The Bonds that Run Centuries Deep” - Emily Luong

The Bonds that Run Centuries Deep Emily Luong ‘20

I don’t remember the details of my escape from Saigon. But I do remember the motorboat my aunt, uncle, cousin, and I squeezed into. I remember the engine sputtering out in the middle of the South China Sea. I remember a hunger so consuming that I nearly forgot who I was and why I’d left in the ÀUVWSODFH,UHPHPEHUZHVKRXOG·YHGLHG,ZDVQLQH\HDUVROG The world wouldn’t have lost much. It wouldn’t have so much as blinked an eye for war refugees with nothing to WKHLUQDPHV$861DY\VKLSVSRWWHGXVÁRDWLQJLQWKHRFHDQ and took us to a camp in the Philippines. We were allowed to see another day.

Then we were on our way to America. The land of the free and the home of the brave, they said. I endured sleepless nights learning English, studying hard to get a degree, working multiple jobs to save up for a house, picking up the pieces of a shattered heart. But I’d do it again and again, for her, for Ellie. Because while the world wouldn’t have lost much that day, it wouldn’t have met that bright little spark. It wouldn’t have met the future.

~ The supermarket on Sunday morning is more hectic WKDQWKHPDOORQ%ODFN)ULGD\5XVW\VKRSSLQJFDUWVÀOOHGZLWK groceries are abandoned in any free space available. Shoppers scramble over one another to sink their hands into weathered ZRRGHQFRQWDLQHUVÀOOHGZLWKJLQJHU%LWVRIPHDWDQGERQH VSODWWHURYHUFULPVRQVWDLQHGDSURQVDVEXWFKHUVIXOÀOOWKH UHTXHVWVRIVKRSSHUVÀJKWLQJIRUVSRWVLQIURQWRIVPXGJHG JODVVFDVHV7KHEX]]RIPDQ\VSRNHQGLDOHFWVÀOOVWKHPDUNHW ÀOOVP\HDUVZLWKDFRPIRUWLQJZKLWHQRLVH

It’s with my daughter in this beautiful chaos where I ÀQGP\VHOIDWSHDFH

46 The night before the trip into the city, I planned out all the meals for the upcoming week in detail, dreaming of a fridge bursting with color from all the vegetables, fresh meats, and sauce jars that would line its shelves. As I read the grocery list scrawled on the back of an envelope, I taste the rich, hearty ÁDYRUVRIQRRGOHVRXSVULFHSRUULGJHVDQGVWLUIU\VRQP\ tongue.

I navigate the cart between narrow aisles and around trampled napa cabbage leaves to the seafood section. Ellie follows behind me with her head down, lost to the distant world behind her phone screen. We pass live lobsters, crabs, snails, IURJVDQGHHOVFUDPPHGLQWRVPDOO6W\URIRDPER[HVÀOOHGZLWK murky brown water.

When we reach the shrimp display, I rummage through our cart for a plastic produce bag that I can use as a glove to sort through the pile. I glance up at Ellie for a moment and let out a long breath. She’s shoved both her phone and hands into her jacket pockets. Her back presses up against the metal of the cart. Her eyes warily glance around the market. “Ellie, I’m going to pick the best ones for you,” I say cheerfully in Cantonese as I put my right hand through a bag. I VRUWWKURXJKWKHSLOHIRUWKHODUJHVWSLHFHVWRÁDYRUVRXSEURWK and fry with noodles.

“Ma, you know I won’t eat any of it,” Ellie says from EHKLQG PHKHUÁXHQW(QJOLVKVOLFLQJWKURXJKWKHKXPRI shoppers’ voices. My gloved hand halts before resuming. I hear this almost every day. Each time is still a punch in the stomach.%DE\SOHDVHOHWPHIHHG\RX/HW0DWDNHFDUHRI\RX just once.

