Vaccine Journey: Part 2

Because this time, it was planned. This time, I was prepared. I wasn’t as emotionally overwhelmed.

For whatever reason, they called me and asked to change my appointment time from 3 pm to 9 am. Fine, I said. So off I went, convincing Chris to drive me. In fact, he expected that he would do so since it was a hassle for me last time—to find parking and do that whole thing. So at 8:45 am, he drove me to San Francisco General, dropped me off at the welcome circle. I hopped out and got into the appointment line. Everything was repeating as if I was there the first time. Someone would stop me at the line. “Are you here for…?”

“Yes, a vaccine,” I say and hold up my vaccine card.

They would look at the date and nod. Then they stuck a sticker on me that essentially said registered. They placed on the sleeve.

“Do I go?” I say motioning to the doors. I actually have never been inside the hospital beyond the ER and that first time. I see so many people walk in—maybe appointments for other things, maybe staff for other things. This is the local public hospital and I wonder how much funding they get. Probably not much.

They tell me to wait. Finally the line is filling up. Five, six or seven people now. I am first. Then they say, “Follow me.”

She holds this paper spinning windmill—the kind you might see for a Chinese tour or a child playing in the yard. Right at the end lobby, she motions ahead to another person. “Follow her.” So we follow and arrive at a set of elevators.

I understand immediately that the elevator can only hold four. At least for safety reasons. We all stand in the corner. There’s a couple that huddles in a corner, treating like they are one person. Fine.

We arrive to the fourth floor and it’s back again in the row. The nurse asks me for my card and I hold it out. “You got it laminated,” she says.

“No,” I say. “it’s just a plastic cover.”

“How did you get that?” she marvels.

I am a little surprised, but not really. I wonder if she’s saying that because she just wants to talk to people, wants to have small talk again. I wonder myself if I want small talk. I tell her that I have a lot of conference badges and this is just one of them. I know that Office Depot and Staples are offering free lamination.

And soon, I arrive at another registration. “My second,” I say.

They send me to another station, then another station. I remember that just three weeks ago, I was frantically looking down at my work phone and checking the time, wondering if I would make it back in time. It’s barely 9:12 am now and it didn’t take much time at all from when I arrived to now. Soon, I am sent to a station. This time, I am curious. I am waiting and wondering why I am waiting. Maybe paperwork? Maybe the nurse needs to check something. Finally, I am sent to sit.
The nurse has a needle ready. I have taken off my jacket and have my sleeve ready. “Non-dominant arm?” I say.

She nods. A quick sharp jab and it’s over.

I do the fifteen minute observation. I wonder if I should take the juice offered, but I don’t because it’s embarrassing. I do the windmill, but not much because I don’t see anybody else doing it. And soon, the time passes. I take selfies. Trying not to be rude and that person breaking HIPAA. Then I am done. I stand in front of the selfie station and take photos of myself, because well, because I should. But there isn’t many people here, taking photos. It’s all serious. I don’t know how people are feeling. Smiles? Doing their civic duty? It’s what I should do.

And I went outside and went…to work virtually. I had a mild headache that afternoon, but didn’t know whether I could attribute to the vaccine (because I had a similar headache the day before) or to the annoying work.

I took the next day off. A sick day. But I was fine. Maybe slow. Maybe more pain due to cramps. But I felt like myself. And felt like I was stronger. And the world was returning to normal, maybe?

Being Adult Children

When I was young, I always consider my mom and dad to be the same person. Everything that one knew, the other knew too. I knew obviously that they were different people and had different personalities—my mom, who emigrated later in life, was more fobby and always said what was on her mind. My dad, emigrated barely out of his teens, was Americanized and worked at a very corporate job, embodied more quiet, introspective, highly educated view of the world. And yet, they symbolized the typical annoying parents as a teenager. Like…just get out of my way!

Of course, when I entered my mid-twenties, it felt like things started to shift. That they were individuals. And perhaps by that point, they trusted that I was an independent person, full of my thoughts and feelings. Well, at least, some of the time. As my grandparents grew older, sicker, and passed, my relationship with them evolved. And my mom got sick, it became something else: I had to take the parental role.

