Author: goldfish

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Scorso

I love the Italian word “scorso.” It is often associated with time, e.g., “l’anno scorso” (last year), “il mese scorso” (last month), “l’estate scorsa” (last summer). It is the past participle of the verb “scorrere”—to run, to flow, to fly. . .. As a noun, it denotes an unintended mistake, most often a typo, made while one rushes through things. I love the word because its sense of fluidity, which is often lost in translation. I am thinking of the word as goldfish odyssey turns one.

My sister’s passing in spring of 2018 brought back lots of memories of my childhood. The images of yesteryears seemed livelier than ever; the colors more vibrant and the sounds sweeter. Dementia haunted my father decades ago. Now, it is gradually stealing away mom’s vivacious spirit. I wanted to preserve my memories of treasurable moments, of people that loved me, and of those who I held dearly while it was still possible.

During the summer months, while friends and colleagues left the city to escape heat and humidity, I began writing. I heard my own voice narrating in English, a language in which I had been thinking and dreaming for decades. I saw images from another place and time, through the eyes and mind of a tiny me—full of curiosity and hope. Gradually, I realized that those beautiful years were only the beginning of my cross-cultural journey. I felt obligated to link the culture that shaped me as a young person and the culture that fulfilled my dreams.

Since my graduate school days, I have kept up with technology sufficiently for my work. On the other hand, social media had (and, for the most part, still has) little to do with my life. The idea of setting up a blog made me uneasy at first. As I continued writing, I consulted with close friends before taking the final steps. I clicked the “publish” button for the first time on August 4, 2018 and never looked back.

Turning my thoughts into words has a calming effect on me. It feels very much like talking to a trusted friend. I am not concerned of who my readers might be. I write about things that are meaningful to me, hoping that it might have some effect on others. Sometimes, I had so much to say and didn’t know how best to start. Sometimes, my fingers moved on the keyboard effortlessly. Those were the moments that mistakes were made—scorsi!

I am very thankful to friends who continue to encourage me, give me advices and gently point out my mistakes. One year ago, I wrote in my introductory page: “. . . the journey has just begun.” Now I should say that the journey continues.

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Naturalization

Five years ago today, I became a naturalized citizen of the United States. On the one hand, it was the final stop of a thirty-plus-year journey, well documented by diplomas, visas and passports. On the other hand, it marked the beginning of a new life, free of legal restrictions.

In New York City, an international city largely populated with immigrants, oath ceremonies are held weekly at multiple locations. To the officiating staff, they are more routines than special events. Still the room was filled with joy and excitement.

We were each given a package with a pocket-size U.S. Constitution, a letter from the President, a little Stars & Stripes flag and passport application forms. Each one of us had an assigned seat—just to ensure that we would be given the correct documents. Family members of the candidates were led to the back of the room. Everyone was dressed up. Some in the traditional costumes of their countries of origin; some in their Sunday best. Informational and patriotic documentary films were playing on a big screen as we waited for the ceremony to begin. There was not much communication amongst the attendees since we were total strangers until that morning.

Following brief introductory announcements from the staff and a video message from the President, we sang the National Anthem. I teared up a little. Before the oath, countries of origin for the candidates were introduced as we stood up. If I remembered correctly, I was the only one from Taiwan on that day. A judge of the High Court addressed my group, recalling the history of her own immigrant family. She wished us bright futures in our new country.

According to Merriam-Webster, one of the definitions for “naturalization” is: Of a non-native plant or animal: the process of becoming or the state of being established in the wild so that growth and reproduction is possible without human intervention.” I believe that the same should be true for human beings finding new lives in a foreign land. Being documented and certified is only part of naturalization. Living independently, freely and productively should be the defining element. I became a U.S. citizen after having lived here for years. The long process helped me to fully adapt to life in this country. For me, taking oath was simply to acknowledge my intention of continuing the journey. I came out of the ceremony with a sense of relief. Under the blue sky and shinning sun, I went straight to the nearest post office and applied for my U.S. passport.