and an anniversary

Tim and I went to the same elementary school in Taipei, then the same private junior high, public senior high, and then the same grand old university in Taiwan. Other than that, honestly, we didn’t go that close. He’s more like a jock while I leaned more toward the nerdy side, to borrow kid’s term today. Our paths may never cross after we graduated from school, just like many other people we met in life.

But fate has a mysterious way of bringing us together. Just after I came back from my wife’s high school reunion cruise in New York a couple years ago, he called me out of the blue. What happened was I took a picture with a group of guys who accompanied their wives to the reunion just like I did, and one of them happened to be acquainted with and lived in the same neighborhood in Northern California as Tim. He spotted me right off the picture and got a hold of my contact info through him, thus we reconnected with each other.

He’s been coming to Southern California on occasions since and I met him and his wife about every time they came. He’s a super energetic guy, and very athletic: He surfs and bikes, knows every nook and cranny of Southern California coast more than I do. And he has a tremendous memory: he can spew out names of our high school teachers and classmates, down to the berth tag numbers of our dorm room, without a second’s hesitation. Plus all the little details of the crazy things he did during those young and restless years of his, of course.

He came in town a couple weeks ago again, this time from Hawaii after returning from Taiwan visiting his sick-bed ridden father. And as usual, he found time in his tight, dynamic schedule here to come down to my home for biking and boogie board surfing, along the harbor and on the beach, in early morning and late afternoon, Saturday and Monday. He wanted me to come boogie boarding with him again Tuesday in Newport Beach, “where the surf is better,” he said. I would if not for an urgent Website cut-over my project happened to be in.

“I am retiring at the end of this month,” he told me when I half-jokingly checked about his retirement plan when we met this time. Though he mentioned a couple of times before that he would retire right after 55, I was a little surprised he’s actually going to do it now. 

What would you do after you retired, I asked him. He said he’ll spend 8 months in Taiwan every year, to care for his father, who has been in vegetative state for over the past 20 years and for whom he flew back every year using up his vacation time just to be able to sit next to him in the hospital. He said he’ll rent an apartment near the hospital so he can walk to the ward every day. And “I may be able to spread Gospel in the hospital too,” he smiled. He’s a devout, compassionate Christian brother, by the way. More the “prodigal son” type than the up-tight one, you know.

I admire his energy, devotion, and genuine affections towards people. People like him make us connect and reconnect, explore and expand, and enjoy the fun in life. God bless him and his family, and may we all have more biking and surfing together for years to come—even though my feet hurt badly after that first ever boogie boarding of my life the other day.

The above picture was taken after the celebration dinner for Tim and his wife’s 25^th anniversary at his cousin's home in Irvine. Tim is the 3rd from the left in the back, standing right behind his wife Lily.

Long live marriage, friendship, love, hope, and faith in all these and beyond.

an accident

I had been driving a Toyota Highlander for over 5 years. Happy with it, everything ran smooth and swell, and I kept it in great shape, as if I would keep it forever. I might as well do, except I met my childhood friend Sunny one day last month when he came back from his factories in China and Vietnam and asked me for a little get-together at his office.

“Sell me your car,” he practically yelled at me when he saw me and my Highlander. Why? “This car is ideal for my factory in Vietnam. It’s a 7-seater, in good shape, isn’t it?” he said. “I’ll pay you Kelley's Blue Book full price for it,” he added.

My first reaction was bewilderment and rejection: Why would I part with my good, old-but-still-shiny-looking, reliable SUV and replace it with… what? I have to admit, when it comes to cars, I am not one of those who always dream of or plan on what their next fancy one would be.

But a thought had snuck into my mind. Long story short, I started shopping for a new car after I confirmed with Sunny I would sell and he would buy my Highlander to export to Vietnam as he proposed, and finally landed my eyes on and purchased a BMW X3, a “German engineered” cross-over that brings back the driving sensation I used to have with a Mercedes I owned a few years ago. The funny twist of event was my Highlander ended up not sold to Sunny, because the Vietnamese government told us at the last minute that they won’t allow import of any cars older than 5 years (and mine was just 3 months over the edge), but traded in to the BMW dealer I bought my X3 from.

All is dandy and fun, nonetheless. I enjoy the handling and the bells and whistles that come with a new car, and my wife loves the look and the nice LED lights that automatically shine up before doors are opened.

Then a couple of weekends ago, we had a little party at our home with some friends of new and old, and we decided to go to the nearby beach for a stroll. I had in my new BMW full load of 4 ladies. Yakety merrily they chatted all the way, and just a couple of blocks before we reached our destination, on an ascending slope of the busy Pacific Coast Highway, the car gave up on me: All of a sudden I lost power, it couldn’t accelerate, and started slowing down. Within seconds all I could do was veer the car to the left-turn lane, where it stopped completely, and the navigation screen lit with the message “Drive train malfunction…”

My friend, who drove another car following me with another full load of people, called me from his cell, asking me what’s going on. I told him I had car trouble and asked him to drop off his passengers at the beach park ahead then come back to pick up mine. Then I pressed the “SOS” button on the headliner right above my driver seat, pretty James-Bond-movie like, and made an “Emergency Request” call, as the complimentary BMW road side assistance service is named.

The BMW operator got online right away and identified me and my vehicle and where I was, then instructed me to stay there for a tow truck to come in about 30 minutes.