Well, not in the full caregiver capacity yet. At the beginning of the pandemic, I was noticeably distressed. They were both retired, but they moaned about not being able to do things. My grandmother, the last of her generation in my family, had just passed in December 2019 and that opened the door to freedom. But of course, the pandemic arrived and now they were trapped. Of course, cruises, their usual choice of freedom, were just not open. But regardless, after my frantic doomscrolling of Twitter and Facebook, I admonished them for going to the Chinatown grocery stories—a fear I realize that was unwarranted, thinking that small stores were not as good in containing virus and bleeding into the whole idea that those places were unclean, unsanitary. Instead, I said delivery! I referenced the fact that big chain stores had early opening hours—go there, you’ll qualify because you’re over 65. Or have it delivered! I was exhausted and sent them an episode from the Daily about the horrors from Italy.

What thoughts I had.

Now it’s just tech support from afar. They have both been completely vaccinated. But the awareness of anti-asian hate has risen. The idea that someone could walk around and could be pushed is daunting. I don’t like to hand hold people through things. But for them, maybe I would? Should I? I don’t know.

Vaccine Journey: Part 1

Later, people said that it was like:

  • A Black Friday deal
  • Brunch in San Francisco, pre-pandemic
  • That’s what it was like. But for me, it was like there was a whisper, a secret announcement that I heard and I rushed to get my first dose on Thursday afternoon.

    It started like this:
    Chris saw a post on Buy Nothing about available vaccines, now available to people anyone 16+, in specific zip codes. One of which was ours. He told our group chat to go. “NOW,” he said.
    He does this often. For news. For deals. I know that most people in the chat often ignore his updates, but being the one closest to him, I felt compelled to listen. You want to be the one that always supports him.
    But of course I was hesitant. I had a meeting at 3 pm. I was in the middle of listening in on a zoom call although not an active participant at all. It was 1:50 pm. Then he message me directly. “GO!” he said.
    I protested. But I had a meeting in an hour that I couldn’t miss because I was leading it. You can get it done within an hour. They said that it won’t take that much time.
    And with that, I gathered all my things, random mail with proof of residency, and drove to San Francisco General.
    I had been there once when I fell after riding into the muni tracks and hit my head. It was a very expensive emergency room visit, because it resulted in nothing and just comfort (?) that I was going to die in my sleep with a hematoma. During that period, Chris lived down the street, so I knew the area well.
    But that Thursday, as I was driving toward the hospital, I realized that I had no idea where to go. Which building? Was it outside? Where do I park? I was having all these thoughts as well as the anxiety of not returning in time.
    I had not driven myself in that area so I wasn’t familiar with anything. I saw signs for the testing, but not for vaccines. Where was I supposed to go? It was past 2 pm. I made some stupid 3-point turn at a stop sign because I didn’t turn far away enough and then saw the vaccine sign. I turned into the driveway, realizing quickly that it was only dropoff. No parking there! So I drove out and quickly thought about where to park. Not in the garage. $3! Maybe on the street. But it’s only reserved for covid sheriff, what’s that! So I drove up to Kansas and fortunately found something on the corner. I jogged all the way to the hospital, trying not to look like I was frantic. I turned toward where I saw the vaccine sign and asked, “is this for the walk ins?”
    She said, “Follow the signs up.”
    I did and found the line. A short one, well-spaced of six people. And two were just leaving. Chris was right. It was short. I could get a vaccine and I peered inside…maybe that was it!
    I was worried. It was now 2:18 pm. Will I get in? Some guy asked about my id. I showed him and also showed my mail. He probably only needed my zip code but I was tired of speaking and worried. I was quickly registered and checked in. I rocked on my heels as another guy checked my information already in the system and gave me a post-it that said 4e. “Where do I go?” I asked.
    He pointed to the right as I was supposed to have known. I went and there was another short line. Another guy holding up a flower sign that twirled. This was where I had asked for directions earlier. It was happening. The vaccines are just inside. Then he said, “You three come with me.”
    We followed him in well-spaced lines and I realized what was inside was registration peoples for various offices. I was suddenly overwhelmed. I had not been inside a hospital for over a year or any clinic really. It was really happening. These people, everything that happened in this building was about saving people, saving people’s lives, from dying.
    And now, they were keeping people living. I thought, how can anyone not start tearing up.
    A guy pressed the elevator and the doors opened. “4th floor,” he said as we entered.
    Someone pressed the button and the three us headed to the corners of the elevator. I had not ridden in an elevator since I was at work in March 2020.
    We got out of the elevator and there was another line. There were markers on the floor and toward the front, nurses were moving tray trolleys filling out a paper screener. I craned my neck to see how long it would take. 2:28 pm. Maybe I could make it?
    People moved fast and I was overwhelmed emotionally again. We are here, saving each other. Finally. Then it was my turn.
    It was this stunning moment. Of emotion. Of having to answer such benign questions from a stranger. I never talked to strangers anymore really. She asked me if I was Chinese. I was surprised but I answered in the affirmative, not denying my heritage. Do you speak Chinese, she asked. I was surprised by that question, but I knew what she was asking and I simply said, I prefer English. I asked whether the fact that when I gave blood, sometimes I had to stop because my blood pressure was too low and my arm would get bruised. No, I don’t have anemia. No, I don’t faint.
    And soon, it was done. I was soon sent to another registration person who said that it was going to be Pfizer. Then I was sent to another person who gave me basic information about the vaccine. What language? she asked. English, I said.
    Then I was sent down a roped line to the back and soon directed to #3 or was it #5. it was an odd number. At this point, I knew that I couldn’t make it. The person said that I wouldn’t be able to leave until after the waiting period which would end at 3:00 pm. I sent a message to the group apologizing and asking whether we could meet later. Push it by 30 minutes or an hour. And I sat down and I rolled my sleeve. My sleeve wasn’t high enough so I had to hold it while she administered the shot and I turned my head away. Maybe I was supposed to cry now, but I didn’t want to be kicked out saying that I wasn’t ready.
    Also at that point, I had my period and you know how it goes. I was feeling uncomfortable and all that great stuff.
    I felt a small pinch. “Does it hurt?” she asked.
    It only hurt with the shot, but nothing now. That was the answer that she wanted to hear. I got up and headed to the waiting room area. I looked in an empty room and asked whether I was supposed to take a seat. She pointed me to another room. And we sat there silently. I looked down at my phone. my face covered with double mask. Did everybody know that I was being cautious and wearing double masks? I messaged and apologized profusely. My work isn’t a life or death or situation. So it was fine. It’s totally fine. Shortly before 3 pm, someone said that it was okay to go and I got up, gathering my things, fumbling for my keys.
    A paper floated to the ground. A nurse looked at me and she chuckled. “Oh!” she said, laughing..
    “I know, I don’t want to lose that,” I said, picking up my vaccine card.
    Then I went to the elevator, turned down an elevator that was barely full. Went down and down, back into the world, the same, but so so so very different.

