December 31, 2003

I want to write this before I forget the emotional direction I want to take, so if I meander, I assure you it is quite connected.

I�ve been reading (or I have finished reading, depending on how you look at it, having skimmed through some parts that I found a little slow) Jeffrey Eugenides� Middlesex. Just to be brief, it is a coming-of-age story about Calliope, who was born neither quite boy or girl, chronicling the lives of her grandparents on down to her own realizations about her/him-self.

But the main focus here is about family history, and the function of family. Little hidden events that have shaped you before you were even born.

My cousin Sammy is now a four month father of a boy named Evan. My cousin (Sammy�s sister, as is so happens) gave birth to a girl ten months ago (and to my shame, I can�t remember the girl�s name). It�s the usual reflections on the changing roles of my generation (the American-born one) going off to start their own little histories, yadda yadda yadda.

No, wait, I want to finish this. There are guests downstairs still, but I can�t lose my train of thought.

See, I spent the first 25 years of my life estranging myself from my family. I�m not very close to my cousins, even though they are figures in my memory. Kinda like what George Washington or more like John Adams is to America. They are important. They start your story, but they don�t affect you directly.

And I hit this age where it doesn�t seem important to estrange myself from my family. Yes, it�s growing up, but it is also about time. No, maybe it�s about not being invisible, a familiar stranger.

No, that�s not right. It�s about an over-sentimental me, who would write a book about my family, and their colorful histories (not to publish, hell no, who wants to hear about some crap about another person�s family), if only I knew them better. It�s about me wanting to have a purpose in this extended family, the lawyer, the minister, the traveler, the banker�

I could be a chronicler, especially since my father�s side (that�s who I�m talking about) lost all their family history escaping China from the Communists. It could be a gift to my children. They could know where they came from and where they could go. They could add their stories.

But it�s too late. Everyone�s already told their stories and are on to new ones.

P.S. Oh, with all sincerity, Happy New Year!