The Asian Supermarket
i grew up
between aisles of jackfruit and rambutan,
yan-yan and pocky,
soft dried fruits and fruity hard candies i couldn’t name,
toddler-sized bags of rice and boxes of udon;
drinking in the smells and sights of the bakery’s
impossibly smooth and colorful cakes and puddings;
and on the other side of the store,
watching the fish and shellfish
pile on top of one another in their tanks;
hearing tongues and seeing faces in the background
that reminded me of family
and became synonymous with “home.”
i’ve moved between four different states
in the past year alone,
and every time I’m somewhere new,
i look for the same thing:
the asian supermarket.
if i am a boat,
that is my lighthouse.
every familiar food
and familiar accent
signaling to me
that the dock is open to me here;
that something here might feel like home;
that if i pull into shore,
i won’t be alone.
i know my father
would never understand this feeling.
i know he will never understand
how it felt to find my favorite snack
my grandmother always made on lunar new year
that you cannot find anywhere else
except in an asian supermarket;
i know he will never understand
how much i miss my grandmother’s cooking
and family dim sum outings
and asian bakeries back home,
and how asian supermarkets
give me a glimpse back to those;
i know he will never understand
the relief and warmth and bittersweetness i feel
when i hear someone speak vietnamese
and remember how long it’s been
since i’ve last seen my family;
i know he will never understand
what it’s like to look around a grocery store
and see nobody like you,
nothing reminding you of family or home,
and what it’s like
to then enter another grocery store
and have it feel like a refuge;
i know my father
would never understand this feeling,
but that my mother always does.
i know when she and i go to the asian supermarket
in our new hometown,
that this is the place that always promises
we’ll feel right at home;
that we share the same giddiness
as two white kids in a toy store,
except we’re two asian kids
in a grocery store,
and what are toys
compared to the ingredients of life,
the beauty of my culture,
the food of my childhood,
the language of my people,
the comfort of belonging,
all squeezed into one store.
i grew up
in the asian supermarket
and i’ll spend the rest of my life
seeking it out;
because i am a boat,
and it is my lifehouse.
- Kyla-Yen
Cover photo source: https://www.pinterest.com/pin/638103840942416492/