    Documenting what I cooked and baked last year

    I had always wanted to actually cook through a cookbook and spurred by cookbook club, I did it not once, but twice this year.

    Spurred on by the fact that I actually had to eat meals at home (we don’t believe that dining out whether indoor or outdoor is a good thing), I felt compelled to cook. Not to mention, it was always very stress-relieving. I look back and wonder…what meal could I create when I do invite people over? If I had a restaurant, what would it be? What would I bring to potlucks now, when it’s safe?

    Here’s the ones that I remember:

  • Korean oxtail soup or Kkori Gomtang (done many many times whenever we found oxtail at a good price)
  • Yellow two-layer birthday cake with white cream cheese frosting
  • Cheddar biscuits
  • Chocolate chip cookies (made dough as gifts and for ourselves, realizing that it’s quite easy with a stand mixer!
  • Fried rice (multiple times)
  • Grilled onigri (as shown)
  • Charred shishito peppers (as shown, best discovery this year!)
  • (Attempted) tamago (as shown)
  • Plum torte
  • Miso-marinated black cod
  • Milk bread
  • Mochi—plain, jam filled, toasted
  • Ozoni soup
  • Sourdough bread (many times for ourselves and as gifts)
  • Chocolate bread like at Cheesecake Factory
  • Raisin bread
  • Dutch baby—mostly sweet versions with apples and a savory version with greens and meat
  • Chili, both meat and meatless versions
  • Pasta of various forms with homemade spicy and non-spicy sauce
  • Potato hash with shishito peppers
  • Green bean chili bacon soup
  • Pear and apple galette
  • Bread pudding
  • Foccacia
  • Banana bread
  • Skillet cornbread
  • Dumplings. The one that I made it with anise, it wasn’t great. Better to stick with the tradditional pork and green onion
  • Khao Man Gai or Hainese Chicken, variations on cooking technique
  • Korean braised oxtail or Kkorijjim
  • Ramen with housemade shoyu eggs in shoyu broth
  • Korean fried chicken with fried basil
  • Tempura. Butternut squash. Mushrooms.
  • Japanese chicken and rice claypot
  • Japanese porridge with butternut squash
  • Butternut squash soup
  • Housemade chai
  • Many smoothies. Mostly banana, berries, orange, yogurt, and whatever milk product we have on hand
  • Sour cream and chive dumplings soup
  • Barley and orange salad with pistachios
  • Yakisoba with chicken
  • Bruschetta
  • Sourdough crumpets
  • Sourdough crackers
  • Zucchini bread
  • Mashed potatoes
  • Potato salad
  • Chicken tikka masala
  • Roast chicken
  • Like it was yesterday

