Belonging: A Reflection

I don’t know how to put into words the lump in my throat knowing I had to ask my mom if she still did her shopping in Flushing. I don’t know how to describe the strange combination of relief and sadness when she quickly replied she doesn’t go to Chinese grocery stores anymore.

But this isn’t about that.

This is about growing up in the South and the one Chinese grocery store in town that we always went to. I looked it up and it’s still in the same spot, the shelves looking exactly like I remembered. Rice stacked in the back, a bakery with egg tarts in one corner and various home goods and furniture in another. At some point I thought that its name was how you said “grocery store” in Chinese, because the two were equivalent for me.

This is about the main Chinese restaurant in town, which either moved or is gone (many more seem to have taken its place). I have so many memories of going there after every piano recital, every occasion to be celebrated with family friends. I remember the owners’ kids, the dragon and phoenix on the back wall, the buddha statue in the front, the DumDum lollipops at the counter, and running around empty buffet serving tables with my friends. I remember sitting in a corner with my book while my mom worked, and now realize that the book was probably a picture-vocab book my parents used to study English.

This is about being the only Asian kid in school for 2 years, and then seeing that completely shift when we moved to the suburbs. In fact, I was probably the only Asian kid the school had seen in a decade or so. Those two years, I probably stood out like a sore thumb- but I just remember teachers helping me reach water fountains, girls in class doting on me because I was a year younger (and tiny), and always standing in the front of the line.

This is about knowing almost every Chinese family in the county, or at least, feeling like you did, because you probably went to Chinese school together or your parents worked together and got together for a potluck at some point. There was a feeling of connectedness, of holding on a little tighter to your culture when you knew it was difficult to find around you.

I don’t have some big story about suddenly feeling like I belonged when I moved somewhere that had multiple Asian grocery stores in a 10 minute driving radius, or going to a high school where 3/4 of the students looked like me. I just have some memories of growing up somewhere where you weren’t the norm, but you weren’t alone either.