“… father always says, the only way to get these ang mor gau sai to respect you is to smack them in the face with your dua lan chiao money until they get on their knees.”
My mother’s captain, her prince, was gone. She waited and waited for him. Eventually she left him, but leaving was never what she wanted. Maybe, if he had asked, my mother would have boarded that ship. If she could not be his greatest adventure, she’d have settled for sharing it. Our favorite stories can be like lovers. Make sense to me, we ask them. Make sense of me. Here, fix these hurting parts. And stories do, sometimes better than our lovers. We all carry a small catalog of ...