Una Ragazza on Love: Auntie Bonnie Visits

As an import to America celebrating her sixth anniversary this winter, I have come to embrace my host and her denizens as "almost family." Thanksgiving no longer is a default excuse to fly away to some place warm (Hello, Florida). I now look forward to an annual turkey binge, preferably around the dining table of local friends, and if not I know I'd somehow get my tryptophan fix from one of the many New York eating establishments.



Each year, one lucky turkey gets a presidential pardon... and gets to spend the rest of its life in Disneyland.



Driving to the Keys of Florida, an obvious destination for spending a few November days during my initial years in America

During the year-end holiday season, a common theme in conversations with these new friends (read: not acquaintances) is family. This year is especially meaningful because Auntie Bonnie is here to visit (name altered just in case she does not like anything in this posting).

For the last month, it has been with fond memory that I recount to these friends my family story and Auntie Bonnie's relationship as my second mom.

You see, I was raised by two loving, caring, brilliantly smart and modern single aunts who treat my sister and me as their very own. When we were growing up, every decision they made was based around us: How would doing this impact Una Ragazza's opportunity to learn music? Would it be wise to buy that East Coast house since both girls attended schools in the vicinity? And, was it necessary to sell that so that Una Ragazza's sister would have enough funds to study abroad?



An East Coast neighborhood: To buy or not to buy

Auntie Bonnie, the younger of the two pretty aunts whom I call "mom," is a unique and interesting person to grow up with. My first memory of her was when I was five and she painted animals on giant styrofoam boards for my cousins, sister and me to race around the house with (I got a super-fast rabbit). I remember thinking she was such a talented woman, especially after I saw that she had made a bust of herself out of plaster of paris.



A bust made from plaster of paris

For some reason, unlike her seven siblings, Auntie Bonnie is the only one who doesn't look too Chinese. She has a high nose and cheek bones that used to cause unsolicted questions about whether she had a nose job done (answer: a resounding "no"). She also introduced me to facial masks years before I saw the first one in a Hollywood movie. I used to get scared with her walking around the house with a blue face without speaking a word.

Perhaps the most vivid memory of any conversation she had growing up was when I was seven and in Primary One (first grade in elementary school in Singapore). And it wasn't even with me.



My primary school building, the tallest in Singapore

One night, I was putzing around in her bedroom when she started talking to her elder sister (my other mom) about how "kids nowadays are using all kinds of bad words, like 'idiot' and 'bastard.'" To put things into context, both my moms were school teachers and so discussions about the general state of being of Singaporean children were regular.

But for the seven-year-old Una Ragazza who had an insatiable love for words growing up, I mentally ate up these terms and assigned them the meaning of "bad word" in my little head.

The following week, I found myself bursting out a loud "Bastard!" at a naughty boy in class who took my paint box during an art lesson. My shocked teacher (I was a model pupil and the class monitor) could not believe her ears but no matter how much questioning she did to find out how I learned that word, there was no way I was going to give Aunt Bonnie away.

As I entered my teens, Auntie Bonnie took on the roles of fashion consultant and personal shopper, as I relied on her good taste in clothing and styling to battle the horrid teenage years (Yes, Adrian Mole -- you were a hero). Being very handy around the house (she could fix lamps and repair gadgets), she was also the "dad" of a house with four women and zero men, in a very practical sense of the word.



The boy who made me feel a little better about my own teenage years

As I entered adulthood, Auntie Bonnie was there to cheer me on, handing over the keys to her car so I could practice driving us to church service on Sunday. She also shared many life stories about her work in education, a fascinating time that I hope she would one day put pen to paper to retell. When I was contemplating buying a New York apartment this spring, she took steps in helping ensure I'd made a decision that I wouldn't regret. E-mail and phone discussions were frequent.

And so it was with great excitement that I awaited the airport shuttle to drop Auntie Bonnie on my stoop last week.

The reunion was sweet. We chatted like we usually would back home, with one of the first topics about what foods she'd brought me (answer: lots and lots of bak kwa, and pineapple tarts). As she surveyed my new apartment with a nod of approval, I sprang the news on her:

"By the way, we're going to Mexico City on Sunday, I said in a calm yet expectant voice. "I thought you'd like a little excursion out of New York."



Would Auntie Bonnie enjoy Frida?

Just as I'd hoped, the news went down really well with travel-savvy Auntie Bonnie, who was in New York for the fifth time.

"Oh, which sweater should I bring? And what about these slacks -- are they going to keep me warm enough?" she excitedly chattered on.

As I watched her unpack (and start packing a little bag for our latino trip), I couldn't help but smile.

At last, after all these years of traveling solo and only being able to tell her about my adventures as if they were about a third person, we were going to be making travel history together.

Una Ragazza would no longer be a vagabond backpacker to all her family members back home in Singapore. She'd be living it with dear Auntie Bonnie in under 48 hours.

Perhaps, just perhaps, this could be the start of a series of biannual holiday adventures for this pair.

That is, provided no one kills the other at the end of the trip in Mexico. Or gets killed by any Mexican, for that matter.

In the meantime, we will be painting the Upper West Side red with a night out to celebrate Auntie Bonnie's safe arrival after a body-numbing 25-hour flight.

Oh, it's great to be with family.

Salud!



Auntie Bonnie checking out the Mexican pyramids at Teotihuacan

(Some pictures taken from the Internet)