Of 2000 years of history, all memorized in the minds of studious Chinese youth, I have only been there a month. A month of tripping over simple words, saying and refining the phrase of blood pressure, blood sugar level, weight, height, see the doctor and still doing it rather shittily. A month of reading my own English books, still speaking in English to my peers, a stone crushing my Chinese tongue that has been rotting for years. In spurts of bravery I speak to my parents, stumbling along, sounding like a complete idiot. I understand it’s a necessary obstacle to any language but it’s still frustrating as hell. I was only there a month, I keep telling myself. It’s a mere blip in my whole life. Like she said, nobody knows of my life in America, nobody knows my reality. It’s easy to shed your problems in a foreign country, it’s easy to relax. But you always have to come back, don’t you? Still, the circularity doesn’t escape me. My grandparents escaped China during the war to reside in Taiwan. My parents came from Taiwan to America for opportunities. And their daughter subsequently returns to the land of my grandparents and ancestors. There’s that saying, those who are born into fortune do not know it (身在祝福中不知福). I had opportunities beyond the reach of so many people I saw in China, yet it was I who wanted to fit in with them…
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