the chain

“An-Mei: You think he sees this pie… now he’s so sorry take you for granted. You think this, you the foolish one. Every time you give him gift… like begging. “Take this. Oh, sorry. Please forgive me. I’m not worth as much as you.” So he only take you more for granted. You’re just like my mother. Never know what you’re worth. Until too late.    …

An-Mei: I tell you the story because I was raised the Chinese way. I was taught to desire nothing, to swallow other people’s misery, and to eat my own bitterness. And even though I taught my daughter the opposite, still she came out the same way. Maybe it is because she was born to me and she was born a girl, and I was born to my mother and I was born a girl, all of us like stairs, one step after another, going up, going down, but always going the same way. No, this cannot be, this not knowing what you’re worth, this not begin with you. My mother not know her worth until too late – too late for her, but not for me. Now we will see if not too late for you, hmm?

Ying Ying: Losing him does not matter. It is you who will be found–and cherished.”

– The Joy Luck Club



…And so it goes, this way and that,
where endings birth beginnings’ cry
pierces the night, signals the day
holding the next dream captive, lying
there, your arms wrapped ’round so
small, the rocking chair in the corner, your
mother’s hands and how they combed
your hair, washed it all away once and now
comes back this day and smiles knowingly
as stones in the road fill your shoes, the
crossing marks the starting line, passages
to take on again and again, back and
forth continuing, illuminates the bread
crumbs that line the stony way.

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