Pictured standing in front of their restaurant are my dad and mom on the left, and my mom’s twin brother to the right. My parents had only immigrated to the US a few years ago at this point and were in their early 20s, having just been introduced to each other by my uncle who ran the restaurant at the time. Eventually ownership of the restaurant passed onto my parents. In many ways, this restaurant became their first child—within a couple years they were married and my sister was born, and I followed two years later. 
Like many restaurant children, my sister and I were satellite babies: from the ages of 1-5, we lived with our paternal grandparents back in China. My parents worked 12 hour shifts daily at the restaurant until it came time for us to begin our education. My earliest memories are of the day I was picked up by my mom’s older brother in China, preparing for me to migrate back to the US. I remember sitting on the plane and being carried in his arms through customs. 
My sister and I grew up taking naps under the counter while my mom took orders and my dad cooked. We lived in the apartment building next door and eventually my dad saved up enough money to purchase a house on the next block. My dad took great pride in the restaurant: it was the first thing which fully belonged to him when he immigrated to the US, and it nourished his children for their entire childhood. Every day after school, I would stop by to pick up food for me and my sister. Eventually, my mother grew weary of the work and my dad reluctantly sold the restaurant—luckily just months before the pandemic.

– DJ

Relationship:  Im/migrant who arrived as a child Im/migrant who arrived as a child