Possessions With a Past (#30)

When your new boyfriend finds stuff you got from your old boyfriends...
When your new boyfriend finds stuff you got from your old boyfriends…

I had many boyfriends before I met my Chinese-American boyfriend Andy. It’s not a secret, especially not to Andy. We’d been friends for a year before we dated, and dance partners for six months before we kissed. At practice, he’d listen to me moan about my then-relationship’s death spiral into misery. He saw multiple exes on the dance floor as well. None of it seemed to bother him. Or so I thought. Continue reading Possessions With a Past (#30)

The American Film Market (#29)

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Behind the Scenes at the American Film Market

Have you ever wondered how Hollywood movies wind up in Malaysia? The legitimate 10% that aren’t pirated, I mean. Well, hang onto your DVDS, I’m about to pull back the curtain. Continue reading The American Film Market (#29)

Bitter Tea (#28)

The Chinese-American finance brews up something to make the white girl feel better.
The Chinese-American fiancé brews up something to make the white girl feel better.

Not long after my Chinese-American fiancé proposed, I caught a nasty cold. I am sure it had nothing to do with an engagement made stressful by stubborn Chinese parents. Continue reading Bitter Tea (#28)

Losing No Religion (#27)

IMG_3275The reaction of my Chinese-American fiancé’s parents to our wedding plans was muted. Literally. Because Andy turned off his phone. Continue reading Losing No Religion (#27)

Operation End Run (#26)

Lake Nowhere, NH
Lake Nowhere, New Hampshire, in autumn.

My Chinese-American boyfriend and I had been engaged 12 hours. His mother had already booked a church in Hawaii – never mind that I wanted to get married in New Hampshire. Sunny, however, refused to hear any plans that ran counter to hers.

Time for drastic measures. Continue reading Operation End Run (#26)

Going Too Far (#25)

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Which wedding venue will win?

It was my engagement weekend at a very ritzy hotel in South Pasadena with my Chinese-American fiancé. My white family was several time zones ahead on the East Coast. Andy’s parents live in Hawaii. Andy’s parents were the first to find out we were getting married.

And that’s where I made my first tactical error. Continue reading Going Too Far (#25)

Future Chinese Father-in-Law Fires Back (#24)

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The Chinese preference for boys is no jest.

The future Mr. and Mrs. Ashbough-Wong went off to have dinner at their super fancy hotel and celebrate their engagement with champagne. They spent the rest of their weekend sleeping, getting massages, and lounging by the pool.  They stared into each other’s eyes, cocooned in unassailable romantic mush.

Ha.  I wish.   Continue reading Future Chinese Father-in-Law Fires Back (#24)

Opening Salvo (#23)

The First Surname Skirmish
The First Surname Skirmish

My Chinese-American boyfriend had just proposed. I threw my arms around Andy, kissed him, and marveled at the fact that I was no longer terrified.

I looked at the ring – and told Andy how beautiful it was. For a full minute. At which point he reminded me that I had not, in fact, actually answered the question “Will you marry me?” Continue reading Opening Salvo (#23)

Skydiving (#22)

Little box 'o terror.
Little box o’ terror.

A piece of golden stationery and a Honda Civic that smelled of cat pee led me to the door of a room in a fancy hotel. I pushed the door open. Andy, my Chinese-American boyfriend, stood in the center of the room, holding a rose. My nervous eyes jumped around the room. Huge bed, already turned down, decorated by a box of See’s truffles. The man knew me well. (One dinner mint on a pillow isn’t even an appetizer!)  The room was bigger than my apartment. The furniture was mahogany. The floors were marble.

Thankfully, there was no sign of a square jewelry box. Continue reading Skydiving (#22)

A Big Gold Flag (#21)

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I was a fan of football, not marriage (Post #6). After I returned home from dancing with my Chinese-American boyfriend Andy on a Thursday night, I found a fancy golden envelope inside my dance bag. (All dance nerds have a bag, complete with Cuban heels and a wire brush.) My heart rate shot up. My palms grew sweaty, my vision tunneled, and I couldn’t breathe. You know, basic panic attack. Continue reading A Big Gold Flag (#21)