None of her family came to the States to attend the wedding because her husband was the son of a Nationalist general that her Communist grandfather had fought against during the Civil War. She settled down in San Antonio, living a middle-class life and had three kids. China slowly faded away from her quiet suburban life until eventually the closest she felt to China was in the video shop around the corner that carried Jackie Chan's DVDs. As her kids grew up, she realized that they needed more exposure to Chinese culture.

The first stop after arrival is Lijiang, Yunnan, where the kids' grandparents grew up. Baobao is amazed that Lijiang is so modernized and so traditional at the same time. The river around the town reminds her of the Riverwalk back in San Antonio. Unlike the Riverwalk, there aren't any clubs featuring jazz bands, but there are bands featuring eighty-year-old musicians playing the theme song from Titanic on their erhu. There is no Hard Rock Cafe, but you can always find bars selling margaritas under ancient roofs.

Her hometown, Beijing, is unrecognizable, not only because of the new tall buildings but also because of the looks of the people. All of a sudden, Beijing women have become fashion experts, looking both confident and beautiful. But nothing is more incredible than seeing her little sister Beibei's lifestyle. Designer clothes, a German car, beauty salon memberships, a maid, a driver, a chef, several lovers – she lives like a queen.

In a massage parlor, the two sisters are enjoying a foot massage. Beibei says, to Baobao, "My income is considered only so-so in America. It's a matter of choosing between living like a queen in the third world and living a middle-class life in the States."

"I'd choose equality and freedom over living like a queen," Baobao says, sounding very American. "What about you?"

"I've learned to enjoy privilege," Beibei admits, "but I also feel guilty about my wealth. I know part of the reason I'm able to lead a luxurious life is there are so many poor Chinese people – cheap laborers, especially those peasants who come to the big cities to da gong. For example, the kids here who are massaging us only make one-twentieth of what I earn. They work seven days a week, twelve hours a day, and sleep on the sofas we are sitting on. I feel bad for them. But at the same time, the contrast can also make you feel good about yourself. For example, it's nothing special owning a car in the United States, but here, it is quite something."

"Especially when you cruise around Beijing hutongs in your BMW 750." Baobao teases Beibei, "I guess it makes you feel like those colonials who lived in one of the old foreign concessions in Donghua Gate. I drive a Honda back in the States. Japanese cars use less gasoline.

"But one thing you don't have is freedom. For example, the freedom to have three children like me!" Baobao adds.

"Who wants kids? I don't want kids." Beibei shrugs. "Especially after seeing that your kids speak no Chinese."

"You're so patriotic, voluntarily applying the family planning policy?" Baobao snaps back.

"We are the first generation of Chinese women who have learned to love ourselves. I don't want to be called 'mother of my kids' like our mother was," Beibei states firmly.

"Not having kids might be cool now, but everyone grows old one day. Your children are the continuation of your youth. Even Hillary Clinton and Madonna have children," Baobao argues.

"You sound more like our mother now. I can't believe you've come all the way from America!" Beibei says.

Seeing that Beibei won't change her mind, Baobao asks the girl who is giving her a foot massage: "What do you say, as a woman – do you want children in the future?"

"That depends on who I marry," the girl speaks in a Henan accent. "If I got lucky, like you, and my children could be born in the United States, then I'd have five or six. One of them might even become president of the United States! If I married someone even poorer than me, then I wouldn't want children. I don't want to see my kid grow up in a place like this, full of smelly feet and smelly shoes."

Her words remind me of my stepmother Jean Fang, who has the same dream of giving birth to a candidate for American president. But I wonder to myself if Asian Americans can hold high positions in the American government? Even if they don't become president, I suppose their lives would be better than that of a foot massager.

"Both the rich and the poor have their reasons for limiting the size of their family," Baobao mutters. "I guess the one-chi ld policy works."

Beibei doesn't hear a word that Baobao says. She is looking at her own feet. She has them sprayed with the lemongrass foot spray she bought from the Body Shop. She sniffs her shoes, absolutely sure that her shoes don't smell. After all, she has sixty-six pairs.

HEIWULEI: Five black types, jargon used in the Cultural Revolution to identify those deemed to be reactionaries.

GAOGAN ZIDI: Children of high-ranking Communist Party officials: privileged rich kids in China.

LIU SI: The Tiananmen uprising of June 4, 1989.

ERHU: Two-stringed Chinese musical instrument. DA GONG: To work in order to make a living. It especially refers to peasants who migrate to the cities to become manual laborers. In a broader sense, it refers to all employees who work for others instead of themselves. Since entrepreneurship is encouraged by the market economy, many Chinese consider being a boss more successful than working for someone else.

SARS has changed my life.

Gone are the days with decadent lewd banquets with ten people eating twenty dishes. At home, I cook frozen dumplings.

Gone are the days that a gang of friends raids my house, drinking up my collection and taking away everything I store in my fridge. Yinsi, or privacy, once such a foreign concept, becomes a notion that everybody embraces. They don't show up unexpectedly. Instead, they talk to me by e-mails.

I am the city girl who used to crawl from one party to another. Now I have time to read, write and meditate, and do yoga! Instead of window shopping for fun, I order everything from books to noodle soups online!

As for my friends, they do the same. Lulu plans to do an exhibition called Mask Fashions after the SARS epidemic is over. But at the moment, she hides at home, writing her first soap opera Love in the Time of SARS. She locks herself in the bedroom and writes eighteen hours a day. Her mother is back in Beijing to take care of her and leaves food at the door for her to pick up. Beibei is thinking of holding an outdoor concert outside a big hospital. At the moment, all the concerts her company has sponsored have been canceled, including Rolling Stone's first China trip. As for her personal life, for the first time in seven years her marriage has become monogamous. Both she and her husband, Chairman Hua, have temporarily shut down their extramarital contacts. Chairman Hua is even learning to cook. From time to time, Beibei comes home to find him in the kitchen. CC has written her first will after her parents sent their own will to her from Hong Kong. She spends most of her time talking with a doctor in England via Yahoo Messenger. He is her cyberromance.

I realize that it's not just the lives of my friends and me that have changed so dramatically, but the whole society as well.

Vegetarianism is cool now. Restaurants that used to make a lucrative business by butchering wild animals have lost money and closed down. Some see SARS as the revenge of the animal kingdom on greedy human beings.