“Bai gaa fo la!” I blurted as she claimed her winning chips. She squealed in delight.

I point vaguely at the large characters running down the middle of the gravestone, what I imagine to be the Chinese equivalent of “Here lies so-and-so…” Where is his name?

To me, family portraits of zodiac animals seemed to neglect certain aspects of my family’s characterization. ... A painting of an animal can only express so much of that change.

Fear is a goldfinch tattooed on my collarbone. It perches on my clavicle, flitters here and there.

We Americans are manifestly no longer a family, not even of the most fractious kind.

I hem, ahem, haw, um, shelling the peas in my mouth before spitting out
Hey, I wanted to tell you this

When I was little, I remember clinging to his legs every time I saw him, but now even hugging at the airport feels awkward. He drove me to school every morning during my childhood without speaking a word, and now he drives me to the airport in silence as well.

Look into his pupils and see them brighten when he looks at his family, when he looks at me.

So here’s what I got, the reasons why our family might still work out
...
5. Because each day my father spends five minutes in his car before coming back inside.
6. Because he comes back.

I sometimes read essays by people like me, pieces about grandparents and not being able to speak their language, and I have a similar confession to make, that, for similar reasons, I did not love my grandmother.

The universe has a funny way of showing signs to us. The waves of life had worn my mother down so much that she was finally but a grain of sand upon the beach, that she finally became sick enough for the world to see.

My mom is dying.

Is there a right way to die?

There seems to be… right?