The smell of expensive Chinese silks and sandalwood is still to this day, reminiscent within my senses. As a young child I can remember touching Cheongsam dresses that my grandmother had in China during the cultural revolution, she had them delicately folded amongst her box of treasures. I can remember the intricate texture of embroidered dragons and phoenix birds, they were sewn in a fondling way, like two lovers falling in love. The box that she kept everything inside of was so intricate, all over the outside were deeply embedded carvings of an ancient city, from a distance it looked like a dynasty viewed from the heavens, each face carved had it’s own particular personality. It was such a large box that it took two people to open the heavy lid. My grandmother loved the box because it was a gift from my late grandfather, he had it shipped for her from China to the pacific, which is an incredibly long journey. Every time I think about that antique box it reminds me of my grandparents extensive connection with China, and in a way, how it never really ended. My grandmother at the age of ninety, still tells her stories confidently.

The last time I saw her I asked if we could have a look at the antique box, just for one last time, because it had been years since I last saw it. When I saw everything inside, I didn’t see the ninety year old version of my grandmother, but an incredibly young one, getting off the boat to the capital with the controversial political movement of the era. For the first time my grandmother showed me something of a private nature, which I was surprised to see. She pulled out a wrapping of red silk, it was embroidered with white cranes.

With her old quivering hands, she slowly opened the silk and she showed me a very long plat of black hair, so long it must have been far beyond her back, it was the hair from her youth that she cut off. I just stared at it with awe. I guess it was my grandmothers own mysterious way of preserving her memories of youth. I can see images of my grandmother dressed in Tienanmen square singing not with a microphone, but with the presence and echo of the crowds beyond. 

The stories lead a long life, and back during the era when ethnic heritage would have been observantly watched in the streets, exchange people were always at my grandparents house. All of these memories came to mind when I was talking to a friend of mine last week over coffee about my life years ago in Cleveland when I moved into a huge victorian house where fourteen Taiwanese people lived. The story is strange, but intriguing too, when I think about it. My grandmother and I kept close contact during those months, because she was interested to see how life was ticking along, we corresponded from different cities via hand written letters, I still keep the ones that she sent me. 

Moving in with fourteen Taiwanese people, now that I think about it, definitely was different. However, might I add, it was probably one of the most interesting periods of my life. It taught me how to understand people without speaking, mainly because, of the fourteen people that I lived with, most of them couldn’t speak English. It definitely wasn’t an easy thing to bridge, believe me. After a few months I started to pick up on Mandarin language, and from there we all started communicating. Mei Ru, one of the more mature aunties in the residence was a language teacher, we underwent a few private teaching sessions together after dinner each evening. Eventually I became so engrossed into the way of life, that living with fourteen Taiwanese people wasn’t even something that I questioned. I also relate my acceptance to my own cultural heritage, due to the fact that my mother is Oriental. My mother taught me to blend into my surroundings, no matter where I went in life, no matter the place nor the culture. 

So what was it like being surrounded by Taiwanese people? It was incredible, and most of the time I am fairly irresponsive to the question because it really didn’t feel that different. However, I did experience a few things that made me realize what it was like, being of a minority. Even though I am mixed my self, I had never experienced such a wrath of racism. I can relate one particular experience to one afternoon when my self and Hungwei went for a walk in the neighborhood… We spotted a gold fish pond, so we decided to go closer, for artistic observation. All of a sudden, a lady came out of her house with a shot gun and threatened to shoot the Asians on her property, admittedly we shouldn’t have been there. The next time, was worse… Another set of neighbors chased me home one afternoon driving a commercially sized tractor, I swear, it was the most terrifying afternoon of my life. When people ask me how that felt, I simply reply in all honesty, that I don’t blame people, I just pity their ignorance.

Chinese New Year was one of my most memorable moments in Cleveland, let me just tell you, I have never eaten so much food, or received so many gifts of money. My room was intruded with little red Ang Pow envelopes of money and gifts. During that year I made friends that felt more like family than anything else. It has been an advantage to my life, even though I am mixed race my self. After that year my relationships were extended, and I’ve met so many fantastic people. I’m in love, did I forget to mention. I wonder what my grandfather would say? He’d probably be in love with the fact that I’m dating someone Chinese, oh I bet he would.

I always remember that it isn’t the culture, it is the way that you relate to the people. It proves that it doesn’t matter what culture you are from, you can always find a common ground with all different people. You just have to have an open heart and an open mind.