but I feel deep distress and turmoil when China behaves badly, which is often. It shouldn't really affect me, as I've lived in New York for 16 years now and am QUITE Americanized and I definitely embarrass my entire family with my poor grasp of my first language and my refusal to be more Chinese and right handed. I am good at America. I bake cookies. I have been to Vermont.
But when I think about why it kills me every time China glazes over child abductions and human rights abuses and lack of mental health care across the board, AND why I take tremendous pride in China taking the gold in Olympic events (and believe me, I do), it makes me feel like I've been keeping a big huge secret about myself that I'm barely comfortable thinking about, except when I need to rise up and defend a country that my whole family and I left, and where I only spent 5 years of my life. It's a real trip.
I never feel less Chinese than I've ever felt, or forget how closely my parents guarded my upbringing so that I would always take my shoes off when I got home, felt better with chopsticks in my hands than a fork, or measure how different an American person's house is than mine (you guys always have juice). But I never expected that I would feel so many things for a country that for me is more of an idea than a real place. Even when I think about religion, I am forgiving of the folksy nature of my mom's traditions and the altars she insists on keeping, while I outwardly object to religion in general. When I see a Buddhist temple I feel happy because they are peaceful and charming. When I walk past a church I feel nervous and my chest tightens up.
