Spring Street

Even though I grew up in a very Chinese home, complete with chopsticks and rice every night for dinner, my parents were so hurt by their pasts, by the pain and the suffering, that they never really talked about it. I felt like I never was able to get in touch with my heritage. I think of myself like the slaves. Torn away from my homeland, trying to grasp for something, and part of my past, but unable to do so because I have no idea where I came from, where my grandmother and grandfather grew up, what their lives were like. It's like the slaves, who had to take the last name of their masters, of the very people that oppressed them because after they were freed, they had to have a last name to function in society, and the only semblance of a heritage they had was that with their masters. How can I know who I am if I don't know where I came from?

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