ROOTED UP by Elsa Mattson

Learning the art of enduring hardship is one of the most important life skills one can possess. That’s what my mother taught me, and that’s what her parents taught her. To survive as ethnic Chinese outside of the motherland, my family had to learn how to survive amidst their daily fears and pain.

I learned about their stories from my grandparents, who saw their parents leave the familiar embrace of Guangdong and Fujian to carve a community out of the unforgiving Malayan jungle. I saw the pattern continue in my aunts and uncles when they set off to get their education abroad in westernized lands. My uncle and mom chose to reside in the US, but the other siblings and some of their cousins were spread between Malaysia, Singapore, and New Zealand.

To experience heart-wrenching pain, and to fight through it anyway, because it is better to swallow one’s tears and battle one’s demons quietly instead of causing pain for others: these were the traits that had haunted my family for generations.

I never needed strength more than on June 1, 2019. I had just recently been told that I was not going to be getting my dream job as a policy assistant for a local international trade think tank, and more importantly, I was still reeling from my great-aunt passing away. These events followed a drama-filled breakup from the previous November, and I was terrified of having to start all over again. I felt weak.

I was unemployed, disconnected from my family during a time of sadness, and overall felt incredibly alone. Even when I met up with friends for coffee or dinner, which I tried to do quite often, I could barely hold in the pain. I found myself smiling and fighting back tears many times, just to return to my car and cry as I drove back home.

Of all the things that had happened that year, the most devastating was my great-aunt’s death. My great-aunt had been so close to my grandparents, and she was one of the few siblings my grandfather had left behind. With her death came the realization that my connections to the past and to my family’s history were becoming weaker by the day. It consoled me that I was still in frequent contact with family members in Singapore and Malaysia, but this didn’t feel like enough.

I lived in an area of the US where Asians were in the minority. A three-hour drive was required before one could find a halfway decent Chinese dim sum place, and the few Asians I did come across did not tend to see me as one of them. This was something that couldn’t be helped, but it pained me all the same. I needed a sense of community. Perhaps I was relying too much on others to reassure me that I was strong enough to handle this loss and Asian enough to be in touch with my culture, no matter how many of my relatives were gone.

I envisioned an unsettling future where my grandchildren would enjoy eating spray cheese on crackers and spend time cruising around suburbia with huge American flags in their pickup trucks. Perhaps they would turn up their nose when I make them popiah or laugh in my face when I tell them to not rent an apartment unit associated with the number four. Would our identity be swallowed up in our endless pursuit of the American Dream?

These fears had always plagued my mind, but I was finally getting to the point where I felt completely at peace with myself. Once I got the word that my great-aunt had finally succumbed to her respiratory disease, I felt completely lost again.

**

“Ah Liang, I’ve decided that I want to be buried in Asia one day. Cremate me, bury me, I don’t care.”, I told my cousin half-jokingly on that unnaturally warm Fayetteville day. Or rather, I was in Fayetteville, he was in Penang, and merely a short WhatsApp call away.

“Stephanie, are you ok? That’s such a strange thing to say”, Ah Liang laughed. He never could take me too seriously.

“I mean, yes, I am. It’s not exactly something that would be easy to plan for though,” I furrowed my eyebrows in frustration and unfulfilled wanderlust. I, with my signed Anthony Bourdain books and “Watch Later” YouTube playlist jam-packed with travel documentaries and foreign films, was not resigned to the fact that it might very well be another year or two before I could leave the country. I simply wanted to get OUT, even Canada would suffice.

I continued. “All I’m saying is, I’ve lived far enough away from there for most of my life, and I want to connect with my roots more. What if my future kids don’t even appreciate me? I’ll have no legacy! It makes sense to return once I’m old, right? But if I can have one of my kids born there, or get married there, or buy a luxury condo near Sentosa Island or something like that, then maybe I’ll be fine. In that case, Branson, Missouri would be ok too. If I’ve made good memories in life, I’m fine spending my final days in a tourist trap.”

“That’s fine, I guess. I forget, which one of us is eighteen again?” He chuckled. “These are weird goals to have. Sounds like some sort of sick quarter-life crisis.”

“I’ve been in my thirties mentally since before I was eighteen. I’m twenty-four now, consider me a boomer already.”

“I can see that. Anyway…how are you doing? Hate to ask, but are you over Mark yet?”

Mark was my boyfriend from the year before. He was mixed race like me, except his background was Vietnamese and German. A future oncologist, he had struggled for many years to finalize what he wanted to do. After all this time not knowing how he was faring, hearing his name still gave me a pang of anxiety.

