“The Tea and My Dad”
A micro memoir by Alex Jiang (9).
My grip tightened around the cold bottled tea. My eyes gazed at the towering apartment building. All while my legs moved past the scattered cars, towards the twenty-floor building. Slowly I counted while I ran, one, two, three… nine, I needed to get to the 9th floor. After only seconds of running, I reached the stairs that lead to the entrance. As the doors swung open, the cool air-conditioned air confronted my tired body. Rejuvenated, I sprinted towards the opening elevator door. In the elevator, I stood with my hands on my knees, while sweat ran down both sides of my head, I tried to regain my composer, however confusion once again took control of my thoughts, why did he live in a different apartment if he was my dad?
Being told so many times I was born in America, I should have been able to answer this question on my own. Despite being born in America, I lived for all 4 years of my life in Shanghai. All my family lives here, or so I thought, and with no memories of any place else, I paid no thought to America. For the past 4 years, I lived with my grandparents, in their apartment that stood 9 stories tall. However, just 2 minutes away lived my sister, sister’s mom, and sister’s dad, at least those were the names I referred to them as in Chinese. It always bothered me why they lived in a different apartment than me, and why I referred to them as my sister’s mom and dad. Which prompted me to grab the bottled tea that lay table and dash for the neighboring apartment.
The elevator soon reached its designated floor, and just moments later I found myself at the front door of my sister’s house. As I pressed the small round doorbell by the door, the sound of approaching footsteps could be heard from the outside. My sister’s dad appeared at the door, his size towered over me, however, his presence brought me joy. Swiftly, I extended my left arm which held the bottled tea, I knew it was one of his favorite drinks.
“Oh, what are you doing here?” He spoke to me in Chinese.
“Mmm, I don’t really know, I’m bored, but I wanted to give you this drink,” I responded casually.
With the door held wide open, I walked inside the apartment. Seeing he didn’t mind, a smile widened on my face. Then it hit me like a truck, the question, I needed to ask him the question.
“Ok, well I will be in my room on a call, you can sit on the couch if you want,” and just like that, I lost my opportunity. Tears blurred my vision, the question once again filled my mind, why didn’t we live in the same apartment, why? Sadness overwhelmed my body, and tears rolled down my cheeks. For a while, I sat mindlessly, feeling each tear slide down my face. Suddenly a tick of the clock soon brought me back to reality. I decided there was no need to bother anyone with this stupid question, and for months I kept it to myself. Then on one fateful day, I found someone sleeping peacefully in the apartment’s living room. Frightened by the stranger, I glanced at my grandpa. My grandpa just smiled and told me he was my biological dad.
Even after meeting my real dad, I went years thinking my “sister”, was my biological sister. It was only in 4th grade that I learned she was my cousin, and the people that lived in the neighboring building were my aunt and uncle, not my mom and dad. Even though the story has been told countless times. Just the mention of it would bring back vivid memories and embarrassing moments which would eternally haunt me.