grandpa's painted violin adorns his always shaven chin under the pinks, blues, purples and greens, lies a 10,000 dollar appraised reverberating tone that resonates with the present. sound not the absence of air be the presence of motion stillness in song. and the price of the ticket 3 trips across the pacific. one journey home. i have heard these conversations his music if only while i was asleep.
i don't know how my ancestors walked to canada over the miles of roads meant for travel faster than foot: wagon paths of stone and mud with 10 chickens on their back, there's a reason there are a billion bicycles in China, great great grandfather must have had to file and sand his own knees to bend them into perfect circles. how else could these roads be traversed? meanwhile great great grandmother must have died of worry -- the worst sickness unknown to the family because telegraphs didn't span the pacific ocean. and paper was expensive. those chickens weren't yet money to buy rice, and they were too skinny for eggs, not that we could eat shells, anyway. but maybe we'll try. did i forget? how did he get to hong kong? kowloon? always the outer skirt of lady britain's domain, never quite city familiar. right, because money's hard to spend, when its locked in the white banker's savings. i hear that the bridge lies beneath the waters, foundations in ruins. and someday i'll walk it and meet grandma on the other side.
we act like that won't happen to us like our lands haven't too been ravished because we gave that up for the safety of our family. we rejoice at nightmarkets festivals that dot the landscape like stars in the sky but we forget that fireworks quickly turned into fires thunders and when we deny the violence that happens abroad we inch our way further from home. we're american canadian something new but the people who make our clothes but the people who grow our food they look just like us.
i am a foreigner only, i don't know from which land i am foreign to. here, in a nation called "Canada" i am not treated as a citizen. though, i was born here and qualify by the rules. i am treated as an outsider within my own people, gossip passed in front of me, like a bottle of wine around a young child. contents forbidden. and when i go back 'home' i cannot read the signs in my language, only in English. i need a translator to speak to my elders. and, though i try to find a home in the name of "wanderer" i do not really go wandering. if anything, i am searching, purposefully looking with intent, but the results are not easy and as i dig, and dig, and dig, the deeper i go, & the wider the hole. the wider the hole. the wider the hole.
i'll never give up my history to assimilate into a culture that has forgotten its name a culture whose web of ancestry.com videos tries to sell back family history that was lost because it was more convenient not to have to carry ID. the stories of my people involve telling white people with white tongues how to fill out white papers. a white stamp on our head tax certificate: a white lie. the least wanted: the most documented and white i white my story, 50, 100, 150 years later white letters turn brown in well-whited archives listed addresses in the white pages never white delivered to village homes in red china. still,lost grandfather's secrets murmur beneath white blankets on gold mountain, under a fresh layer of white noise.
This poem was inspired by the ACCESS community television broadcast series Uncovering Gold, which discusses Chinese-Canadian migration through a multimedia format. Part 1 can be found here: http://youtu.be/eP5dakbuXG8.
i thirst for the connection of language
that thing you so easily conceal
until a few drinks down
and you no longer care
"ngo-di hai loong jai"
we are bound by the same
name same shame same
hate, same insolence same (innocence)..
that the appearance and cadence
of whiteness
is what we strive for
but can never amount to
i wish i could speak like you
i wish my tongue had your wings
i wish i could touch the sky with an aerosol can
painting words like i've never known
f r e e d o m
j u s t i c e
l o v e
l i b e r a t i o n
l
i
f
e
&
reach into that bag of words
a trick or two.
a greeting. a phrase. an idea.
but until then,
i'll surround myself with police-action movies,
mandarin love songs..
and recreate what my family
could not give me.
I remember Old China Town, like it was yesterday elders walking the streets and sleeping on stones houses built on our bones
Found in the park cans collected and exchanged for yarn to spin into mittens and sweaters that always needed adjusting for me.. and the other babies because we kept growing she says nothing but through that blue, milky eye "I knew better" i see that our world equips us with daggers and guns and spears pointed at ourselves And the greatest trick is to mistake myself as the enemy, Not fights with mirrors or a Disney reflection, no these are words of my own, self-inflicted wounds, injuries we endure and feel but cannot see or hear
they build houses over our bones while we sleep on stones like it was yesterday
—
The colonization of Canada affected many people: First Nations who lost (and are continually losing) their land and homes and cultures and language; Black slaves who are forever tracing their steps back to their ancestry and never told of their own contributions to the colony; Chinese people who were separated from family, and some who were never reunited; Ukrainian, Croatian and Irish people who were never considered “white” until recently. The images in this poem are what I imagine when I learn about the history of Vancouver and colonization. Just as early white settlers stole from Aboriginal people, the state’s colonization of people of colour continues to dominate us through the gentrification and “development” of lands we live – whether it’s the borrowed-but-never-returned sacred land or a viaduct built over the only Black village or expensive buildings pushing out poor Chinese elders. The establishment that is called Canada is largely an occupation of unceded First Nations land. Much of their history and ancestry is left buried beneath the foundations of homes, village halls, museums, stores, restaurants, businesses and properties. So, too with “immigrant” folk. And the great tragedy is we are starting to think of this kind of racism as a relic of yesterday.
my font is "asian" it is the crooked letters that shape my words, porcelain tea-stained because i am a vessel for the flow my language consists of steamed bamboo huts salted pork and egg pastry, i'll eat vegetables tomorrow i am a map of cemeteries at eternal rest facing the sea, a calendar of the moon always rising and falling like a lotus in the wind duck yolk cake festival my burps are polite thunder, my aging joints fire crackers good luck blasts red money set afire rising into the realm of gods & godesses three bows, i remember three bows my name is 'good boy' 'smart boy' 'pretty boy' i smell of gardens carefully tended the greenest thumb that yields no fruit but becomes emperor my ears are a song that rings of opera pitches touching the heavens & a family dinner on day seven, lobster abelone and rice.
I am not an expert chef but I enjoy cooking when I get the chance. Today I made pea shoots. Yum. Pea shoots are basically sprouts of a pea plant that look like tiny water lilies. They can are sold at all grocery stores (that I know of) and are usually found by the alfalfa sprouts. They are slightly sweet and slightly bitter, tasting somewhat like a pea with the texture of a vegetable. What I like best about them is that they cook fast and taste awesome; I munch on them raw while I cook. Plus, they’re green and great for your health. Here’s a quick recipe for how to make them in an Asian style:
What you’ll need to prepare this:
Pea shoots, cooking oil, chili paste (or chili oil), soy sauce, maybe salt, and pepper to season.
Frying pan, chopsticks or spatula (bamboo spatulas work great).
What you might want to add:
Meat (leftover beef or steak for example), scallops (great with pea shoots), garlic and ginger (depending on how much time you have), tofu/tofurkey, sesame seeds (to sprinkle on at the end).
How to prepare the pea shoots:
1. Get a frying pan. I like to use a frying pan that looks like a mini-wok (a wok is a bowl-shaped frying pan that is popular in cooking Asian dishes, something good for stir-frying). Add a spot of oil that’s enough to spread around the pan. Heat the pan to a Medium to Medium-Low setting.
2. As the pan heats, put a spot of chili paste/oil into the cooking oil. Tilt and coat the cooking surface of the frying pan. If you have garlic and ginger this is the step to put it in.
3. Once heated, add optional ingredients. Cook the meat until its half-way done.
4. Add pea shoots. Turn down heat to low; they wilt quickly.
5. Add soy sauce. The soy sauce will reduce so the darker your soy sauce, the less you’ll need. I recommend light soy sauce if you have it as it blends well with sesame oil.
6. Season with salt & pepper. (You may not even need salt, but the pepper is a nice touch).
7. EAT! Serve with or on rice, quinoa, or even eat as its own dish.
Tips:
Pea shoots cook very fast. Make sure to tend them carefully. Since they taste great on their own, you won’t need to add too much soy sauce or chili paste to get a lot of flavour. Be sure to toss the sprouts with your chopsticks or by flipping the pan.
Also, keep in mind what kind of meat you put in. If you are putting in leftover roast beef it will have some fat and you may not need much oil.
Asian-style pea shoots are a great way to impress a dinner date. There’ll hardly be any dishes to do afterwards, too. Get cooking and enjoy.
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