Yesterday, I learned the sad news that my Poa Poa (grandmother on my mom’s side) unexpectedly passed away. Although there was a huge communication barrier between us (she spoke a dialect of Chinese that I didn’t really understand), I always knew that she was proud of her grandchildren. After all, she was the first to bring her family–my mom, my uncles, and aunts–to America to seek a better life. And a better life she gave them. Our family is a true life rags-to-riches story. One day I hope I get a chance to document my family history. It’s amazing and much more interesting than my own life.
I’ll always remember how Poa Poa would grab my arm affectionately during family dinners and tell me in Chinese that I was too skinny. “Eat more,” she’d say, “eat more.” That was one of the few phrases I understood in Tai San, her native dialect. Then, she would point me in the direction of a huge spread of roasted duck, chow mein, and pork buns. Poa Poa would spend hours in her kitchen wrapping sticky rice dumplings filled with pork for all of us. She’d make piles and piles of them–so much we could never eat them all. But, making food was her way of contributing to her family. And when my cousin would bring his two adorable daughters to our family parties, Poa Poa would point in their direction and tell me that I needed to hurry and have some kids too. I always laughed her comments off, but now I wish she could’ve seen her future great grand babies.
Poa Poa, I hope that you know I love you and you will be dearly missed.
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