by Grace Lin
“No, the part where you were talking about me,” I said.
“She was surprised that you didn’t know Chinese and couldn’t believe I didn’t teach you,” Mom said. “Is her daughter your friend?”
“Not really,” I said. Audrey was more like my enemy. But now I was more interested in what Audrey’s mother had said. It sounded like she thought it was Mom’s fault I didn’t know Chinese. I wonder if Mom felt as bad as I did when people thought I was a Twinkie.
“Do you wish you taught us Chinese?” I asked Mom.
Mom stopped and thought seriously. “Yes,” Mom said. “Sometimes, I regret I didn’t teach all of you when you were younger. But I can’t change that now. And just because you don’t know the language doesn’t mean you are not Taiwanese.”
“But I’m not Taiwanese,” I said. “I’m American.”
“You’re Taiwanese-American,” Mom said. “And, no matter what, that’s what you’ll always be.”
Forever, I thought. I’d always be Taiwanese-American, no matter if I spoke Chinese, made my eyes bigger, or was called a Twinkie. Even if I didn’t like it. Being Taiwanese-American was like making a brush stroke. The mark couldn’t be erased, and the ink and the paper could never be separated. They were joined forever.
“Mom!” I said, grabbing her arm before she walked away. “For my name chop, can I have my name carved in Chinese and English? Can they do that?”
“Yes.” Mom nodded, a little surprised. “I’m sure they can. I’ll order them today.”
“Good,” I said, and I felt as if I had just taken off a winter coat after discovering it was summer. I was glad I had found my identity.
Chapter 35
I WAS SO HAPPY ABOUT FIGURING OUT MY NAME CHOP that I almost forgot about the ribbons for the best class painting. Audrey Chiang hadn’t forgotten, though. As I stood by the refreshment table, trying to decide between an almond cookie and a buttery, lacy-looking one, she came by and hissed, “They’re giving the prizes now!”
“They” were all the teachers, five of them together in a group. I recognized my teacher—he had a clipboard in his hand. An older lady with a yellow rose pinned to her bright orange shirt carried the prize ribbons in her hands. They were blue, and, against her shirt, they seemed to glow.
They were walking to each wall, looking at the list on the clipboard, and then pinning a ribbon next to the winning art. Everyone began to follow them. It felt like a circus parade. When a teacher in a green dress pinned a ribbon onto a rose embroidery, everyone clapped and shouted.
Lissy’s class was next, and the blue ribbon went to one that had two columns of words up and down the paper. Lissy didn’t seem that disappointed. She just smiled and clapped, and we kept following the teachers. They were heading over to the paper cuts. One of the younger teachers walked over with a blue ribbon and pinned it onto Ki-Ki’s paper cut! Ki-Ki had won a ribbon!
Uncle Shin, Lissy, and I whooped, and Mom and Aunt Bea clapped so hard that I could see their hands turning red. Ki-Ki beamed a thousand smiles. I quickly scanned the rest of the paper cuts. Hers was the best. She deserved it. I felt proud.
But I couldn’t pay any more attention, because now they were walking over to my class’s paintings. We were the last group, I guess because our work was on the farthest wall. Audrey Chiang watched, unsmiling, just staring at the group as if trying to hypnotize them. My hands went cold, and the cookie I had eaten seemed to be stuck in my throat.
The lady in orange handed my teacher the last blue ribbon. He looked around at all of us and smiled. He checked his clipboard and walked down toward Audrey’s painting and mine. Which one would it be? Would I beat Audrey?
No. The teacher walked by both mine and Audrey’s and pinned the ribbon on a painting of two birds flying under a flowering branch. I hadn’t painted that. Neither had Audrey. A squeal of happiness came from the audience, and I saw Eva jump up and down in happiness. I hadn’t won. Each one of Eva’s hops seemed to flatten me, like a teddy bear losing its stuffing. My eyes stung with disappointment, but I was able to blink it away and clap politely. At least Audrey hadn’t beaten me.
I looked at her. She was clapping politely, too, but the smile on her face looked more like she was clenching her teeth. She looked like a cat ready to attack.
