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Much of their love was lost in translation. Maybe it was always this way with the children of immigrants, separated by the gap that grew between culture and generation. Her mother had never laughed with them the way she laughed with those from her home country, and although Jia spoke the languages of her mother’s land, they sometimes felt heavy on her tongue.
Your homeland is where I am! You listen to me, you! You lived in me before you lived anywhere else! I am your mother and your homeland! And I was born right here on Morley Street.
No one sees what detritus the roots feed on, all they remember is the beauty of the branches and the colour of the leaves.
