We've Made It

I came from the deep blue of my parents' struggles.

The navy blues of passports and the expanse of sea through a plane window.

The blues of curious Western eyes.

The deep twinkled blues through a small window holding a big family.

The same blues that could eat you alive - if not relieved by mahjong and togetherness.

I was raised from the red of the Chinese restaurant. The over the top, under the table places I've called home.

The reds of the China Cat, the ruby sauces of passing platters and the scales of the dragon chipping off the wall.

Red was good luck. I wore red often, perhaps as a chubby cheeked omen of fortune to come.

And it did- through the reds of Mama's tired feet and flushed cheeks.

And through Baba's prayers to the red belly Buddha.

Today, in adulthood, I am the yellow of my Popo's ripened mangoes.

The paint chipped yellow of this home. Our own home.

The wild yellows of the turmeric's insides as they are tossed into a curry.

The gold wristlets of aunts and uncles that jangle at the dining table. "Sit fan, sit fan!"

The yellow golds coming from the tired sun blessing my family.

You've made it, the sun says.

We've made it.