Somewhere in the world, my doppelgänger just exploded into confetti


Wish my mom would wear her hair like this

When people first meet me, they assume I’m super smart – one of those Asians:

  1. that just breezed through school 
  2. majored in Physics or Biochemistry or went to medical school
  3. play the piano or violin
  4. have tiger parents
  5. whose life is depicted in the movie The Joy Luck Club (oh there’s a book, also? Why am I always the last to know about these things?)

To set the record straight:
  1. school was sort of easy, but I was lazy, not driven and pretty content with sitting in front of the TV while stuffing my face with Tim’s Cascade Chips while watching Pretty Woman over and over and over again
  2. I suck at math. Both my parents cried when I told them I was going to major in English/Journalism/Creative Writing. I’m pretty sure they changed the locks of their front door after I left to go back to college that Christmas break. 
  3. I played the piano, but my senior year of high school, I decided not to practice EVER and my piano teacher made me play a duet with a 3rd grader
  4. the few times I brought home a B (an Asian F) for a class, my parents were furious, asked me why I was doing this to them (as if they were getting water-boarded or something), what would other people think they’d say, tell me I couldn’t be anything if I only aspired to getting a B, then ground me which was stupid because they rarely let me go anywhere, except to lame birthday parties where I was the oldest kid there and I got stuck talking to old people who talked to me about their dentures
  5. alright, there are certain aspects of The Joy Luck Club that I relate to. When it came out on VHS (!!!) I forced my mom to watch the movie, hoping she’d see some similarities in the movie to our own challenging relationship. She did not and hated the movie. Figures.
At least I could form sentences that made sense back then.

After having a baby, my brain hiccupped. I’d be mid-sentence and forget what I was saying. After baby number two, my brain went into sleep mode and I’d use the wrong word in a sentence. After baby number three last summer, my brain, having never fully recovered from babies one and two, now turns off for long periods of time. The thoughts are in my head, but the words come out in disturbing ways.

The words are often fractured, Frankensteined together and sound like a dog wheezing. I rarely go over three syllables. Carl can translate this curious language of grunting and hand gestures, but usually chooses to ignore me. The kids just laugh when I try to speak with them.

But, last week, I had a breakthrough.

While speaking with a client, I said the following words in the same conversation: optimization, mediocrity, bastardization and imperialism. And somewhere in the world, my doppelgänger just exploded into confetti.

Of course, I had no idea what I was saying and I don’t even know what those words means.

Maybe that’s why the client was laughing. 

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