“Oh, I know, I know. That’s okay, that’s alright. This is just for me,” I say, this time in English. It’s always just for PH,ÀQLVKP\VRUWLQJLQVLOHQFHDQGDVNDQHPSOR\HHWRZHLJK my selection. While watching him place the pile onto a slippery scale, I notice a blur of movement to my right. Behind the FRXQWHUDQHPSOR\HHWULHVWRFDWFKDÀVKVZLPPLQJDORQHLQ

47 DFORXG\WDQN(YHU\WLPHKLVQHWJUD]HVLWVWDLOWKHÀVKGDUWVLQ the opposite direction.

Ellie stares and stares at the poor creature and leaves her place by the cart to get a better look. Her hands venture from the safety of her pockets as if she can somehow reach out and snatch the net from the employee’s grasp. I can’t bring myself to tell her that crossing each ends of the tank won’t save WKHÀVK

I place the bag of shrimp in the cart and follow Ellie’s JD]HWRWKHWDQN´7KDWÀVKUHDOO\GRHVQ·WZDQWWREHFDXJKWµ ,VD\KDOIKHDUWHGO\7RJHWKHUZHZDWFKDVWKHPDQÀQDOO\FRUQHUVWKHÀVK:LWKIDVWUHÁH[HVKHVFRRSVLWLQWRWKHQHW7KH ÀVKWKUDVKHVDVLWHPHUJHVIURPWKHZDWHU7KHPDQWKURZVLW onto a cutting board that probably hasn’t been deep-cleaned in years. Ellie turns away.

I reach out to place my hand on her shoulder, but she VOLSVOLNHDÀVKRXWRIP\JUDVS6KHPRYHVWRZDUGVWKHGU\ goods section, away from the heavy, wet thud of the knife. ~ $IWHUDORQJGD\LQWKHRIÀFH,VWHSLQWRWKHNLWFKHQ DQGÁLSRQWKHOLJKWV$ZRRGHQLVODQGDSSHDUVLQLWV\HOORZ stained, knife-marked glory. Cutting boards, woks, soy sauce ERWWOHVDQGSODVWLFWRIXFRQWDLQHUVÀOOHGZLWKODGOHVVSDWXODV and chopsticks of various sizes spill over every inch of the surrounding counter space. The sharp aromas of scallions, tamarind, and ginger from the night before circle around the room before nestling into their chosen corners. A lucky cat PLQLDWXUHÀJXULQHWKDW(OOLHQDPHG6DJZDZKHQVKHZDVÀYH sits on top of the microwave.

My kitchen waits for me, ready to create the comforting dinner I’ve been dreaming about the entire day. I pull out ingredients, beef bones, steak, rice noodles, star anise, RQLRQVDQGÀVKVDXFHWRQDPHDIHZIRUP\PRWKHU·VSKӣ Two hours later, I’m a sweaty, greasy, happy mess. I lean over the two gallon pot to ladle the broth into a bowl. It glides over

48 the white noodles and raw slices of steak with a ripple, transIRUPLQJWKHSLQNSLHFHVLQWRDOLJKWWDQ,·PMXVWÀQLVKLQJ sprinkling basil leaves, bean sprouts, scallions, and onions on top when the front door opens and sock-covered feet pad into the kitchen. I turn to give Ellie a big smile and wipe my hands on a dishtowel, “Hi baby, how was swim practice?”

(OOLHGURSVKHUEDFNSDFNDQGVZLPGXIÁHRQWKHÁRRU “Hard. Coach made us do sprints the whole time to prep for the meet,” she says. Ellie’s nose wrinkles at the sight of the pot. “Did you really have to make that when I just did the laundry last night? Now all my clothes are gonna smell weird,” she says. I notice the greasy McDonalds bag that she dumps on the breakfast table. I put the second bowl back into the cabinet. Ellie collapses into a chair and draws the McDonalds closer to her. She unwraps the burger and eats half of it in one bite. Ketchup smears the corner of her mouth, but Ellie wipes it away with the back of her hand before I can give her a napkin.

A nasty part of me wants to hurl that bag into the trash where it belongs and slam down a bowl of noodles right in front of her. Why is it so hard for you to just try? Why are you so ashamed of me? But my only child, my sweet girl, is hungry and needs to eat. She’s already so small, so thin, so exhausted. I let her keep going. I can imagine chunks of hamburger hitting the bottom of her stomach like rocks.

