OBSIDIAN: Birth to Venus

2066

“Jai!” Her mother called from the back of the truck. “I could use some help over here!”

“Coming, Mom!” Jai threw her cell in her backpack and crawled out from the passenger seat. “What’s on the menu today?”

Mom smiled, proud to see her 16-year-old daughter so eager to jump right in. “More medicine and vaccines for the group; blankets, lots of blankets for the sick; and, the first of many book hauls we’ll make for the school.” She rummaged through the boxes and stacked them on top of each other. Jai held out her hands and began carrying the load. They walked down a crude path, shrouded by long blades of unkept grass, until it opened, giving way to field upon field of rice patties, a geometric marvel. Each tier rose higher and higher along the hilly mountains. Jai paused to take it all in. She was happy they’d traveled there as a family, to expose Jai to more of her mother’s heritage.

Jai remembered the first time her parents had told her more about her Asian ancestry. “You know,” Mom had said, “like most families today, we’re citizens of the world. Gone are the days when people are defined by nationality or borders. We aren’t limited to just being ‘American’ or ‘French’ or ‘Chinese.’ Generations ago, our ancestors were proud to be ‘Americans,’ and they fought valiantly against the ‘Brits.’ Many wars later, countries cooperate with each other in a way that’s unparalleled, and nearly everyone’s a mix of races. Now, it’s practically impossible to find anyone that could be considered purely one race. We’re all just a bunch of mutts.”

“That’s right,” Dad said. “It explains why most people don’t know every branch of their lineage.”

“Even us?” Jai asked.

“Even us,” Dad said.

Mom said, “Your grandmother’s generation is considered the last generation to really care about borders. Lucky for us, your grandmother took an interest in understanding where our family came from. She traced our lineage. Turns out, our ancestors — on your maternal side — lived in Bangkok, with the hustle and bustle of a thriving city. After your grandmother finished her Masters, before she gave birth to me, she traveled to Thailand. The way she described it, you’d think it was a magical place. I’ve always dreamed of visiting.” Soon after, Mom and Dad traveled there, to experience it for the first time.

Many years had passed since then, and this was the first summer Jai’s parents had taken her there. Jai looked at her Mom, standing beside the car, ready to unpack all the medicine and books they’d brought. There was an energy in Mom’s gaze, a bright shine to her beautiful brown eyes. Her mother, Joy, was born on the east coast and got her Ph.D. at Harvard. There, Mom had met Jai’s father, Dr. Scott Dean, a scientist at the Broad Institute of Harvard and MIT. Jai was their only child. Early on, it was obvious Jai was her father’s athletic twin. They loved biking and kayaking on the weekends; long-distance running; and, hiking in the woods. But, most days, Jai spent time with her mother. They shared a love of books and enjoyed many afternoons, drinking tea, reading, talking about the wonderful characters that filled the pages. Perhaps for those reasons, Jai had never felt like an only child.

Then, one day, she came home from high school, still sweating from field hockey. Mom and Dad sat her down and told her the big news: Jai was going to be a big sister. It was the best surprise of her life. Fourteen years her junior, little Darin was a soft and squirmy mess, with sloppy kisses and tight, tentacle-arms that he loved to wrap around her neck. “Darin, you got me!” Jai would say, laughing, as he tugged at her ponytail and tackled her with hugs. Their expansive, modern house echoed with his laughter. “Kiss! Kiss!” he’d scream, as Jai pretended to run away. She let him chase her up and down each story. Jai loved playing with him, loved feeling him climb into her lap each day and night, enjoyed hearing him, with his small voice, repeating the words she’d read to him. She helped care for him when she could, when her studies didn’t consume her time. Two years later, she was 16, about to go to college early, a stone’s throw away at MIT, when Mom said a family trip was in order. Summer had arrived, and Thailand was the best way to celebrate before Jai’s big send off at the dorm.

When the plane landed in Bangkok, a driver ferried them to their hotel. They stretched their legs, weary from flying 12 hours on the latest super-jet. Jai’s family had previously traveled to Amsterdam, Paris, and Berlin, the cities where her father’s family was from, but this was Jai and Darin’s first trip to Asia. With each leg of the journey, she could feel a sense of excitement and adventure building up. When they’d finally arrived at the hotel, she lay in bed, unable to sleep, imagining the thriving metropolis, this Land of Smiles. She read and reread their list of to-do’s. The first week, they journeyed to the Grand Palace, with its intricately carved, golden spires, and royal halls with the white arches she had seen only in pictures. Her mouth delighted in sweet, fried bananas, rotees, and the many savory dishes at the floating market, where boats and stalls overflowed with the freshest, perfectly-balanced combination of sweet, salty, spicy, sour, and, even, bitter flavors. Each dish danced on her tongue. Soups and stews were reduced so thickly, they were sticky and opaque, bursting with flavor. They feasted on shrimp, clam, lobster, and an array of crab and fish so bountiful, she wondered how, after so many years eating seafood at home, here it seemed she’d discovered seafood for the first time. The spices, curries, and peppers awakened her palate, and she knew there was no turning back, no restaurant she could find that could duplicate what she’d experienced here in person. These flavors could marry only here: the fresh, robust food in her mouth; the hot sun on her sweaty skin; and, the sheer volume and energy of Bangkok.

