Dim sum and family: Prescription for blessing

Chinese seniors are easy to please. Traditional older-Chinese folks’ idea of a blessing is simple—having dim sum with the family. Better still, doing so on a regular basis. Going for dim sum in a Chinese teahouse or restaurant is such a deeply rooted cultural behavior that, even to date, it has not gone out of fashion. Young and old alike, we all go for dim sum every now and then—sometimes for morning tea, sometimes for brunch, lunch or even afternoon tea, probably because we Chinese from the southern part of Canton, China, love food.

To a Chinese senior, having dim sum with one’s children and grandchildren is the symbol of a complete family, of being blessed in old age. It is something to boast about if a family can have five generations, all dining together. It is also a source of great delight to the elders.

For Reflections on Nursing Leadership (RNL), published by the Honor Society of Nursing, Sigma Theta Tau International.

Attached for no reason

I remember an old man. I saw him on many occasions when I went to work. He would be cleaning the garbage cans on the overhead bridge when I was heading toward campus. He would use tissue paper to wipe clean the top part of the trash can, where it was intended to be used as an ash tray. He was focused and meticulous. I couldn’t imagine why anyone would choose to clean a public garbage can. Looking back, I think this must have been some kind of obsessive-compulsive behavior. I never spoke to him. No one did. He was just minding his own business. He didn’t look at any passersby. What I remember was a short, thin, older man scrubbing the garbage can in repetitive motions. He was not psychotic looking. He looked normal enough in his facial expressions and everything else. Nor were his bodily movements suggestive of any abnormality in mental function.

Years have lapsed since I last saw him. I imagine he might be dead by now, or too weak and frail to leave home. I feel sorry for him. I think only lonely people would pick up habits like this. He probably would not be doing what he did if he had a family. Does he know that someone who is a total stranger would remember him? Once I mentioned him to a colleague, but this colleague has no memory of such a man. I remember this old man. But we had formed no bond.

Every morning when I went to work I would walk past this pleasantly plump old woman, who always stood by a pillar in the mall to collect newspapers from people walking by who had finished reading them. She had a gentle face, wore the traditional clothing of elderly Chinese ladies and patiently waited for people to give her their papers. She was not aggressive or assertive, only sometimes reaching out her hand. A few weeks ago, I didn’t see her anymore and wondered what had become of her. One day, I plucked up enough courage to ask another woman who was now standing in her place if she knew. This other woman had no idea. I wonder if our paths will ever cross again. I had spoken to her once or twice. I remember her and liked her, but again, we had formed no bond.

Yet, I am bonded with this other old woman, as much a stranger to me as I am to her. She must be more than 80 years of age. She lives in a home (possibly with her family) in the village that I pass through every weekend when I go hiking. Sometimes I see her, sometimes I don’t. When I do, I always take my hat and sunglasses off, look at her and call out, “Good morning!” She will usually say something like, “Going for a hike?” and I will reply “Yes, what a hot day,” or something like that. Each time I see her, I greet her. But she doesn’t seem to hear me most of the time, or doesn’t seem to hear me well. She will respond with something a little off from what I said. I suspect she is hard of hearing. I hadn’t seen her for many weeks in a row. And I became worried. Had she passed away?

I do not understand why I feel a bond with her. But I do. You can say that what is involved is not bonding but attachment, as obviously the sentiment is one-sided. She is quiet, mild-mannered, likes to sit in front of her house in the village, likes to watch the world pass quietly by her and seems unconcerned. She definitely belongs to another time, another age. She doesn’t seem engaged in the modern world. Many weeks later, I saw her walking on the opposite side of the road, going toward the little town market, and my heart was relieved.

Throughout our lives, we must have formed bonds with many, many people. I wonder how older people deal with things or people with whom they have bonded, and then maybe lose contact with later in their lives?

For Reflections on Nursing Leadership (RNL), published by the Honor Society of Nursing, Sigma Theta Tau International. 

Engagement in life

I came across a new term, “the potentialist,” in an inflight magazine aboard Air Canada on my annual visit to Toronto to see my mother. A potentialist is someone who lives life to the fullest. I love the idea. The magazine was describing a couple who, in late adulthood, have found new meaning in life and want to spend every minute of it doing meaningful things, such as tapping into their physical potential, combining vacation with charitable activities, and so on. This is admirable. I have a lot of respect for such an attitude toward life. But wouldn’t it be extremely tiring as well?

