A return to the motherland

a reflection on family, identity, and what it means to be Chinese

I could put it off no longer. The pandemic was long over, I had so many nieces and nephews whom I still had never met, and both Justin and I finally had the time.

It was time to return to the motherland.

So this November, I went back to China for the first time in eight years.

you thought I’d be doing this on my own?? you give me way too much credit.

For this trip, I had two main goals. The first was the same as always: to see all of my relatives and check off my familial duties. But the second was new and a little scary. This time, I wanted to confront my relationship with my Chinese identity.

roots not wanted

Like most Asian kids that grew up in majority-white towns, I had a love-hate relationship with my ethnicity. At home, I loved my Chinese roots. I cherished the various holidays, rooted for Team China during the Olympics, and enjoyed visiting my cousins every other summer. But at school, I did everything I could to push that part of me away — side-eyeing anyone who was into k-pop, anime, or who spoke their native language with their friends.

I had thought I’d since grown past this. Since moving to the Bay Area (where there are so many Asians!) and witnessing the rise of Asian representation in western media, I had become proud of being Asian. I even fell down the k-pop rabbit hole and watched anime — and I was not ashamed of it.

But while I was proud of being Asian, I later realized that weirdly, I was not proud of being Chinese.

who said i’m not proud i’ve got nothing to hide!!!

It was especially clear when I compared myself to Justin. He was Taiwanese, and boy was he proud of it. And it wasn’t just him. It was like this with all of my Taiwanese friends. Being Taiwanese created instant camaraderie.

But being Chinese? That didn’t feel like something worth bonding over. To me, China felt icky. The Chinatowns were dirty. The food was oily and filled with MSG. Its people could not follow the rules and stand in a goddamn line. Even COVID came from China…from my mom’s very hometown.

So I hid.

I hid from my Chinese identity and chose to be Asian instead.

Because being Chinese only brought me feelings of shame.

We’re gonna need a miracle

Day 1: Wuhan

Okay Kelly, you can do this, you can find something good about being Chinese!

There I was, mentally trying to pump myself up and be open to the possibility of change. But before we could get even one foot off the plane, I saw people pushing their way to the exit…and I instantly felt irked.

And as the day went on, that irritation continued.

Of course the pollution is terrible.

Oh gawd, the drivers here are crazy.

At least the food is delicious??

If I had been on my own, maybe I would have been able to look past it. But Justin with his outsider’s perspective noticed it too, and that made me feel reaffirmed.

But how was I supposed to fall in love with China like this?

It’s in the small moments

Day 2: Wuhan

“Let’s take you out to an amusement park okay? Don’t you think it’d be more fun to hang without the parents?”

Even though it had been years since I’d seen my cousin’s wife, she greeted us with sheer warmth and joy. And off we went— my cousin’s family, Justin, and me — to celebrate Halloween weekend at a children’s amusement park.

It was such a refreshing change from the stiff, formal round-table dinners I associated with past trips: the ones with endless dishes, polite toasts, and no real conversation.

Instead, we spent the day getting spooky makeup done, braving haunted houses, taking pictures of my niece with random people in costume, and eating swirly potato sticks. The conversations we had weren’t particularly deep—my limited vocabulary saw to that—but we connected nonetheless.

amusement parks in china just hit different

Before we parted ways, my sister-in-law said to her child, “Next year when you start learning English, you can call your auntie every week to practice okay? Wouldn’t that be fun?”

Under the smoggy skies of Wuhan, amidst the chaos of traffic and crazy drivers, I felt my heart begin to soften.

Day 8: Jingjiang

“Ooh, a basketball court? Do we have a ball? I want to play!”

Justin and I were walking around my dad’s childhood village when we came across a small outdoor exercise ground. It had a basketball hoop, some random exercise equipment, even a ping pong table. I’m sure that most of the time, the space sat empty—the village itself was on the decline, with only a few older folks still living there. But to us, that space was pure gold. So, we asked one of my aunts to bring a basketball for us so we could play.

The next day, my aunt didn’t just bring a basketball. She brought everything. And what started as a plan for Justin and me turned into a full family affair.

That afternoon, I saw my aunts sitting on the swings, my cousins playing badminton, and my dad teaching his older brother how to shoot hoops. Even the village elders came out to sit and watch.

my heart <3

For one afternoon, we brought life back to this quiet, declining village. And in that moment, I felt something I had always wanted — to be part of a big, loving family.

but are the small moments enough?

These moments made my heart feel so full. This was the answer to my perfect narrative! This was the key to me rediscovering my heritage and reclaiming pride in my roots.

Except there was one problem: Justin.

Justin had no motive to romanticize things.

So he noticed things that I didn’t. And he wasn’t afraid to bring them to light.

He pointed out how my Jiu-ma and Jiu-jiu wouldn’t sit and eat with us, even after driving us to a food place and ordering us a full table of food, even though we were there to hang out with them.

He asked why we never got advance notice about what we were doing each day, and why we kept getting pulled this way and that.

He confessed that he didn’t want to drink or smoke anymore, but felt pressured to by my uncles to fit in.

At first, I resisted.

“This is just how they show love! They mean well!” I insisted. “Or… maybe you didn’t do a good enough job saying what YOU needed.”

Justin gave me a look, and though I didn’t want to admit it, deep down, I knew that I was in the wrong.

I was being dismissive and overly defensive.

Why? What was I trying so hard to protect?

I was reminded of a lesson I’d heard from a veteran coach: when you’re faced with a fear, the best way to work through is to see what happens if you accept it to be true.

What if my family had done all of those things Justin had said? What if my family wasn’t perfect?

When I finally let myself sit with those questions, the facade fell apart. And in that moment, I saw things more clearly.

I saw that my JiuMa and JiuJiu were extremely intent on showing their love through acts of service — and it made them miss moments for real connection.

I saw that my mom let our hosts decide our day to day without providing input because she didn’t want to add to their burden — and it made our days very exhausting.

I saw that my uncle was doing what he thought was generous and welcoming — and that it made Justin uncomfortable.

Justin was right, the way my family showed up and expressed love was far from perfect.

AND YET my love for them did not fade.

The one thing that did fade was my judgment of imperfect people. And in accepting the feared truth, I actually grew my capacity to feel more love.

a messy little bow

In the end, I did not get my perfect little story.

There are still things I dislike about China. The chaotic public spaces. The cigarette smoke. The politics.

There are things I realized are not perfect about my family. The people pleasing. The need to save face. The nonexistent boundaries.

So no, I did not return with immense Chinese pride.

But what I have returned with is an appreciation of the messiness. The fact that my family isn’t perfect, and I can still love them very much. The fact that China isn’t perfect, and I can still acknowledge and appreciate how it’s shaped who I am.

I’m returning with the understanding that there is power in holding pride and shame, love and frustration.

And by accepting these contradictions, I’m able to accept just a little bit more of myself.