Regular Human Basketball

I wake up at 4AM Shanghai in the 90’s
in my grandparents’ library, a temp guest room.
It’s summer and they’re all still asleep
grandparents, housekeeper, neighbors. Almost quiet as street vendors set up shop
the quiet solitude of jetlag is a rare joy
when the air is not yet too hot to breathe I remove the face cards from a deck of cards
shuffle them, draw 4 numbers
compute solutions for 241.
*
first love said to order pizza
I looked up the phone number, dialed it
terrified, I push the phone into his hand I carefully memorized
his social script2
“I’d like to place an order for delivery…”
*
Cantor Arts Center.
You just mad because she’s right?,
first love stepped in. It’s not arrogance if it’s deserved,
he whispered to me
as we walked away. My feet hurt from strappy heels.
He swaps his sandals with me
chuckles when people stare.
*
I’ve never seen Full House
but I skimmed the wikipedia entry
I faked my way through a whole social interaction first love beamed with pride
I tapped one foot rapidly in happiness. He then explained topic hopping3 in conversational flow
as a walk along topic nodes in a graph of interest space
as a way to find common ground. “And then you can core dump a wikipedia article
and they’d find it welcome.” “So how do you transition topics?” “Sometimes the topics are tangentially related
but other times, you can use
‘that reminds me of.’”
*
First love opened the closet, found me
sitting cross legged on our folded duvet cover
head in my hands. “My parents have set aside their differences
to present a united front and pressure me
to go to medical school. I don’t want to
but I don’t have a solid logical defense.” He sat cross legged in front of me, on the carpet. “The number of doctors produced per year is
constant,” he noted. “The same number of
patients get treated whether you become an MD or not.” “That’s true.” I look up.
He takes both of my hands. “Don’t feel bad about not taking a path
where you make an epsilonically small dent in the outcome. Do something irreplaceable.
Something that couldn’t
have happened without you. Art. Poetry. Science.
Whatever you actually want.” “How do I know what I want?” “How do you feel? Inside?” He absentmindedly rubs
the back of my hand
on his chin stubble. It tickles. “I honestly don’t know.”
*
Columbae special dinner. I made the punch:
OJ concentrate, frozen berries, vodka. It tasted like non alcoholic
berry citrus smoothie
deeply, deeply misleading. I’ve been asking first love for random numbers to compute 24,
waiting for my turn to perform Fantasie Impromptu4 to a crowded living room,
not my most inspired performance but technically competent. “Show off!” someone said. First love
quipped something witty and protective
but my hippocampus6 couldn’t
log what he said. I leave the piano bench,
immediately stumble
first love catches me and pilots me
around the crowd, into the kitchen,
so he can feed me water.
*
Mountain View housewarming party
my first month back in the bay
I taptaptap my hand rapidly
on first love’s arm like Thumper. “That means she wants to say something,” he notes.
“I know,” 童友 concurs. “I want to show you how I organized my bookshelf:
it’s beauty on this side and truth on this side.
Get it?” I grin widely. (taptaptaptaptap) First love laughs in delight and recognition.
Blank stares from most humans in the room. “So science fiction is on the side of truth,”
童友 nods. “That… tracks.” I suddenly want to tell first love something else.
I’m blinking back something. I open my mouth
and my voice doesn’t work. I say nothing.
*
“I’m a functional adult human because of
everything first love taught me.” “But how did you find first love
in the first place?” the BCBA5 asked
during my evaluation. “Most people
who get diagnosed don’t find a partner.” I absentmindedly made a pattern
with my finger in the pollen accumulated
on the patio coffee table. I try to find somewhere to wipe it. “Freshman year, I asked almost everyone
in my freshman dorm to play chess.
You can tell a lot about someone by playing,
and the best part is, you don’t have to talk. First love won most of our matches.
He said I was the only one worth playing
in our class, ‘nontrivial to play.’
Also he just naturally understood me.”
*
“I think I should practice and get better at chess.” “I’m not sure that’s a good use of your cycles.
From this point on, you’re just learning
a bunch of chess-specific patterns
that won’t generalize. Let’s learn to play go together.
Oh yeah, what do you want for the holidays?” “Write me some poetry?”
*
My audio visual lag had at least
500 ms delay, more than expected
after my third sake pairing
several courses still to come in the omakase. “Can you give me 4 random numbers?” “You’re drunk,” my husband said. “How do you know?” “You always test your processing speed
when you’re drunk. I’m not sure why
you keep testing it when computing 24 is
invariant under inebriation.”
*
“Remember that time at Gopher Con7?
Was it 2018? 2019?” “I wasn’t there. What happened?” “Everyone in line for tacos at the food truck was glued to their phones. My new gal pal wondered what had gone viral. But it was all my fault they were glued to their calculators.” “Was it a 24 problem?” “Yes.” “Which one?” “1 5 5 5” “Oh, I don’t remember the solution to that one. Let me think…” “Do you want me to tell you?” (taptaptaptaptap) “No!”
tap an underlined phrase