“Oh, Mark? Well, we broke up back in November. I guess you already know. Several times, but then I finally had to pull the plug. I didn’t want to do it, but I had to. It drained me after a while. I guess I’m better now, but I feel ashamed admitting that it ended.”

“Understandable. Maybe I shouldn’t ask too much, but do let me know if I can help in any way, okay?”

“Okay,” I forced a smile even though my cousin couldn’t see me. “Sure thing.”

**

While drinking a homemade “authentic” cup of Hong Kong milk tea - really just black tea mixed with a small helping of evaporated milk, but as authentic as I could get it - I happened upon a rerun of a 1990s travel show where the host went to Hainan. And then it struck me: there was nothing stopping me from seeking my roots and returning to my great-grandparents’ ancestral village. None of my mom’s immediate family had made the trip in the past few decades, but I had the means and the time to do so. I had saved up enough money to go on a trip to Australia with Mark, and while this trip never happened, I hadn’t touched a single penny. I could also still apply for jobs in the process of traveling.

I needed to breathe in the sea-imprinted air and walk on the dirt that once nourished my ancestors in their infancy. I decided it would be much easier to go first to Fujian and then later to Guangdong if I had the time. However, my family had more knowledge of the ancestral village in Fujian, and we knew very little about the town in Guangdong that my grandpa and his parents had left. It felt almost like we didn’t have a strong connection at all to that side of my mom’s family.

Fujian would be my main focus. It was my Pan Gu, and I saw it as an expansive land whose rivers told stories of centuries of rain and weaved through the land as arteries within the earth. I wished to return. It might not give me much comfort, but it would give me another perspective on life, which is what I desperately needed.

**

I did more research on Fujian and more specifically on my family’s ancestral temple, but there was little to be found, even when I did a deep dive into various Chinese articles. I contacted a distant relative in China who was familiar with that area, and he told me more. The temple was on the outskirts of the village. It was less than a mile from the Min River, which would serve as an important geographical marker.

Ah Liang agreed to go with me. He had a short break from school and was extremely restless. I was able to get my uncle in KL to come along too. He and Ah Liang were both very adventurous and planned to meet up together before joining me in Fuzhou.

With the tickets bought, the homestay booked, and our luggage packed, I felt more at peace than I had in an extremely long time. I was confident that I had planned everything well, and I didn’t think of anything going wrong. The thought didn’t even cross my mind.

The night before I boarded the plane, I got a phone call from a 312 number. I didn’t recognize the number, but the area code was familiar. I answered it, much against my better judgment.

“Stephanie,” a deep male voice said. I could recognize that voice anywhere and was instantly filled with bittersweet nostalgia. “Hi, Mark,” I answered sheepishly. “What do you want?”

“I hope you’ve been doing well. I heard you were busy with work and everything…”

“How do you know?” I asked, looking at my bedroom mirror as if I could find the answer written on the glass.

“It’s not important,” Mark said. How typical of him to be evasive of the question.

“C’mon,” I pleaded with him. “Just tell me.”

“Forget what I said, I just assumed. But anyway, how are you doing?”

“I’m fine.”

“Don’t you want to know how I’m doing?”

I let out a prolonged sigh. “Okay, sure. Mark, how are you doing?”

“I’m doing alright. Busy with applying for med school. It’s a depressing process, but I’m sure by next year I’ll have it all figured out.”

“That’s cool, I’m proud of you for working hard. I know it was always your dream, and I’m sure that you’ll be glad once your efforts have paid off.”

“Yep. Maybe, we’ll see. I’m kind of tired of this. I’ve already been working for a couple of years since college. It’s exhausting, Steph. I just want my goals to come to fruition already. You always said that’s something everyone in their twenties deals with, but I feel like my case is different.”

“Yeah, perhaps. We all have stress that we deal with, and goals that we have to wait for. But that’s life. As a matter of fact, tomorrow I…”

“Wait, just tell me this. Could we meet to talk about what happened? Maybe not now, but perhaps in the future."

I thought about it, carefully giving myself enough pause before saying something that I might regret. Part of me wanted to say yes. He had always been someone I admired. And still, he had his ways of putting me down, of keeping me in a small bubble. He never realized that I too wanted to throw caution to the wind and pursue dreams that were just as exciting as his.

“Well, Mark. I…don’t think that’s possible. Not for right now,” I packaged my words gently, for fear of backlash.

