Vera Wong's Unsolicited Advice for Murderers

People always say that your wedding day is the happiest day of your life, but honestly, people should try solving murders more often.

Maybe you do something slightly bad, so what? Now you learn from it. You have a better judgment now. Better morals, because you learn from your personal mistake. This what life is about, Riki. No one is perfect, making right decisions all the time. Only those who are so privileged can make right decision all the time. The rest of us, we have to struggle, keep afloat. Sometimes we do things we are not proud of. But now you know where your lines are. You are good boy, Riki. You have good heart. That is all that matters.

You don't describe your job like that," Vera scolds. "Is a small job, hah! Can you see men saying that? No, men will talk it up with bullshit, that is why they get even bigger job next time. There is no such thing as 'small job.' And don't say in that silly tone, oh so apologetic, I am just silly woman having a small job. No!" Her index finger shoots up and points at Julia's face like a sword. "You go and do this job proudly.

In her experience, it’s best to nod and agree with what people say before doing exactly what you wanted from the very beginning.

Destiny, Vera thinks, is something to be hunted down and grabbed tightly with both hands and shaken until it gives her exactly what she wants.

If only every bad thing in life could be removed just by mopping it away.

The woman’s eyebrows are statement brows, and the statement is: I am fucking fabulous and don’t you forget it.

She will fake it even better than a mediocre man interviewing for a job he’s not qualified for.

Vera ignores him. She’s gotten very good at ignoring people over the years, especially when they say things like “You can’t do that” or “You’re not supposed to do that.

I am mother too. Actually, I am Chinese mother. You can’t get better than that. We raise the best children in the world, you just look at any hospital, all the surgeon are Chinese.” Vera beams with pride, as though she has personally been responsible for all the surgeons in every hospital.

Generations of Chinese mothers have perfected the art of sniffing out guilt, and Vera can practically see waves of guilt churning out of the young people gathered before her.

Emma, you listen to Grandma Vera. Are you listening? This Anne is very stupid. Very! Stupid! You hear me? Why is she happy that crazy king wants to marry her? She should be horrified. She should carry a dagger with her on wedding night.

She’s very proud of her crime scene; it must surely be the most pleasant crime scene the cops have ever been to.

Nothing personal, Tilly,” Vera says, “is just that you a very ugly baby.” “Yep, nothing personal about that, Ma.

Nothing fills Vera with quite as much joy as watching loved ones eat her food. It’s one of the many things she misses about Jinlong and Tilly. When it was the three of them at home, she’d cook every day and watch as Jinlong and Tilly ate, and food always tasted so much better that way. Living alone, Vera finds that much of the joy of cooking has leached out of her, to the point where she mostly eats plain rice and simple sauteed vegetables for dinner. Why bother cooking elaborate meals for just one person? But now she has so many people to cook for. Her days are filled to bursting and she’s constantly rushing here and there, and she can’t possibly be happier than this.

She takes a quick moment to send a text to her son, reminding him that he’s sleeping his life away and should have been up and at it before her. He is, after all, a young man with a whole world to conquer. Late mornings, Vera believes, are only for toddlers and Europeans.

This is the problem with creative people; their self-image is divided into two parts—one thinks that they’re a genius who will one day create a masterpiece of such breathtaking brilliance that it will still be discussed with reverence hundreds of years later; the other part thinks they are trash raccoons rooting around in the dark and coming up with nothing but more trash. There is no in-between. It’s either “super genius” or “trash raccoon,” and somehow these parts coexist within the head of one very tortured artist.

Young people should be moving fast, take the world by its male genitalia, and so on.

Mementos from their parents’ homeland, too old to use, too precious to throw away, too painful to look at. So they are left to age gently, a reminder of everyone who was left behind.

In Chinese culture, respect only flows in one direction, from the younger to the older, like a river. The older generation doesn't owe the younger ones respect; if any is given, it is done so out of kindness and generosity, not necessity.

And anyway, isn’t this how young people are told to live their lives now? To fake it until they make it? She’s going to do just that. She will fake it even better than a mediocre man interviewing for a job he’s not qualified for.

Unrealized dreams are one of saddest things in life,

Vera Wong Zhuzhu, age sixty, is a pig, but she really should have been born a rooster. We are, of course, referring to Chinese horoscopes. Vera Wong is a human woman, thank you very much, but roosters have nothing on her. Every morning

You don’t describe your job like that,” Vera scolds. “Is a ‘small job,’ hah! Can you see men saying that? No, men will talk it up with bullshit, that is why they get even bigger job next time. There is no such thing as ‘small job.’ And don’t say in that silly tone, oh so apologetic, I am just silly woman having a small job. No!” Her index finger shoots up and points at Julia’s face like a sword. “You go and do this job proudly.

...if there's a silver lining to dating college frat boys, it's learning how to gaslight with the best of them.

She is still steely-eyed. Vera no longer recognizes the sniffly, frightened woman that Julia was when they first met. Julia now looks like nothing could possibly tear her down. Vera can’t be any prouder of her.

For a few precious weeks, Vera experienced a renewed purpose in life. Received multiple hugs throughout the day, little arms around her neck, and a little sticky face kissing her cheeks.

Oh, this and that,” Vera says. “After you breastfeed, no bra will be able to control all the flopping.

In her mother’s books, bad guys are knifed, drugged, strangled. Deaths that are intentional, premeditated, and dramatic. Nothing like an accidental allergic reaction.

Hmm, you don’t look young enough to be Gen Z. You need to take better care of your skin.