A week or so ago, the air conditioner in my bedroom decided to stop working during what may have been some of the hottest days I’ve ever had to endure without a functioning air conditioner. Even when I tried to sleep in the sweltering heat, however, I, oddly enough, continued to insist on covering my belly with a corner of my blanket. Why? When I was little, my parents (at least, I think it was my parents– they seem to deny it) told me that if I didn’t, I would get diarrhea the next day. Of course, I know that this isn’t true, but it seems that I’m now unable to sleep without covering my abdomen.
When I was about 5 or 6 years old, I loved to eat fish. That is, until one day when I was eating fish soup and became convinced that I had swallowed a fish bone and that it had lodged itself in my throat. As my young self was panicking about this perceived emergency, my less-than-comforting father decided to relate a story about how, if I couldn’t manage to dislodge the fish bone, that my neck would turn green. He then gave me a hard candy and instructed me to swallow it whole. To this day, I have trouble eating fish.
Ever since I graduated from high school, and it became clear that I had stopped growing, my mother has expressed great disappointment with my height. She and my father are relatively tall, at ~5’7″ and ~5’9″ respectively, especially for us generally-diminutive Asians. She just can’t seem to figure out how such tall parents could have produced a daughter who is merely 5’5″. She has instructed me to dangle a ball from the ceiling, and to reach for it daily. She insists that this will make me taller, closed growth plates be damned.
Disclaimer: Let me just make it clear that I love my parents, and that most of what I’ve said above has been reconstructed from old, vague, and probably entirely inaccurate memories. I mean only to poke fun at myself and at them in an endearing fashion.