The story of how all this unraveled ended with me stumbled out of your house and walked into your son's Jetta, where he waited for 40 minutes. how is the progress? He asked softly.

Okay, I snap. She recorded our conversation, why don't you listen to the whole thing in person?

He froze. Resentment is an unpleasant emotion. It oozes out of my pores. I am immersed in it. It screamed at me and asked him to respond—apology, confession, anything like confession—but he didn't give it. When he finally turned on the engine and sent me home, my resentment made me turn around and leave without saying anything.

When you sip tea carelessly, I study your white wall, wondering if you expect some kind of emotional performance from me. Sobbing, maybe. I beg forgiveness with tears. None of these options seem appropriate, because my Chinese capital S-Shame is deteriorating.

When I was too nervous to bear it, I finally asked, so, are you asking me to break up with him?

Then you are just a little martyr, aren't you?

Your tone is sharp, sneer, with the stickiness of cheap maple syrup.

Close your eyes. Ignore arrogance. Imitate a lively, friendly, white female with a capital W. pretend. Can your telephone recorder capture my beating heart from the possibility of you saying yes?

You tilted your head and cast a sharp look at me, as if you were not sure why I was still here. I do not know either. I realize that maybe you are waiting for me to confirm your assertion, smiling and saying, thank you, more, please.

Instead, I will dig out the fleshy cuticles I just gave birth to on your sofa. Come to park myself. Pain-it makes my nerves tense, burning, and numb. In a few days, I was sober for the first time. My words were finally not interrupted, and I spoke suddenly and intermittently, stumbling on each other. I tell you: I am here now trying to make an effort to show my commitment to your son, but I obviously will not change your mind, so I am leaving, we can try to coexist amicably, but I" I will not apologize Or force you to accept me, okay?

there is nothing. After a moment, you shrugged. Keep your face vigilant, not betraying anything. I want to throw your cup across the room to see if you will react. Silently laughed at me.

Soon after I rang the doorbell, you invited me in. My churning belly threatened to reveal what was inside, and I was caught by the desire to escape. This is a mistake.

Are you OK? I asked, immediately regretting pretending to be polite. We all know that you came to dismember me.

An awkward silence enveloped the room. You eliminate it by playing the role of a polite hostess and offering me tea. Even though my mouth was chalky, I still refused. Well, you say it again. I want to fix myself some. 

You came back with a steaming cup. Do you mind if I record our conversation? You ask. But, you know, it will be better for both of us.

You look at the accused unreliable narrator—I—with a look of expectation, as if I missed the hint of rejection.

go ahead! I replied—is this an expression of disappointment?

Once you click the "Record" button, your expression will become rigid. We’ve known each other for a while, haven’t we? You said. My nod is not recorded.

The moment we met I had a bad feeling towards you, you said indifferently, as if we were discussing the weather. Family is really important to me, I won’t let you take it away,

In Chinese, small siu² (小)心 sam¹ (心) means attentive, two letters paired to express how, in order to transform yourself into a smaller goal, you have to shrink yourself metaphorically, I can feel it on my neck My skin stings, even though I have heard of all of them before, and I am very young.

We met in an awkward situation, and I replied respectfully. After my third date with your son, it literally means--

——I really know how to read people, you put it succinctly and clearly. I don't know how you grew up, but this is not what our family looks like.

When my fingers casually tore off a few pieces of skin from my thumb, your accusations kept popping up-women, selfish women, women who led men away from his family with malice-I can imagine She—I—clearly, this conniving woman shrouded in a veil comes from a strange place, with nothing to say about tenderness, and completely different from the ferocious, powerful, and charming woman you are pursuing to raise your son. I want to know if I am depressed. Depression seems to be a small price.

I can not sleep. I take melatonin fudge, hemp chocolate, and unmedicated lukewarm vodka, but they only make my head tremble when my alarm clock strikes my skull. On the way to and from get off work, I put the red dent of my phone on my face. It is Sunday, Monday, Wednesday. It's drizzling. Then, sunshine, cold wind, sunny. When I can't sleep, I can't think. When I can't think, I can't have a conversation. My hands, they will never stop shaking. Every morning, my face lights up with the artificial glow of hundreds of messages in various group chats. It's tear gas again. The waving limbs disappeared behind a pile of batons and riot shields. A pair of goggles pierced by a bean bag-this is a seemingly harmless description of a shot shot from a shotgun. On Friday, the morning we were supposed to meet, I woke up, stunned, alone, thousands of miles away, expecting blood on my fingers.