I bring my bowl over to the table and settle down in the seat across from her. Ellie ignores me as I heap glistening QRRGOHVEHHIDQGYHJHWDEOHVRQWRDVRXSVSRRQ7KHÀUVWELWH LVKHDYHQ:DUPWKÁRZVWKURXJKRXWP\ERG\EXW,EDUHO\IHHO it this time.

After a few more bites, I can’t stand the silence. I get up to turn on the wireless speaker I got as a Christmas gift. I think I’m following the instructions in the booklet, but I hear Ellie push back her chair and come over. She snatches my phone out of my hands, presses a few buttons on it, and slaps it

49 back into my palm as 80s pop music begins to play. “Get with the times, Ma. It’s not that hard,” Ellie says.

“Look, you were born here with all this stuff. I wasn’t,” I say. Ellie shakes her head. We return to the table. We’re within an arm’s length of each other, but Ellie’s in a place where I can’t reach her.

How can I be a mother to you? ~ I’m just so tired. My joints ache. My hair begins to show streaks of gray. Headaches more often turn into migraines. Recently, I was diagnosed with high blood pressure. I don’t recognize myself anymore. Advice is nothing more than pleas to stop and rest, but what does that mean? How can you tell a mother to ‘stop and rest’? Ellie still has a few years left before she’s off to college. She’s not done yet and neither am I.

Trapped underneath my calloused skin and aching bones, the words he said to me that night at the hospital bounce off the walls of my body. YRXDUHQ·WFDSDEOHRIUDLVLQJ KHUE\\RXUVHOI<RXZHUHQ·WHYHQFDSDEOHRIJLYLQJPHDVRQ The image of his outstretched hand for the engagement ring is branded behind my eyelids.

I stare at the framed photo of Ellie and me next to my work computer, forgetting that my colleague, Christina, sits in the chair in front of my desk.

“You need to be harder on her, Michelle.” “I know.” “My sons—” “Yes, yes, yes, your sons are happy to come home from college and eat your food, your sons wouldn’t dare speak to you in English, your sons love to join you overseas for the New Year to see your parents. I could go on and on and on,” I snap.

Christina is silent. I rub my face. “I’m sorry, and I’m QRWµ,VD\WKURXJKP\ÀQJHUV(YHU\RQFHLQDZKLOH

50 Christina likes to not-so-subtly remind me that she lived like an American in Saigon’s wealthy, tourist-friendly neighborhood while I sold sweet red bean soup on the congested streets across the city. Christina’s good company until she’s not. She leans forward, “If your daughter’s going to live under your roof, she has to respect you and do what you ask her to do. That means being grateful for the food on the table when the children where you came from are starving.” Well, at least I ZDVQDWXUDOL]HGÀUVW,FRQWHPSODWH smacking that smirk off Christina’s face when I have one of those aha moments that almost makes me want to smack myself for not thinking of it earlier. I straighten in my chair and turn my attention back to the computer screen.

“Thanks Christina, I’ll just be getting back to work now. I have a report due by the end of today,” I say. “You know, I could talk to her—” “I don’t think that’ll be necessary.” “Are you sure? I can—” “Please shut the door on your way out.” ~ Ellie presses the doorbell button as if it’s a hot stove DQGÀGGOHVZLWKVWUDQGVRIKHUGDUNKDLU6KHVWDUHVDWKHU sneakers, the front steps, and the bushes lining the house. 3OHDVHORRNDWPH<RXNQRZ,·PKHUHULJKW"

I carefully brought up the idea of making the mere half-hour drive over here a few days ago, but she wasn’t having it. She said she had a party to go to with her friends during that time. So I did what I had to. I got her to hop into the car under the pretense that we’d go see a movie. Maybe not my proudest parenting moment.

A few moments later, the wooden door creaks open to reveal a petite woman in her late sixties. Mai, my aunt and Ellie’s adoptive grandmother, gives us a big smile and drags us into her home. Ellie doesn’t get the chance to take off her shoes before Mai pinches her cheeks. “How’s school? Are you

51 getting enough sleep? Drinking enough water? What has your mother done to you, hm? Look at all the weight you’ve lost! You’re not leaving the house until you’re full.” She squeezes Ellie’s cheeks some more until they’re bright red and places her hands in her own wrinkly ones.

