April 2024
Performed live at Vassar College
I never wanted to be anything like you. I learned from you, though, to always finish a cigarette. It’s not like you told me to; it was more so teaching by example. When we lived in Beijing and you were around more often, I followed you and that perpetual cloud of smoke around the city. One time you burnt a hole in your pants. You held the cigarette behind your back so casually, like you thought the ash couldn’t burn you. Do you remember when you would hold cigarettes in your mouth and light them over the stove while your hands were full? It was always that distinct red packaging and smell. Your mom asked me to beg you to quit, to think of me and all the second-hand smoke. I get why you didn’t.
Would you agree that smoking is kind of a part of Chinese culture? Arguably a masculine thing, too? Stubborn and self-destructive, all or nothing. I don’t think the things that helped me understand this would convince you. But walking home from campus each day, I look and sound more and more like you. I hate your version of Chinese masculinity so I have to find it for myself. That means I can’t be your daughter, although I always will be. I see cigarettes littered all over Vassar and down College Ave, too many to count. I hate seeing any of them, but it especially bothers me when there’s still more than half left. Who doesn’t finish a cigarette? Personally, I stash packs worth of cigarette butts down my pockets. I don’t need more unfinished business but I cannot bear to throw things away.
It’s been eight years since I’ve visited a family grave. I don’t know how long it’s been for you. Sometimes I think even if the cemetery wasn’t thousands of miles away, I still wouldn’t go. I have nothing to offer and nothing to say. Heritage is
a memory that keeps slipping
further away.
So maybe I’ll forget what color flowers to buy and that
I need to scatter their petals.
I won’t remember what everyone’s favorite foods are and I’ll forget
to bring the plates.
Maybe I’ll buy as many paper houses and cars and TVs as I can
to overcompensate, ironically forgetting that Grandpa wanted to keep the ceremonial burning minimal since
he was an environmentalist.
You, however, never were.
Smoking is one of the few things that make me feel like I might understand you and you might understand me.