—

An injury report from school. Me (to my son): It’s ok. I also walked into a post
when I was a kid.
My husband: You also did as an adult.
Me:No, I walked into the broad side of a wall
as an adult.
Him:I’m not sure that’s … better? Me:Well, the nurse did tell me,
“You’re actually not the first
NASA scientist to walk face first into a wall
on this base.”

First Principles1

1. Shanghai, 1986 This uncle studied under Qian Xuesen3
himself, my father proclaimed. I don’t know who that is.
I’m three. My parents made tea and
fetched my father’s papers
(graduate school applications?)
while uncle explained
atoms to me. A week later, my mother finds
my resting oblivious face
in a snow drift of toilet paper
ripping them into ever tinier shreds. 干嘛？6(What on earth are you doing?) I try to repeat uncle’s explanation.
The adults howl with laughter. 笑啥？(What’s so funny?) 2. Decatur, 1990 Holding onto his shoulders, I precariously balance
on the spokes of my father’s rolling office chair to
keep my feet off the cold basement floor. He finds and replaces a word with another
shorter word across the screen. I hop off and point to one he missed. Good catch!, he exclaims. After fixing it, he does a
double take.
I’ve gone back to pretending
I’m a cat. Later, my parents, in rapid Shanghainese:
Dad:She pointed to a bug in my code.
Mom:Did she understand or just pattern match?4
Dad:I’m not sure I can tell, but it was correct. A week later, he brings me downstairs after dinner
to demo his side project. A real-time chat,
two side-by-side Word Perfects. (That old school DOS aesthetic
feels like… quality dad time.) His coworker typed on his half, my dad on his half
and I giggled at them making typos in real time. 3. Skokie, 1993 My mother saw me transfixed by
an artichoke
sacred geometry made flesh in a supermarket2 and rebuked me for standing in the wrong spot
blocking the aisle.
Lacking situational awareness— do you not see what I see? (She sees resting oblivious face.) “You need to pay attention.” I am paying attention to the— She pulls my arm and physically
moves me out of the lane.
пожалуйста, said a grandmother with a Belarusian accent
as she scooted past me. “Look around you, can you infer
where people are trying to go?” —but look at this thing the most beautiful vegetable
I have ever seen in my decade of life. 4. Austin, 2023 I chased my toddler daughter, scampering
about a space-themed indoor playground while
my father accompanied my son to the bathroom part of me worrying if the establishment
would be mad if my son flushed
every single toilet
wasting their water. “No, he asked me to flush them all, actually.” “What.” “Different experimental conditions:
a fast lever push, a slow lever push,
a slow until the mid point and then fast push—” “Ok, Dad, you don’t have to enumerate every—” “—a lateral push, and an upside down push.” I look from one resting oblivious face5 to another
grandfather to grandson
and catch my own in reflection.
tap an underlined phrase

Unbound

Remember when I found you in a pile
of shredded toilet paper?, my mother asks. The Shanghai summer air, far too humid
with a fine mist of 90’s era construction dust. Oh, after uncle’s visit?, my grandmother asks.
The uncle who studied under Qian Xuesen?
Do you want to know his story? His sister was 10, and he was a baby, she said.
Their estate, a 四合院1, a courtyard with peach trees.
The parents 读书人 received in the great room
Japanese soldiers as though they were guests
serving tea, stalling, buying them time. In the back house, their nanny removed her shoes,
released the girl’s bound feet2, and put the loose
fitting shoes on the girl. She folded a single long cloth
into a baby wrap. The nanny stayed behind
to stall for time.
None of the adults survived. I was 13, trying to picture a 10-year-old trekking
(through darkness and dry grass, avoiding roads)
baby on her back
a hail mary pass3
on the hope
her relatives are still alive. Knowing also, that
no history book chronicles her feat.
tap an underlined phrase

