A Dinner Party through Life My parents left China in 1985. After nine years in the United States, all but one of my grandparents passed away. At that time, my mother took me to visit Guangzhou, struggling to juggle my ten-month-old self on her lap and watch my 2-year-old brother during the 20-hour plane ride. She made it to China in time to reunite with her mother. There’s a single picture of my grandmother holding me, with a large smile as I sit snugly in her arms. She passed away when I was four years old. At the dinner party, my grandmother sits next to me. I have cooked traditional Cantonese food for her, placed on beautifully designed porcelain plates. I’ve created a scrapbook documenting the past 20 years, and she flips through it now. I don’t recognize her, and we struggle through my limited Mandarin skills – yet I have her sparkling eyes and wide smile. I want her to know her granddaughter. I want to reap her wisdom and hear tales of my mother’s youth. I want to make her smile that wide smile that connects us. At 20 years old, I’m fortunate to have so many inspiring people in my life. I’m also fortunate to have dinner frequently with these people: my parents, my best friends, and my mentors. But there’s one friend I don’t see nearly enough of, and she is one of the most beautiful, caring, and talented women I know. At dinner, she sits on my other side. I’ve made her a healthy, filling meal to help combat her struggles with anorexia. I’ve coaxed her to talk about her semester, and she’s finally smiling again, emerging from her cloud of depression. I want to inspire her. I want to make her realize why she deserves the same amount of love she gives to me. At the far end of the table is myself at a ripe old age. My future self observes how I interact with my grandmother and my best friend, and she eats her favorite meal: my mother’s pineapple chicken dish, which she hasn’t eaten in years. I don’t want to hear life secrets or shortcuts from her. I don’t even want to interact with her. All I want is to see her happy and well – proof that I have a fulfilling life ahead.
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