Category Archives: culture

The Languages We Speak

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愛 Love, written by me in eyeliner brush pen on Daughter’s hand

“…the medial aspect of my proximal left anterior forearm…”
–Me, describing where I would place the tattoo of my matrilineal surnames to Daughter.

What languages do you speak?

I speak American English and Mandarin with a Taiwan 外省人 accent. I am fluent in both but only literate to an early primary school level in the latter. In a previous medical practice I had so many Spanish speaking patients who were willing to teach me, that by the time I left if the patient knew a little English and the problem was not too complicated, I could get through an entire clinic visit without an interpreter. I had a long chain of Post-It notes in my office of words and phrases they had taught me.

Son and Daughter grew up with internist and orthopaedic surgeon parents so they speak a little medicine. Daughter spent five weeks learning archeology and osteology this summer, so her fluency in anatomy has improved–hence my description above. It’s just the most efficient and accurate way to describe the body part. Quick tutorial:
–Closer to central mass of body is proximal, farther is distal.
–Orienting left/right, closer to center is medial, farther away is lateral. For the hands, anatomical position assumes palms facing forward (anterior), so pinky side is medial, thumb side is lateral.
–Front of body is anterior, back is posterior.
–Closer to the head is superior; closer to the feet is inferior.
–Ventral is belly side, dorsal is back side (so back of the hand is dorsal but weirdly, top of the foot is also dorsal–which those fluent in anatomy already know!).
–Rostral is toward the head, caudal is toward the sacrum (tail).

How fun to talk shop with my kid!

It got me thinking again how bonding it is to share jargon. Consider any profession. We can go anywhere in the world and assume we can work with anyone in our field simply because we all speak the language of our discipline. It’s a built-in connection that precedes our acquaintance, that bridges other language and culture barriers. How cool is that!?

It all made me wonder what other languages I speak.
Here is a partial list, in rough order of verbal fluency:
Medicine (especially internal medicine and orthopaedics)
Biology
Chemistry (organic more than others)
Exercise/fitness
Nutrition
Volleyball
Mahjong
Pens
Paper/stationery
Writing
Psychology
Romance
Bread/sourdough
Audiobooks
Pottery

I also speak Relationship. I am highly fluent and literate verbally. But this language calls for and forth our greatest capacity for nonverbal communication, no? Huh. I love that.

Wanna know what languages I do not speak? This was fun to list too:
Sports other than volleyball (though I did learn once how to spot a moving pick in basketball)
Makeup
Skincare
Music (though I appreciate it greatly)
Pop culture
Fashion (though Daughter has taught me much about classic designers)
Money/finance

Aside from a lighthearted and fun reflection on Sunday afternoon while procrastinating housecleaning, the intersecting concepts of language, communication, and connection just make me shake my head in awe and wonder. How many more languages could I learn in this lifetime? I am convinced this is how people stay young and live longer: lifelong stimulation and learning, connection with and integration of the novel and interesting that brings us closer to our fellow humans. It could be anything!

Aspire to global human polyglotism, my friends!

So Proud of MaBa

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On their 51st wedding anniversary (watermelon ‘cake’ decorated by Daughter)

Who in your family immigrated? Which generation are you?

My parents will visit this week, in the narrow window during which they are not traveling elsewhere and both of my kids are home before going back to college. It will be harder to coordinate calendars hereafter, I realize–I have adult children! What a milestone! I knew it was coming, but it only hit me when Daughter got herself from Trim to Dublin to O’Hare to home all by herself, with luggage, all while I was asleep and at work. [vibrating astonished smiley emoji]

Son is about the age Ba was when he left Taiwan. He and Ma met in high school, in study group at church. They got engaged after he completed military service and undergrad, and she was partway through nursing school, and came to the United States for his graduate studies. They eventually landed in Evanston, Illinois for his PhD in civil engineering at Northwestern, and I was three when he graduated. We moved to Colorado when I was six, and they still live in the house where my sisters and I grew up.

What a different world it was in 1971. Imagine picking up and moving to the other side of the globe, to a country where you barely speak the language, where you have few if any people, and you can only connect with them through snail mail. No internet, no cable TV, analog everything. I suspect most readers of this blog lived and recall those times clearly. Still, remembering is also akin to distant imagining, because our current reality is so drastically different and we simply adapt to what is.

How brave my parents were to do all of that. How mutually trusting in each other, in their own ability to figure things out. And maybe also in the decency of their fellow humans? They recently told me a story of their friend who was stranded in Memphis on his way to grad school at Ole Miss, who was taken in by a stranger, fed and housed overnight, and delivered to the bus station the next morning, all without ever knowing his host’s name. A kind American man helping out a young Taiwanese student, with no expectation of anything in return. Can we imagine anything like that happening today?

What happens when we cannot solve everything ourselves? What if I were stranded somewhere in a foreign country, phone dead, language barrier tall and wide, plans all upended? What if the people I could find were also disconnected from the internet? I suspect we’d find our shared humanity pretty fast, as long as none of us were outright sadists or sociopaths. I imagine that though racism and other ills of humanity existed then just as they do now, MaBa found folks who showed kindness, generosity, and even curiosity. They made friends, connections, and a life.

55 years on, they can look back at a remarkably successful life in every way. Steady professions, completed degrees (Ma got her BSN from CU while I was in high school and ended her career as a clinical instructor for our local community college), three daughters married to amazing sons-in-law, three grandchildren, a wide and exuberant circle of friends, and a remarkably active retired lifestyle. This is the American Dream, no?

