Foreign Feelings

My parents would tell me stories about how they  immigrated to America much later in life than my relatives. My Father’s oldest brothers were boat children, at the ages of 13 and 14, said goodbye to their family and hello to the States. But, by the time my parents got here, they had already gotten an education in Vietnam, and didn’t understand enough English to study in the States. So, with little money, they started their family in a rented run down garage. 

Of course, as the youngest child in my family, I have absolutely no recollection of living in a garage. In fact, my parents weren’t planning on having kids until they became a little more stable, but things don’t always go as planned. They had my brother, and then four years later, they had me. I was a newborn baby in a garage, then a year old baby in an apartment, and then an 18 month old baby in a house. All I’ve ever known is home, so the stories they tell me of our previous lives feel so foreign. Sometimes I feel like a foreigner in a house of foreigners.

If I Could Ride a Bike

Every pedal felt like an elephant was tied to my ankles. We were on our way home from the park, my family, my cousins, and me. My parents stayed behind in order to watch the kids, to make sure they didn’t do anything dangerous. I was on my Dora bike, keeping up with my older cousins just fine until I couldn’t pedal anymore. Whatever strength I could muster while pedaling could hardly move my bike an inch. Quickly, my cousins passed me, and didn’t even hesitate to stay since my home was nearby.

“Wait for me!” I’d say, not wanting to be left behind. 

I got off my bike, inspected it to see any problems, and got back on to only barely move. I kept doing that, again, and again, until my dad caught up to me, his bike towering over mine like a dinosaur. He quickly saw I had a flat tire, and scooped me up to the front of his bike so we could ride home.

Tall Child

She’s like a stalk of bamboo, taller than she was yesterday, yet she doesn’t feel it. Like her mind is walking, but her body is sprinting to an invisible finish line. Now, her knees reach her chin when she sits, and her head rests high above her peers. 

When did everyone become so independent? 

I should’ve started driving ages ago. 

Why am I so behind? 

Why can’t I catch up?

There was a time she felt she was never old enough, but now she feels like crawling back in time so she could be just a child, not a tall child. 

Helios

Helios is the Titan of the sun. Everyday, he rides his sun chariot across the sky and enjoys the spectacular view of the whole Earth. He sees everything. The forests, beaches, cities, he even witnessed Demeter’s daughter, Persephone, get kidnapped by Hades. There is nothing he doesn’t see. Helios is the one the Gods go to for the latest stories. 

Helios, what happened with Aphrodite and Ares?

Helios, did you happen to spot Athena anywhere?

Helios, did you see what happened in Athens?

Sometimes I feel like Helios. Only a spectator, someone who never interferes and only watches from above. Helios only talks about others, never himself. Every night, once he’s done riding the sun across the sky, he stares at the stars, knowing he is easily replaceable by someone more popular, prettier, and smarter.

Wishful Thinking

When I own a house, I want one in a quiet area, with a big backyard and steps to get to the front door. When I own a house, I want it to be illuminated by lamps and smaller lights to give my house a warm glow. We will never use ceiling lights in my household. I want to live alone, with a cat and my own thoughts. 

But my thoughts can be suffocating sometimes. Maybe I want to live in a big bustling city, full of life, wonder, and journeys. I can wake up early every morning, get a coffee and head to work at a newspaper company where I can meet the love of my life.

But I prefer tea. Maybe I could live in a cozy cottage in the woods, hidden away by the trees and foliage. I could wake up early in the morning, make bread and sing songs with the birds and scavenge for berries to make paint out of.

But I don’t know how to bake bread. Maybe, I can live abroad and learn a new language. Maybe, the people will like me because I’m foreign and we can become friends. They could also introduce me to their food and culture, and I could live with more knowledge of the world around me. 

But I don’t want to live far from my family. You know, I don’t think I can complain about anything if my family’s with me.