memoir

Piecing together the past through memory – by Luhai Liang

On the balcony, where she keeps the livestock, my grandmother is methodically murdering a duck. In her left hand she grabs the duck's serpentine neck, shiny white in the sun, in a hard grip. With her other hand she reaches for a dull knife and cuts the duck's throat. I watch the duck as it lays in a large plastic bowl, its eyes in passive shock, while my grandmother pours hot water onto its body to soften the skin, ready for plucking.

One family's revolution – by Lusha Chen

A version of this piece originally appeared on the Wang Post

December 26th was the 120th birthday of Mao Zedong. After three decades of market-based reform and the gradual “opening up” helped by internet and technology, his popularity and relevance are fading in China. But I want to talk about one Maoist’s memory of the leader – my grandmother, who passed away four years ago.

In the 1950s, Grandma used to be in the highest echelons of the Chinese working class, but she grew up as the last generation of poor Chinese peasants’ daughters, who had bound feet and were married as children.

Family footsteps retraced – by Peta Rush

It’s Chinese new year, which means auspicious red paper decorations and lanterns are being hung up, and fireworks can be heard going off every evening. For those who live away from their laojia, or ancestral home, it also means taking the bus, train or plane in the largest annual human migration in history, as people return to their family homes for the holidays.

I might do the same, if I knew where mine was.

Home is where the yolk is – by Bradley Wayburne

THIS STORY ORIGINALLY APPEARED ON BANANA WRITERS

I define an Egg as a person of European descent with their hearts pumping to Asia’s rhythm. But it takes more than a rapt fascination with Asia, or part of it, to earn the title of Egg. Authentic Eggs, like myself, are a confused bunch – not complete egg white, nor totally yolk. But like a nutrient-filled, deliciously poached yolk, the heart of the Egg is what sets them apart.

I was born and raised in a little place called Hong Kong, an island under China that you may have heard of. Many would call me an expat brat, and to some extent that is true. Even I believed it. But here’s the difference: