Lynne Guey

Thanks, for birthday cake: Chapter 2

When my sister Wendy turned 6, she received two unexpected pieces of news. The first was that she would no longer have her own birthday cake. This was heartbreaking, because it meant she’d have to share.  As if it weren’t enough that there were already a million other people born on September 29, stealing her spotlight on her special day, she couldn’t avoid this cake-stealer. That’s because it would be living next door, wailing at all hours of the night and needing its ass wiped every few hours. That delightful creature would be her little sister- me, born exactly six years after her first candle was lit.

The second thing Wendy learned was that her super sweet 6withouttheteen birthday bash at Rapids Water Park would be cancelled, or at least postponed until our Mother could recuperate from my birth. This was almost definitely the more devastating of the headlines, for 6 is one of those years when birthday parties are obligatory markers of social standing within the kindergarten hierarchy. Not having a birthday party was like coloring outside the lines - sacrilegious and ugly. Yup, her life was effectively ruined. 

So at the ripe age of 6, my sister didn’t exactly welcome my arrival with a bed of roses. Though over the course of the next ten years, we did share many a bed, igniting some violent blanket tug-of-wars.  I once punched her in the middle of the night (I was dreaming okay!) and she slapped me in return. This is the truest reflection of our relationship- mutual abuse, no holds barred.

I write as if we’re two dueling dragons, but we breathe friendly puffs of air, not deadly balls of fire. She can beat me at any game involving mental acuity (aka brains), but I compensate with a…zest for food? We’re friends. Most of all, she keeps it real, never indulging me with things that appease. And yet when she criticizes, she does so with such sophistication and good humor that you forget she’s actually pointing out your wrongs. 

Last week, she and I celebrated our birthdays together, which was nothing special of course because we’ve been having joint parties since my diaper-wearing days. Pretty clear who got the better end of the deal there…partying with 5 year olds is always the best!

We are now 22 and 28.. This year’s party got rockin’ at Wendy’s apartment in Cambridge with me, our Mom, Wendy, her husband John, and their 3-week old baby boy.  As we sat on the anniversaries of our existence with a simple home-cooked dinner, the thought of our passing age barely crossed my mind. Baby Christopher sang the birthday tune with his wails, necessitating several pauses for diaper-changing.  This was a different celebration indeed.

For 22 years, I’ve relished in all the glory of my birthday by devouring cake and ripping open gifts. But there’s something about new existence that feeds the appetite of your own. Gluttonous craving for your cake subsides (and I’m not just saying that because we opted for pie this year).  

The birth of my beautiful baby nephew has given me a small taste of what it must have felt like for Wendy when I came into the picture 22 years ago. I not only took her cake, I took her birthday party, I took her clothes, I took the very essence of her identity and blended it into my own. And since the age of six, she’s graciously shared, asking for nothing more than an occasional massage in return. :)

Wendy is my sister by birth, soul sister by choice.  She’s sparked my envious interest in the many activities she excelled in, yet continuously encouraged me to be my own person and follow my bliss.  I am grateful for her wisdom. Most of all I am grateful for who she is: living proof of selfless living. 22 years ago, I joined her at the table for cake. I devoured my share with all its extra toppings- frothy whipped cream with a cherry on top and dribbling chocolate sauce on the side. She graciously provided my selfish indulgence and now my appetite for life is well-fed. 

It’s time for me to make room at the table for baby Christopher, yet another September baby who will be digging into life’s cake. My slice of cake will heretofore be smaller but that’s okay.  With more people at the table, we will still manage to have our cake, eat it, and yes, perhaps even enjoy the deliciousness of life more too.

Thanks, Across Cultures: Chapter 1

I remember the day I met Jacek Holzwieser. He thought I was someone else, I thought he was just another ignorant European boy. 

It’s funny how our first impressions often veer so far from the truth. In the case of Jacek’s and my meeting on that sunny Singapore afternoon, we instinctively gravitated toward our respective cultural stereotypes. As I greeted this blonde-haired blue-eyed dazzler, he interrupted my proper introduction, overconfidently stating, “We’ve met already. At the beach, remember?” Well, as we later came to discover, that beach meeting never took place…not with me, at least. That was another Asian girl. To his defense, she was tan and Taiwanese. So it wasn’t too far of a stretch…

Flash forward 2 years. Captain (my adoring nickname for Jacek) is married to a beautiful Mexican-American woman named Stephanie. They live in Austria and he works for a renowned bank. I was lucky enough to attend Jacek and Stephanie’s wedding in the cozy Polish town of Zakopane. Nestled in the mountains and adorned with wooden log cabins, the picturesque tourist haven is recommended as a place of healing for people with lung discomfort or anxiety. I could see why; the air of calm instantly pervaded my lungs with a fresh sense of being!

As I inhaled the cool air - remarkably cool at 40 degree temperatures for September - I reveled in the awe-inspiring nature of this event. Two years before, I barely knew the groom, merely thinking he was a sleaze who had a lot to learn about culture outside his Austrian bubble. 

I realize now that I was the one who learned.

The wedding was a truly international affair. People of Polish, Austrian, Mexican, American, and Asian descent attended. The ceremony and reception were translated into four languages: German, Polish, Spanish, and English. The only thing that beat the diversity was the food. Traditional Polish weddings proceed in a very simple fashion: food, toasts, dancing, food, dancing, food, dancing, food…drinks are present at all times. Get me to more Polish weddings! 

The fanfare was one thing. But alas, there is more significance to this story. Let’s return to the groom’s pre-marital days. What began as an annoyance toward this impish character for misconstruing my identity, of course, only grew into an affection of sorts. An affection that could only be reserved for the big brother I never had. We traveled together, ate together, sat under the stars together, talked about life together. We became best friends. I arrived in Singapore so young and naive, expecting to diligently attend to my studies. I left having barely touched my books, yet smarter. I was still young and naive, but a lot more open to the world and willing to defy arbitrary rules. Never would I dare to freeload off the subway in America, but in disciplinary “we cane people for chewing gum on the streets” Singapore, that’s exactly what I did. Captain and I would run through the handicap entrance gates on one ticket. We would go on nightlong food escapades, sampling copious amounts of Singapore goodies for free, and getting full off them. Any previous inhibitions I held about my weight were digested as I swallowed mooncake #I-don’t-want-to-know. I let go, for I realized that life just wasn’t as tasty if you were constantly worrying about your sample intake at the FREE buffet of life. And though I returned a bit heavier, I would never trade those extra pounds for what I ultimately learned from Captain: how to be alive.

Since I’m now on this mission to cultivate more gratitude, I thought I would thank Jacek and Stephanie for their most recent hospitality in Austria. On second thought, I owe them a lot more than a housewarming gift. Their relationship, which crosses geographic, cultural, and language boundaries, is a perfect example of living bravely in today’s modern world. She left her close-knit family in California behind for love. He wrestles with the possibility of eventually moving to America, despite the great job he enjoys now. They face challenges, sometimes with even the most fundamental of communication. But they love on. In a world where people get divorced as quickly as they can find fault with each other’s words, Jacek and Stephanie’s persistence toward achieving the highest form of love and trust in the institution of marriage is inspiring. Thank you.

Two years ago, Jacek taught me how to love life. Now, through their own example, he and Stephanie will teach others how to love one another, against the odds.

Thank you.