The crowd began to spread out, and I walked over to Lissy, Aunt Bea, and Uncle Shin. Grandma, Auntie Jin, and Mom were taking photos of Ki-Ki by her winning paper cut. I felt better seeing Ki-Ki grin. It made sense that Ki-Ki would win. Her name meant “victorious thought.” Besides, Lissy hadn’t won, either.
“I just want to know what I could’ve done to make my painting better.” Audrey’s voice carried over to us, and we all looked over. Audrey was questioning our teacher like he was a spy. Her mother was standing behind her, nodding.
“That girl is weird,” Lissy said. Then she pretended she was talking to Audrey. “Your painting wasn’t the best. Get over it already.”
“Maybe she just wants to know how she can improve,” Aunt Bea said. “That’s always good.”
“No.” I shook my head. “She just wanted to win.”
“I know people like that. Some people are only happy when they are first or the best,” Uncle Shin said, and then he looked at us with a playful grin. “But, for me, that’s no fun.”
“Pacy,” Grandma said. “Let’s take a photo of you by your painting.”
“But I didn’t win!” I said.
“I still love it,” Grandma said. “I think it’s beautiful.”
“Yes! Your painting is still good anyway!” Auntie Jin said. “Go stand by it!”
“And smile!” Mom said.
I followed their orders. Grandma, Mom, and Auntie Jin clicked away at their cameras and then pushed Lissy toward her painting. As I turned around, I saw Eva by her painting.
“Congratulations,” I said. I was still a little jealous, but I tried not to let it show. I looked at her painting. The brown birds were soft and graceful, and the flowers had fine, delicate heart-shaped petals. It was a really good painting. I still kind of liked mine better, but I could see why hers had won a ribbon. I wondered why I had never really paid that much attention to Eva or her paintings before. I guessed it was because I was so busy watching Audrey.
“Thanks!” Eva said. She was bubbling over with happiness. “I just loved painting class! I can’t believe it’s over. I’m going to miss it. The class was so much fun, don’t you think?”
I smiled at her, but I was surprised. Painting class, fun? I thought about all the days I spent there, gritting my teeth at Audrey and trying to force my art talent to paint better. It hadn’t been fun for me.
And then I realized I was more like Uncle Shin than I was like Audrey. If my painting had won tonight, I would’ve been really happy. But when Clifford had us pick the four best pleasures in life, being the best hadn’t even come to my mind. Maybe it wasn’t that Audrey was so horrible; maybe it was just that trying to be better than everyone else was what she thought was fun, the only thing that made her happy. But it wasn’t for me. Winning was fun, but it wasn’t the only thing that made me happy.
“I really liked your painting,” Eva said. “I thought all your paintings in class were nice.”
“Thanks,” I said. Eva’s big smile reminded me of Melody’s. “What chop did you use?”
“Well, I meant to use the chop that said ‘profundity,’ because it sounded good, even though I don’t know what it means,” Eva said. “But my mom told me that the stamp says ‘spring’!”
“That happened to me, too!” I said. “I thought I was stamping ‘happiness,’ but I got ‘forever’!”
“Someone must have mixed up all the stamps,” she said.
“What does profundity mean, anyway?” I asked.
“I still don’t know,” Eva said. We looked at each other, and we both burst out laughing. Why had I been so caught up with Audrey? I should’ve talked to Eva before.
“Eva! We have to go!” a woman, probably
Eva’s mom, called.
“I better go,” she said. “Good-bye.”
“Good-bye,” I said, and I felt sad. Why had I wasted all those days of class, making myself unhappy, trying to beat Audrey? Instead, I could’ve become friends with Eva, and it would’ve been fun. Instead of dreading painting class, I could’ve loved it just like Eva did. And maybe Eva and I could’ve become really good friends like me and Melody. But now it was too late. I probably wouldn’t see Eva again.
“In Chinese painting,” the teacher had said, “you can’t take back anything you do.” I guessed that was true in real life, too. But I wished it wasn’t.
