other luxury services, and at the end of the day, little princess gets to be the judge.
"Here, take a bite," said my mom and dad during a particular dinner night at a buffet restaurant, in some hotel I can't remember. It was the first time I saw a raw, pink fish served as an edible food. It was a salmon sashimi. It had a greenish gooey stuff with a tray of soy sauce, which I learned later called the wasabi (and made me cry). I took a bite, without the wasabi and soy sauce. Their eyes both looked deep into mine. I munch, munch, and keep on munching. They were watching me very closely. It tasted so soft and moist and fresh in my mouth. Once I gulped the pieces, it left a taste I became addicted to up till today. And right then and there, they said, "You know how rare it is people can eat this?" I shook my head. Now? Yeah right. Back then, Japanese food wasn't as trendy as it is today. "Glad you loved it. Keep on taking more servings. That fish makes you smart," said my mom. And they both looked at each other and smiled.

But then, one particular night, when I was lounging in the sauna room with my mom, not long after the big tide has come and my big brothers and I eavesdropped all the noises coming from the master bedroom, I had a really brilliant idea: I got up from the hot and steamy bubbles, and then I fell down on the slippery floors, and I got hit hard on the head, and it all became quite blurry. I was unconscious for 1, 2 minute. And when I woke up again, my mother, without any hesitation, called up my dad. And right there in my head I was happy again; since it's been a while since the last time I felt happy being told a lie that grapes would grow inside my stomach. They talked... They talked! And everything will go back to normal again.

Dead

Alas, it's not that simple. It grew worse throughout the years. When one day, my mother would ask me whether I can remain happy staying with only one parent by my side. I said I don't know. I really didn't know. And right now, as I'm sitting here typing down these words I carefully picked out from my English dictionary, I finally knew: No, I can't.

If all the weekend family trips and staying together for the mere purpose of looking like they're still together and "doing it all for the kids", then I can't truly be happy.

For the whole year of 2010, I've been searching everywhere to find back that spark of happiness all by myself. I thought that with money, I can bring back happiness into my mother's life and take her on trips around the world like she has always dreamed to venture upon. And then I can let my father be proud of what I've accomplished, and my brothers would lead their own lives with aspiring careers alike, and we'll all come back to our hometown happy as a clown. With money, you can be anything you want. With money, you can be whoever you want to be. I would be the glue of my family, and everything will be fine.

Suddenly, dating is not a part of my life anymore, as you might have read my little singlehood memoir. I am the glue of the family, I am the last hope to bring back all the pieces together. All of my family members suffered that much alone, now, broken in their own worlds. I listen to the many stories from my mother; I became the private ears of both of my brothers; I even sympathize my dad, because I've finally gotten to know him after having absolutely no relationship with him for soon-to-be 21 years of my life, except for the daily costs of living.
"I don't want you to end up like me," he said. And I wondered why, because he makes so much money. With money, you can be whoever you want to be, right? "You should do what you love, and not be stupid and quit school and go make money like daddy," he continued.

Trust me; many thoughts of quitting school and getting a job have crossed into my head throughout the year of 2010. And many more life-and-death situations too. How can I bring them back? How? I would do anything just to make them all happy again. I would even quit my life just to make them all happy together, and, even better, bring them all back together into one mended photograph once again.

I cried my worst on 2010 Valentine's day, hearing my father's voice. I spent my Valentine's day evening calling up my eldest brother, my second brother, my mother, and my father, who are all in different places in different timezones throughout the world. "I love you, Yin, please don't cry anymore." He slowed down his voice, which was transmitted onto my phone far, far away from China. "Don't make yourself too hard, because money can come later. You must become happy, okay?" Honestly, I didn't count how many times he said "I love you", but it felt good to hear that from someone I barely even know.

And then, on the other line, my mother, who just woke up in Indonesia, said, "Actually, I'm glad you are learning how to make money. But don't let that interfere your grades in school." See? Reality check.

Home

Plus, Asian mothers are unpredictable. They want the best of the best stuff for their children. Even more pressure for the daughter, and yet more pressure for the only daughter in the family - because becoming a lady means the ability to build a home and nurture the home throughout their lives, just like any other mother. They nag; they scorn; they criticize; and worst of all, they like pinching your chubby cheeks even when it turns red with all the pinching already, and then say, you're so fat. If you've ever read or watched Amy Tan's Joy Luck Club, you'll know what I mean. Or, for that matter, any of Amy Tan's stuff. Her stuff is good stuff.




