Note: I found this on my bookshelf during a recent trip to my parents’ home in Houston. This is THE piece that opened my eyes and made me determined, at age 9, to be a writer. I had to laugh when I reread it, because it’s not very good, but hey, for a kid, it could be a lot worse. I present it here for nostalgia’s sake. All errors have been left intact. This is what I turned in to Mr. Peden’s Study Skills class at Kinkaid Summer School, what got me an A+, and what set the course for the rest of my life.

A cool breeze swept over the pond, creating ripples in all directions. The lily pads were pushed, some toppled over, releasing their lilies into the clear green water. One touch of this refreshingly cool water, and heaven is on the way. The silky, sparkling pond is like no other in this universe. From the way it shines to the way it feels, it is different.

Continue reading →

351 words

Ama looked at my cousins. “Too skinny.
But Maggie,” she said. “Maggie is just right.”
I smiled, because I was hai hao, good enough, and more,
here on this little island in the Pacific, where heat
oppressed and sweat stuck my brown hair to my face.
This is where I say and mean, wo ai ni.

Continue reading →

921 words

My parents and I have come to visit my grandmother. We live in Houston, TX, and she in Taipei, Taiwan, so this is no small occasion. After an 18-hour, $1000-per-person transoceanic flight, my mom and dad are tired and want to rest. I, on the other hand, am strangely awake.

First I put my suitcase in what will be my room for the next two weeks. (It actually belongs to my cousin, who I call Ge ge, or big brother, but he is currently serving his required 22 months in the Taiwanese military.) Then I pad down the stairs and through the living room into my grandmother’s bedroom.

She’s asleep, lying in the middle of her queen-sized mattress, swallowed up by a big flowery comforter. (Everyone else, including me, sleeps on stiff bamboo mats with only a few thin sheets.) A fan rotates back and forth on its stand, blowing cool humid air across the soft skin of my grandmother’s forehead. I sit in one of the big wooden chairs in the hallway and look in on her through the door.

Sometimes she doesn’t know who we are.

Continue reading →