adventures in Geneva and beyond!

Ada Grows Up

August 20, 2010 at 5:00 am (Uncategorized)

This afternoon, I got to send my little sister off on her pre-college orientation Freshman Outdoor Program (FOP) trip. On the way over to Harvard Square, I couldn’t stop having “I’m a proud parent” over and over again until she felt like clubbing me over the head with her sleeping bag. It’s been an amazing journey for me and Ada. At first glance, we’re like mirror images of each other, except if you looked again, you’d notice that the mirror is warped and distorted in a few important places, reflecting two different people.

Ada crossed the Pacific twice before her 4th birthday. She was born in Boston to my parents, who sent her back to China with my mom’s uncle and his trade delegation when she was 6 months old. There’s a really darling picture of her – a big eyed confused looking baby wrapped in a fluffy bright pink shaw, flanked by somber, middle aged Chinese business men.

My parents have had steady jobs since they came to the US – but back then, they were living a hand to mouth existence. Mom worked like a slave for her boss at Harvard Medical School labs, who had the power to apply for a green card on her behalf. My parents went through a series of bad babysitters – including one who did not notice that a 5 month old Ada had fallen from her high chair and was wailing her head off – before giving up. They had sent one child to my grandparents already , but nonetheless, it must have been heartbreaking to do it again. There’s a photo album of my parents cuddling a bald baby Ada as an infant – my mom probably was sad that she had to give away such a happy, fluffy baby with expressive eyes. But I digress!

Although I have scattered memories of Ada as a baby (like – she had a laugh that sounded like the Chinese characters for “Cola”, as in Coco Cola, which was hilarious to 5 year old me ), we didn’t experience the pressures of cohabitation until I was 8 and she was 4. We were both used to being the only child, split up among two sets of grandparents while our parents worked and studied in Shanghai, then America. Talk about difficult transitions! It was almost as bad as meeting my mom for the first time (which I had done earlier that year).

I had an image of what little sisters should be like (ie – cute, sweet, obedient) based on a little friend named Hanna at Chinese School and Ada DEFINITELY didn’t conform on the obedient aspect. Within minutes of meeting each other, Ada and I had started to fight something fairly serious. We were feeding my grandparents’ blue parakeets (RIP) when Ada said “The parakeets like my piece of lettuce better.” Me: * SHOCKED RAGE * “THEY LIKE MY PIECE OF LETTUCE BETTER!!! WAAAAAH MOMMIEEEEEE!!!” She made me cry and I had to go stand in a corner to calm down. Well, maybe it was karma for that time I “accidentally” dropped her on her head before we got divied up by grandparents who lived on different sides of town. If I had to pick a winner for the Spoiled Brat Contest, Ada just might win and not because I’m biased. Ada had a ferocious little bark which said “If you don’t do this (ie – what she wants), I’m going to cry!” and then she throw all her toys on the floor. I was secretly impressed…and scared, but she was no match for my mom (who had practice dealing with me). Mom would just reply, “Why don’t you just cry? We don’t care.”

Over time, I discovered that I had the advantage of knowing how to speak English (sort of by that point) over Ada, so I would torture her by pretending to say mean things about her over the phone to my friends. She started to imitate my English, garbling the words but still annoying the hell out of me. Touche. But once my paternal grandparents, who had accompanied Ada on her 2nd trip went back to China, a drastic, surprising change took place. At the age of 9, Ada was no longer just my arch-nemesis – I also had the important duty of protecting her. I picked her up from the bus stop from the time she was in kindergarten until fourth grade, having near panic attacks when her bus didn’t appear on time. Once I got home I made us snacks from whatever junk food that was lying around the house (milk and ice cream, salsa chips with cheese sauce and pepperoni, doritos, cookies, brownies, cheddar cheese and flavored seeweed…etc) and watched television until we had * just * enough time to finish our homework before the parents came home.

This protective instinct became even bigger when we moved to sketchy Fordham Road in Boston so I could attend Boston Latin. When a man followed us and creepily touched my leg while I was walking Ada home, I told him loudly “SORRY SIR BUT I DON’T HAVE DIRECTIONS TO THE SUPER MARKET” and grinned widely while walking away as fast as possible in order not to scare her. One time, when I learned that a clueless summer program counselor had scratched Ada’s arms with folded paper (only because Ada had said “scratch me!” to prove she was brave/cool), I threatened to kill him if he ever did it again. It was dramatic – I was twelve and he was sixteen/twice my size. I also encouraged Ada to hit back at the kids who bullied her in the bathrooms and cafeteria of her public elementary school: “Listen, you can’t get in trouble for hitting people when you’re little, cuz it doesn’t go on your high school record, so just do it!” I was furious yet helpless about the bullying – so I was trying to channel my anger. To Ada’s credit, she only did it once, out of desperation, and felt extremely terrible about it after.

As Ada got older and understood more things, I shared more. I made her read passages from my books and handouts from my favorite classes – especially the ones that lead to my small bouts of intellectual awakening. When I read “Farewell to Manzanar” about the Japanese internment camps during WWII, she learned about them too. Same with the Holocaust and other serious matters…I spared her nothing that I thought was important. Before I knew it, Ada was reading James Joyce (and not just “Portrait of the Artist”, which was as far as I got). I think she skipped all those tweeny classics like “The Mouse and the Motorcycle”, rushing from “Spot” to “Dubliners”.

Most importantly, we were on the same team at home. It was like the Red Sox against the Yankees. If I felt that my parents were being unfair to her, I would contribute my two cents, which Ada tried to stop me from doing because it often made things so much worse. When I got out of hand, Mom used to fume: “She’s MY daughter, not yours!” I believe this is how we morphed into echoes of each other – it’s rare to have someone who understands the context so absolutely.

When I went away to college, it was especially hard on Ada, who was slowly morphing into a graceful, thoughtful teenager. We both felt the loss of our empathetic half, although my sense of loss was drowned out by all the noise from the soul searching of freshman year, while hers was amplified. Sometimes, when Mom disapproved of an activity that Ada was doing (ie – leading Amnesty International), she would say “stop imitating your sister” which was the best way to get to her.

Because of me, Ada has to fight to express her individuality. It hurts when she vents her frustration by telling me that we’re different, when there are really more similarities than differences, even down to our physical appearances and mannerisms. Our faces are similar mishmashes of our parents’ features (we concluded that our parents were lying about having found us in the garbage because they couldn’t have found two such similar looking kids by sheer coincidence). Of course, there are sharp differences, but I didn’t really influence her – we morphed into kindred spirits through countless conversations and shared experiences. The only real difference is that I happened to be born first.

Which brings us to today. Due to a disagreement with Mom involving what to bring to FOP last night, Ada arrived on campus woefully unprepared for the camping trip. We walked around together for half an hour renting various pieces of gear from bright-eyed FOP leaders hopped up on too much FOP spirit. It felt strangely important for me to follow Ada around carrying all this stuff, Sherpa-like, introducing myself as her sister.

I held back from talking too much and tried to let her greet her new friends, classmates and trip leaders. That is…until I caught myself saying as Robin (FOP staffer!) checked items off Ada’s rental list, “Yes, we have that…yes we have this.” Hah – I never got to go on FOP like almost everyone else because they didn’t have financial aid back then. I worked at my summer job until two days before school started and then regretted it as soon as most of my new friends started talking about their amazing experience in the woods of New Hampshire. Can’t a girl live vicariously through her sister? Minus the bugs.

I’m so glad that for the 3rd time in 10 years, Ada and I will again attend the same school. This time, it will be different because we’re both adults. From experience, I know that freshman year at Harvard is both exciting and scary. But my little sister is both more intellectual and more detail-oriented than I am. I have to learn to be her cushion but to also step back because she is more than capable of handling things by herself. We will continue as we have always done – to love and reflect each other in the ever-warping mirror.