    Almost a month ago, Chris and I were verbally harassed with anti-asian slurs by a white man at a local grocery store.

    Of course, people can ask: what did you do to provoke him? why didn’t you call the police? why didn’t you fight back? why did you run away? why didn’t you say something? why didn’t call someone to help you?

    There’s no reason to answer any of them. Because when you’re enduring it, when you’re the victim, there’s nothing you can do. But everyone else…will they say anything?

    Four Letter Words

    I had always hated these words used to describe me—”nice” and then later in life, not in the lustful way “cute”. It was a way to both infantilize and ultimately minimize who I was. Like there were no other words to describe me as the person that I am.

    In the last few years, I have been questioning the foundation of how I became the person that I am today. How did my Americaness and Asianess play into that identity? How did the (unknown???) slow childhood development play into it? And perhaps all the coddling, all the anxiety from my parents that I wasn’t learning…how did that have an influence?

    Maybe I am seeking just an answer. Min Jin Lee’s piece on speaking had been provocative for so long.

    In school, I could envision myself giving the presentation. Like the time in eighth grade giving a English presentation about my Chinese background, I imagined myself standing in front of class telling them about the stories that I knew and highlighting them through a book that we read. I saw myself as a performer—radical, funny, entertaining. But when it came time, my heart beated fast and I shuffled to the front of the class, at the time in a trailer on the side of the middle school campus. My voice could barely increase above the volume of a whisper and I am not even sure if I said what I wanted to say.

    That is to say, I internally craved the spotlight. But never was able to execute perfectly with my external self.

    Of course, over time, I learned how to speak. Yes, perhaps practicing and honing through online conversations so that my thoughts actually made sense through typed word. I often joked about it in my early twenties—”I wouldn’t exist if the internet didn’t exist!” referencing how I spent hours talking to people online letting my identity form by the six to ten chat boxes that would occur everyday from waking to sleep. And that’s before a smart phone! For whatever reason, whether it’s that internalized fear, I gravitated toward jobs that required public speaking. I could tell everyone better than they did! I would think. But it rarely was ever true.

    What is it to be someone whose words are unheard? What about being someone who wants the words to be heard? I may draft over and over again, rehearse and rehearse until the words are burnt into my brain. But I can only look at stare at someone’s eyes, now imaginary through the camera lens of my computer, and hope that I make a connection.

    Year 2020

    2020 was…as I wrote on my retrospective thing…a year of let’s not do that again. Honestly, it wasn’t a complete dump fire for me. Rather, it was through a lot of ups and downs, especially as I craved more quiet moments. And the environment that allowed Chris to recover. Somewhat.

    There were the years 2005, 2006, 2007, 2008, 2009, 2010, 2011, 2012, 2013, 2014, 2015, 2016, 2017, 2018, 2019.

    May 2021 be better. For everyone. But the writing stuff, that it stays on the same trajectory of growth and success.

    Continue reading

    2020: Dear Jenn of the Future and Past

    Now I haven’t done this for so long, but with a turn toward introspection due to this year, I am returning to this prompt.

    In 2010, I wrote of clear idealism. In 2011, I wrote of ways to move on.

    Future Self. Imagine yourself five years from now. What advice would you give your current self for the year ahead? (Bonus: Write a note to yourself 10 years ago. What would you tell your younger self?)


