The Lie Beneath the Story of My Family’s Asian American Dream
The story affirms our goodness by assuring us we did it on our own. The story tells us to not make waves.
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All the wrong people are crying, and all the people who ought to feel something do not.
Something unexpected cracks me open every year: Tonight, it was my daughter, recognizing the name I’d given her because I couldn’t give her the woman herself.
I wish I’d known Molly years ago. I wish I had known her when I was twelve years old, wondering who in my life would still love me if they knew my secret.