Homebase

I found “Homebase” to be an intriguing novel. I think that it’s easy to relate to Rainsford as he is struggling to gain an identity (we all struggle to figure out who we are). Also, the use of flashbacks through dreams, and letters was an interesting aspect to the novel as well. It’s also easy to sympathize with Rainsford, everyone experiences loss during their lifetime. However, I could not imagine having both my Mother and Father dying at such a young age “I was left a father to myself after my father’s death” (p 6). Especially since in Asian culture children seem to hold their parents in such high regard (much more so than children brought up on American values). I imagine it would be extremely hard to hold onto Asian values as well as attempt to figure out a sense of identity all while leading a life in America. Do you think that Rainsford became interested in his family’s history upon his Mother’s death (since she died after the Father) as a means to hold onto his family? And, as a way to hold onto tradition in which would also link him to his family and allow him to feel less alone in the world? Rainsford always seems to give off a sense of loneliness “I came to live with my Uncle and Aunt at the Age of fifteen in a small town near the ocean in California, I cam to them as a son. Not their son, just a son. I came on an overcast day…” (p 42). In the aforementioned quote Wong gives insight into how Rainsford is really feeling- he’s lost, and feels a sense of abandonment. He came as a son, but he is not their son, he is a son without parents (making him feel almost like an outcast).

On page 83 Rainsford is told “This is your Country. Go out and make yourself at home”. I thought that this was an extremely powerful point in the novel. I feel as though at this point the Indian man is offering comfort to Rainsford who is lost in the world. He tells him that there is a place for him, just as the he has found his place in the Country. Everyone has a place. You just have to find it and make yourself feel at home. Everyone fits in somewhere. After Rainsford learns of Angel Island the Indian later says “an island is the saddest kind of land there is” (p 85). What do you think he means by this? Is he speaking of solely just Angel Island, and the ways in which the Chinese Immigrants were brought there after harsh travels and an attempt at a new life (only to be stopped at the very end of their journey, never making it to America)? Or does is mean something more?

How do you think Rainford’s life would have been different if he had not lost his parents? Do you think he would be as interested in learning about Chinese history if his parents had not passed away?

Through the Eyes of Natalie

For this week’s bog post, I decided to write a creative response to Gish Jen’s “Who’s Irish”. The narrator of the story seems to be troubled by the way in which her daughter, as well as her Husband (and his Irish family) lead their lives. She constantly reminded her daughter, Natalie of what people in China do, and how people in China raise their children. I decided to write some of the events from the story in Natalie’s point of view, instead of her Mother’s. Ready? Here we go:

In China people do this, In China people do that. That’s all I ever seem to hear leave the mouth of my Mother. Constantly reminding me of how I am not leading a proper Chinese lifestyle. It’s hard coming home after a long day at the bank to Mother’s constant nagging. After receiving my promotion to Vice President at the bank, it has become even harder to listen to her rambling. I’m tired. I’m always tired. Tired of hearing my Mother’s complaints. Tired of my husband, John, not having a job. Tired of trying to control my three year old daughter, Sophie.

Sophie, as my Mother would say, is a wild child. Or in her words “doesn’t act Chinese, because the Irish side had swallowed her whole”. Sophie refuses to wear clothes, constantly taking them off allowing her skin to catch the wind as she runs freely. Mother says it’s because of how she’s being raised, because of our “crazy” old babysitter Amy. Amy wore clothes Mother deemed as too small, and did useless things not suited for young women such as play guitar. It’s true, she did allow Sophie to get away with running around naked, but it’s not entirely her fault. Sophie’s just a different kind of child, one Mother can’t understand. That’s because my Mother is stuck in a cultural time warp. Leading her life with traditional Chinese values in a modern day American Suburbia. In short, the two don’t mix.

I have no support, no one to turn to. Mother doesn’t believe in the word supportive. It’s like a foreign language to her. I can’t depend on John (well, I can depend on him to go to the Gym), as he can’t seem to hold a job. I can’t depend on my Father, as he died years ago, leaving my Mother and I alone. I can’t depend my daughter (she’s only three, not to mention she in incapable of listening). I’m alone. Surrounded by bank statements, and memos, and board meetings. I need sleep. I need support. I need someone to lean on, to listen and understand.

After Amy quit babysitting Sophie, I had to ask Mother for help. She complained as usual. “Daughters shouldn’t depend on their Mothers. It should be the other way around” (except in broken English). But none the less, she did it (we can’t afford a babysitter anyway). As I mentioned before, Mother doesn’t understand this culture, she lives in the past. I didn’t want to leave Sophie with her, and I tried to tell her Sophie is hard to handle, and how it’s not ok to hit your child, and how yelling won’t help, and how we don’t live in China anymore-she doesn’t listen. She yells. She spanks. She attempts to instill all if these dated Chinese ideas on Sophie and myself. It doesn’t work, and she gets angry. There’s no reasoning with her. I come home from work only to find that Sophie hasn’t eaten all day as punishment from Mother. I can’t take it.

One day I came home from work, exhausted as usual to find Mother and Sophie not home. John said he’d been home for an hour and he had not seen them (he didn’t look for them either, typical). After looking everywhere, we headed to the park, where Mother would take Sophie in the afternoon if she were good that day. We found her there, poking into a hole in the playground, dirt everywhere. She had scared Sophie into a hole, and she was too scared to come out. She’s only three. You can’t spank a three year old like she does. Or yell at one with such harsh words. When John finally got her out she had bruises all over her body. I couldn’t look at Mother, I couldn’t believe she had taken things so far. What was she thinking? How could she do that to a child? How could she think like that? We walked home in silence. My mind racing, my heart pumping with anger in every beat. When we arrived home I told Mother she needed to leave. I couldn’t let her stay any long. Not after what happened.

She left. And I’m still alone, supporting myself, tired. I need help, but I have nowhere to turn, no one to lean on. I’m stuck here. Not going anywhere.