My sisters and I watched how hard they worked our whole lives. Our family practiced frugality in ways my friends could barely imagine. Sisters and I experienced both the generation and cultural gaps known by all immigrant parent/native born children families. I think we have all come to appreciate and admire how MaBa confidently instilled traditional Chinese values in us, while also fully embracing qualities of American culture that made us better in synergy. Our academic and extra-curricular standards were high, but only because we could meet them easily–expectations were set by our own potential, not in comparison to anyone else. Tigers my parents were not, by a long shot.

MaBa continue to serve as respected leaders of the Chinese community in the region. They are tribal elders now, and I get to 沾他们的光, ‘dip from their light’, in other words, benefit from their positive reputation. People respect me because they respect my parents. It’s a status I gain by their decades of engagement and contribution to helping Chinese people be seen and included in America.

Their story is so much deeper, richer, and more awesome than I can write on a random Sunday night. As I witness my own kids emerging into fully functional adulthood, it makes me reflect on all MaBa went through to get here today. Somehow my own journey through this life phase feels prosaic and unremarkable in comparison, maybe because my parents were always within reach? I could always call if I needed anything. They could always (and did) fly to my assistance in a crisis. They not only created a solid life for themselves; they laid the foundation for my, my sisters’, and our own kids’ advantages and successes. They have set a loving and selfless standard for ancestral legacy, one that I feel proud to uphold.

Thank you, MaBa, from the bottom of my heart. Can’t wait to see you both soon. And I will do better expressing my appreciation from now on. xo

On Self-Acceptance: Squishy Strong

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145# barbell box squat x4, June 2026

‘Curves’. I’ got more now then ever in my non-pregnant life, my friends.

Thank goodness for writers, actors, and advocates of body shape diversity and acceptance. The concept feels hard to integrate for a culture that pedestalizes Barbie, but we need to keep talking ourselves in that direction with our thinking brains, even if our feeling brains lag a far distance behind. Humans come in all shapes and sizes, and we change with age. The more we accept this fact, while executing the practices we know keep us healthy, the better we will all feel about ourselves, treat ourselves, and treat one another.

Subcutaneous fat is okay, protective, even. Visceral fat not so much. My ratio (as imaged by DEXA scan) is healthy overall, which is reassuring. But I still don’t like how I look a lot of the time in my middle-aged mom bod.

And yet, I am fitter now that at anytime since my 20s, and stronger by far than ever in my life. The leading indicators of my physical fitness land well in the optimal range. Eating indicators less so, but still improve incrementally these days with deliberate, conscious effort (so much effort–or at least mental load, if not consistent action!)

The ambivalence is so real—I’m doing the work, no question. The outcome falls short of desires, frustratingly so. I would like to have a smaller body by about 10 pounds. That was the set point for much of my adult life. About five years and ten pounds on today, I feel my age and family history creeping up on me, and wonder when/whether I will end up on medication for glucose control or other issues. It took me several months to realize that would not be the end of the world.

Back in 2003 I didn’t notice patients expressing shame about starting medications for blood pressure, cholesterol, or glucose. We talked about lifestyle and habit change then also, but when meds were indicated we simply initiated and followed up. It did not feel nearly as laden with social guilt as it feels now.

Today when medications are required to manage any of these medical issues, it’s too often seen as some kind of failure, and my patients ruminate if their ‘metrics’ are imperfect or ‘not at goal’, even a little bit. As if nobody should ever have any of these diagnoses if only we lived the perfect lifestyles; as if those lifestyles are so easy and accessible to us all.

What do our *systems* actually promote? How easily can we achieve 10K steps a day and a low volume Mediterranean diet with long mealtimes to enjoy our organic foods in the loving company of people who help us rest and digest? Who can reliably obtain affordable fresh produce and unprocessed protein, with time to plan, purchase, and prepare all of our meals at home? Who enjoys workplaces and jobs that give us autonomy, mastery, purpose, meaning, and psychological safety so our nervous systems can live not in constant fight or flight mode? In my observation only a privleged and elite few (and fewer of them, these days), and even they struggle with maintaining optimal health a lot of the time.

When the root causes of our dis-ease are systemic and oppressive and yet we blame individuals for failing to achieve ideal outcomes with no support, and the system additionally rewards those who prey on and profit from our fears and feelings of inadequacy and hopelessness, our lack of self-efficacy and self-compassion, then we get exactly what we have now: obsession over biometric minutiae without context, compulsion for more diagnostics that then drive oversimplified ‘solutions’ that don’t address root causes, an escalating disparity between those who can afford the quick ‘fixes’ and those who cannot, and pathologizing the normal, while we all lose sight of and connection to what gives life meaning and joy and ultimately makes us healthier.

All of that to say, I think I can be done with the self-judgment over my squishy parts. I have always been the chubby one in the family, I do a ton of work to moderate my indulgent tendencies, and I’m a middle aged, working woman in the urban West. I’m built to withstand famine and I train to withstand stress. I will continue to treat body and mind as the vintage vehicles they are, carrying me each day to meet my people, learn all kinds of cool new things, and live my best life, even if that means I’ got ten extra pounds on my frame. I will strive to get to bed on time, eat more colors, increase the intensity and frequency of my cardio, and revel in what my body can do now. Whatever it will be able to do in the coming decades will be the rewards of my efforts today. And I could still get smaller if I want.
I’ got this.

So to all the curvy menopausal mamas out there, I see you. We’re all here doing our best. Let us cheer for and encourage ourselves and one another in our efforts, celebrate the wins (if not for all this work, I’d carry much more than these 10 extra pounds, I say!). What we do to take care of ourselves matters, even if we don’t always see the results we want.

Onward!
Boobs Out!
Squishy Strong!