Florida was no place for a Chinese immigrant family of four. But it was, at the time, a lucrative offer to get out of New York City, which was also no place for a Chinese immigrant family for different reasons. The cityscape offered comfort in Chinatowns and jobs, but lacked the appeal of the American dream that was promised to my father’s parents and his newlywed (my mom). It was a state so far from New York that maybe they could leave the cacophony of noises that would set my mom off into a rage, one where on the outside it provided more peace and quiet than war-torn China where my boomer parents grew up in the 60s and 70s.

A childhood home holds a lot of memories within the stuccoed walls. I remember my mom alarming and disalarming our security system so our fortified single-family house could maybe make her less fearful of daily life.

I remember my grandma walking down the stairs every night to tuck me in aggressively; I would lie there as still as a frozen otter pop stuck to a child’s tongue, as she found solace in an obsessive-compulsive cycle no one in our family understood despite it only getting passed down through the women. My mom would scold her for endangering herself. A long staircase isn’t the most suitable place for an elderly woman to be navigating in the dark.

The first time I saw my mother cry–really cry–was when my grandmother passed from ovarian cancer in 2012. My great-grandmother who stayed behind in China with most of my extended family outlived her daughter who immigrated to America. I knew from a young age that I felt very different from my peers. I cried all the time, simmering with resentment towards my abusive mother throughout childhood. As a little girl, my normal was feeling misunderstood and alone in what was a terrifying world.

My parents have threatened and wished to go back to China many times in the past 8 years especially. The American dream they risked everything for was for naught as Donald Trump wins again and again, and people like my parents are left wondering why they fought tooth and nail for scraps and bones; that their daughter won’t talk to them; that their son abuses alcohol; that life in America is actually worse than if they had just fucking stayed in China- for them, that is. The person who is benefiting from this generational trauma is me as I fight tooth and nail to not let my mind have power over me anymore.

Recognize what is happening

2008: Wall Street Financial Crisis. Our white neighbors get foreclosed.

2008: Pop culturally, the most important year of my childhood. I fell in love with the Jonas Brothers, I travelled to China for a month, I watched Wall-E there, Obama become President.

2011: I move to New York in the middle of my freshman year. I cry, I grieve, I barely understand what's happening or why. I don’t know why bad things keep happening to my family but my parents don’t know how to tell me they’re terrified of losing everything, losing the American dream, losing the model minority status, losing our house.