It rains, which is unusual in spring in San Francisco. As the sewers were blocked by wet leaves and garbage, small ominous lakes appeared on the streets. On the bus to your house, I wandered among wet commuters, forced to overhear them about CRM and Google, Burning Man Festival and Lake Tahoe ski trip weekends and gentrification noisy and unrestrained Conversation. I just want to make them quiet, shut up, please shut up, just shut up, but instead, I gritted my teeth and my brain started to beat, my clenched fist left perfection on my face Moon shaped nail pits and palm pain.

When did my feet become adult feet? Toenails-yellowing; soles-hardening; knuckles-knotty. While waiting for the shower to heat up, notifications suddenly appeared on my phone, all of which pointed to my headlines:

"The Hong Kong university student died after falling down near the police operation."

"Hong Kong police opened fire on protesters during the conflict."

"Hong Kong riot police fired tear gas near the university campus."

In the shower, I used a pumice stone to pick on my injured foot until the skin turned red and tingling, although the calluses would always come back the next day, more angry than before. I imagine the conversation between you and your son at dinner now:

You ask him, what do you see in her?

He sighed. I don't want to talk about this anymore.

I just don't understand what you see in her. Is it her hair? Her nipples?

He avoids your eyes and eats a fork of spaghetti, or maybe pizza. We are actually more similar than you think, he tells you, she makes me happy.

I do not know.

We train you to respect your family.

I respect my family.

Well, you obviously did not respect my opinion on this issue.

You've been watching the news, haven't you? You just ask.

You know I’m just taking care of you so that you don’t get hurt, right? This is what the mother does, and this is love. So why do you refuse to accept her idea and possibility of dating you for a green card?

Also, the scene. This is the way it is, and it will always be like this. I am familiar with the script and its many repetitions, and sometimes say it out loud, but most often silently and carefully considered by those who look for the few forgotten men I have dated since I landed in this country.

At dinner, I put mustard peas into my mouth one at a time, but when I beat and chewed, my nostrils opened. A few hours later, your son let himself into my apartment. He exudes the warm, malty taste of beer being digested. He told me that dinner was good, nothing special, and you grilled some vegetarian burgers. Suddenly, he cheered up. guess what?

I have persuaded my mother to come to see you, so you two can talk face to face. He said, I hope we can make some progress. He is beaming and full of hope.

On the bed, when my wet cheeks were soaked in the damp pillow, he snore next to me, but I don't know if I was mourning my shame, boredom, or loss, or all of the above.

I might lose him. We only dated for a few months, but I am very cynical, knowing that every relationship will reach the point of disillusionment, in which case some conflicts will force its members to stay together or part ways.

Nine hours later, when he came back on his bike, I was still in bed. I told him that I understood whether this relationship was too much for him. I don't want him to love me at the expense of his family. I don't want him to resent me.

I didn't want to end it all, he replied, it sounded hurt.

I mean, neither did I, I replied. But I understand whether you want to.

I didn't, he said briefly.

When I tried to massage the hovering headache from the temples, he kept quiet.

Sorry, I am dealing with a lot of things now, I remind him.

His admission was noncommittal, enough to make me feel painful. No one sympathizes with immigrants who do not understand American culture; minority groups who cannot socialize in blank spaces; girlfriends who are misunderstood as opportunistic, her romantic intentions are thoroughly analyzed, so that she can hardly take it without deceiving herself Pick up the fine pieces to see if they are still similar.

On Friday, I do the same thing every day. At 9 o'clock in the morning, I was sitting at my desk, and one or three Advil popped up. I reply to customer emails on the autopilot. I checked the printable advertisements dotted with tiny Chinese characters. I made mistakes in my circle. I listened to Bruce Springsteen singing about an America I have never lived in. At noon, I don’t eat lunch. At 4 pm, I was thinking, when I graduated with honors two months ago, how would I envision a career that involves intellectual participation through important work. At 4:03 pm, I reminded myself of another life of mine. I had no work visa guarantee and was forced to return-I hate the word "deported"-to a smoking and unfortunate city. At 4:05 pm, I sent a message to my supervisor on Slack and asked if I could help her. Please give me more trivial tasks so that I can calm down my nervousness about instability and dominance feel.

I left the office at 6:30 in the afternoon. While waiting for the bus, I overheard a conversation in which a lady was considering quitting her technical job and volunteering for a non-profit start-up company. do it! Her friend said encouragingly.

At 8 o'clock in the evening, when your son told me that he would ride a bike 100 miles the next day, I suddenly said, anyway, I don't need you.

It's not very good, he replied.

