From yesterday

Right now I'm sitting in my grandparents' living room. My mother and my grandmother are finishing lunch at the table in the next room. My grandfather is here with me in what looks like a food coma, his eyes on the television. He points at the TV and looks at me. "News," he says.

It's really hot.

The air is thick. There is no breeze coming in from outside. My skin is sticky. The couch I'm sitting on is leather, so my greasy sunblocked legs are making a slidey mess underneath me. Every several seconds I reach up to wipe away the sweat-and-sunblock mixture on my upper lip.

Oop. My grandfather is asleep now. On TV, the "news" is showing a bunch of beer-bellied white guys with backwards baseball caps compete in a hot dog eating contest. One of them is now holding a trophy high in the air. News.

My mother and my grandmother are talking in the next room. In Chinese, my mother says to my grandmother, "Ming Ming's kid is very cute." Ming Ming is the family nickname for my cousin, Yong Ming. She is one of the most beautiful creatures I have ever seen. Pearl-skinned and petite with gigantic eyes, she is a Chinese fairy if I have ever seen one. She and her husband, who is actually one of THE friendliest people I have met on any continent, just had their first child about two years ago: a son. I haven't met the little one yet, but I've seen pictures and he is ADORABLE. My mom has said to me, "He is so cute. He is always looking around. He eats by himself!" (A classic brag. "He eats by himself. He doesn't need anyone. The ladies love him but he doesn't care.")

My grandmother doesn't hear her. "Ming Ming's kid is very CUTE," my mother repeats, snapping her chopsticks in my grandmother's direction to get her attention.

Sometimes, I forget I'm wearing contact lenses and I reach up to my face to push my glasses up on my nose. Is that kind of like a phantom limb?