I am
My father’s bulky passport,
Two stacks of rectangular papers stapled together with two paper clips,
Filled with an array of colourful stamps, visas and forgotten dates of
entry
The waxy front covers labelled “People’s Republic of China” faded
with a sickly yellow wash,
worn and dry,
Probably a result of his clumsy and absent-minded hands
Too full of thought

I am
The public Chinese sauna houses,
Where the aunties and old ladies undress one by one,
Squeezing into a large steamy shower of mops of hair and
splashing feet
While loudly gossiping about
Not just the aches in their bones
But the loneliness in their hearts

This is me
Slanted eyes capable of cheating,
Yellow skin like the Yellow Peril,
Sketching of the Chinese doll,
Daughter of a Tiger Mom,
This is who I learnt to be

A bulky passport,
Memories from a crowded sauna,
This is what I learnt to keep