There is a Chinese saying about the careful use of time that we all learnt when we were small. I don’t think elementary schools teach these things nowadays, because I have never heard kids talk about it. “An inch of time is like an inch of gold. Yet, an inch of gold cannot buy an inch of time.” What an apt description, if you truly love time.

As children, we were indoctrinated into believing the idea that we shouldn’t waste time. I would feel terribly guilty if I wasted any significant blocks of time. I love to account for things I do. Checking off tasks on a list gives me a sense of control and, more importantly, a sense of accomplishmentand the confidence that I have not wasted my life away.

Yet, I am aware that I am not that self-disciplined. I have wasted and still do waste my time every now and then, largely by doing nothing, doing silly things, or doing things that are unimportant while many more-important tasks lie there awaiting my attention. I can’t help it. I am only human.

I bet nurses are all more or less alike. We multitask a great deal, we hate to waste time and we like to check items off lists. Although, when I think about it, I don’t know if it is because we are nurses, or the fact that most nurses are female, that we exhibit such behavioral characteristics. Quite honestly, I can’t tell.

Coming back to where I started, I would love to be a potentialist sometimes, maybe more often than not. Still, not all the time. Not for me.

For Reflections on Nursing Leadership (RNL), published by the Honor Society of Nursing, Sigma Theta Tau International.

Life is bearable because there is hope

A friend of mine died of leukemia a few months ago. He retired about three years ago and then was suddenly taken ill. Two weeks ago, I went with a colleague to visit his widow. She treated us at a restaurant to dim sum, a customary meal of local Chinese people.

Sundays are family days, and many families go for morning dim sum together. If your friends are visiting, they will be treated, as well. The widow’s son, daughter-in-law and 1-year-old granddaughter were all there. She seemed to be coping well, and we chatted away merrily. Soon, it was time to leave, and she came with us to the minibus stop to see us off. Suddenly, she told us, “I still miss him terribly,” and then burst into tears.

Life must be unbearable for her, because they were married for almost four decades and were very close. My colleague tried to comfort her by asking her to be brave, and to think of her current responsibilities of looking after the rest of her family and her granddaughter. We were in a public place and didn’t really have the chance to talk in depth. She stopped sobbing, and then we parted.

After I got home, I kept thinking of her—her grief and her loss. I wrote her a card. I wish I had had more time and been in a quieter place with her, so that she could cry her heart out. I wish I had had the courage to stop my colleague from talking. The woman needed a chance to express her true feelings.

As a nurse, I am expected to know how to therapeutically communicate with people in need. But, sometimes, I find myself tongue-tied, especially when I am with friends. I do not pretend to know how other people feel, because I don’t. I can’t. I can only imagine. But every individual’s experience is private and special. Nobody else can experience something in the exact same manner. Often, it is good enough simply to be there and listen. Let the person’s grief flow out. It is only in companionship that we feel supported. It is only in telling that we start to heal.

I often tell my students it is unnecessary to fill every moment with sounds when you are with a patient. The ability to tolerate needed silence in a conversation says much about a person’s skills in communication.

Although I am concerned about my friend’s wife, who is now a widow, I think time will be her best friend. The family is close, and she finds immense joy in playing an important part in her granddaughter’s life. In a young life, one can see joy and hope. We can find pure joy in simple matters in a child. Looking at him or her, we see hope for a happier, better future.

Life becomes bearable because there is hope.

For Reflections on Nursing Leadership (RNL), published by the Honor Society of Nursing, Sigma Theta Tau International.

Love of a mother

While I was recuperating from radiotherapy, my mother came to stay with me for a few months. Because she has memory problems, she could not remember that I was suffering from cancer. My brother and sister told her, but it didn’t register. Every now and then, my brother and sister and I would talk about my illness, such as taking my traditional Chinese medicine or going for follow-ups, etc. On these occasions, my mother would be reminded of my illness and then remember that she must thank the gods for me. Most Chinese people in Hong Kong have no particular religion, except worshipping their ancestors. My mother is this way.

One day, she asked us to buy a cooked chicken, fruits and Chinese rice wine, in order for her to thank the gods for having mercy on me. I bought a whole chicken, as is the traditional Chinese custom when you want to worship or show your gratitude to the gods.