When they arrived in Chiang Mai, nestled deep among a vast field of rice paddies, a calm washed over her. The nearby villagers were tending their harvest, tenderly planting each tuft of seedlings until they grew into a vibrant green blanket along the hills. And, like a deep, unending sigh, she could feel the stress in her body melt away. She spent hours walking along the paddies, watching as the rice grew, higher and higher toward the bright blue sky, mirrored in the water below. When it stood waist length, you could see the wind roll, each emerald blade ebbing, flowing, swaying, in a choreographed dance along the horizon.

At harvest, families came together. Having ensured the success of everyone’s crops, the villagers met to share in the evening meal. There was something so beautiful, so natural in their close-knit community. And, she had never seen such variations of rice. Rice didn’t stop at dinner; it continued on to dessert, with a parade of new favorites: sweet sticky rice with the ripest of mangoes; coconut rice pudding, with its full bodied, rich flavor; and, layered pastel sweets, flavored with rose water. Darin could not get enough. “Ah!” Jai would say, as she spooned sweets into his mouth. “Mmm! More!” was all he’d mumble between mouthfuls. She loved watching him, and all the wondrous expressions breaking out on his face.

Each noon, Jai finished her work at the hospital and explored the village or surrounding markets until she circled back to the villa where they were staying. She was especially fond of the sala, an open pavilion, attached to the villa; it was the perfect place to enjoy the weather, relax, and reflect on the treasures she had discovered. A hand-spun brocade of soft silk, meticulously woven into a shimmering design of coral, blue, and orange fabric. A triangular cushion, thick like a mattress, to support sitting or reclining, adorned in similarly vibrant hues. A line of parasols, in every color imaginable, hand-painted with intricate designs, dark crimsons on violet, sparkling gold on deep red, blazing orange on delicate pink. Her travels were a feast for the eyes no matter where she looked.

One day, she followed a different path farther from the villa, and sat on a bench beside a lake. Siam tulips swayed, with thick leaves and tight clusters of light pink blooms erupting out of each hearty stem. Darin will love these, she thought. She pictured the two of them, remembering how they’d run through the Keukenhof tulip gardens. They had raced to count as many colors as they could. She looked at the Siam tulips and plucked a bloom.

At the school gate, Darin came running. “Jai, Jai! Did you know Thai dogs bark ‘Hong! Hong!’” He giggled.

“You mean they don’t ‘woof woof’ or ‘bark bark’?” Jai teased and nuzzled his cheek with her nose.

“Nope! It’s ‘hong hong!’ Preecha told me,” he said, waving goodbye to his friend.

“That’s wonderful! Now, let’s take this puppy home.” She tickled her puppy Darin and led him by the hand. As they entered the villa, Jai covered his eyes. “I have a surprise for you!”

He smiled and cheered. “Yay!”

“Keep your eyes closed,” she said softly and led him to the kitchen table. She lifted up his small body, and sat him in a chair. “Now, open your eyes!”

His eyes widened, amazed by the tulip. “Wow! It’s so pretty! Like the ones on our last trip.”

“Yes. But, these are ‘Siam’ tulips. Sometimes they call them summer tulips. They’re similar to the ones we’ve seen before, but there are some differences. These are tropical because of the climate here. And, these petals open out, layered one on top of the other. Sort of like an artichoke. And, look here.” She motioned to the tiered fans leading up to the main blooms. “Look at how beautifully the flowers shoot up, out of these stems. Aren’t they wonderful? It’s your sweet of the day.”

“My sweet, my sweet!” he chirped, in a singsongy voice. It was their thing, ever since their first trip together. Whenever they were apart, she’d greet him with a piece of candy, a drawing, or some other small trinket she’d happened to discover and enjoy.

The next morning, Dad woke them early, to join the villagers and bring the monks their alms before dropping Darin off at school. Then Jai accompanied Dad, to dispense the medicine they were donating with the help of a research grant. “Mark it here,” Dad would say, as he showed Jai how to track the inventory on their computer.

Dad’s energy could not be contained. A geneticist, he’d partnered with a team of international archeologists who were excavating burial grounds throughout Southeast Asia. Each Thursday, he’d take a long weekend, traveling to distant sites to sample and sequence the genomic DNA, not only of modern populations, but also of ancient ones among the earliest of settlements. Meanwhile, Mom partnered with the University to assess the existing educational system and develop new programs. She was bringing technologically advanced education to the adults and children in the more remote villages nearby. Jai stayed at the hospital to finish up, then watched Darin after school until the late afternoon.

Summer passed before they knew it, and saying goodbye was harder than Jai had imagined it would be. She had picked up much of the Thai language by that time, and was now able to hold her own in a conversation. Friends said she had a knack for languages and asked how she could become conversational so fast. She wondered herself, but couldn’t pinpoint why. Her mind seemed to focus more on the stories they’d shared, the give and take of the conversation, rather than conjugating verbs.

On their last night before the long trip home, she sat on the deck of the sala, ran her hands against the mahogany wood, and dangled her feet over the edge, looking up at the setting sun. Awash in crimson, fuchsia, orange, and blue, the sky was ablaze with every emotion she felt inside. Flying back to Boston seemed unfathomable. Her body trembled, as if remembering the cold so bitter in her bones. So, she pictured what was inviting and comforting. Sitting beside the fire. Feeling the crunch of leaves under her feet. Bundling up in a cashmere scarf. Knitting a new scarf each year. Adding a small charm for each person in her little family.