Shiver, fireworks, and heartache

Joanna Wang.  Just give her a try.  She sent shivers, the good kind, down my back.  Like the first time you heard Norah Jones, Amos Lee, or Lisa Ono, her voice is here to stay.  

It is officially Chinese New Year and fireworks are going off everywhere.  I remember buying illegal fireworks from ancient, tiny, chinese toy stores.  And then the middle school across the street became our playground.  On their soccer field, we blew a million dragon bazookas to welcome the new year.  

This year, I miss my brother.  After all these years of traveling and visiting him sporadically, I find that, more than anything, I want him to relieve himself of the artificial burden and stress of being the eldest male offspring.  It's so subtle, but it drives you insane.  If my life is characterized by desperate measures driven by irresponsibility, then his life is nothing but inevitable decisions forced by responsibility.  My parents have told me that he thinks I have better luck.  I want to tell him, it's not luck.  But if you can't measure the forces that shape us, then call it luck.  I just don't ever want him to think "and that was the story of my life" with nothing but regret in his thoughts.  

My parents claim that they know how proud he is and what drives him.  What if that's not the way to goad him?  What if it is?  You can count the number of crossroads that we have to face, but we don't need someone acting as the countdown timer.  It's informative, yes, but if he wants to cross on a red light, SHUT THE FUCK UP.