On the bed, I pulled the blanket over my head and curled up beside me, maintaining the fetal position until late in the morning, long after he left.

We walked along Clement Street and bought fist-sized pork buns and flaky custard with a sticky center. Back to my apartment, our stomachs were filled with butter and canola oil, and your son asked me to sit down. He said that there are some things we need to talk about.

I feel the air roaring out of me. It was my mother, he continued. She wants us to break up.

We learn to tame adult fears by laughing. Laugh at the absurdity of all this. Laugh to cover up feelings of embarrassment, inadequacy, or shame. Want to escape with a smile. My laughter was sharp and painful.

His confession accelerated. She said that because you are too quiet, you may be hiding something. But she never really gave you a chance. I mean, she told me that after you two met for the first time, she didn't really like you, even though your interaction only lasted less than five minutes. It's just that in America, when you don't speak, people think you are rude. I know you are just shy and polite or whatever, but, you know, now she thinks you are unfriendly and anti-family because you don't want to be her friend. Every time I see her, we have these terrible quarrels. This is really fucking really annoying.

Sorry, he said, when he finally lost his breath. But I think you should know this, especially if we are going to advance this relationship.

To manage dangerous situations carefully and flexibly, you must shrink yourself, first of all put away your heart; if you want, this is a kind of self-sacrifice from the heart. It seems that he suddenly noticed my leaky eyes. He put his arms around me and said that it was not my fault, it was not true. His mother was in a bad mood after the divorce, and she was actually not a bad person, she just didn’t know you, she didn’t know you yet. .

The more he comforted me, the more I wanted him to shut up. He said that we will tide over the difficulties together. It will be fine. do not Cry. Hush. Come, drink some water.

We sat and stared at the blurry reflection on the dark TV screen. Me, black hair, trembling, he, fair-skinned, nervous. I didn't say anything, even though I wanted to scream and ask how I can be both a sneaky Ms. Long and a featureless Asian who lacks presence.

You are too noisy today, when we jumped on Uber, your son said to me. I don't know if he is joking or attacking negatively.

I just don't have an anecdote like yours, I said, a little too conservative. I hate to intervene in conversation just to talk endlessly about me, me, me.

His smile disappeared. You mean I am self-centered?

No, I answer seriously, I think it's just white people's business. I have no idea. I just like to listen more and ask questions instead of always trying to dominate the conversation about myself.

Yes, but you also have interesting stories, he said. You are the only person in the room with a different growth process.

But no one cares, I retort.

He muttered, and we looked to our respective windows. If I could talk like I thought--obsessively, non-stop, with desperate hunger, to the point of paralysis--maybe no one would mistake my silence for weakness. But for four years of elite higher education in the United States, I still need a "Fool's Cultural Guide for White Dialogues."

On the radio, Janis Joplin sang: "Freedom is just another word that means there is nothing to lose."

I should go to meet you and your son for brunch in the morning. I searched Google for casual autumn styles suitable for brunch women. What will I bring to meet my boyfriend’s parents for brunch for the first time.

I arrived at the restaurant very early and told them your name. I was surprised when the hostess asked me to sit at a five-person table instead of a three-person table. Your son arrived in a few minutes, but luckily he also arrived early, and he dropped a kiss on my cheek. He told me that I look great. I fiddle with my napkin.

Ten minutes after our assumed meeting time, you hang out with an older white couple. See who I hired! You announce to your son. I don't think you have seen them since you were 15 years old.

He smiled and stood up to hug them, but I could see that he was angry. Wow, this was unexpected, he said.

When he updated your family and friends about his life events in the past 10 years, you ordered wine for the table. The wife talked about how the most exciting thing that happened to them was how to repaint the cream-colored walls in the kitchen with sunnier shadows, and her husband interrupted to tell the point. Everyone laughed. I don't understand the joke, but I still giggled. You argue between omelette and French toast, your husband and wife separate mushroom scrambles and egg white omelets, and your son orders ricotta cheese pancakes. Wife gossip about the divorce of the soccer mom who lived on the street where the four of you used to live. The wine was so iced so well that it burned my throat.

You will unconsciously speak in long, tortuous sentences, pause for theatrical effect, and make sure that no one will interject. Someone asked a question about Al Franken. I don't know who it is, but the debate is so intense, I don't want to expose my knowledge gap. Your son stole a bite of my eggs Benedict. You complained that you had to leave the car at dawn to take your son to practice swimming for a whole decade, and he complained that you always repeat your story. Oh, the sacrifice that the mother must make, you announced dramatically, the wife said and listened, let us toast to it. I smile politely. The waiter filled me the glass. I want to know if anyone can say that I am uncomfortable and realize how many (very few) things I have said, I can count it with one hand. I overcompensate. I laughed too loudly. no way! When you told us about the parking dispute, I exclaimed, it was crazy. There is a smile on my face, like a clown. Holiday. Asia. I cheer up.

