My mother and I never quite got along until I came to Carnegie Mellon. I’ll come right out and say it: I’m terrible at doing the dishes, throwing my clothes into the hamper, hanging up my towel to dry, and all the other things that mothers like their children to do. Oh, and I also have opinions.
Our relationship definitely changed when I came to Carnegie Mellon. I’m still terrible at doing all the things that mothers like their children to do but my mom is also in California, reduced to unconditionally loving (and passive aggressively nagging me) from 2463 miles away.
Thus, our relationship is left in the hands of technology and although there are plenty of options for regular people, suffice it to say that my mother does not fit in that category.
She can’t for the life of her figure out how not to type in all caps so we don’t text- reading texts typed in all caps gives me a serious case of anxiety. I also can’t call home because the phone line is almost always busy. My mother has an extensive network of other Asian mothers that she exchanges gossip with and they all can hem and haw over the phone for hours.
Video chatting my mom just enables her to snoop. She thinks she is really covert about it but I know that “Let me see how big your kitchen is!” means she’s checking to see if I’ve done the dishes and “Oh, what type of carpet do you have?” can be translated to “Did you leave your clothes on the floor?” Note to my mother: There are only so many times you can ask me how big my kitchen is.
So that basically leaves email, which we exchange at least once a day now that I’ve started sending her a pic-stitch every night. And no matter what I send her, certain themes or what I’ll call “rules” always come up.
Rule #1: Don’t get fat
I love food. My mom loves food as well. But she gained nearly 60 pounds when she was pregnant with her first child, my brother. She’s 5’2” and was 105 pounds in college and always fears that I’ll gain the same weight [pregnancy not included].
So she always manages to sneak in little comments about my food intake and weight. I’ll send her pictures of the food I make and I’m served backhanded compliments in return.
Rule #2: Don’t date…but if you must, date a “nice Chinese boy”.
My mother and I are close enough that I do tell her about the men (read: boys, and the sparse quantity of them) I’m involved with. And much to my mother’s chagrin, I have dated. But I haven’t dated anyone remotely close to the “nice Chinese boy” of her dreams. Or anyone Asian for the matter. But before you point your finger at me and scream “Racist!! Racist!!”, it’s not that I’m opposed to it as much as the opportunity has just never presented itself.
I would venture to say that marrying me off to this mythical “nice Chinese boy” is my mom’s eighth main priority in life. She is very intent on it. Take for example the time my mother conditionally refused to give me the recipes for some of her signature dishes.
Rule #3: Having “Clean” and “Upright” looking friends
My mother uses “clean” to mean nice/modest/sober/studious. She frets that I will not make the right friends and be driven into trying doubly hard to find a life companion, especially one that listens to the Grateful Dead and works in the dining hall (hint hint: that’s exactly what my mother did). I intentionally sent her a picture of my friends and I studying the other day and Google translate tells me she thinks they are “Upright”. Success!
My mother, as I’ve come to learn by reading her emails, has quite a large list of “rules”. Now that I think about it, she’s never shied away from sharing them. But the fact that she’s starting to write them out in her emails makes them so much less ignorable than when I was at home and could zone out.
Her rules include the superficial ones and then ones that show the wisdom and sensitivity I hope to one day possess. Some don’t make sense, partially because they are in broken English or are just plain weird. Others are simply hilarious.
But all of them are ones I want to share. Tune in next week for more of Momma’s Rules.