“Why not?” He asked in equal parts surprise and saltiness.

“I just don’t think it would work. You have your dreams, which I think you should pursue. Consider me as someone who will always support you, but at this moment, I can only do so from far away.” As I spoke, a layer of tension filled the air. I found it hard to breathe.

“I was always more invested in this than you,” he bit back. “So it doesn’t surprise me that you would back off this easily.

I raised my voice in frustration, "we struggled so much and as you said, accomplished so little.It doesn’t make sense to see each other now. Not in that way.” Of course, what had happened was that he had struggled so much, stuck between feeling inadequate for me and lost in his plans. It all came crashing down the moment he told me he wondered if our relationship served a purpose besides involving two lonely people who could heal their loneliness together. I wanted to be seen as more than that.

“Words are just words. You can say whatever you want, but it won’t change my mind. The best way for you to suffer is for me to forget you. I want you to suffer.”

“Don’t say that. We had our sad moments, but I still wish the best for you. I’m going to China tomorrow for a big trip. To finally see my great-grandparents’ hometown. Can’t you be at least a little happy for me, please?”

“Fine. Go and enjoy the trip. Don’t let me stop you. But don’t expect me to sit around and wait for you. As far as I’m concerned, this is over. I know you won't remember me”.

I considered telling him that I would remember him, and I hoped he could remember me too. And that maybe he could even find it within himself to genuinely not hate me. How hard it had been to leave when I had seen so much potential for him and us. But all I could say was, “Ok. I will enjoy my trip. Stay safe.”

The moment we coldly said bye and I left the call, I felt both a great relief and sadness. Yet what more could I do? I had fought this inevitable outcome from the moment we went on our first date. I went to bed and prepared for my trip the next day.

**

The night I arrived in Fuzhou my life started afresh. The horizon looked different now, and like Lot looking back at the pillar of salt, I looked at every night-engulfed cloud I passed by as if it was the face of a loved one I would never see again. When I finally arrived at the airport, I was sleep-deprived and elated.

We arranged for a driver to pick us up and take us to the hotel. I slept very well that night. Over the next two days, we went sightseeing around the city, eating the renowned Fuzhou-style fish balls and walking around Sanfang Qixiang. Overall, I was quite happy that I was there. I would have been perfectly fine just staying in Fuzhou, but I knew we had greater things to check off our list.

On the third day, we started the journey towards Nanping, but our actual destination would appear long before we could get to Nanping’s city center. The time it took to travel was a little over two hours.

Those two hours flew by very quickly. I vaguely remember discussing the Story of Yanxi Palace with my uncle, cousin, and the overly enthusiastic driver. We arrived almost as quickly as we had left. Once we got closer to the village and the temple, we all stopped talking. I saw a look of wonder start to form on Ah Liang’s face. Not one for history, he certainly looked in awe now.

The temple itself was beautiful. A red lantern adorned the entryway, and each of the surrounding buildings had bright red doors. The tiled roof was made in a classical style with several layers pointing upwards to the sky. It was a physical embodiment of my family’s life in this region, a testament to their reliance on the land and work in the neighboring cities, as well as the importance they placed on tradition. Shih family history unfolded before my eyes in this lovely place. It felt strange to know that many of the past few generations’ experiences could be traced here.

My eyes gazing slowly over the watery veins of the Min River, I could not have felt more at home. Still, I realized that I was merely opening the door for me to better understand where I had come from, and where I could go. I imagined my great-great-great-grandma and her sisters, women whose names I would perhaps never know. I imagined I could see them running among the seashell-laced brick walls of the village and dancing among the golden flowers of the fields. They were women forever young, aged in the physical body but not in spirit. And their faces resembled mine.

One day, someone might imagine me in that same fashion. Perhaps by then, I will be merely a name on a stone or in a book, if my name is even remembered. Maybe centuries from now my great-great-great-granddaughter will wonder about my daily struggles, my likes and dislikes, and the secrets that I shall keep to myself long after I am gone. I hope that she will wonder about me and be curious about my life and that she will appreciate the presence I made on this earth. Perhaps she can carry on the time-honored traditions of remembering how it is to live for those who can no longer live. And may the bitterness she swallows one day become something very beautiful.

Elsa Mattson is a recent university graduate and a Singapore-born amateur writer. Despite her background in tech and international economics, she has always loved creative writing and is particularly passionate about storytelling with a multicultural perspective. Some of her earlier publications include The Soil Has No Sons (Anak Sastra) and Older Sister Says (Dragon Poet Review).