Theory of Mind

1.  0 & 3 Crawling, not yet a year old
my daughter pulls herself up
to stand at the baby gate. She fumbles at the lock for a minute
as much progress as her brother’s
first minute. She made eye contact with
her brother’s resting oblivious face
signed open in sign language1
and pointed to the lock. He opened it. Like it was nothing. The adults watched
the baby monitor
like Jurassic Park. 2.  4 & 6 My husband and I tried to sleep in
on Saturday. My daughter’s voice overheard through his homebrew baby monitor2:
Let’s do this in the hallway so
Mama doesn’t find out. We bolt out of bed. Quiet as a cat, I slink
across the house, lurk
around corners, moving only
when no one is looking and give them
a good startle. 3.  13 I was 13 when we went back
visited relatives in Shanghai
for the first time since I left at 5.
My parents spoke
Shanghainese
to each other
Mandarin
to me.
I replied in mixed
Mandarin and English,
and spoke
English
at school.
An auntie asked me to hand her a bowl
of 大白兔 candy in Shanghainese, and I do. The color drained from my mother’s face,
You understood us this whole time?3
tap an underlined phrase

Differential Diagnosis

The elementary school social worker (she wore a Christmas sweatshirt,
some ornaments and solid tree shape
cracked from rewashing) sat me down in front of a light yellow paper (an almost grid of cartoon faces
labelled with emotions, speckled
from being a copy of a copy) and told my parents about my lack of social skills. (one of the rows is misaligned
because it has one fewer face) “For example, she doesn’t understand sarcasm.”
“What’s sarcasm?” (the entire stack is the same
the same misaligned row) Dad leads the reply while Mom rapidly flips
through her little red Chinese-English dictionary. My mother reads definitions in Shanghainese
something is lost in translation. 讽刺? 挖苦? 嘲讽? 反语?1 mockery, derision, taunt, “saying the opposite” (we don’t have a word for this
only approximations) “Is it really so bad if she doesn’t understand
when other children are mocking her?” (maybe the center alignment
on the page threw off whoever
designed this handout) My parents, in Shanghainese to each other: diagnosisflat affect “See, she might be dissociating right now.
She’s here but not here.” (no adult tried to fix this handout
before copying it so many times) “I’m here.” (I point to the misaligned grid) “Oh, is that how you feel? Anxious?” (Oops. I look closer at the face
I apparently just pointed to.
Close enough. I nod. I don’t
actually know the word anxious.)
*
“She doesn’t talk like other kids.”
“Her English comes from books.”
“That’s because she doesn’t play with other kids.”
“Have you met the other kids?”
“She doesn’t make much facial expression.”
“It’s the normal amount for our culture.” She turns to me.
“Do you remember the raid?”
I nod.
“Were you afraid?”
“I honestly don’t know.”4 She pauses, and speaks to my parents. My parents are trying to look up: alexithymia2trauma
*
autism, trauma, or Chinese3
just the sum of three vectors
pointing roughly the same direction
and from inside
I can’t tell the difference does it matter how much each
factor contributes to me being me?
*
“They say your face has no expression. So you should try to have some expressions.” “What, like right now?” “Yes, right now.”
I narrow one eye, furrow my brow, and sigh. “But not like that.” She pushes on my cheeks to simulate a smile. I furrow my brow even more and try to escape. “Keep the smile on so they don’t know. This is how we fit in.” I drop the mask as soon as she turns around. Has she seen her own face? Ugh, I’ll never get to think in peace again.
tap an underlined phrase

Calibration Telemetry

I host a housewarming party
my first month back in the bay
my new life as a NASA post doc. 童友1 helps me set up, welcome guests
his brother spins fire poi to electronica
while guests remark at the lemonade
made from pomelo sized lemons in the yard
a guest of a guest earnestly requests
an intro to my new bf (Z), to break into gaming. first love said I absolutely nailed it
my simulation of ‘enthusiastic American girl’2 the body language the tonal control
maybe overshot by about 15% amplitude.
I nod, quickly reviewing every interaction
from the past hour: hug durations,
pitch contours of greetings,
room crossing velocity3.
I think he’s right.
tap an underlined phrase