It was a bright and sunny afternoon. We got the table ready, with the dim sum, fruits, teas and wines all properly arranged, just as Chinese people do when they make offerings to the gods. We even got some incense sticks burning.

My mother kowtowed to the gods for me. While on her knees, she softly mumbled her prayers, asking our ancestors to continue to bestow mercy on me. It had been a long while since I had seen my mother kneeling down praying to the gods. Nowadays, we are her “representatives” to go sweep the graves during the Ching Ming Festival. She is somewhat wobbly on her feet.

We were to go to my older brother’s home for dinner that evening. After appeasing the gods, the next thing to do was to cut the chicken. We wanted to share it with him. Western people use a knife or kitchen scissors to cut, but we use a chopper. As a child, I saw my mother chop up a whole chicken on a chopping board many times. I am aware that my mother is growing older and frailer, but I didn’t realize how weakened she has become.

I have vivid memories of my mother chopping up an entire chicken and then putting the pieces back together again in the shape of a whole chicken. She now struggled with the chopper and did not have the strength to cut the chicken into halves. After a couple of unsuccessful attempts, I took out my scissors, and then Mom used it to cut the chicken into pieces. I offered to help, but she said that I wouldn’t know how to do it. She forgot that I am a grown woman. My heart ached to see that my mother could no longer do things that she was good at. I was not cognizant of the full picture of what my mother has lost to aging. The gulf between the images from back when I was small and the image I saw at that moment made me mourn my mother’s loss.

All these years that my mother has slowly been growing old, we have gradually been doing more and more things for her. My mother no longer takes care of us. We take care of her. She is used to not doing anything in particular and keeps calling herself “lazy.” But she actively took charge when she wanted to please the gods for her daughter.

This will probably be the last thing that my mother will do for me.

For Reflections on Nursing Leadership (RNL), published by the Honor Society of Nursing, Sigma Theta Tau International.

Reverse mortgaging finally coming to Hong Kong

When I was studying in Toronto and learned about reverse mortgaging, I thought it was a great idea. I still do, but it took a long time for it to happen in Hong Kong. In 2010, the banks finally started looking into its potential. I don’t know if it will work, given that Chinese people are so attached to the few bricks over their head. A sense of security for a lot of older people comes from the knowledge that they have a roof over them. Will they be able to give up this certainty and trust the bank enough to do it?

There is an interesting story to share about reverse mortgaging. Jeanne Calment, a French woman who lived to age 122 (1875-1997), had the longest confirmed human life span in history. When she was 90, she sold her apartment to a lawyer, Andre-Francois Raffray, on a contingency contract. It was agreed that he would pay her 2,500 francs a month until she died, and then he would own the apartment. She outlived Raffray after receiving more than $180,000, more than double the market price.

For Reflections on Nursing Leadership (RNL), published by the Honor Society of Nursing, Sigma Theta Tau International.

About mental space

As an academic, I write a lot. I write research papers, discussion papers, speeches, funding proposals, program documents, consultation reports and so on and so forth. So I am not new to being a “writer.” After starting this blog, however, I have been introduced to one of the worlds of a writer that I had not thought about.

I have not been up close and personal with people I do not know. Such particulars about myself, I typically only share with friends and close acquaintances. I know to whom I have spoken and why I would have told them about myself. But I feel strange knowing that someone about whom I know nothing can come to know my intimate thoughts and feelings. I need time to get over this.

I already know about cultural differences from back in my student days, when I was in England learning to become a midwife (studies I never put into practice, as you are probably aware, if you’ve been following my blog). It was my first trip away from home and, therefore, the biggest culture shock I ever experienced. I was somewhat taken aback that people would share their life stories with strangers they met on the street, or in places such as train and bus stations. I didn’t think—and still don’t think—that a regular Joe or Jane in the Chinese population would do something like this. It is not about whether readiness to share details of one’s life with strangers is good or bad. It is just that there are cultural differences with regard to how we relate to other people.

I thought the British were more reserved, but my first-hand experience as a student midwife in England told me otherwise. Chinese people are more “reserved” with strangers. And it is not just about keeping “face.” As I become more exposed to the world outside my hometown, I am coming to realize that there is, indeed, such a thing as “national characteristics.” Sometimes, it may be an over-generalization but, at other times, you will notice similarities and differences between cultures. Well, with modernization and globalization, we are behaving a lot more like each other, no matter whether we live in the East or the West.