“Thank you, but I’m not that hungry,” Ellie mumbles in Cantonese. She drags out each word in long syllables until the next one takes its place, as if she’s afraid that if she stops LQWKHPLGGOHRIWKHVHQWHQFHVKH·GIRUJHWKRZWRÀQLVKLW%XW she doesn’t forget. She can’t forget. Each of its six ascending and descending tones make up the fabric of who she is. Mai leads us up the stairs of the split-entry house and into the living room. Ellie walks towards one of the couches and takes out her phone. Mai frowns at her fascination with ‘Twitting’ and ushers me into her kitchen.

Dishes laden with stir-fried Chinese broccoli, chow mein, tofu, and spring rolls cover the entire surface of the breakfast table. The steam from the plates nearly blurs the view of the kitchen in a delicious-smelling cloud. Mai leans RYHUDEXEEOLQJSRWRQWKHVWRYHWRÀVKRXWGXPSOLQJVZLWKKHU chopsticks. Then she opens the oven right as it dings to reveal a huge tray of roast pork slices, their golden brown skins still sizzling in the oil that drips off the fat.

I rush over to help her with the tray that looks nearly half her height in length, but she smacks my hands away. “I’m not that old yet,” Mai jokes as she manages to pull it out and ÀQGMXVWHQRXJKVSDFHRQWKHWDEOHWRSXWLWGRZQ

“Thank you so much for dinner, but you didn’t have to make all of this. Ellie’s food preferences haven’t changed since the last time I brought her over. How many years ago was that? Four?” I ask. Mai snorts and wipes her sweating face and oily hands with a paper towel.

´,W·VEHHQÀYH$QGGRQ·WZRUU\6LQFH\RXUXQFOHGLHG and your cousin moved to New York City, I haven’t cooked for others in a long time. I’m sure Ellie will listen,” she says. I

52 hope she’s right.

Mai gives in and lets me help her bring the food to the dining room. Ellie watches over her phone screen as we set the plates down on the newspaper-lined table. She rises from the couch and hesitates between the living and dining rooms. She studies each dish on the table.

Mai turns her head to look at Ellie before scooping jasmine rice out of the twenty-cup rice cooker. “Come over here to eat, don’t be shy,” she says in a voice that doesn’t allow for any negotiation. Ellie drags her feet over to a seat and plops herself down. Mai and I join her.

When Mai starts scooping tofu into her bowl, I grab two pieces of roast pork and pop them into my mouth. The tender, juicy meat and rich fat melt on my tongue before WKH\·UHVRDNHGXSE\WKHFULVS\VNLQ7RJHWKHUWKH\ÁRDWGRZQ to my stomach as light as feathers.

I try to focus on my food, but I keep glancing at Ellie in the hopes she’ll start eating with us. “Ellie, please don’t be rude, eat,” I say quietly in English so Mai doesn’t understand. If not for me, at least do it for her.

Five minutes into our meal, Ellie reaches for her chopsticks. She struggles to pick up a dumpling in her trembling grip, but she manages to take a small bite before it falls into her rice bowl. She picks up the dumpling and drops it a few times until it’s gone.

The pizza place down the street is my backup plan. I wait for her to spit it all out in her napkin, to demand for the pastas, meatloaves, and casseroles that I can’t properly replicate, even after long nights poring over online recipes and videos. But Ellie doesn’t. Her throat bobs as she swallows the last of the dumpling.

Ellie’s crying. Tears fall down her cheeks as she tries to swallow a piece of Chinese broccoli. “I don’t belong here,” she whispers in her broken Cantonese. I put down my chopsticks.

53 Mai, not one to be sentimental, sets down her bowl. “Yes you do. Yes you do.” she says with the bluntness I have grown to love over the years. Ever since I was a little girl, I’ve DOZD\VDGPLUHGWKHXQDSRORJHWLFFRQÀGHQWZD\VKHKROGV herself. It was a trait she had to develop in order to compete against her eleven siblings for their parents’ attention.

“Ellie,” Mai says. She looks up at her. “Your mother’s great grandparents moved from a rice farm in China to Saigon wanting a better life. They taught your grandmother to work for no one but herself, so she got up before sunrise every day to sell food on the street. After the war, she told your mother it was time that she make better life for herself in America,” Mai says.

