feel

At age four, I entered

a world completely foreign

to my Chinese roots

At the long dining room table

of my Argentinian babysitter’s home

I sipped mate through a straw

used a fork to eat

fried pork chops and salad

and drank powdered chocolate milk

When we’d go out

she would fix my hair

I was like one of her daughters

high ponytail splashed with

Jean Naté

perfume on my head

And like a little bird

I followed along

Greeted people with

a kiss on the cheek

Listened to salsa music

blasting from the car

Dreamt about having

a gold chain necklace

in the shape of my name

In the Bronx, I was

allowed to exist

without the watchful eye

of a reserved Chinese mom

who said I was

a wild horse, mouth

too expressive and unbridled

for my own good

Muy rico,

sí,

más por favor

With a foreign language

on my tongue

I was practicing how to fly

I practiced speaking English

watching Barbara Walters

on 20/20

I watched her

calm collected manner

skilled at interviewing

notorious killers and

movie stars alike

She taught me

how to make small talk

about the latest NY Times story

present scientific data with objectivity

and confidently ask rich folks

about their legacy and contribution

to society

A friend once heard me

speak at a conference

“Wow, that was so white”

She stared at me in awe

I smiled back

feeling the tension in my jaw

I was still on camera

I learned French at age 14

when my family moved

to Montréal

My family was thrust

in the middle of a silent war

we knew nothing about

Like the time Mom

went to the post office

to mail a package

The teller spoke

only French

Mom pointed

with her fingers

and spoke

only English

All the bilingual clerks

just stared

Sometimes there was

a stalemate,

like in restaurants

“Qu’est-ce que

vous voudriez manger?”

“Smoked meat sandwich and poutine”

“Breuvage?”

“A coke”

“Merci”

“Thanks”

I thought a dictionary

would help

show I was eager

to learn and

make peace

like the time my teacher said

“six quarante-neuf”

I looked in the dictionary

but couldn’t find

the word

I didn’t even know

I had to look up

two words

“six”

“quarante-neuf”

In defeat

I whispered for help

from my classmates

They chuckled

“6-49?!”

“It’s the Canadian lotto”

I thought I had forgotten

I was Chinese

after 14 years of marriage

to a white man

My mouth forgot

how to speak

Chinese, my taste buds

had grown accustomed

to swirling a fork to eat

spaghetti and meatballs

with red sauce

Though my lips

still missed

slurping chewy fat noodles

in vinegar soy sauce

with chopsticks and

a bowl to my face

Then one day

I found a song on YouTube

A woman in Cantonese

sang through the speakers

and gave me back

my childhood memories

The smell of stir-fry vegetables

garlic, ginger and hot oil

came wafting through the air

Eating dinner together

with wooden chopsticks

and porcelain bowls of hot rice

at our round table

I used to choreograph

elaborate ballet moves

on the yellow oriental rug

listening to Canto-pop

my unabashed dream

of being a Chinese superstar

Suddenly,

the song ended

and so did my memories

Instead I heard my mom’s

impatient voice yelling

me back to reality

“Why are you crying

listening to this song?

You’re not even Chinese.”

As a child

I thought I could

erase away

my mother tongue

Swap it with

languages and adventures

that gave me freedom

to explore the world

to find myself

to feel lost

I thought my mouth

was a muscle

that with enough

practice would forget

about its past

Then at age 46

I read a book

of Chinese Medicine

and learned

The tongue

is the gateway

of the heart

It’s curves and trills

how it touches

the roof of your palate

the tones it makes

as it sits in midair

in your mouth

They all remain

memories

of the heart