Chaos Monkey

We unfolded the mats
made our beds on the floor
of the attic above the restaurant1.
Neon light streams through dusty windows. “Mama, will you tell me the story
of how Sun Wukong2 came to be?” “On the peak of the 花果山3
there sat a magical stone,
perched in a spot soaking up
sunlight and moonlight.” “How did the stone become magical?” “According to legend, the Goddess of Mercy
was passing through and meditated on it.
And for a thousand years, the stone
became ‘pregnant’ with divine energy.
It split open—” “Monkey!” “No, not monkey yet. The stone bursts open
and produced a stone egg the size of a ball.
As the wind blew on the stone egg, it transformed
into a stone monkey.” “Was it a baby monkey?” “The monkey was born fully formed.
From his first breath, he crawled and bowed
to the four quarters of the world.” “Tell me about his special abilities!” “The monkey had perfect memory—
just like you—he could remember
names and faces of all of the monkeys
and they made him the Monkey King.
And he never forgot a spell.” “I can’t remember names or faces well
but I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t forget a spell.” “The master whispered a secret into his ear—” “What was the secret?” She leans in close and whispers ps ps ps noises.
I look at her sideways. She chuckles. “But the monkey’s just like you, 一通百通4.” “I know more than a hundred things.” She pets me on the head. “After practicing by himself, he mastered
all 72变, including 身外身法5. Just from a whisper.” “What’s 身外身法?” “He plucks a handful of hairs, and blows on them—” I blow on my open palm. “—and spawns a whole swarm of monkey clones.” “Why does he wear
a gold headband?” “The gods had no idea how much
this chaos monkey could challenge them.
The Jade Emperor placed a gold headband
on the monkey’s head to control him.
He or the monks can chant a sutra
causing the band to tighten
when the monkey misbehaves.” “I don’t want the monkey
to wear a gold headband.” “It’s only because the monkey wouldn’t 听话6.
If you don’t 听话, I’ll put a headband on you too.” “Well, that’s not fair.
I don’t want a gold headband.” “So you’ll 听话 and do what mama says.” I look at her just a moment too long. “Yes.” “Mischievous baby. Just like Monkey.” “You think I would challenge the gods
demand a seat at the table.” “You wouldn’t? Do you want to know
how he became immortal?” “He journeyed to the underworld
and crossed out his name
from the Book of Life and Death7.”
tap an underlined phrase

Winter 1988 – Spring 1989

Six months in the dusty attic above a Chinese restaurant
while my mother washes dishes downstairs. Waiting for
my father to return from the US to re-apply for our visa. My mother only brought
3 years worth of textbooks
to the Netherlands.
I read them all
twice. “都看完了? 你吃书是伐?”1
“吃什么是什么.” I study the dust motes floating in the angular sunbeam
disappearing from view when they float out of the light.
I imitate martial arts moves from Condor Heroes2
the TV show adaptation I’ve been watching out of order. I reread all the music books and pretend, my fingers
playing on a black and white printout of piano keys
on the hardwood floor, humming the notes quietly. A 留学生3 washes dishes to make ends meet. He’s on his
break, and lets me ask ‘why’ as many times as I want.
His hometown accent just like the aerospace 留学生
on the train who explained turbulence and how planes fly. (I was so happy to see him again
later that summer in Beijing.) I promise, one day, when I have children of my own,
I will never terminate a ‘why’ question chain.
tap an underlined phrase

—

Honey, 10:30pm is way past bedtime,
my husband informs me
as gently as he can. I’m holding a ball and a light and each
child is holding a ball and giggling
while rotating around each other. They were asking why the sun comes up
tomorrow. Just give me a sec to finish
up the Copernican model1.
tap an underlined phrase

