Dear 太奶奶
Author’s Note: Dear 太奶奶 is the second part of a two-part autobiography series on myself through the life of my great-grandmother, whom I’ve never met. Following the letter to my great-grandmother is an explanation of the prose you just read. The first part of this series is titled Mei Jen.
Dear 太奶奶，
I miss you every day.
I’m Zoe, 趙真 (Chao Jen), the first grandchild of the Chao family, daughter of Tian Shian’s eldest son. I’m sixteen years old now, which means you’ve been gone for seventeen. Oh, how I’ve missed you! I’ve been trying to write this letter for a few years now, hoping to cross the divine bridge that divides us with these few words. I’ve never met you in person, but it feels as though our souls are intertwined. I’ve felt your love, extending its arms like the golden rays of sun enveloping me in a warm embrace. I grew up hearing whispers of your generosity, recollections of your beauty, and traces of your elegance, but all my fingers can hold onto is a washed out portrait of you.
I regret not being able to deliver this in Chinese – I hope there’s a translator in heaven. My broken Mandarin will never suffice for the abyss between me and my heritage, me and you. I’ve spent my entire life in your homes, in the domain of our culture, yet I still stutter through a sentence. I was born in Shanghai, raised in Shanghai, and the words that escape from my mouth sound like the clatter of chopsticks on a broken plate. I pride myself on being related to you but when we meet – can we actually communicate?
Often, I feel the gaze of our family’s disappointment, boring into my back. You’re Chinese, they proclaim, why can’t you speak it? So I run, concealing myself in the depths of a different language, different culture. Foreign to my language. Foreign to my culture. Foreign to my family. Foreign, as if the tiny Mandarin characters engraved in my heart have become dots and lines that will never connect. To erase these broken bonds from my mind, I distance myself from home and seek refuge from my own betrayal in the U.S., a country that I grew up boasting on my passport, doused in red, white and blue. But, I’m not this American culture I’ve assimilated into either. I’m marginalized, pushed to the side by this new land because of the yellow pigment of my skin and the red blood which runs through my veins. Our blood. Our skin is spat on, our phenotypes mocked, the ground painted with our blood. It's the land of the free, they say. But when will we ever be truly free?
I’ve disconnected again.
Home is not Shanghai, where I grew up. Not Taiwan, where I am ethnically from. Not the US, where our family has immigrated to in the past 50 years. Home is where the heart is. My heart is across the Earth, 8000 miles away. But my heart is breaking. Without your presence, our family is falling apart. We were perfectly placed Jenga tiles, balancing, depending on each other to stand, until one knocked awry and all of us came tumbling down. Maybe we were destined to fall in the first place, without your smile to guide us. I’m trying my best to mend our family, to take your place, and to rebuild the lost connections. But, I’m running out of time. Grandpa, your son Tian Shian, is getting older by the minute – his fingers tremble more than the strings on a plucked guitar, his words repeat themselves over and over again, his eyes gloss over like marbles. But his hands are full of warmth, still.
I used to stare at your portrait, sitting slightly above the Buddha in our household shrine, wishing that I met you. But in a way, I have – I’ve met your son, my grandfather, the most arduous and compassionate human to exist, carrying your spirit of generosity, filling every heart around him with a bundle of gold. He dedicates everything to our family and beyond. His service to the community has inspired and encouraged me to do acts of charity like the cookie sale. Founded in 2011 by my six-year-old self and Grandpa, our charity bakes thousands of cookies every New Year’s Eve and sells them on the streets of Taipei to fund the education of impoverished children in rural Taiwan, neglected by their own families. We pour your love into each batter, bringing joy to each benevolent donor through a bite of our chocolate chip cookies. It’s 2022 now, 11 years since our founding. Our fundraiser developed from a small stand in front of our house into an online store, we’ve sent multiple kids to college abroad, we even created an entire class program under our family name. We are giving these kids an opportunity to pursue their dreams by making a home for them, just as you have for us.
In addition to continuing your legacy of altruism, I’ve embraced your lioness spirit by standing up for what I believe in, working my hardest in every room I step in and being a leader for my community. When girls’ basketball teams didn’t exist in Shanghai for international students, I created one. I was one of the first girls in a male league, going to double the practice of the boys on my team. I constantly fight for human rights, leading a subchapter of Amnesty International, writing for activist organizations. I co-founded the AAPI affinity group on campus, creating a safe space for our marginalized community to gather, reflect and relax. I pursue my dreams and take every opportunity I am presented with – I even attended a government-funded, Chinese-speaking program at the National Palace Museum in Taiwan to learn about our people and history. I’ve broken every barrier holding me down, feeding the fire you ignited.
You left in 2004, and I came in 2005. The resurrected part of you will always burn in me.
树高千丈，落叶归根。
The tree may grow thousands of meters tall, but its leaves will always fall at its roots.
No matter how far I go, I will always return home. You are my home and I know you’ll stay with me forever.
I’ll see you in a hundred.
Love,
Zoe
Dear 太奶奶 Artist Statement
“Dear 太奶奶” (tai nai nai, great grandmother) is an ode to my late great grandmother, Mei Jen, whom I have never met. The emotions and ideas expressed in this letter have been brewing throughout my entire life and sharing that with my great-grandmother is something important to me. I want to show her how she has influenced me and show her the extent of her legacy.
In the first part of my autobiography, I relayed her life story in the form of Mei Jen’s name as an answer to “where I am from”. Who I am now is dependent on who she was, her life integral to mine. I have inherited her sense of bravery, honesty, and family, carrying myself in a way similar to her.
I deliberately chose the use of a letter as a more intimate form of communication, showing the world my vulnerability in a heartfelt message to someone I love. Letters remind me of Mei Jen not only because it was a pillar of communication in her era, but also because it is a form of communication to “heaven”. In Chinese culture, people burn blessed paper to send divine money to their ancestors in “heaven”. I applied that same concept to a different form of paper – letters. I figure that if I can send money to my ancestors by burning paper, I can send them a message on paper as well.
The structure of my letter flows in the direction of optimism. For example, I start with my own cultural disconnect by not being able to fluently speak my “mother tongue”, transition into feelings of alienation and racism in the US, then to family issues, and finally towards a more positive note in writing about home, legacy, and my connection to my great grandmother. I chose this darkness-to-light structure to emphasize the importance of hope in my life. In a way, my great-grandmother is my beacon of light, guiding me throughout my journey.
I incorporated the Chinese proverb “树高千丈，落叶归根” as a tribute to my heritage and a way to convey the idea of always going back to the family. As described in the first part of my autobiography, I stressed the role of my family serving as my home. This adage, which translates into “the tree may grow thousands of meters tall, but its leaves will always fall at its roots” compares the distance between a person and home. I am thousands of miles away from my family but I will always “fall to my roots”, my family, my ancestry.
When I feel the weight of solitude, I think about that picture of my great grandmother sitting above the Buddha in my household shrine. Knowing that my ancestors died for me to live drives me forward. I see Mei Jen’s Mona Lisa smile, her eyes boring into mine, reminding me that I am strong and I have to continue the family legacy.
I hope that Mei Jen can read my letter. It doesn’t just show her my struggles with identity, home, and family, but also shows her the impact she has on my actions. I have done so much for society fueled by her flame of generosity. I just want her to look down and smile, tears of joy falling down her blushed cheeks. Pride.
