SmokeLong Quarterly

The first images indicate solidity (the triangle) and also agency (the Golden Gate Bridge reddening the fog). We return to the bridge at the end, but our understanding has changed. What went into the idea for this setting and the images of the two at the Bridge?

Bridges, for me, have always represented strength, an almost inhuman stability. As a child, I visited the Golden Gate bridge with my family (I still have the pictures!), and I remember being shocked by the stark redness of the steel, how it seemed to cut through clouds. This story was inspired by that power—both mother and daughter seeking respite in something so large and mighty.

In the end, when we witness their encounters at the bridge, their quest to find one another amongst the fog and the clouds, it is an exercise in agency—something they’ve fought for the entire story, and a reminder to themselves that they still possess it.

Your work is notably compressed, with vivid metaphors and turns of phrase. (The mother is “thin like tissue;” her lips, “bowed like cupids in opposition.” And “… muttering the names of bones and arteries underneath her fingertips in Chinese.”) How different was the first draft from your final version?

My first draft was pretty different from the final version! I often write and rewrite, starting from the bud of a sentence and waiting to see how the idea flowers. Of course, revision is important too—I think of it as becoming a florist and rearranging my sentences into bouquets, deadheading if necessary.

We read pretty well into the piece that English is triangular, unlike the roundedness of Chinese. Given this, is mother’s search for the lost pounds—which changes to a search for missing words—more “round” than “triangular”?

Yes, I would definitely say so—in this story, the mother searches for anything that can make her stronger, more “triangular” and capable of defending against the world. So, when she searches for lost pounds and lost words, I imagine this is a moment of weakness, an indulgence into her past, as she tries to recover the strength that she had once gathered from a diploma, or a language that she could navigate easily, or even the weight—the legitimacy—she was promised.

What would you say the story has to say about disappointment and warning? Did you always envision the story flowing from the strong image of the bridge into larger themes of trust and betrayal?

That’s a great question! I always knew I would talk about disappointment, warning, and bridges, but the larger themes revealed themselves slowly, after I had characterized the relationship between the mother and daughter. I was also definitely inspired by an old friend, an Asian-American girl who told me that her parents had graduated from Tsinghua, one of the most prestigious universities in China. Although I was very impressed, my white friends couldn’t grasp the extent of this achievement, or what it meant. I realized, then, that their framework—the one that defines power and privilege—would always be American by default. This story was a retelling of that perforation—a family living in the chasm of what is afforded to immigrants, the disappointment of finding themselves stranded from what they had known before, and my effort to decenter that singular narrative.

The main character and her mother are presented as being very closely tied, but not necessarily close. How does this relationship change from the beginning to how they are at the end?

I would say that mother and daughter begin by viewing each other, almost from a distant vantage, and seeking to understand each other. This story, told in the past as well as the present, resembled a spoken narrative to me – the daughter telling us about the evolution of their relationship. In the end, when the daughter decides to fully involve herself in her mother’s search for agency, she is letting us know that she has found a way to lend her mother strength with her presence, with unflinching acceptance.