Beautiful Country

by Qian Julie Wang

Mei Guo, a name that translated literally into “Beautiful Country,” kept telling her no.

Mei Guo, a name that translated literally into “Beautiful Country,” kept telling her no.

Ba Ba was a professor, like Ma Ma. But where Ma Ma taught math, Ba Ba taught English literature.

Ba Ba was a professor, like Ma Ma. But where Ma Ma taught math, Ba Ba taught English literature.

Ma Ma taught me about duty.

Ma Ma taught me about duty.

And in the moment that Ba Ba’s bird came swooping over my quacking duck and I shrieked with laughter, the itch and the red spots disappeared.

And in the moment that Ba Ba’s bird came swooping over my quacking duck and I shrieked with laughter, the itch and the red spots disappeared.

It was also during those shadow puppet plays that I learned that while Ma Ma’s job was to always be there, Ba Ba was allowed to go away, even if his body stayed.

It was also during those shadow puppet plays that I learned that while Ma Ma’s job was to always be there, Ba Ba was allowed to go away, even if his body stayed.

Ba Ba taught me that fun was to be relished, in part because I never knew when it would end.

Ba Ba taught me that fun was to be relished, in part because I never knew when it would end.

He said them at home but I wasn’t allowed to repeat them: he hated the government, and he hated being told what to think.

He said them at home but I wasn’t allowed to repeat them: he hated the government, and he hated being told what to think.

I was not made for Zhong Guo—China,

I was not made for Zhong Guo—China,

But in Zhong Guo, everyone had to do the same thing at the very same time,

But in Zhong Guo, everyone had to do the same thing at the very same time,

I was also bad in Zhong Guo because I asked questions that my teachers said were unnecessary.

I was also bad in Zhong Guo because I asked questions that my teachers said were unnecessary.

We lived in a place that Ba Ba called Brooklyn.

Each time I inched closer to the window or the light, Ma Ma shouted, “Wei xian!” Dangerous. According to Ma Ma, everything in our new country was dangerous. It was dangerous even to step close to the windows or turn the lights on. The popping sounds outside were gunshots, she said, and if they saw that we were home, they might shoot us, too.

“Gou!” I shouted in disgust, drawing peals of laughter from my parents. Ba Ba explained that there was no dog meat, that it was just what the Americans called “pizza.”

Quiz question: what was in the bag that Ba Ba gave to Qian on evening?

What was this terrifying, amazing, delicious substance, and why was this the first I had ever tasted of it?

I had no idea before then that Chinese eyes were supposed to look like that, but it quickly became how I saw myself, teaching me then that there was something wrong with my eyes.

First body part that Qian saw different based on media portraying Chinese people

All of this was drilled into her spirit when she heard a white colleague referring to her as a “pancake face.” Ba Ba and I shared a laugh because we thought this was the most ridiculous thing we had ever heard. But the colleague, she had not found it so funny. She had told Ba Ba, in English for emphasis: “I cried for days and nights.”

It introduced me to PBS Kids, a new world of

friends.

The Puzzle Place was my absolute favorite.

Quiz question: why was this program Qian’s favorite?

It’s dangerous. We’re not allowed here. Don’t trust anyone.

Did their visa expire or did they never receive one?

But Ma Ma and Ba Ba were by now both replaced by shells. They always seemed to be looking around, scanning our environment for something.

Escaped fear in China for a different, more powerful fear

And I learned not to make too much noise eating, because even though we were supposed to do that to show Ma Ma that we enjoyed the food she made, doing it in Mei Guo just made others laugh at us.

Customs in their home country are not excepted here. Must assimilate

The curved backs of the people reminded me of freshly steamed mantou in different flavors. Here one clothed in white, plain flavor; there a purple one, taro, maybe.

Due to hunger, Qian is comparing people to food she is familiar with

So I was happy when I got to Mei Guo and received my very own pair at the sweatshop.

Qian doesn’t realize that she and her mother are being exploited because they are illegal immigrants

Ma Ma made three cents for each piece. I made one cent. Every piece mattered.

Can underpay them because of their situation. Who will they complain to?

“Qian Qian, how shameful! You should dream of becoming something more than a mother.” But to me there was nothing nobler, nothing greater, than being Ma Ma.

I had never had anyone call me “Qian” without a “Wang” before it or another “Qian” after it, but for the rest of the day, it was all Tang Lao Shi and Janie called me. Just like that, I had been reborn as a girl divorced from her family name, orphaned from her Chinese past.

Immigrants are often stripped of their cultural identity, even when it comes to their names

Through her swollen-tongue Mandarin, Tang Lao Shi explained to me that this was the classroom for students who did not speak English. The room was also for, as I could barely make out, children with “special needs.”

Immigrants are often treated like an “other” in school by their teachers because they do not speak the native language and the teachers do not speak the students’ language

I felt fortunate that Ba Ba had taught me many of the English letters and sounds before leaving Zhong Guo.

Only later, after living many years in fear, would I understand that the risks were much lower than we believed at the time. But in the vacuum of anxiety that was undocumented life, fear was gaseous: it expanded to fill our entire world until it was all we could breathe.

I read until excitement replaced hopelessness. I marveled that I was teaching myself to read English—slowly, of course, but without an adult next to me.

I scored a proud 33 percent. So began my path to graduating from college with an English degree fifteen years later.

As my English grew, I learned that there were some things that Ma Ma didn’t know how to do, but that I did. Over time, she came to see that, too. As I stopped asking her questions, she started asking more of me.

Immigrant children must grow up quicker to help their parents who are slower to learn the language

“I was a professor. I was published. And now it all means nothing.”

We worked until, in the world outside, the sun set. Farther uptown, sushi restaurants opened and then closed, their waitstaff placing chairs and barstools on top of the tables, locking the doors and rolling down the gates. In the time it took the city to wake up, get dressed, go out, and crawl to bed, we in that room stayed frozen: frozen with our fish, frozen in our boots, frozen at our stations. And all that time, my mind never strayed far from the lao lao just a few rows over, a cold wind and a bin of fish away from giving up.

Only looking back at the scene through an adult lens do I see in the cracks of her face the sweet pain Ma Ma must have felt in those moments. Gratitude for the little she had. Heartbreak in needing it. Confusion over what our lives had become.

Tracing it all back, I know now that it was the moment I first became enamored with the idea of America. It was the first time I saw the beauty and glamour of the country, and really, of New York City—though at that point the two were one and the same to me. The lights and the joy among the crowd that night showed me all that the city was and had to offer: a completely different face of America than the one we had come to know. Finally, the Beautiful Country’s name made sense.

I could barely believe that I would get to read all of the books in it for free. Here and there, a few picture books were propped up for display. Old friends greeted me: Amelia Bedelia, the Berenstain Bears, and Clifford. For the first time since leaving Zhong Guo, I was home.

Libraries are one of a few places left where people are not expected to purchase something. It is a safe place for everyone, rich or poor, to come to read and learn.

From then on, there was no saving me. I lived and breathed books. Where else could I find such a steady supply of friends, comforts, and worlds, all free for the taking?

so long as we didn’t stake claim to what wasn’t ours—the things, our rooms, America, this beautiful country—we would be okay.