The moment the doctor picked up the pliers, I held my breath. Still, I couldn’t resist grabbing my phone, just so I wouldn’t miss the moment when she cradled my foot to perform the minor procedure. I felt like a crab, with her holding the tool to clip me.

Amidst that bloody orange moon, waves of rain over the woods, and double rainbows, W wrestled with me to help me fight contraction pain. When I finally asked for the epidural, W started playing songs on his phone to help me relax during the procedure. Before the heavenly dose even hit me, I found myself bursting into tears from the music.

From the series of chronological videos, you may notice that I am moving more slowly and with less agility.

In the past ten weeks, as the weather has improved, I have played tennis 32 times. Each of these sessions carries a growing weight. As a game of preparation and reaction—not usually one of collaboration since I’ve only played singles—tennis feels different these days. Each turn, each swing, resonates more deeply as I play for two. My usual carefree rallies have transformed into a dance of balance and grace with my partner in crime, where every back and forth communicates a new promise. Join me on this journey as we rally through a season of mindful and hopeful expectations.

“I have never had a more complicated relationship with food.” This is what prevailed in my thoughts during the winter of 2023.

Dad stayed with Wayne and I for a period of time towards the end of 2023, a trip initially motivated by a business meeting and extended by his hope to spend my birthday with me.

Throughout the three weeks he was here, he cooked us every meal, including doing dishes. As quick and diligent a learner as he was in every possible thing that I know, using the dishwasher was one thing he refused over and over again: “the hot water in the sink comes so quickly. Look how efficient it is to just rinse out the dishes and you are done with it,” he said repeatedly. It was my first time having him cook for me for more than one day on a roll. As I grew up, he always reminded me verbally that he was a good cook, but it was always mom who did all the work in the kitchen, from grocery to prepping to cooking and cleaning (without having the support of a dishwasher)….

Tandem Skydiving, a form of skydiving invented by two men 40 years ago, allows those without much adventure spirit or in-air skills to experience the thrill of the sport. On the last day of my Hawaii trip last week, I mustered the courage given by my friend and joined Mr. Bao in signing up for the activity. After the fact, it turned out that as a participant in Tandem Skydiving, all I had to do was board the plane, be strapped to the coach, smile for the camera, and follow the instructor’s sign to retract my legs when close to the ground and before extending them to start walking and finally landing. The entire process took about 15 minutes, including a 10-minute plane ride, followed by a 3-4 minute free fall from a height of 4000 meters before the parachute was opened to help us slow down and land safely.

Danger Index and Fear Index

According to the waiver we signed, skydiving is very dangerous, as the waiver repeatedly reminds us of the terrifying nature of skydiving: "Skydiving is a dangerous activity. You may be seriously injured or killed." Unlike typical sales tactics, the company seems to be protecting itself by clearly stating all risks, giving you the chance to withdraw now if you're not ready. If you change your mind and refuse to jump after boarding the plane, you are allowed to but will not be refunded. According to some data I googled, the death rate for Tandem Skydiving is 0.0002%, which is about 70 times lower than the death rate for driving. According to what my partner Bao looked up a few days before, a major accident once occurred during the takeoff of the plane that caused casualties, rather than skydiving itself.

…

IMG Academy is a world-class boarding school for student athletes in grades 6-12. They also offer adult lessons in golf and tennis that last from one day to five days. I was instantly amazed by the opportunity to immerse (and hide) among high schoolers. They have so much hair and always smell like shampoo.

Jessica and I chose the longest option, the five-day camp! Every day we have 4 hours of group lessons (10a-12p, 2-4p), and we added an extra package of four 1:1/private sessions with a coach (“breakthrough lessons”).

I took a translation course via Catapult recently. For the final assignment for the course, each of us translated a piece of text into English (our classmates all speak English but don’t share the same language other than English) for each other to discuss and critique.

When I learned about this assignment, I instantly thought of an open-ed piece from over ten years ago, which my family and I read together in the Southern Weekly newspaper.

I learned from the translation course that in order to publish translation work (this blog counts as publishing too), I need to acquire permission from the publisher. I emailed and called to express my hope to publish my translation. The newspaper staff told me to do an excerpt of it instead of the whole piece.

During middle school and high school, a weekly Thursday dinner ritual at my apartment in Guangzhou, was for my dad to read out loud the opinion column piece on Southern Weekend, a progressive newspaper in southern China. Mom would be moving in and out of the kitchen, commenting on what she thought was a fresh point.

In 2008, when a tragic earthquake took place in a town named Wenchuan in Northwest China that killed 69,000 Chinese, Southern Weekend argued, “It wasn’t a natural catastrophe. It was a man-made one.” Most mainstream news was emphasizing the collective strength and positivity of the country in grief.