Pairing

I had never seen him so worried. “We need to take him to the vet right now1.
He’s been trying to pee a bunch of times
meows in complaint, and then tries again later.
I’ve seen this before. He only has a day to
live if we don’t fix it.” We look at each other.
We don’t have a cat carrier. I grab a large towel and he grabs our cat.
We construct an uncooperative cat burrito2. He escapes. We try again, wrap him tighter
and I immediately hug the burrito closed.
He opens the door of the house the door of the car
I sit. He buckles me in. Closes car door.
The burrito complains loudly the whole way there.
He drives to the vet. Unbuckles me and lets me out.
Talks to the receptionist. “Blocked cat!”
The receptionist calls out to the back. “Blocked cat!”
A person in scrubs echoes. He talks to the vet.
I hand over the burrito.
We take an empty towel home. I haven’t spoken the entire time3.
I didn’t need to.
tap an underlined phrase

Team Carry4

1. Palo Alto 2019 I’ve got a backpack and I’m balancing
a thermal bag of pumped milk1
on a suitcase that I’m rolling. Home, I sighed, as the gate latch
swings shut. London? Tokyo?
I don’t even remember any more. Warm tones of incandescent light
through the blinds of the sliding glass door.
A mess of curly hair, rocking
baby boy to sleep on an office chair
a makeshift rocking chair. I try to open the door quietly as
my mother-in-law takes the milk bag
unloads it into the fridge, washes
the pump parts in the sink. I tiptoe into our room to watch him
as he stands, swaying softly
white noise playing from his phone. With the deft touch of a bomb defuser
he lays baby boy into the bassinet. When we move to Austin we’ll have space
for a nursery, he whispered. He kisses the top of my head
leads me out of the bedroom. Want to see my new demo?, he asks. 2. Shanghai 2020 My father thinks we should cancel our Chinese New Year trip. What if it’s my last chance to let my grandfather meet my baby? “The WHO website says exercise ordinary precautions,”
my husband quoted to my father.
“No evidence of human to human transmission.” In the van from the airport, my father
more anxious than seemed warranted,
“Wuhan goes into lockdown in a couple of hours.
There are already 40 Wuhan registered phone numbers
in Shanghai. The genie is out of the bottle.” “Dad, 40 phones. In a city of 20–40 million people.” Dad pauses, tries to sound patient. “Most people don’t have good intuition
on the shape of exponential growth curves.” “Dad, we know what the curve look like.
But right now, in absolute terms…” Dad sighs, shakes his head. “There’s really not as much time
as you think there is.”2 “Dad—”
I catch myself
sudden clarity
he’s right.
Goddammit. My mom’s neighborhood group chat
discusses reporting a Wuhan license plate.
The owner of the car insists the car
has already been in Shanghai for months.
*
“What do we do when we visit Auntie’s house?”
my cousin asks her children. “Wash our hands!” they recite in unison. We make dumplings with my cousins and aunts
and true to Shanghainese traditional gender roles
my uncles do the bulk of the actual cooking.9 Everyone wants to meet my baby boy. “Look at how big he is! Are they all like that?”
“11 lbs at birth? What’s that in 斤5?”
“That’s the largest head I’ve ever seen.”
“He’s so pretty. I want to hold baby too.”
“Oooh, as pretty as your husband … I didn’t mean it like that, hehe.” Is this the last time we’ll see them? Every other family reunion event gets cancelled.
Now, we’re stuck here with nothing to do
with burner laptops and burner phones
standard family visit security protocol.6 They can’t possibly cancel our flight home, can they?
*
A nurse in the care facility stare daggers at us in the elevator. Who brings a whole family and a baby here at a time like this? It’s a good day, a lucid day.7
My grandfather, at 102, recognizes me.
My father speaks loudly so he can hear,
This is your great grandson! We take a family photo with four generations. It’s the last time I see him.
*
Sudden abdominal pain by the right side of my rib cage. I’m not reasoning through my last liver enzyme panel,
my intuition already knows: acute cholecystitis8. (Me, writhing on the couch.) Dad:how do you know for sure it’s a cholecystitis emergency?
Mom:has she ever been wrong?
Also, everyone in our family gets it eventually.
Husband:do you want me to change our flight?
Me:yes, next one out. ASAP. Dad, trying to figure out which hospitals aren’t Covid wards.
Mom, trying to feed me warm water. Husband, bouncing baby to sleep in one arm
on the phone with the airline in the other hand. We’re on the next flight out. It’s also the last. 3. SF Layover I can’t eat can’t speak
my pee is orange
my organs failing My husband is looking up Austin hospitals
and San Francisco too, in case a fever spikes. I take a pillowcase off a hotel pillow
macgyver a changing table pad with a rolled up bathrobe,
my husband changes baby’s diapers. “If I don’t make it, I want you to know—” “Shhhh, rest, you’re going to make it. You have to.” “—I want you to know I’m so fucking grateful.” I take a breath as he holds me. “And I am confident you can keep our baby alive.” A genetic hail mary pass3 into the future. It’s all I can muster before falling asleep. 4. Austin 2020 My husband adds a charger to my go-bag,
and my mother in law holds my baby
watches as we leave. All the tests and ultrasounds to confirm what my intuition knew
the surgery has been scheduled. The nurse instructs me to
wipe myself down to prep for surgery. When she leaves,
my husband takes the wipes, follows her instructions to the letter. I’m on a moveable bed in rooms where we wait for surgery.
He’s holding my hand
the side that doesn’t have the IV
that bothers me every time I fidget. Anesthesiologist says, we’re pushing something where
I’ll stay awake
a little longer but my memories will stop before
we leave that room. I want to make a bet with myself. I try really hard to remember
the bed leaving the room, being wheeled down the hall.
Maybe it’s a hallucination. From inside, I can’t tell the difference.
tap an underlined phrase