A Good Samaritan on his bike approached me and asked if I could put the car in neutral gear so he could help push it out of the middle of the road. “Otherwise those cars are going to hit you from behind,” he said, pointing to the phalanx of vehicles whooshing by. Unfortunately the gear wouldn’t shift because it’s electronically locked dead already, so I thanked him and he left. A police patrol came minutes later, and after a few friendly chats with me, understanding what happened, he summoned another police car, whose officer had on his uniform inscribed “Community Service” and started putting those little red fiery torches on the road to block out the lane, potentially preventing cars from hitting me and my car…

I got a call the next day from the BMW dealership where my car was towed. “What was wrong with your car?” he asked. I told him it quit on me right in the middle of the road and the engine wouldn’t run and the transmission wouldn’t shift. “Well it’s running perfectly fine here now after I put a couple gallons of gas in its tank,” said the worker. I couldn't believe it. The car’s fuel was at its tank bottom yesterday, as its gauge indicated, I knew, and though I thought about refueling it in the morning I got side tracked and decided to do it later, as often the case. But could it be as simple a cause as that? Don’t the gauges usually lie when it tells you you have no gas in the tank when in fact you still have a good one or two gallons left to go for another 20, 30 miles or so?

I picked up my X3 and told my friend about this the next day. He laughed and postulated maybe it was indeed the case: that my car was running very low on fuel, and when it went on an uphill climb as happened that day, it had trouble siphoning up the fuel from the tank due to the tilt, therefore it died.

The above picture was taken by the young community service police officer who spread the safety torches on the road for me. I joked with him that if I post this photo on my Facebook or Twitter page, “it would be bad publicity for BMW,” and he laughed in total agreement with me. But no, BMW, I bear no ill will against you and am still in love with my new X3, and your emergency service is every bit you advertise it to be. Just hope I won't have to use it any more.

I have to apologize to those ladies in my car for the scare, though. But rest assured, I had already got my earful of condemnation from my wife, even for the yet to be 100% proven theory that the cause of this (unnecessary) accident was due to the negligence on my part!

a wedding

Ray is a buddy friend of mine since college. His first born child, Michael, who actually came to this world 26 years ago the same year we and Ray and his wife moved down to Orange County and whom we practically watched grow from toddler to boy, to a Stanford graduate and then a mature young adult working in Wall Street, New York, was getting married. We were invited to his wedding held in Park City, Utah last month.

As is customary here, the wedding was planned months ahead by the jolly young couple and "sponsored" by the bride's family. The bridegroom side's family and guests basically just need to "show up for the show," so to speak. But Ray and his wife Jenny being such nice people, they booked and paid the hotel rooms for us beforehand, so all we really need to do as guests was to plan and book the airline tickets to Utah months ahead and show up with good will and jolly mood for the occasion.

We arrived in Salt Lake City one day before the wedding, took time for a little tour at the downtown, visiting the Mormon temples and museums, then headed back on the highway to Park City about 45 minutes away.

Park City is a (winter) resort town, famous for its many splendid ski runways, and was the host city of the Winter Olympics Games in 2002. Me and my wife had been here before, but only as occasional tourists. Now we'd stay for the next two nights at one of its more prestigious hotels, St. Regis, to enjoy its beautiful outdoors and scenery, and the grand wedding.

The wedding program actually started the night we arrived, at an old Western bar in downtown Park City. All guests were encouraged to dress up as cowboys and cowgirls, and a hired country & western band played music and taught all how to line-dance, with beers and drinks and desserts and walls flashing with pictures of the bride's and the bridegroom's, etc. We got to meet Michael and his soon-to-be wife, Parilee, at the bar as well. Parilee is a young, (relatively) tiny Caucasian girl we met briefly once in Taipei last year, who looked spritely different tonight. Dressed in white, elegant gown, greeting and embracing every guest with pleasantry and passion, she looked more like a typical, well cultivated middle class American family hostess than the quiet, shy little young woman we met last time. We took turn to take pictures with them and other guests, then chatted, drank, and (I) had quite some delicious chocolate fondu, before heading back to the hotel in the shuttle provided near mid-night.

The next day started with a casual brunch buffet at the hotel. Afterwards, I went for biking in the wild and my wife for shopping at downtown for the afternoon, to each his/her own heart's content. Then we got back to the hotel to get ready for the wedding.

The ceremony was held outdoor, in the mountain-canopied garden of the hotel. Luckily the weather was cloudy enough to be cool, yet not too moist for the rain or drizzle to appear. The officiant of the ceremony was interestingly the grandfather of Parilee's, a sagely and humorous gentleman who seemed well versed in world affairs than most American people I know. He said as the first grandchild of their family, Parilee had been outstanding in every aspect since a kid. She earned 5 top awards out of 10 when she graduated from school, with a Taikwando black belt on the side. Naturally they all wanted the best for her, and were intrigued when she picked Michael as her life partner. But then Michael proved to be as brilliant in his own way as she is, and they couldn't be happier for both of them now. Then Parilee's and Michael's best friends spoke in turn at the podium, including one young man reciting a Chinese poem from 詩經 (窈窕淑女,君子好逑), whose well done English translation was printed on the back of the wedding's official program for all to view.

What touched me most, though, was at the end when Michael and Parilee exchanged their vows to each other. You may say they were just love promises from two passionate young man and woman at the consummation of their long term courtship, but I could tell the words came from their hearts and they meant every ounce it carried. "I promise you, Michael, no matter what lies ahead in our life together, our family will always be my first priority," says Parilee, a modern female, raised in a very well-to-do family, graduates from Stanford and Harvard, with a great professional career ahead of her, still subscribing to the good old value of marriage whole-heartedly. Amazing!

The politically correct question for a husband to ask with regards to this picture is: Ignoring the dresses they wear, can you tell which lady in the picture is my wife, and which other is the bride?