    Dear Jenn of 2025,

    Don’t forget about writing. Or at least, don’t forget about how creativity drives your inner core. There was this movie that was released on Disney+ Soul, which you probably forgot because it was forgettable, but there was this pivotal question in it—what is your spark? Obviously it’s not quite writing. But it’s the desire to connect with others through creation, because you want people to think differently. That is the goal and your way of doing that is through creation.

    Remember all the times that you were moody and then you suddenly created? Those moments changed everything. I have been trying to find that quote that I heard in a TV show or movie. The one where creators must create or else they create chaos or destroy. I am one of those. You’re one of those. Your pent-up energy doesn’t get released in any other way. If you keep it trapped, then it builds up in pressure, stretching in bad decisions and surrounding yourselves with bad influences.

    So remember, always create. To create wonder. To make sure that others don’t feel alone. To let go of your steam. So go ahead, create the stories. Create the videos whether it’s a movie, shorts, or tik tok like things. Create the podcast. Create the images. Create the food. Or whatever they do to entertain the future. Create the experiences.


    Dear Jenn of 2010,

    Chris is a rock and accepts you as you are. Don’t forget it.

    2020: Everything’s OK

    What was the best moment that could serve as proof that everything is going to be alright? And how will you incorporate that discovery into the year ahead?

    In 2019, it was when I left my job and when Chris comforted me that we are ok. In 2018, it was realizing my own qualities. In 2017, it was giving advice in hopes of inspiring others. In 2016, it was the moment that when immersed in the election aftermath that anything could change. In 2015, it was the moment when I realized that I could finish Ice Cream Travel Guide. In 2014, it was when I wrote a well-crafted piece (that I read to a live audience 11 months later). In 2013, it was when light shone in the face of despair. In 2012, it was when I stood up for myself. In 2011, it was a moment of clarity, sincere belief and friendship. In 2010, it was an action of commitment.

    I would like to say that in this dump fire of a year that it was the moment that Trump was kicked out of the office and that Biden was elected! But still, that’s all about stuff so external to me. As privileged as I am, I realize that there were many things that during the last four years, they didn’t affect me so personally. Despite not being white, I still have escaped the worst. Plus the fact that so much of my family is safe due to our jobs and huge safety nets. Also the vaccines. But I personally have so many mixed feelings due to what I love about this time, yet craving the missing moments that I once enjoyed.

    So the real thing that everything is ok…is actually job-related. It wasn’t even about writing, because I had already decided to have a beginner set there.

    In the fall, I received some feedback at work that…the core thing about my job wasn’t good enough. It was simply devastating because I had believed that it was good enough. But when I finished the project and presented it. When others actually responded positively, when others really appreciated it, that’s when I knew that it was okay.

    Particularly when the head of product for my group repeated the biggest takeaway from the report and gave me credit. I heard it several times in product group meetings. And I wasn’t going to shy away from taking it.

    That’s when I knew that it was going to be okay. But that’s also partly when I realized…well, is this something that I want to be constantly doing. Seeking praise. Seeking validation. But there was something about the process, the way I would get to the results, that I appreciated on my own. That’s what it was all about.

    And I knew everything’s ok.

    2020: Next Step

    When it comes to aspirations, it’s not about ideas. It’s about making ideas happen. What’s your next step?

    In 2010, it was about dream making. In 2011, it was about sticking to my boundaries. In 2012, it was about being true. In 2013, it was about embracing fear. In 2014, it was sitting my butt down and writing. In 2016, it was about leading. In 2017, it was about persistence. In 2018, it was about seeing the big picture. In 2019, it was about moving on (on my own terms).

    In this very special year, it’s about simply valuing the things (and people) I love and finding ways to recreate those experiences. It’s an easy cop-out answer for this year.

    There’s a question though about FOMO that I know that I will unfortunately falter. What other people do, what the Jones do is going affect me. Look, they’re partying. Look, they’re traveling. Look, they’re doing this and that. And I’ll feel obligated to do the same.

    I already had been progressing toward this path. I got traveling out of the way. I refined the friend group. I pivoted my interests into something that felt more fulfilling to me. I indulged in what I actually liked rather than what others liked. And I’ll be aware of what’s truly unhealthy for me. And what things were truly healthy.

    But with this comes worry. When it’s back to “normal”, when it’s the After times, I might not feel the same anymore.