In the Beautiful Country

Part One

Leaving

September 15, 1980

I am leaving the only home

I’ve ever known.

I’m just not sure when.

Already, Ma and I have started packing.

We look at every single item and decide

if it goes in the suitcase,

the trash can,

or the giveaway pile.

Ma says,

Ai Shi, let’s not bring any toys.

You’re getting to be a little

too old for that,

don’t you think?

I’m ten.

Sometimes I still talk to my favorite doll.

Sometimes I still play dress-up.

But I don’t say anything.

Lately, Ma has two grooves

of worry etched on her forehead

and I don’t want to upset her.

So I place my dolls

and all my dress-up clothes

in the giveaway pile,

telling myself that where we’re going,

there will be no need to play pretend.

Lucky

The week before he left,

we had one last goodbye party.

The living room filled

with the sweet and sour smell of beer.

I sat next to him as he chatted with friends.

And they kept saying,

You’re so lucky.

It was dark out and time for bed

but I didn’t want to go.

I stayed with him for as long as I could.

He’ll be gone soon enough.

A few days later,

Ba left for the beautiful country,

the Chinese name for America.

His paperwork to immigrate

was approved first,

so he went by himself.

That was eighty days ago.

Now Ma and I wait

for our paperwork to be approved.

It could take a few more weeks

or months.

I try not to ask Ma,

How much longer?

Because when I ask,

all she says is,

Another week or so.

She’s been saying that for a while now.

Collection

Day eighty-five,

Ma is collecting memories.

We go to her favorite food stand

and sit hunched over bowls of noodles, slurping.

We stay up late scouring the night market

for oysters as small as fingernails.

She keeps telling me, Remember.

I try.

I listen to the electric buzz of cicadas

calling out to one another.

I feel the crunch of cuttlefish and basil

on my teeth.

I close my eyes and concentrate

on the lingering whisper of salt

after eating a handful of garlicky fried peanuts.

She keeps telling me

I’m going to miss this place

and the people,

my cousins, aunts, uncles,

A Gong and A Ma.

I think she’s mostly talking to herself.

I don’t know what it means to miss a place.

This is the only place I’ve known.

And right now,

the only person I miss is Ba.

So I hold on to an old memory.

Before Ba left, I asked for

one last trip to the beach,

just the three of us.

We ride the motorcycle,

Ba at the very front.

I am sandwiched between my parents,

my head resting on Ba’s back.

I’m breathing in the smell of ocean

and his familiar scent.

Ma is behind me.

Her belly a soft pillow.

I am cocooned between the two people

I love most in the world.

Remember this.

Nothing bad will ever happen.

Everything will be all right.

Too Soon, Not Soon Enough

She hangs up the phone

and yells through our near-empty house,

The paperwork’s approved.

There’s so much to do.

It’s been a hundred days.

She buys two plane tickets

to Los Angeles, California.

She calls Ba to tell him,

We leave in fourteen days.

I’ve already waited so long,

I can’t decide if fourteen days,

is too soon

or not soon enough.

Six Suitcases

We get haircuts,

to rid ourselves of the extra weight of hair.

Ma’s so careful

to only pack what is needed.

Six pieces of luggage,

that’s all we’re allowed.

She stares at the half-empty suitcases

and they stare back.

This goes on for two days.

Until finally, she breaks the stalemate.

She dumps everything from her closet,

even the clothes that no longer fit,

into the plaid suitcase.

There’s the wool coat from Japan,

a suede skirt from Venezuela,

a dress sewn out of French silk,

all brought back from Ba’s travels long ago,

when he sailed the world

as captain of a cargo ship.

She tells me,

The clothes, they’re just too beautiful

to leave behind.

They will be yours one day.

You’ll grow into them, soon enough.

Ma fills the rest of the luggage with papers,

a college diploma,

a notebook of dress designs,

Ba’s old letters.

And pictures.

She tucks in every single photograph,

even the blurry ones.

She packs as if we are never coming back.

Object-Sorting Machine

These days with Ma,

it’s either hurry up or sit still.

There’s no in-between.

I toss my sun-bleached swimsuit in the trash.

After all, I’m going to California.

I’ll buy a new swimsuit there.

I put my whole collection of books

in the giveaway pile.

I try not to feel too sad about it.

Books are heavy

and even if I wanted to bring them,

I know better than to ask Ma.

Besides,

there will be plenty of books

in the beautiful country.

I just need to learn English first.

Ma says it’s taking me too long to pack.

I get lost in the memories

and that’s why I’m so slow.

She says,

Look at the objects as they are.

Don’t think about the story behind every item.

Your problem is that you love stories too much.

So I pick up my yellow coat,

a constant companion during rainy season.

It’s already a little too tight around the shoulders.

I shouldn’t bring it.

I’m tempted to rub the fluffy lining along my cheek,

which I allow for just one second

before placing the coat in the giveaway pile.

And I’m chanting in my head

on repeat the whole time,

It’s just stuff.

I move my arms robot-like.

I am an object-sorting machine!

This is fun!

Ma, who’s been watching, says,

Hurry up!

This is not a game.

One Out of Fourteen

It’s only after I’ve finished packing

that it starts to sink in,

who I’m leaving behind.

There’s A Gong and A Ma,

I’m the only child of their third daughter.

I’m one grandchild out of fourteen and a girl at that.

I’ve never been a favorite.

Yet lately, maybe because I’ll be gone soon,

whenever A Gong pops open a bottle of 7UP,

he calls me over to take the first sip.

There are my aunts,

Ma’s four sisters.

At family gatherings, I had all five of them

telling me what to do and what to eat.

Together, they were like hens

all clucking at the same time.

And always, my favorite aunt

would let me sneak off

with an extra pineapple cake.

Then there are my cousins.

Summertime, my oldest cousin, Liang,

the firstborn son of my oldest aunt,

would take us out for shaved ice.

We’d sit in a circle

on low stools close to