An Elusive Declaration of Love

It is odd to say that as a writer, I am a person of few words. Or rather I choose my words in a very Joycean way - thinking much too hard to make sure the message is conveyed exactly the way it is supposed to be. (Note: I actually loathe Joyce with a passion.)

So when it came to our wedding my husband had asked me to say a few words at the reception. I never thought too much of it, waiting for my stream-of-consciousness to come up with something in my stead. Even the day before there was nothing. A good friend told me to just think about the very anatomical structure of our relationship - especially since I cannot be as extensively expressive as him.

Also, I shouldn't "wing it" when it came to an event like this.  Very faux pas. Even for me.
I knew I only had one thought that was short and simple. As well as something I tell him now and again in jest.

Yet in the end I only mouthed an the unaudible "Thank You" because my voice simply could not work when I wanted that day.

Tears are like a yawn - once you do, everyone does and it's simply a wreck of a moment.

So instead I'll tell you two months from then.

As a child I had once told myself I would meet the person I would marry in college. It's strange how that came true. When I met you I saw something in you. Even when you were erasing Gundamnium from a periodic table all those years ago.  

I saw that you would go very far with whatever you did.

And I wanted to be there to see it when you did. 

You have gone incredibly far indeed.

And I'm glad that I will always be there to witness whatever you still have left to do.

Turning Japanese

My husband has a name that sounds Japanese. In the months preceding our marriage, we often joke that if either one of us was mistaken for Japanese they would be wrong. In fact, he is of mixed European descent, and I am pure Chinese.

Of course I have never felt very Chinese to begin with.

My eyes have folds, an uncommon but lucky trait. I can’t hold a conversation in either Cantonese or Mandarin to save my life. I purposely flunked out of Chinese school to watch Saturday morning cartoons. In high school, I was thankful for the C+ I got in college-prep level Chem. And when it came to a college career, the thought of majoring in business gave me panic attacks.

So I majored in writing

(In a strange twist of irony my Chinese name means something along the lines of “wise poet.”)

Taking on your husband name is often a big debate. There are many reasons for “for” and “against,” but finding the answer is never the right one for you.  Yet there are very few answers regarding taking a husband’s last name when you are of Asian descent, and his name only sounds Asian. 

In fact there are absolutely zero.

Which left me with the dilemma: should I keep the name I was born with or to play a giant practical joke on the world to have an ethnic name to which I have no relation?

As a result I felt a bit confused myself. And then there were times I wondered if I was more Japanese than Chinese.

When I crave food, I crave ramen, real ramen. I have more friends who speak Japanese than Chinese.  I go to more Japanese-related events than Asian-American festivals. Our DVD library is composed of mainly anime we hardly watch anymore. Lolita fashion, a Japanese fashion style has helped me find long-lasting friendships since I first moved to New York City. We have more reasons,  connections, and opportunities for us to travel to Japan than China/Hong Kong.

In the end I chose to hyphenate to differentiate between the two. There are so many experiences that have changed and shaped who I am today that I can’t bear to give up.  There are times I wonder if I should change it completely because that's just the way things should be.

But for now, after one month of being married there's still some time to get used it.

And it does have a nice ring to it.