Back when I was in Kweilin, people did not think about the fancy cars that make the putt-putt-putt sound or the mortgage on their house. Their worst troubles were their children’s moans of hunger. Most people only dreamed of their next meal. Everybody had humility, all these Chinese people bound under the same problems, all of them having to work hard. Even though they were so different, they learned to cooperate and work together. That is what I had in mind when I first started Joy Luck with my friends back in the ruined peaks of Kweilin.
We were so different, now held together by this idea of Joy Luck. From the East, West, South, and North, the four of us from different cultures able to stay happy together during those dark times by simply focusing on the present and happiness, instead of the troubles that plagued us. That is what it means to be truly Chinese, the culture and way of thinking. My daughter thinks being Chinese is just haggling over prices and being stingy. She does not get the idea of “Joy Luck. ” She says they are both the same word, just some ramblings of a crazy old Chinese woman, having no real meaning.
It is my fault. When she was born in America, I made sure she spoke only perfect American English. I believed that for her, anything was possible here in America. She could do anything she wanted if she worked hard, that America would open all the doors for her. But I neglected to teach her the good Chinese qualities. She never spoke a word of Chinese, never suffered through hardship, never was taught humility, to work towards something, to believe in something and to follow it through. Even though here there were so many opportunities given to her, she never took a single one.
When | tried to make her play the piano, to teach her the good Chinese qualities, it was already too late. She no longer would listen to me, only to her American friends. I no longer knew who my daughter was. My daughter never listened to me after the incident with the piano. It still sits there, 20 years later, a reminder of everything I did wrong. I had failed to teach her anything, her potential was never reached. She suffered for my mistakes, the person she could’ve become gone. Last week, JingMei came over to visit, coming over to pick up a package she had sent over to my apartment.
Her birthday had recently passed and I hadn’t gotten her anything. We made small talk, but mostly she was distracted by her phone and all the texts, not paying attention to a word I said. She was about to leave, both of us walking past the small living room where the battered piano lay neglected in the corner, just waiting her to use it once more. I found myself saying, “This your piano. You only one who can play. Take it. ” I was surprised by the firmness in my voice,i see stars as if I was never more sure of anything. I was pleased that she accepted it.
She was so surprised, she probably thought that I never wanted to talk about that again, but I felt that she was secretly happy that I had offered. I was as well, hoping our relationship would improve. I realized just how distant we had been the last years, how yuan chu we were now I had always felt bad for Lena and the way Ying-Ying had treated her, but at that moment I realized I was just the same. I vowed to myself this would change. I had such innocent hopes, the moment with my daughter erasing all my troubles and doubts. Jing-Mei came over this morning, looking flushed and happy.
I met her at the bus station, and showed her a bright pink winter coat. “Emporium Capwell, nineteen dollars! For you! ” I said proudly. Recently, June had been going out in only a light sweater, and I didn’t want her to catch a cold. I held it up to her body, but June pushed it away and stuffed it into the bag. “Ma, 1 wish you wouldn’t do that in public. Besides, the color’s too bright,” she complained. “Tsk, health is most important,” I said. She got annoyed at this, and simply said, “Whatever. Let’s just get lunch over with. ” How can you rush lunch? Lunch is a meal for social interaction and enjoying the food, not just something o be checked off. We walked and talked, not really listening to each other. Soon we arrived at the markets, and there was on fish. “Nikan! ” Look! “50 percent off all seafood, only today! ” | dragged her over, and started my regular buying ritual, testing the fish and shouting to the vendors. My daughter stepped away from me and took out her cell phone. “Ma, I wish you wouldn’t do that. It’s embarrassing. Let’s just get to the restaurant. ” Sometimes I wish I had disciplined her more. I was always too relaxed when she was younger, I had never taught her respect, when to keep her mouth shut.
Now it is too late, I cannot teach her anymore. All I can do is ignore her and carry on. We got to the restaurant, a fancy new Chinese place called the Dumpling Palace. Inside, I saw American vending machines, Italian waiters, all plastic golden cutlery. I knew immediately this is not a real Chinese restaurant, but one that caters to other people. This is what others think when they talk about Chinese food, the mere shell of Chinese that is revealed to others. My daughter turned to me. ” Do you like it, Ma? I picked it out just for you. ” she said proudly.
I realized that this faux Chinese culture is exactly what my daughter has become. She wears her identity vainly, open for everyone to see. If only she could see herself from my view. The rest of the meal passed in a blur. I purposely washed the chopsticks and plate with hot tea, making a deal about the cleanliness. June criticized me for this, saying that I was so embarrassing and typically Chinese. I rebuked her, saying that she was born from Chinese roots, that she could never deny them. “It is all in the gene,” I said. I’m not sure if I’m trying to convince her or myself.
She has my genes and she looks like me, yet she has become so different that I do not recognize her. We got back to my apartment while it is still chilly. I had the coat in my bag for June, but she refused to wear it, preferring to freeze in the winter rather than accept something from me. When we get back home, June took one more look at the piano, made a face and scrutinized it. “It’s a good piano, but it’s just so old fashioned and unstylish,” she said. I wonder if she truly believes I have such bad style, or if she is just stubborn. “I can’t put it anywhere without ruining the look of my home.
Sorry, Ma. Good seeing you. ” Without another word to me, or a second glance around the home she was brought up in, she walked out, mind already drifting to her next task. It makes me sad. She never listened to me, never rose up to my expectations. She was once a clone of me, but the years have took their toll on her, my mistakes have turned her in a pale ghost. She always tried to appear different than the rest of our family, trying so hard to disobey me and become American. I came here to raise a family in peace and without the troubles | faced in China, but now America has torn my family even further apart.
I thought living in America would foster the best mix of Chinese and American, but these two cultures cannot mix and create a perfect person. All her life, I have told her what to do, what was right and wrong, the best laid plans of mice and men. Because of this, she only grew more distant. She desperately tries to bike away from me, and even at 30 she does not realize that she isn’t moving at all. When her pedals finally break and she falls, I will be there for her, once again holding her hand as she gets up. I can only hope she realizes her mistakes soon. Until then, I will wait at home. With a piano to make sure I never forget.
