My grandparents made a sacrifice for their future generations by leaving this village in hope of a better life. As I stare at the filthy, impoverished houses, I can't help but wonder how some poor, Chinese villagers from nowhere had the audacity, grit, and determination to leave the village where years and years of family history are woven into the rich, Southern Chinese soil.
I recall Wang Lung from The Good Earth, who became wealthy, forgetting his humble beginnings and everything he valued as a simple, humble farmer. As quite prominent Chinese-Americans, we remember this story's teachings, and believe remembering our modest beginnings and giving thanks to those who came before is crucial. After all, all we are we owe to them. Therefore,
…show more content…
Out of nowhere, the heavens begin pouring. The farmers frantically begin sweeping and covering the rice. Rain is friend and foe as it is prayed for during growing season, but unappreciated when packing, as rain is moisture, and moisture is mold.
My mom races out of the cab and begins to help sweep the billions of grains of rice. The farmers stare incredulously. Who is this strange woman who offers unwanted help? I watch, astounded, as one farmer recognizes my mother, and immediately, everyone starts laughing and reminiscing about old times in loud, joyous, Tai Shan dialect. I smile and grab a broom as I dumbly realize--these are my people!
The downpour ceases. Everyone throws down their brooms, looks at me, at my mom, and then back at me. They welcome me with real Southern Chinese warmth and enthusiasm. But, I cannot offer a reply in return; it is an awkward, disconnected moment as they realize, disappointed, that the land of the Gold Mountain failed to teach me the culture and language of our ancestors. I feel out of place with my American clothes, shoes, and mannerisms. For once, I truly regret not learning the