Back to my musings about writing a blog. So this is what a blogger will have to come to accept, that there will be people who know his or her personal particulars and innermost thoughts, even though the writer doesn’t know those people at all. To me, it takes a person who is very comfortable with him or herself to be a blogger. Then again, maybe not. I am new to the experience.

I start analyzing why I don’t feel secure having people I don’t know knowing about me. I ask myself why I don’t readily give the URL for my blog to students and acquaintances. I think it is because I have been a rather private person all along, and I am one of those who need a lot of space between other people and myself, including those I love or am fond of.

Yet again, this is a lesson for me to learn. Why not take it easy? Why not accept it as it is? We are, after all, living in the age of the Internet. As I reflect on this, I realize there is a fundamental difference between me and those who have no reservations whatsoever about making friends over the Internet, who incorporate the cyber world as an integral part of their regular world.

Maybe I can further contemplate this idea and use it to help me better appreciate the differences between Generations X, Y and Z. After all, there is no better way to learn something than firsthand.

For Reflections on Nursing Leadership (RNL), published by the Honor Society of Nursing, Sigma Theta Tau International.

Seniors and fast food

As a Hong Kong Chinese, I did not associate seniors with fast food until about 10 years ago, when I moved into an apartment from which, if I needed to get to the train station fast, I had to take a short cut through a McDonald’s.

Every morning I made that trip, the scene never failed to amaze me—lots of seniors having breakfast at McDonald’s. Maybe it is a myth, after all, that Chinese people are particular about food. My—or our, if I can claim that I represent a certain segment of our society—belief used to be that Chinese seniors would not like fast food. They preferred congee to burgers, jasmine tea to coffee. But, obviously, I learnt something new when I moved into that apartment.

When I was taking a course for my doctoral program, my professor told me that she had been to Hong Kong and that both she and her husband were totally surprised to see that McDonald’s was such a favorite spot for children in an Asian city. She predicted that this generation of Hong Kong youngsters would have the same kind of cardiovascular problems as those in her country, the United States.

When I saw the large number of seniors having breakfast at McDonald’s, I remembered what she had said and thought, not only will we have a generation of young people with cardiovascular problems, we will also have a generation of seniors with those problems, as in Western countries.

I remarked about this to a friend, and she suggested it could be the free coffee refill that attracts seniors. This may be one of the reasons, but probably only one. To this day, although not so amazed as before, I am still puzzled. Maybe one day, I will do a survey on this, trying to find out seniors’ perceptions of fast food, and why they patronize these restaurants.

My speculation is that fast-food restaurants treat everybody the same. Our seniors enjoy the same kind of “freedom” as anyone else. They can sit for as long as they like, in spite of buying little, and not be driven away or given strange looks by waiters and waitresses. They don’t have to abide by the rules of a regular restaurant. This, then, is a good aspect of fast-food chain restaurants. They are a place for any age group; there is no age discrimination.

For Reflections on Nursing Leadership (RNL), published by the Honor Society of Nursing, Sigma Theta Tau International.

Do you respect older people?

Do you respect older people? Why? Do you respect older people because of their age? Or for other reasons? If it is because of their age, why so?

Chinese societies are very much into respecting elderly people, with few explanations as to why this should be. I used to wonder why such “wisdom” is passed through generations without being challenged. I have to say that I don’t respect seniors just because of their age. Respect has to be earned.

Just as I don’t disrespect children because of their age, I don’t respect seniors because of their age. Age per se is not a good argument for me. To me, we should respect life, respect people as individuals, having a rightful place on this planet. Seniors don’t get extra respect for the mere reason of being older. There are some young people who put me in awe, and many more who deserve my admiration and respect. And there are a lot of older people whom I don’t respect.
But, of course, there are other qualities that come with age that I appreciate–the ability to withstand adversity, worldly wisdom gained out of a lifetime of experience, and so on. But age is never a good enough argument for me.

As a gero nurse, I advocate for the well-being and health of seniors, not because they are a respectable group because of their advanced age, not because of their growing numbers and looming “grey power.” As a gero nurse, I am cognizant of the right of every member of our society to receive the same respect, irrespective of power, wealth and class. Only when groups live in harmony and recognize each other as having equal rights can we start to build a better world.

For Reflections on Nursing Leadership (RNL), published by the Honor Society of Nursing, Sigma Theta Tau International.