Each night I began the story again as I had for my entire first year of living in the building called Sundeep, in the neighborhood called Sunnyside, borough called queens, city called New York, country called America.

I was in the America that my childhood friends watched about on television, in between the brownouts, daytime blackouts common in the Philippines.

I was now in America with my grandmother, great-aunt, grandfather, uncle and a mouse I called Harry, in one-bedroom apartment. Yes, the Asian-immigrant stereotype is true. But it did not matter. It doesn’t matter, because I was happy.

And so on this night, I began the story again as I had since May 12th , 1987: I rolled out a floral comforter, with my Mr.Bear in hand ( a hand me-down yellow bear from my American born younger cousin), I plopped myself down on my belly. It was 11 pm and CHEERS was on channel eleven. With the volume on low, so as not to wake my grandmother sleeping on a twin bed, with her back to the television, I would lay on the floor, between her and my great-aunt’s bed.

CHEERS at eleven.
Mash at eleven-thirty.
Nap from twelve to twelve-thirty.
My great-aunt’s arrival from her night shift at Bellevue Hospital at twelve-forty-five.
Listen to Frank Sinatra with my great-aunt as I listen to her stories about the “good ald days.” This went from 1 am to eternity.

And so it would begin:my obsession with finding a place “where everybody knows my name” and the planting of seed that would sprout my disease of nostalgia.

By Katherine Chua

This entry was posted on Saturday, July 22nd, 2006 at 12:58 am and is filed under Culture. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.