A low scrape reverberates through the stone cover as it’s removed. Revealing the granite bowl underneath, dusted with hibiscus incense. White ash is poured and pressed into the bowl. The family gathers to place sticks of incense into the bowl, the streams of smoke dissipating into our lungs. Whenever practicing these traditions, I am reminded of the intersection between my cultures. My mom traveled 6,650 in 19xx to pursue education in America. My father traveled 1,400 miles in 19xx to pursue job opportunities. My parents met in Reno, Nevada as two people of distinct cultures, both a tapestry of diverse histories. With their diverse histories, they moved to Texas to add me to their family. Our household is now a place where threads of heritage intertwine. Despite this interconnectivity, I grew up overbearingly conscious of the clash of my cultures. My facial features too Asian-looking for Hispanics, but too tan and curved to fit in with East Asians. Though these elements are true, there is an item that represents our identity, despite its clashes-- an incense holder. One I bought a year ago, adoring the rustic, spotted coloring. In Taiwanese and Mexican culture, there are traditions that burn incense to honor the dead. My mom may not have grown up practicing Dia de los Muertos, nor has my dad with Lunar New Year, but we come together to craft a symphony of cultures. Distance, whether physical or emotional, can make us feel disconnected or connected. These kinships and interconnectivity give us strength to overcome differences.

– Ria

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