Chapter 36
ALL THE DAYS WERE RUSHING BY. LIKE A TRAIN, TIME WAS moving faster and faster. There were only six days left here in Taiwan, then five, and now four. The crowds, busyness, and dirtiness of the city didn’t bother me so much anymore. I didn’t feel scared about how everything was so different than in New Hartford. Of course, I still didn’t like it when shopkeepers looked at me strangely because I didn’t speak Chinese—though, when I thought about it, sometimes the shopkeepers in New Hartford gave me the same strange look.
But I had gotten used to eating big meals and laughing even when I didn’t know what was funny. I liked going to the street market and choosing wax apples and munching them on the way home. It was those everyday things that happened over and over again that I couldn’t imagine ending. But they would, once we left Taiwan. Our time here was running out.
Tomorrow was Grandma’s party, and we would be leaving two days later. I was excited about Grandma’s party, but it was odd to think we would be leaving so soon. Aunt Yoko, Uncle Sam, baby Sylvia, and Auntie Kim were in Taiwan now, too, and everyone was busy doing things—talking on the phone, ordering things, and getting special dresses dry-cleaned. Uncle Flower, Julian, Shogun, and their father were always hiding someplace to practice their “secret.” I really wanted to know what the surprise was. Lissy said she thought they were going to put on a play or sing a song. But I didn’t know why that would have to be a secret.
The main room in Grandpa’s place felt like a flower shop, full of colors and sweet smells. Bouquets of flowers had been delivered, big pink flowers with feathery ferns. A wreath made of flowers came, too. We weren’t sure if they were gifts or things ordered for the party.
The only thing we were sure of for the party was a clear plastic box that held a regal purple orchid decorated with a sheer lavender ribbon and ferns. “Grandma’s corsage,” Mom said, and she put it in the refrigerator. It was funny to see it next to the eggs and juice.
“I hope when I turn sixty, people have a big party for me,” Lissy said.
“Me, too,” I said. But I couldn’t really imagine turning sixty years old. It seemed so far away and unreal and… old! “You really deserve a party when you’re sixty.”
“Uh-huh.” Ki-Ki nodded. “Because you’re so old then!”
Uncle Flower was on his way out to go practice “the secret” but stopped when he heard us. “Is sixty so old?” he said, laughing.
We nodded.
“Well, an old emperor agreed with you,” he said. “It’s another reason why we celebrate a person’s sixtieth birthday.”
THE VALUE OF ELDERS
Once, there was a young emperor who didn’t believe his elders held much wisdom. In fact, he felt as soon as they reached the age of sixty, they became useless and were simply a burden to the state and family. Convinced of this, he made a decree that once a person reached the age of sixty, he or she would be executed.
The emperor had an adviser who not only did not agree with this, but also had a father (to whom he went to for all advice) who was about to turn sixty years old. “I can’t let my father be executed!” he said to himself. But what to do? Finally he decided to hide his father in a mountain cave, bringing him food every day.
The adviser soon had other worries, as well. A neighboring state constantly clashed with the emperor’s kingdom, and a war seemed inevitable. So it was a great surprise when one day an emissary from the state arrived seeking an audience with the emperor. At his visit, the emissary brought out two pieces of rough wood. They looked exactly alike and were the same shape and thickness.
“These pieces of wood are from the same tree. One is from the branch and the other from the root,” the emissary said. “If you can tell me which is from the root and which is from the branch, our state will cede our authority to you.”
The emperor could not tell the difference. Neither could any of the court officials or advisers. The emperor offered a reward throughout his kingdom, yet no one stepped forward. The neighboring state began to grow restless, and war loomed closer and closer.
When the adviser brought his hidden father food that day, the father couldn’t help noticing his son’s worried face.
“What is it?” he asked.
The adviser told his father about the emissary’s visit. “How can one tell the difference between wood from a branch and wood from a root?” he said.
His father laughed. “Ho, ho, quite easily,” he said. “Put them both in water. The root will sink, and the branch will float.”
The adviser hurried away and did as his father told him. It was true! The emperor solved the state’s riddle, and both sides put down their arms. War was averted! There was great rejoicing.
“You are a brilliant man! I will reward you well!” the emperor said to his adviser. “How did you find the solution?”
The adviser kowtowed low. “I did not find the solution myself. It was my father and his wisdom and experience that told me. For my reward, I ask that you spare him execution for his age.”
The emperor was astounded. “Your father?” he said, and then after much thought, “I have thought that the old are useless and foolish. However, it was only an elder’s wisdom and experience that prevented war. I was wrong.”
The next day, the emperor took back his decree of execution for all elders. The adviser brought his father back from the mountains, and the emperor held a grand celebration in the old man’s honor. Coincidentally, it was also his sixtieth birthday.
“And that became a tradition,” Uncle Flower said. “That’s why we are making Grandma’s birthday party so big, with all the flowers, food—”
“And your secret?” I interrupted.
“Yes!” Uncle Flower said, smiling. “We want to make sure this is a big and special celebration. The emperor, so long ago, honored the sixtieth birthday, so we try to do the same.”
“Yeah,” I said. “Because it’s so old.”
Uncle Flower sighed.
Chapter 37
WHEN UNCLE FLOWER LEFT, I LOOKED AT LISSY AND Ki-Ki. “We’re the only ones not doing anything for Grandma’s party,” I said.
“Well, it’s not like we can help with anything,” Lissy said. “We can’t speak Chinese, and we don’t know where anything is.”
That was true.
“We should give Grandma a birthday present!” Ki-Ki said. “You have to give a present at a birthday!”
“I don’t think we have time to go shopping for a birthday present,” Mom told us. “Today, we have to pick up your art from the exhibit, your name chops, and Lissy’s photos. If there is time afterward, we can try.”
But there wasn’t any time afterward. On the subway, even as Lissy enjoyed the glory of her album, I fingered the smooth stone of my carved name chop, and Ki-Ki clutched her blue ribbon, we felt ashamed. We had been in Taiwan for twenty-four days and had known about Grandma’s party the whole time, yet we didn’t have a single birthday gift. That was pretty bad.
“Grandma won’t care if you don’t give her anything,” Mom said. “But if you really want to give her something, she wouldn’t want a gift from the store anyway. You should make her something or give her something that is really from you.”
I thought hard as the subway screeched to a stop and we all walked back home. The sun was setting, and the sky looked as if bright pink and orange pain
t had been spilled on it. We were going to be flying home in that sky soon. I wished I could slow down time.
After we got inside, I ran for some scrap paper. I was eager to try out my chop. I plied open the shallow, round tin of ink that we had bought for the chops. The ink was vivid red and sticky like paste. With a firm grip, I rubbed my chop in the tin, making sure the whole surface was covered with ink. Then, as hard as I dared, I stamped the paper. Clunk! Carefully, I lifted it, gently holding down the paper as it tried to stick. There it was.
I looked at it with satisfaction. It seemed to look back at me cheerfully. The crisp red square, the Chinese characters, and GRACE PACY in block letters. Should I have gotten Grace Pacy Lin, since that was my whole name in English? Hmm. Well, some of the Chinese characters meant Lin, but none meant Grace. So maybe it was okay. Maybe it made things kind of equal. Grace was the part of me that was all American, Lin was the part that was all Asian, but Pacy was both. Besides, Grace Pacy Lin probably wouldn’t have fit. Grace Pacy looked a little squished to me already.
I gently rubbed it with my finger. The ink had dried already, not a line smeared. Anyway, on the paper, my mark, my identity, was forever.
I took out my painting from the exhibit. I rolled it out, the heavy, stiff silk felt rich against my fingers. The pink birds looked happy sitting on their bamboo, their colors delicate and vivid at the same time. I was kind of surprised that I still liked it. Because it hadn’t won the ribbon, I thought maybe it wasn’t any good. But I had thought it was good before Eva won the ribbon and the painting hadn’t changed at all. Just because it hadn’t won, why should I think any different about it now? And even if Audrey had been a better painter than me sometimes, I was still an artist. My talent was forever, too. I had thought it had kept disappearing, but it was still there. I just hadn’t been looking at it the right way.