Ode To A Heritage Journey, Of Being And Becoming
There is no recipe outlining how a heritage trip might make one feel, a list with what one might prepare for. There are no 1s, 2s and 3s, of what to do, to feel and to see.
What word encompasses the feeling of being somewhere you have never been, but you have always known?
Familiar yet foreign, a part of you and apart from you, it might’ve been blurry for some time—but now you’ve been there.
There, where the sound of people speaking sounds like your family, sweet singing intonation, while passing by, crossing the street, while speaking and laughing. On planes, buses and in shops, the tambor and laughter of the voices around you bring you peace.
People relax and smile when you say where you’re from and why you’ve come, rather than staring with a question mark on their face. There is seemingly less of a conundrum.
There, where hugs and smiles last longer, and the wings people take you under are larger than you could have imagined, time is wide. Time is just a word used to explain the preciousness of energy shared with others.
Not just a part of you is there, your whole you is there. You are seen. You belong. Completely.
There, where fruit juice is sweet, and people smile easy and those special foods that you had only every other Christmas—from a frozen to-go travel roti shop—are made with passion by kind street vendors, steaming with love, curried mango and fiery ‘slight’ spice. With roti skin so soft like a warm pillowy cloud, dough wrapped and folded with care to hold the curry potato and spinach, warm in your hand, wrapped in light brown paper.
You hold your heart in your hand.
There is extra tamarind sauce dripping down the chin of a child’s first doubles from a food stall. That child is me.
There, where coconuts are green and happy to be seen, taro is dasheen, and breakfast might consist of full bodied coffee, coconut bake, salt fish, and pumpkin—there is a coming together of sorts.
Where callaloo is a happy green and pigeon peas are free, you feel your feet and you breathe. The air is hot and sticky, but you feel a cool warmth inside. There is so much to be seen.
There is no recipe telling one what they might feel being in a place that is a part of them, and apart from them, where they have roots and from where they have grown stems, and leaves. A place from where they have become a part of a mighty tree. A precious place, once alive only in fragmented stories, suddenly has a face—and it’s a beautiful one.
But there are familiar flavors and flowers, electric sensations and tears, and your heart and soul will sing and sting to after being away for so long. Your mind might ask: what took you so long?
Maybe that’s what the recipe should say: it will all be okay.
— Note from the author —
The Chinese diaspora—like so many diasporas—is far and wide, in practically every corner of the globe. It was a deep honor to go with my family to Trinidad and Tobago after so much time imagining what it might be like. After over 40 years, I accompanied my family to the place where my father’s family was born and raised.
To be joyful and to celebrate being mixed race Chinese Trinidadian American! May this year, the year of the water rabbit, bring you much peace and prosperity and a deeper understanding of who you are and what you bring to the small but mighty world. Gong hay fat Choy!
Photos descriptions: Lenora, sitting on the porch in Tobago, a picture of the sea, and a picture of the Trinidadian flag in Rohan’s shop, and a picture of Lenora and the backdrop of the city, Port of Spain
Photo Credit: Lenora Yee and Devon Yee