A Tiger's Heart

Five minutes before my meeting with the management of a Japanese company, I was sitting in front of my computer, staring at the screen and stressing out on the stocks that I liked but never seemed to work out.

 My office phone rang. As soon as I picked it up, a loud child’s voice rushed to my ear: “Auntie, I got 91 on math, 94 on Chinese and 96 on English.”

 It was my seven-year-old nephew in China who has just finished his 1^st grade, who I could never get to the phone to even say hi to me. Whenever my mother asked him to the phone, he’d yell, I am tired, or my legs hurt, or just turn a deaf ear and focus on the TV.

 It was such a pleasant surprise. I was so happy to hear from him. He pronounced his scores in Mandarin, not our local dialect, clearly very proudly but tried his best to contain himself and sound cool.

 I couldn’t help but exclaim: “I am so proud of you, Tiantian! Is Mom happy?”

 “So-so..” he said.  I laughed secretly, he sounded like an adult.

 “What should auntie give you as a prize?” I asked. I know he’s living in the shadow of his aunt who always scored 100 in every subject back in school and has to bear the comment from his illiterate grandmother who doesn’t really think he is that smart.

 “Oh, just taking me to the Hainan Island should be enough…” He is not a greedy boy at all. For years he’s been drawing the palm trees and beaches of Haihan, a tropical island in the southeast of China. And for years I have been promising to take him there, but my American life has always kept me from fulfilling that promise.

 “I want to take a boat.” He said. He’s never been to the beach, has never taken a boat. Something so common for an American is a luxury for a boy in the countryside in China.

 “Ok, Auntie promises you that we’ll go to Hainan this October, and I’ll teach how to build a castle with sand!” I told him, very seriously and solemnly.

 It’s just a simple call from my little nephew, but I am amazed how much it impacted me throughout the entire day. I walked more briskly and went to my meetings with a fine mood. Somehow I had more energy and more smiles on my face. Sometimes it’s that simple.

 It’s nothing extraordinary at all, but I cannot help but sharing it with you. It just makes me really happy.

I used to have a husband. I used his last name for nine years. We had the same bank account, shared the same house and everything inside the house. We had two black labs, Voodoo and her younger sister Shadow. Voodoo was fat, shadow was slim. He nicknamed himself fatvoodoo, so I called myself slimshadow. Voodoo loved him, but I liked Shadow much more, so when we held hands and walked along the Charles River side by side, Voodoo wagged her tail at his side and Shadow sniffled around at my side. 

I was alone and doing alright before him. My heart was a container with a tight lid and I made sure nothing spills out. Then he came to my world. He got to know my mother, my father, my sister, and every villager in the tiny Shen Hamlet in the Yangtze River delta of China. He got to know that I love tofu and I get angry and anxious easily. When I was sick, he held me and told me stories of his nine cousins in America. He hid notes in my place before he went back to America, for me to find, until he came to China to visit me again. I fell asleep on his lap on the boat in the Li River and drooled all over his pants. He called me Tiger, so I called him Pig. He called me sweetie, and I called him Honey. We bought every little piece of furniture together. We painted the walls with our own hands. I knew where his socks were kept, and he woke me up every morning for work.

He became an arm of mine, a leg of mine, and then half of me. I thought this would last forever, because I couldn’t imagine life without him. He finished my sentence, he packed my lunch boxes. He trimmed my bang. He understood every stupid thought that came out of my brain. He came out of the study every evening with open arms when I pushed open the screen door yelling “honey I am home!” It’s like breathing without air. How could I not have this person for the rest of my life? It’s like the veins in a leaf, how can you possibly cut every one of them out?

Nine years later, I woke up and suddenly realized that it’s time to end it. I had to, had no choice. If I stayed, I’d be self-contemptuous and heart-broken; if I left, my heart would break too, but I’d at least have self-respect.

So I did it. I took a knife and cut that arm, that leg, those veins off and out of my body. I packed my clothes and shoes. I drove my car slowly and followed the moving truck on the Mass Pike and just felt my blood was spilling all over on the car floor like a blanket.  

I stood in front of the judge in the court, stone-faced, with that man who I shared nine years of my life with standing at the other side of our lawyer. We both said yes to the judge—please grant us a divorce. He was already a stranger to me. 

I went to a different family court twice and changed my legal name. I opened a new bank account, changed my name on everything, work email, personal email, utility bills, cable, phone, driver license, social security card…I bought new furniture, new TV, I changed my hair style, got a new subway pass and cut off contact with anyone who we both knew.

I dragged myself in and out of subway with splitting headaches. I popped loads of anti-depressant and sleeping pills. I sat on the bed on weekends for hours and asked myself whether I should kill myself. I spent all my money on dresses and shoes and drank and danced like there was no tomorrow. Then a little by a little I recovered. I started to smile, exercise, go to museum, and finally I picked up all my pieces.

In just months’ time I wiped out my nine years’ memory. Today I am alone again, has nothing to do with that person. It’s like you shared a boat with someone on the roaring sea for nine years, and then one morning when the sun comes out, you open your eyes and that person is long gone as if he were never there. You roar along, day and night, keep going. Whether he is dead or alive, happy or sad, married or single, in America or China, is none of your business.

Marriage is just a piece of paper. Same as divorce. What’s there in life that is long lasting, never breaks? What’s there that you can trust forever?

It’s very tough for me to tell you this, but I have failed my CFA exam twice…can you believe it? Every time when I say it, I have to add a question mark: “can you believe it?”  Because I still cannot. I cannot believe I failed an exam twice.

CFA stands for “Chartered Financial Analyst”, something that only the financial world knows and cares. Unfortunately I need to get it if I want a grand future for myself. It has 3 levels, offered every June. So it means three springs of your life is contributed towards studying, if you are lucky enough to finish them in three years.

I passed the first two levels with flying colors. Of course, I am Juanjuan, I am good at nothing but exams. It was the only bargain chip I had for my parents’ attention. I was usually the best student in the class. I graduated manga cum laude from Wellesley. I got a perfect GPA in Umass…etc. etc. etc. blah…

So when I failed the Level 3 exam in June’08, it was unbearable, impossible, unthinkable. I just didn’t entertain the possibility of not passing. I remember that I stared at the computer screen and felt the temperature of my body shooting up and blood rushing to my brain. I felt so ashamed. I froze. Everyone must be watching me, my boss, my boss’ boss, my co-workers, the admins, everyone must have heard that I was so stupid, I failed the CFA exam. I closed my office door and just collapsed on my desk.

Half an hour later, I went to my boss’ office, closed the door. I couldn’t bring myself to tell him, and then I cried like a baby. It must be so strange for my boss, now that I think of it, to see this usually indestructible Chinese woman weeping for an exam.

The next couple of days I walked around with lowered head, afraid that everyone must be laughing at me. Then days went by, and everything was as usual. Oh my god I realized that failing an exam is not the end of the world.

Gradually I found a perfect excuse for myself — I was going through a divorce and even worse I was so deeply in depression. My mind was a mush for the majority of that year, how could I pass the exam?  

The next year I devoted my January to May to studying. I thought there would be no way I fail again. Because I already knew the material well, and how could a smart person like me not pass the exam when the passing rate is almost 50%? That’d put my IQ below average. It just couldn’t happen. And I wasn’t depressed any more.

And then of course my taking the exam lightly was punished. It showed that my IQ was below room temperature. I couldn’t even describe what I felt when I knew I FAILED AGAIN.

I cannot believe it, still cannot. I am so paranoid. Maybe I just cannot pass it forever. No matter how much I study. I am getting older and my memory is not as good., etc.

But one positive realization that has come out of this is that your life is not complete if you never failed. And as if life wanted to teach me this lesson in a hard way, it failed me twice. Well, I guess at least my skin is thicker now.

But I have to pass it this time, I have to, I need to and I must.

Just came back from giving a talk at Northeastern University. The harsh cold wind of New England was cutting into my face as I walked briskly in the dark towards the subway station. I felt very upbeat. In fact every time after I give a talk or reading about my book, I feel this wonderful. It gives me an opportunity to take my mind away from the daily volatile stock market and Excel sheets with all the confusing numbers. I can reflect upon what I have done in the past and realize that my life is very good right now.

It’s amazing how deep and beautiful life is. It’s fair, may not in the short term, but in the long run it is. The longer I live, the more I love life.

One very interesting question I get asked often is whether I want to change anything, or if I regret something I did before. I always give it very serious pondering and every time I say no. Certainly I wish life could be easier for me, my parents could give me more love, or I didn’t have to struggle so much. I hated and loathed myself constantly for the majority of my life and wished I were someone else. BUT, by all means, I don’t want to change any of it, I don’t regret anything I did, because I believe it is what life is meant to be, happiness, sorrow, laughter, tears, sourness, love, hatred, humiliation…this is what makes life interesting and livable. Only after you taste everything you can say what’s good or not good for you. This is what makes a person interesting, mature and wise. What you are in the past decides who you are today. I wouldn’t be so strong and empowered today if I didn’t have to fight in order to survive. I wouldn’t treasure the independence, be thankful to the beauty of life today if I had everything I wanted at birth.

One awkward moment for me is when people tell me how much they admire my strength and how brave I tell my story in a brutally honest way. The funny thing is that I don’t feel different from others. Whatever happened is in my past, and today I am just another sleepy worker who is on a merry-go-around in the American corporate world.  So usually I can do nothing but smiling and expressing my appreciation.

I met a lovely young lady at the talk who questioned my belief. She said I seem to have everything today and all I need is God. She even kindly sent me an email because she felt she didn’t tell me enough about God. This is something I have always wondered as well — why don’t I want to have a religion I can believe in? One reason is that when I grew up China essentially banned all religions, so we were taught to be atheists. Another reason is that I have my set of belief and principles already established at this age, and it’s very tough to convince me to believe in something that has never appeared in my culture and doesn’t exist in real life. Now you may think I am being ignorant or stupid, but all I can say is that I am happy as a person, physically and spiritually, and I don’t feel the need or urge to give up some of my spiritual capacity to other stuff. I may change in the future, but not now.

           Chinese don’t have Christmas. So when I came to America in 2000 I didn’t know what was Christmas about. But having married into a big Caucasian family, soon I learned it is a time that you bring a live tree to your house, hang all kinds of strange stuff on the street, shop like a maniac to everyone you know, even the cousins you hate, and then give useless gifts to each other until everyone goes broke. And then the fake snowflakes, Santa stocking, jiggle bells, Christmas carol, retail sales etc…and then the next year same thing all over again.

            But I loved it. I’d never push away any kind of family activities because I didn’t have much when I grew up. So I put all my heart into shopping for everyone, my husband, my father-in-law, mother-in-law, grandparents-in-law, etc. I immersed myself into that jiggle-bell music, that cake-eating and then gift-changing ritual every Christmas morning. I don’t have a loving Chinese family, but at least I had one in America.

            Until I moved out of the house a month before Christmas of 2007, like a broken doll that had just realized her whole marriage was coming to an end. It is needless to say how painful it was. But the thing I was feared the most at that time was—how I was going to endure Thanksgiving, Christmas now on? How am I going to escape this thing called Christmas pandemic as long as I live? 

            So I made a simple decision to travel on holidays. That way I don’t have to do, see, and think anything. I spent the Christmas day of 2007 on a boat sailing to an unknown island in Puerto Rico for snorkeling. Unlimited rum punches served by the local guides on the “Island Flyer” boat helped me forget the life back in America. I roamed on the soft sanded beach under the crystal blue sky with my ipod, dancing to my Hanken Lee Chinese music. And that night a local guy named Rico took me to a real local fish restaurant and then showed me the prettiest night scene of Puerto Rico from the highest point on a hill.

            The next year I went to Turks and Caicos.  I slept for sixteen hours straight the first day. And then read my Chinese books at the beach with rum punches. The next day I dived deep down to the ocean for couch-picking. Christmas and the cold? Not a trace on my mind at that time.  

            So the Christmas of the final year of the 21^st century was about to come. My mind refused to think about family gathering, so weeks ago I started to search for vacation spot. The Bahamas? Sounds wonderful but do I want to spend time with flocks of noisy tourists? The Caribbean? Is it worth it to spend thousands of dollars for the escape?

            I searched and searched, and couldn’t decide where to go or whether I should go away.  As the holiday came near, I started to ask myself why I cannot just stay in America for Christmas just like many Jewish people do every year. My ex-husband cannot hurt my heart any more, the memory of happy family is long gone, I claim myself as a confident woman, why cannot I be happy being alone? Why am I not ready for a solitary Christmas?  

            Up until the night before Christmas Eve, I was still searching online for going away. And on the morning of Christmas Eve, I finally gave up. I went to work as usual and stayed to 4pm in the office. I was the only one in the building during the entire afternoon I bet. On the way home I stopped in an Ann Taylor store. I avoided any kind of shopping before that. I was happy to see the shop was pretty empty at that hour. I bought myself a necklace. Then I came home and made myself some dumplings. I ate them while watching TV. Then I sat on bed and read my Chinese kung-fu novels.

            So this is my solitary Christmas. I didn’t have a tree, didn’t do any shopping or wrapping, didn’t send cards, didn’t overeat, didn’t go to any gathering.

            It’s great to know that I am fine being alone in America.

      I remember that on New Year eve of 2009, when my best friend Pavlina and I did our champagne toast in the Liberty Hotel in Boston, I screamed to her amid the crowd noise: “2009 will be a great year for me, my year to shine, to rise, I can feel it, really! I will become rich and famous!”  

      I had every reason to be that enthusiastic when the clock hit the first hour of 2009.

1. I had just gone through a horrific depressing 2008 as my divorce became real and final.
2. The court allowed me to change my name, both first and last, to Aisling Juanjuan Shen, effective the first day of 2009.
3. My memoir was scheduled to hit bookstores nationwide on July 1st.
4. I had just signed a contract with a New York PR agent to roll out a multi-month campaign to publicize me and my story prior to the book release.  Publicity prospects were flying, national TV shows, radio talks, Glenn Beck, Diane Sawyer, NPR, Opah, etc. everything was a possibility. Book reading and signing tours were being planned.
5. I was in the best shape of my life. My size was down to 00. I was being hit on constantly, something that I never had before.
6. I was having a pathetic but intoxicating fling with a famous pro football player that really got my dream of fame going.
7. I was taking private ball room dancing lesson so that one day I could get on the show “Dancing with the Stars”.

      Time flies and now only a few days are left in the year. I have been a published author for six months. And I just want to say, life hasn’t changed much at all. I still go to work 7am every day, leave in 10 hours and go to the gym. I am still alone most of the time, reading my favorite Chinese books and watching Law and Order in my rental place.

      The fame didn’t come, the wealth didn’t come, I didn’t become the NY best selling author, I didn’t get on Opah or any other famous TV shows. I don’t even know how many copies of the book have been sold.

      I was disappointed for some time. But I got over it, and I learned something important—no matter who you are, you still have to live life day by day. What’s the ultimate purpose of life? I ask that all the time. Is that the next Gucci bag, or is that castle facing a private lake? And after I get all those things, closet after closet of designer clothes and bags, Mercedes-benz convertible, a private beach, how long will the joy last, and what else is there left for me to fight for? Or should I just be happy with the ordinary daily joy I can have? How can I learn to be content?

      No matter what the answer is, I sure have gotten a lot out of the publishing experience. Every time I come home after speaking to a group of audience such as local or national radio shows, or student groups in Wellesley or Harvard, I am always very upbeat, because I learn to be strong from telling my own story.  I receive a lot of feedback and appreciation from me telling my story because it gives inspiration. Whenever I hear words like that, not only I am happy, I am also encouraged to live my life better. Because what I tell in the book is my past, has little to do with my present. Sometimes I get depressed, discouraged, lose my purpose, forget to be strong, get lost in the daily life…and when I hear my own story or rethink my path, I gain strength again, I realize I have achieved a lot, and that alone is enough to get me going, to do better.

      So I don’t have fame, don’t have wealth, don’t dance with the stars, don’t have the pro football player man (controversial, I know), don’t have a mighty supportive family, but I have a published autobiography, I have excellent health, I have beauty, I have self-confidence, I have strength, I like and respect myself, I am picking my stocks well. I am living life, I am enjoying life, and that’s the most important.

            Every time after I hang up the phone with my mother, I just want to throw everything in my office in the air and bang my own head on the table. She is such an unreasonable, stubborn and annoying woman sometimes that at those moments I just wish she doesn’t exist, that there is no such a person called Linyun Feng on the earth.  My life may have been more miserable without a mother, but at least now in my adulthood I can avoid this periodic mental torture, this insurmountable challenge to my patience and virtues.

            This is usually how the conversation unfolds.

            “Ma, did you call my office number?” I get in work and when I see that she called I dial her right away. 

            “Yeah, are you at work? I saw on the news that an American flight almost crashed into the ocean and 40 people are injured…really scary. It’s the holiday in America, I thought you may be traveling, so I called you.”

            “Oh, Ma, I am fine. I am not going anywhere this holiday, I am staying here. This kind of thing happens. No big deal. Why does Chinese news always report bad things happening in America?”

            “Oh, no, they report stuff happening in other places, not just America.”

            So far, the conversation is still peaceful. I feel warmth and being loved because my mother worries about my safety.

            “Oh, Ma, could you ask Dad to take a trip to the bank and find out how I can wire money to you from America?”   

            I had just received my year-end bonus, majority of which will go to my parents so that they can buy a house or condo in a nearby town and move out of the Shen Hamlet, a polluted industrial dump at this point.

            She acknowledges my request and then starts to tell me about the local real estate market. Property prices have been skyrocketing lately, and for a family like us it is really difficult to find a decent property without a hefty price tag.  

            “Oh, Ma, can you not pressure Spring to fork out her share too? Her gift shop hasn’t been open for a year, and right now it’s tough to even make ends meet. Besides, she is a single mother now, and life is not easy for her.”

            “I know. But every one of us knows that eventually everything will go to her. You are not coming back. And if I don’t give her some pressure, how is she going to be careful with money and being frugal?”

            I sigh. “Ma, I don’t think she wants pressure. She’d appreciate some support from her parents instead I think”

            “Don’t talk much about her. How about yourself? It’s going to be another year since your divorce…the new year is coming. And look at you, still single. What are you doing? Are you planning to become a nun?” She questions me in a seemingly joking manner.

            “Who says I am not looking? I am looking every day, just not desperately. You cannot rush this kind of thing. Ma, do you want me to just grab someone from the street?”

            My voice is raised. I want to force her to listen to me. I want to get this idea across her head—that I had enough with my nine-year marriage unsuccessful marriage and this time I will be very careful.

            But she refuses to answer my question. Instead, the usual whining and weeping starts: “Can you imagine our anxiety level as your parents? We are here worrying about you, and thinking how bad it is, that you are still alone at this age. How can we parents be happy?”

            “Well, Ma, just because you are not happy, it doesn’t mean you can transfer your unhappiness to me and add to my own happiness! Do you know sometimes I am jealous of those kids who can get support from their parents instead of complaints?”

            “Those kids…those kids have happy families, stay with their parents, and their parents are happy! What about us…how can you make your parents feel like such failures?”

            “Ma, do I live for you or for myself? Do I owe you my whole life?” I am yelling to the phone.

            “Stop talking now.”      

            “Yeah, stop, I don’t want to talk any more.” So I hanged up the phone. And I am puffing and huffing. I am so angry at this point that my mind is like a vacuum, like a blur. I try to read my morning emails but I cannot concentrate at all.

            It’s a one-way street between me and my mother. The purpose of my existence is to make her happy by improving her life quality, by giving her money to get a better place to live, which I am happy to do, by marrying myself to a man as soon as possible so that she feels I have completed my duty and she can feel good in front of every villager or acquaintance. Every time when I question her ultimate motives, she gets offended, she weeps and cries, because of course she wants to see us happy, she says, and in her opinion happiness means lots of money, a husband and a child. So no matter how explosively angry I get, no matter how distraught she makes me and my sister feel, she will continue torturing us until she sees what she wants to see. Does she really love me? My mother. I ask myself this question every day but I still haven’t gotten my answer.

            Christmas is two days away, and I don’t feel any family joy at all. In fact, at this moment I wish I were an orphan.

   Thanks to the generous bidder of my painting “Extraordinary Time” at the We Are Boston gala on Oct 2nd at the Convention Center. You gave me a chance to donate a piece of my work for a good cause. We Are Boston is a non-profit group founded by Mayor Menino and dedicated to help the immigrants in Boston and promote diversity.  I have made the city my home almost two years ago and I am enjoy everything what the city offers.  Because of work from groups such as We Are Boston, I don’t feel like an outsider in Boston. I feel I belong here since the minute I landed. Thanks for making Boston a wonderful place. I understand you may not wish to be identified. But if you would like to share your thoughts with me please don’t hesitate to drop me a line. I’d love to know where the painting’s new home is.

I am 5’1 and weigh 118lbs. I go to gym almost every day. I do all kinds of exercises, weights, stability, boxing, running, stairs, circular training, squash etc. anything that gets me sweat. I shop at Bebe and my size is XS. I wish I am 10lbsless but I was proud of my six-packs.

In summary, I didn’t feel perfect but good. But that was all before I went back to China. I arrived in China as a confident American woman, but when I left I felt like an old and ugly Chinese elephant.

The first three days in the Grant Hyatt in Beijing was okay because I didn’t have time to look around, or maybe because when I did see people, most guests in the hotel are foreigners. Before the flight to Shanghai, I went shopping, and when I saw all the 100lbs Chinese women walking in front of me, I started to think—oh my I am almost 20 lbs heavier than them, I wonder if they think I am fat?

The minute I arrived our village home, my mother looked at me and said: “hmm, you are not thin any more.” My heart thumped once. So indeed, I am not thin.

I didn’t bring many clothes, so my mother picked out a bunch of my sister’s. I couldn’t fit in most of them. Spring is smaller. Finally I picked a loose top. I was embarrassed and a bit depressed. Okay, I don’t think I am a XS at all, it’s clear—I am a medium. Later Spring told me she was a medium by the standard in the town. Okay, so I am a large now.

 Later I was playing with my nephew Tiantian. I was wearing a skirt. He looked at my bare leg and said: “auntie, why is your leg so big?” My mother echoed him, “yeah, auntie’s leg is really big, isn’t it?” Tiantian seemed to be encouraged, and smiled to me, “auntie, you are fat like a piggie!” I almost fainted. So I am an XL now.

The night before the flight back to the States, I checked in Westin Shanghai. A week’s village life had made me feel like ten years older, dirty, heavy and unattractive. My mother and I weighed ourselves on the scale in the bathroom. Geez, I weighed 122lbs now. Then I looked at myself in the mirror, and I started to see flabby skins, fat belly, muffin top etc. Oh God, I realized that the mirrors in Westin are much more accurate than the one at my US home—they showed the real me. I was devastated, and disgusted of myself. How did I let myself get to this point.

So I didn’t touch any airline food on the return flight. From now on no more bread, no more muffins, no more alcohol, no more sugar, no salad dressing, no snacks.

My best friend Pavlina called me, “sweetie I cannot wait to catch up with you. Let’s have dinner tomorrow!” I mumbled and stumbled, “huh…I am skipping dinner now.” “What? Why?” “I am fat, I am extra large, I have more wrinkles, fat belly, my mother told me.”

“Oh my God, I have never seen any one in better shape than you. Your belly is flatter than a pancake. They brainwashed you in China.”

I look at myself in the mirror. Am I fat or thin? I am really confused. I’d better believe my mother, she loves me and that’s why she doesn’t lie, Pavlina loves me too and that’s why she wants me to feel better. I’d better stick to my diet. End.

1.  The river in the hamlet that was previously clogged with garbage and industrial waste has water now, and clean water.

2.  Several garbage disposal cement boxes in the hamlet. Previously people throw rubbish everywhere they want. 

3.  Brand-new highway right next to the hamlet but for tractor usage only now.

4. Public bus from Shen Hamlet to Zhenze, runs every 15 minutes. People previously biked or walked.

5. Chemical factory a few yards from our house, my father walking away with a pesticider on his back.

6. Pay per view on satelliet TV in every household.

7. Migrant workers from inner China are renting in the hamlet.

8. Newly renovated and more modern two-story houses.

9. Fatter people. Residents in Zhenze have rounder mid-sections and puffier faces.

10. A brand-new, brightly lit, two-story KFC in town.

11. Free buses to take people to the biggest supermarket in the county, always very crowded just because it is free.

12. A Li Ning store, an Anta store, a Jordan store and a Kappa store sit in a row in the center of the town.

13. Numerous hair and beauty salons in town. Young people have the weirdest hair styles and colors.