Ellie knows this story, but it’s as if she’s hearing it for WKHÀUVWWLPH+HUGHHSEURZQH\HVIRFXVVWHDGLO\RQ0DLDV she speaks. Her body leans closer with every second. She’s listening.

0DLÀQLVKHVDQGJODQFHVDWPHZDLWLQJ,WDNHDGHHS breath and reach for Ellie’s hand. While her face is not as chubby, and her hair is no longer in those pigtails with sunÁRZHUEDUUHWWHVVKH·VP\OLWWOHJLUODQGDOZD\VZLOOEH

“It doesn’t matter where you were born, what language you speak, what food you eat because you’ve already continued that tradition for us. You make everything worth it in the end,” I say through my own tears. Mai nods and folds her hands on the table.

Being rescued from the open ocean was only just the EHJLQQLQJRIDOLIHRIVDFULÀFHIRU0DL<HDUVRIZDQGHULQJ around American supermarkets lost, working long hours in factories, and worrying over having enough food to feed her family hadn’t been kind to her. But she persisted. Laugh lines decades in the making map her face as she smiles at Ellie. In the presence of this strong woman, I know that Ellie will persist too.

Mai gets up and marches into the kitchen. Returning

54 with a scrap of paper and a pen, she writes three Chinese characters across the surface and presses it into Ellie’s hands so she’ll never forget the intricate lines and shapes. Her name. Ellie doesn’t let go of the paper for the rest of the night.

~ We begin to talk to each other again. We talk about the classes she’s taking, her choices for college, her dreams of becoming an immigration lawyer, and her wish to visit her ELRORJLFDOJUDQGPRWKHUIRUWKHÀUVWWLPH

“How about this, we’ll go to Vietnam as your graduation present,” I told her last night, “I bet your grandmother would love to see the real face behind all those embarrassing pictures I’ve sent her over the years.” Ellie groaned and rested her head lightly on my shoulder as we watched a movie for a Friday night in. “I hope you didn’t send the ones you took on my birthday last year. The ones of me with my face covered in FDNHµ,FKRVHQRWWRWHOOKHUWKDWWKH\ZHUHWKHÀUVWSLFWXUHVWR go in the pile.

6RPHWLPHV,ZDQWWRÀQGWKHPXOWLPLOOLRQGROODUKRPH he’s probably living in. With a wife who gave him all the sons he could possibly want to continue the precious family name. Forgetting that he, too, came to this country with nothing but the clothes on his back and a head full of dreams.

I’d bang on his front door and tell him about the smart, kind, and beautiful young woman I’ve raised. I’d tell him that I did it all without his goddamn useless help, that no amount of heartache from my early years in America could take away the mind, body, and soul I have given her. I’d tell him that he may have given her life, but I gave her a life. Then I’d turn around and walk away from him, never once looking back at the face that looks nothing like my daughter’s.

,WKLQNDERXWWKLVDVWKHODWH-DQXDU\DLUÀQGVLWVZD\ through an opening in my coat. Balancing a paper grocery bag with ingredients for today’s lunch against my left hip, I unlock

the front door and hurry inside. I’m about to call out to Ellie to let her know I’m home when I hear the clinking of a ladle against stainless steel. I tiptoe down the hall and turn the corner.

Ellie bends over the stove warming up the leftover phӣ I stored in the freezer a few weeks back. She glances at the burner to make sure the heat setting is right and swirls the broth around in slow circles. On the island behind her is the ceramic bowl I bought for her when she was born. It had been sitting in the back of the cabinet for so long that I forgot it existed. Decorated around the rim is a blue silhouette of a dragon, her Chinese zodiac.

When the broth’s surface is just starting to break ZLWKEXEEOHV(OOLHÀOOVKHUGUDJRQERZOZLWKULFHQRRGOHVDQG toppings before adding the soup. The beef is slightly overdone, the noodles could’ve been boiled just a little bit more, and there should’ve been more color with a larger variety of vegetables, but it’s her creation and hers alone.

Ellie inhales, drawing the dancing steam from the piping hot broth into her nose.