I just came back from Shanghai, and my wife told the table that it was too modern, not like the China we imagined. She put down the fork and opened her arms, as if to express how big China is.

She is from Hong Kong! Your son cheerfully proposed and nudged me.

Oh, I went to Hong Kong once, back in the 1970s, and her husband said that he joined the conversation without hesitation. I really want to go back.

It was very different now, and I replied, surprised at my high-pitched, nervous tone.

The food, my goodness, is incredible, isn't it? He went on to say that he did not hear my voice.

I nodded politely. He vividly described his memories of a city. In a fantastic cyberpunk landscape, the flashing neon lights reflected on the towering skyscrapers. The streets would never see any sunlight. People from Do not sleep because people are busy exploring the food Mecca. In the narrow streets where colonial aesthetics and traditional Chinese ideas conflict, there are roaring street vendors selling all kinds of dim sum and braised feet.

His wife leaned in conspiratorially. Did you know that they call the United States a "beautiful country"? She burst out laughing. Can you imagine? Is our America beautiful?

I checked the remaining hollandaise sauce on the plate and it has cooled to a solidified goo.

Anyway, you should all visit China at some point, her husband told the table.

I could have clarified that Hong Kong is different from China, but he seems to be very enthusiastic and I don't want to correct him. Instead, I continued to nod and shook my head in silence.

No, thank you. You declare out loud that I have everything I need here.

My cheeks were flushed, the heat spread to my spotted chest, and the Asian glow was a series of hives caused by alcohol. I never remember whether this was a good or bad reaction to alcohol.

The wife nodded sympathetically. She said that we were flying to Bangkok and had a stopover in Hong Kong, but due to all the rioters, our flight was diverted. It's terrible, they are destroying their beautiful city.

I try not to flinch. This is a reminder of my words. But I don't want to discuss my feelings of great loss with strangers who will never understand. Instead, I drank alcohol, tried to ignore my phone, buzzed with WhatsApp messages from my mother, and her treatment for insomnia was to watch the news and cry, knowing that I was far away from home, this It comforts me.

On our first date, your son met with me by Stowe Lake and took me a long way to the highest point of Golden Gate Park. He pointed to the rows of gentle houses-"sunset"; the cloud-filled Sutro Tower-"reliable nautical landmark"; the description of his loving corner in the center of the city fascinated me. We listened curiously to each other’s stories about foreign upbringing, adventures, and interests, while wandering with excitement in a new, unnamed relationship in the northwest of the park, where a group of female bison with old-fashioned names lazily Hang out. I took a picture, but in the evening haze, it looked very blurry. I saved it anyway.

The way he kisses is the same as his behavior, with casual self-confidence forged from more than four years of life experience; a behavior that is very different from those before: hedonistic high school boyfriend, insecure college romance, Emotionally lawless indulgence. My adult appearance is very fragile; however, in front of him, I feel that I have become a new form-an older, more secular, and less lonely person-I don't know this is possible.

When I first saw you, when we walked out of his son's bedroom, you were rummaging through cabinets in his kitchen. With an empty casserole, you first notice me. Who is this?

what are you doing here? He asked at the same time.

You raised your eyebrows at his rude tone. Just put down some Tupperware.

His face flushed from embarrassment. This is my mother, he told me. He hesitated, then pointed at me. This is my girlfriend.

Siu² (small) sam¹ (心) means that if you want to do things well, you must back down and act carefully. I suddenly became vigilant about my crumpled clothes and unbrushed teeth.

I didn't know that you had a girlfriend, and you answered with a pursed smile, as if accepting the inevitability of my existence on this lingering Saturday morning.

Nice to meet you! I echoed with the liveliest voice I could summon. I can feel the sourness of my breath, and last night’s Cabernet Sauvignon marinated my molars.

You admit me directly for the first time. Nice to meet you too.

Tan Xin is a Hong Kong writer and currently lives in Colorado. Her non-fictional works have appeared in magazines such as VICE, Huffington Post, and The Independent. In addition to her daily work in marketing, she also runs a small business selling colorful crafts. "Siu²_Sam¹" is her debut work.

Founded in 2002, Hyphen is a non-profit news and cultural magazine that tells the story of Asian Americans with content, style and rudeness.