My father was the first in my family to have immigrated to the United States, soon followed by my mother and brother. For a departure so full of uncertainty and risk, my father had very limited choice in the luggage he's able to bring. Somehow, he managed to make enough space for five books: three of which were collections of ancient Chinese poems, and the remaining two discussions of those poems. How important were those books to him if it meant bringing them on such a dangerous journey?- you may ask. The answer is simply- a lot. My father holds knowledge like gold, he wanted nothing but to learn and be educated. Even now, every dinner we eat constitutes his opening of a Chinese history show everyone has to sit through and pretend to enjoy. It's crazy to think that someone with such a passion for knowledge was only able to get through high school. Like many other immigrants, my family was dirt poor even back home in China. In order to lead a better future not only for himself but also me and my brother, he had no choice but to leave the only home he's known to seek out an entirely foreign land. Those books, the ones that contained the poems and texts he so dearly held, were his only way at the time of staying connected to his love for learning. The books always meant more to him than paper and ink; they were a manifestation of his hopes that one day, his children will be able to learn with no restraints and that maybe he, in the future, will also be granted that priviledge.

– JZ

Relationship:  Child of im/migrant Child of im/migrant