can't leave home without them

click slide clink slip push wooden chopsticks chasing charred duck drowning in soy click slide push slide slide the now flightless fowl nested on a bed of scallion evades my American grip with an uncomfortable liveliness click squeeze slide push stab nothing like the the delicate caress of my parent's movements swish glide pinch rub stir their chopsticks a charming dance - I'm convinced they can do anything while I give up and stab an already dead bird the way I hold my chopsticks is the same way I hold my pencil two fingers over, two fingers under, stiff grip straight and tense my dad sees my hand - that is no way to write no way to use your chopsticks fist tight no room to relax, keep those letters round and neat like the textbooks where they teach me English and verb tenses that don't exist in Chinese ate, eat, will eat 吃， 吃， 吃 I did learn something in elementary school eight years old, too young to understand what a culture is, what makes a culture unique yellow school bus to the only art museum in our forgotten southern town the only Chinese student on the bus rip snap click squeeze look three diagrams on a course red wrapper keep one for support, another to hunt now you can pick up anything second graders grasping at air with wooden sticks grasping for life a Chinese grip learned in an American museum small Asian exhibit, always the same room, always serenely dark real flowing water, sounds artificial why are the rooms always so black? the sameness of the spotlight glinting off broken pottery and bamboo papers scrolls made exotic the words of kings and clothing of peasants unfamiliar, glamorous, foreign dyed mountainsides and lotus flowers circled by gold carp inked on decadent silk they are not exotic to me the fish, 鱼, a fortunate resemblance to abundance my canvas fish do not look so lucky says the old man who teaches me Chinese painting when I too young to understand what a culture is, ask what makes a culture unique a painting is made with a hope and a question my diluted ink flows from the flower to the fish - a different grip, special for my brush what makes a painting Chinese? stab stab stab I lose my chopstick to the fork, my 饺子 to mac&cheese but what good is a tool that can only pierce? come knocking on my door, look for the chopsticks you've also lost where can you find a pair? three hundred miles and four hours away Houston, San Francisco, Boston, New York decorated golden arches and old men playing chess and cards men like my grandpa, playing the same games half a globe away the other kids said I could dig my way to him I now wish I could and smell the bursting ginger and spices hot oil bubbling over hand-pulled noodles Chinatown is close enough, three hundred miles rather than thousands statues of powerful 貔貅 at every door, majestic winged lions guarding in pairs, a pocket legend for each guest I feel protected and lucky that luck is four hours away, so we make the weekend drive with a trunk full of coolers do our monthly shopping at the Asian grocery store there is no better vacation I line my pockets with five varieties of frozen dumplings and deliciously sticky glutinous rice balls stuffed with sweet red bean dashing down aisles brimming with a taste of home this is what it feels like to be rich many pairs of chopsticks for sale 筷子：an elegant character composed of bamboo, heart, and decisiveness there is a lot of heart in these beautiful sets made of bamboo, wood and porcelain carved with flowers of my namesake bring home a pair and click stick stir swish stir the chopsticks counter-clockwise only my mom's mixing of fragrant meat filling to meet my dad's hand pulled wrappers I bind the two together in my experimental folding wait together under the TV while they steam when we are together, we make dumplings we make a family in China, my family is loving and we swish swish plop swish rinse the meat rinse the chopsticks, add more to the hot pot eat up, make sure everyone has some, no, you don't have enough - take more it's how we show love, how we show that we are a family sit with my grandma and switch the TV channel for my level of Chinese I can converse with a kindergartener, maybe I roll on the bed in tears of laughter, tears of understanding this is my first time laughing in Chinese there is a joy of understanding in my grandma's face stab stab switch clack squeeze tap the waiters in China give me a fork because I look American stare them in the eye and ask for chopsticks and hot water savor the scent of perfumed tea and the smell of street food on a cool day left alone at a mall, coloring - this is not a Chinese painting two employees approach and ask me where I'm from I forget how to say America in Chinese 美国 beautiful country, but to me the beautiful country is the one where my grandpa peels me sunflower seeds discarded shells piling on his love for me and I steal some when he's not looking to plant around the yard to gift him a bouquet as my love for him I want to be able to tell him about my theft so in college I learn to speak Chinese but not in time click swish click click cheers to a teacher like an aunt to me who takes her class to Han Dynasty and we feast like royalty we do not travel to the past, but to New York where we regale in theater from the Asian American experience stories put on a stage by artists that have lived my life what is American theater? what is Chinese theater? what is Asian-American? my first play where I am an evil cat and kidnap the emperor during a time where tiny me could boldly say 你好 but lost my voice trying to say hi in English here they call that shy click roll clack tap tap I am 18 and the dim sum lady tells my mother I look 乖 well-behaved she thinks it is a compliment I do not want to look obedient stab stab stab poking holes for my pottery to breathe find room for me to breathe each clay cup I try to make flattens out into a plate don't know what to paint dot line square squiggle slash line squiggle timid strokes form my surname, the one I share with my dad the workshop teacher telling me she loves how in touch with my roots I am and I feel like a fraud this surname I share with my dad, who teaches me to love to dabble who teaches me how to write this name holding the calligraphy brush the same way my chinese painting teacher holds his he teaches me chinese he has no textbook, only poems clack tap thump tap thump thump pretending pretending to drum next to the keyboard while my dad sings pretending I understand the words a Chinese pentatonic scale is beautifully simple songs of melodic bird and songs of pearl rivers five notes is enough we live in a world of excesses - who needs an eight note octave when I cry over the sound of five that make the stars in the sky that hold the stories I love are they Chinese or Greek? forbidden love between the weaver girl and the cowherd separated in the heavens Xiwangmu allowing the magpies once a year to form a bridge in the sky I'd like to think that Orion sends a few stars from his belt learning the music, learning the stories, learning the language don't get mistaken for American don't get mistaken for Chinese click clack click clack walking down the street metal chopsticks in my bag - can't leave home without them I call my parents to the rhythm of my utensils how do I read this recipe？ I practice eating my way to my family where can I get a pair of chopsticks? one day delivery online my parents translate the ingredients - lotus root, dried tofu, bean paste the grocery store now four minutes, not hours away writing down my shopping list with relaxed fingers writing my American letters with my Chinese grip a.g.