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Last week, my friend C.Z. shared a story he wrote chronicling his grandfather’s life. It was an English language re-telling of a story his mother told, and he wanted to write it down. After reading his work, I was inspired to try my hand at telling an origin story: a story about one person’s life, painted in broad, sweeping strokes.

To keep things spicy and accessible, I have narrated this story for your listening enjoyment. If you would prefer to not listen to my dulcet tones, continue reading below.

Enjoy.

小金鱼

A Song:

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Origin

阿姨 - auntie, romanised as a yi

妈咪 - mother, romanised as ma mi

爸爸 - father, romanised as ba ba

The first time that I ran away from home, I was nine years old.

I had gotten into a fight with 妈咪, over what exactly, I don’t remember. We were yelling at each other, when I said something like, you love your business more than you love your kids. I was crying, snot dripping down my face, when she said something like, yes, I do, so if you don’t want to live here any longer, then you should leave.

I was nine years old, but I had a plan. 阿姨 lived nearby, only a fifteen minute walk away, and I loved 阿姨 very much. So I walked to 阿姨’s house, let myself in with a spare key, and waited until she got home from work. She was surprised to see me, but when I ran up to her, tears streaming down my face, she held me tight.

I hate her, I said. I hate her and I don’t ever want to see her again.

阿姨 patted my back, and we watched TV together. Then, she made me a cup of tea, and told me a story.

Your mother was never supposed to come to England, 阿姨 said.

阿姨 and 妈咪 were from the same village in China, and they had been friends for as long as 阿姨 could remember. 阿姨 told me how 妈咪 used to wake up early in the morning, before the rest of her family, to fetch wood and sell it for money. She was her parents’ favourite: not because they liked her, but because she was hardworking.

When 阿姨 left for England, 妈咪 cried. She couldn’t have known that a year later, her older sister would get married, and refuse to move abroad without her husband. She couldn’t have known that her parents would send her, instead.

For the first few years, we lived together in a tiny studio apartment, 阿姨 said, and your mother would hide under the bed whenever the landlord came to visit. The landlord was cheap, so we weren’t supposed to have flatmates, but I liked living with your mother. She made me laugh.

In England, 妈咪 worked hard to send money back to her parents. She lived in Chinatown, until she started dating 爸爸. Before 爸爸, the only person she had dated was another man who worked at the same Chinese restaurant. He was young, and fun, and 妈咪 liked him a lot. But 爸爸 was responsible, older and he could give her a home. So she married him, and they moved in to live with his parents in the small council house that the government had given them.

Several times over the next few years, they came close to having enough money to buy their own home. But every time, 爸爸 would start gambling, and the money would disappear.

妈咪 knew about 爸爸’s addiction before they got married. It was an exciting part of him that she thought she loved, until she fell pregnant, and realised that she would never have the home or life that she wanted. So, after the birth of her second child, 妈咪 started hiding money. She squirrelled away the cash that she earned from working under the table, until she had enough saved to rent a small flat.

She asked me to live with her again, 阿姨 said. To help her look after the two of you, and split the bills. We didn’t have enough money for a three-bed place in London, so your mother and I shared a room. Your older brother wouldn’t stop crying at night, so we never got enough sleep, but we were happy.

I don’t remember that.

You were too little.

Soon after, 妈咪 started working in nail salons. The Chinatown community was too small, and people everywhere would gossip about how 妈咪 had left her husband, and taken her two children. 妈咪 never let them see her cry, but when she got so tired that she forgot to wear underwear to work one day, she quit.

At the nail salon, 妈咪 got used to the acrid smell of acetone, and wearing a face mask to protect her lungs from microscopic nail particles. She learnt how to smile at customers, nodding along at regular intervals while she scrubbed their feet. She laughed nicely when old white men who came to pick up their wives called her things like angel and sweetheart.

But whenever your father came to take you and your brother for the weekend, your mother cried, 阿姨 said. And when he stopped coming, she cried, too.

Your mother didn’t cry when she worked, though, and after that she never stopped working, 阿姨 said. So when she asked me for a loan to start a business, I gave her my money. Actually, everyone gave your mother money, because we saw how hard she worked.

Your mother worked six days a week all year round and raised two children by herself. She came to England alone, at the age of fourteen, and didn’t speak any English. She learnt to drive, and started a business, and made a home.