Chinese Food
There is a place for chopsticks here.
My flight back to the U.S.
came from Shanghai
to New York City
I was coming back,
after having lived in Asia
for 3 years
When we passed through immigration,
an officer was talking to a U.S. citizen
who didn't speak English very well.
The officer shouted at him,
"No more Chinese, only English,
you're in America.
Learn English."
It made me sad and angry.
He didn't know the beauty of the language,
the culture or place because he didn't understand it
and he hadn't seen it.
I wish I had said something,
but I didn't know what to say.
I was scared for myself,
too.
I was called up to the officer next to him.
She looked at my passport,
asked if I was okay, and said,
"Welcome Home."
I went to the bathroom
and cried.
Yesterday,
I went to Chinatown.
I saw a restaurant with all my favorite
Hong Kong foods.
I wanted to order everything.
I went inside,
but I got nervous.
I forgot about the fast-paced-ness
of Hong Kong style restaurants.
I felt the shame of my language,
my Cantonese coming muffled out of my mask
Not having spoken my mother's tongue in a while.
Not having the time
to listen to my order
they said they’d come back.
I left because I did not feel ready
to confront my Chinese American identity.
I left because I did not feel ready
to be comfortable
with who I am.
Yesterday was the first day
I went to one of the branches
of East West Bank.
The voices of bankers speaking in hushed tones,
In Cantonese, Mandarin, and English.
The voices of customers
speaking oh so loudly, like their business
was everybody's business,
in Cantonese.
I read that this bank
Helped immigrants build up their life here
With no credit history
For being new in the US
I didn't realize what that meant was
A place where
There is no shame
For our limited English
Because picking up the phone is
Scary because we don't know which language
We will have to speak
A place where we will be greeted with,
Ah yes, 陳生 (Mr. Chen), 李生 (Mr. Lee), 黃小姐 (Ms. Wong).
A place where speaking
Cantonese or Mandarin or the dialect of our village
is a strength
Because it means we can
Intercede for someone,
Call another bank on their behalf
Afterwards,
I went to eat
An American Chinese meal
Akin to Panda Express
I ordered it from someone
who was not Chinese
And I ate it teary-eyed
Sitting across from a mini forest
Of bamboo
because everything is a metaphor
in the life of an Artist
At the bank
A Chinese woman gave a white man,
A bag of groceries,
Potatoes and other things.
Maybe they knew each other.
“I have too many,” she said,
“and I don't want to throw them away.
“Do you cook?”
“Yea,” he said, “I was a chef,
for 20 years.”
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