This essay is about me. Because it is about me, it must begin with my mother. My mom is a Chinese immigrant who was born right as the Four Pests famine began. After surviving the Cultural Revolution, she moved to the United States where she has lived since. In the first few drafts of this essay, I’ve expanded this section and cut it several times.

In an earlier draft of this essay, I included a note to myself in brackets indicating that, despite the urge to share, the above line should remain minimal. The note reminds me that I should do this to show you that I can resist the impulse to give her story away, to tell something that is not all mine to tell.

But the narrative pieces fall together easily. My mom is Chinese. My father is white, and Midwestern like me. It is easy work to hold up the stories my mother tells me about her childhood with stories about my own and let the contrasts thicken into something that is, or at least feels, literary. The surreal, traumatic stories I grew up hearing around the dinner table stand out in sharp relief against our suburban Ohio kitchen. These stories represent a somber understanding of just how precarious easiness is. They make an essay pop.

connect

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substrate thanks!