But one thing's for sure: Their love is undying. They would give up anything for the child. Even if it's their lives.

Knowing that their children is always safe and sound, living happy lives, that's then that they know they've lived a good life. As much as I've always loved baby pets and little children (besides how cute they are), I came to have a really big dream: Becoming a mother. Yes it's hard to build a home, and it takes a lifetime to nurture one. But the joy of looking after a life you've created? It's more than money and all the fortune you can get.
I mentioned on dreaming of having many children by my side to my mom, and she just pinched my cheeks and said, "You don't even have boyfriend yet and you want children. You crazy ah."

Because really, all that dating stuff really doesn't matter that much anymore, especially once you switched your brain into the world of journalism. Out of the many nights I came to think about life-and-death situations, I finally realized that there was no one else other than my own will to satisfy. It's just like getting picky about my word choice - You see the word headings for these paragraphs I've written? Princess, Control, Tide, Dead, Home... If I happen to add adjectives, conjunctions, or any other additional word with these headings, they can exemplify totally different meanings of the following paragraphs they represent.

Romantic Comedy

I used to think that my purpose of getting an education abroad is to experience the world outside of my borders, see the imaginations in my head from all the stuff I've read from my studies, and then earn a living by actually earning it, working hard for it; not by going the easy route - inheritance and marriage. Like a princess finding a prince from some faraway land and live happily ever after.

Right now? Sure, I still feel that it's my responsibility to be the ultimate glue to put back all the broken pieces of my family. Sure, I still feel the greater expectations the general society now has for whoever you are, for whatever you do. Sure, I still feel that I have to put on a tough female facade every single day, for fear that no one will ever find out just how weak and frail I am, putting on a smile everyday that no one ever gets what the smile is for, or just why I can never open up my mouth and ask for help.

But, as from my singlehood years I've learned, and from the family photograph I'm still trying to mend, and also from the major I've recently switched my brain to, the truth is, I really am weak. And after all these years that I couldn't accept that fact, I've finally given up. I had never been good at maintaining my Type A personality in working-life situations for long, although I'm pretty much a control freak in all other aspects of my life, usually the trivial stuff, like cooking.
Of course I need some sperms to fertilize my egg in order to build a family and have all the little children by my side, and the simple yet beautiful home we can all live in. If there's no sperm, there's no child. And in part to glue-stick the letters of the word 'f a m i l y' together into a single piece of photograph, it requires getting along for a lifetime with that sperm-owner, which I'm still unable to identify who, so that my dad would finally be proud of what I've accomplished, and my mom would earn back her long-lost happiness, and that I'll quit my job as a princess who acts tough all the time. Maybe there's no way to break the tide at this point now, as it's too heavy of a weight we've all carried with ourselves over the years those grapes have been growing inside my body, but I guess there's a way in re-creating a family of my own, with little cute children who I can spoil. I would give up my dream job as a journalist just to see the children who are made up of my own flesh and blood and bones.

That said, I also believe in self-fulfilling prophecies. Whatever you believe in, the universe conspires your will. That's why the word is called  affirmation. So that later in life, you can confirm it.


Thanks to technology. I guess, subconsciously, my inherent "talent" performing in front of the camera (which I found in my broadcasting classes, that I almost got an A) came from my childhood. You see, like many other YouTube baby dancing videos, although not as high quality as this one, I was on air 24/7. There's a special deck of my video tapes exclusively stored in a corner of my parents' bedroom, and in their walk-in wardrobe, the whole space on both left and right ends of the pigeon-holes were stacks upon stacks of photo albums dedicated to the naked baby girl, probably 90% more than the two baby boys in the family.

Obviously I don't remember a single thing about all the things going on in my head whenever I get flirty in front of the camera back when I was 2 months, 6 months, 8 months, 2 years, 5, 6, 7, and so on. And my mother, the most active camerawoman I've ever known, told me that I was the one who insisted on getting those pretty red shoes and cute dresses with short short skirts, with a headband, some earrings, and a baby doll to accompany me. Right now all those video tapes are not within my reach, as I'm here in San Francisco. But I remember a scene where I giddied up around my house and screamed out loud, just because my maid won't be able to get me my shoes and my dress soon enough. Man, that little girl loves the camera, and I have not a single memory about that.