—

After the sketch
Leonov and Belyayev1
ejected the airlock Mozart’s Requiem played
on Soviet radio. (Reload from SF Layover…)2
tap an underlined phrase

Automatic Failover4

My husband helps dry me after my shower
tucks me back into the hotel bed. I close my eyes
try not to let the orange pee
spike my cortisol. My husband leans in close to conserve my strength
I whisper my room service order into his ear
congee with chicken broth. He calls it in. I catch the light
filtering through his curls
as he swaddles the baby
paces back and forth, softly
humming Cadence of Hyrule1
the only soundtrack
our baby sleeps to. He receives the cart at the door
brings it in, sets up chairs
supports me by the elbow and whole torso
slowly walk me there, scoots my chair in. I usually like congee with little ginger threads and
a touch of scallions
I usually like a tiny drop of sesame oil floating, but even
looking at it hurts.
I carefully spoon out the sesame oil drop onto a napkin.
Wipe the spoon. My brain underclocking
some part of me ticking off a checklist I already have an advanced directive2
completed 7 months ago
I don’t think it needs updating If I don’t make it
he’d be my only baby
my sturdy angel with a large head
he’s perfect. all usual controls for the craft, lost
a pilot used differential engine steering3
to make it home.
tap an underlined phrase

Known Issue

“Fish are friends, not food.”1 — Bruce, Finding Nemo (2003)
1. 1933 Hindenburg objected:
It is quite intolerable for me personally
that Jewish officials disabled in the war
should suffer such treatment. Hitler agreed to exempt veterans. Nearly half of Jewish civil servants
proved they qualified. After Hindenburg’s death
the exception was removed. 2. 1892 “any Chinese laborer … who shall be found within the jurisdiction
of the United States without such certificate of residence, shall be
deemed and adjudged to be unlawfully within the United States”
— Geary Act, Section 6 (1892) The laboring Chinese carry their number
in their pocket
and any man who so desires
may stop them
and demand to see their dog tag. The appeals process requires
“at least one credible white witness.” 3. 1943 Question 282:
Will you swear unqualified allegiance
to the United States of America
and forswear any form of allegiance
or obedience to the Japanese Emperor. Yes: you admit you had
allegiance to forswear.
No: you are disloyal. If you are Issei, barred
from citizenship by race:
yes means stateless. 4. 2026 50 miles from a military base
covers the entire city like a blast radius
in reverse. It’s an oligarchy and a dictatorship, is it not?
The legislator pressed.4
So you won’t say that.
So do you have a social score from China? The scientist said
he was there to discuss the bill. The committee passed it
without objection. 5. repro steps 2023: you cannot purchase property.
2025: you cannot purchase property, and
it’s a felony.
2026: we can seize property
you already own. Three years.
In Germany it was five.3
[found poem, assembled in conversation with Claude while discussing the news, edited by the author]
tap an underlined phrase
While you wait

The first collection, Inference, is available as a free PDF with adaptive footnotes mode. You can read its preview here, or download the full PDF and upload it to your favorite robot friend.

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