My mother misses the cola-flavored JELL-O
———of her Hong Kong childhood. Now, in Las Vegas,
we’re adding evaporated milk to gelatin mix,
———and I can’t wait for dessert, and as a kid, I craved
egg-shaped JELL-O around Easter, or what about
———grocery store deli gelatin that’s made in a mold
and oh, so colorful, and isn’t it such a wonder how
———different shapes can enhance the taste of food, like
flower-shaped doughnuts in Japan, preferably in
———matcha or strawberry, or how the heart-shaped
chocolates in the Valentine’s Day selection always
———taste the best, and as my mother and I pour the gelatin
dessert into glass cups, I tell her about my fascination
———with jello salad, the way one recipe calls for celery
and cream cheese and pecans and pimento peppers
———and crushed pineapple, and another calls for 7-UP,
the salad a seafoam green—and my mother says that
———cakes with gelatin are always popular in Hong Kong,
especially at weddings. I wonder about my mother
———growing up in Kowloon, watching her favorite show:
the drama about the father and daughter on a journey
———throughout rural China, searching for the mother and son,
their family torn apart by an evil force, and whenever I ask
———my mother whether the family ever reunites, she never
remembers, and I guess that’s the romance of it all, and
———in a sense, the ending doesn’t matter, because the story
isn’t about reuniting. It’s about where your heart lies
———and how far you’ll go for the ones you love, how much
you’ll sacrifice—the never-ending journey, because
———the family can’t imagine a day go by without one
another. I can’t imagine a day go by without my mother,
———and as we put the gelatin in the fridge, I wonder about
what she was like as a young woman, and I daydream
———of the alternate history of sixteen-year-old me building
a time machine and traveling back to 1980s Kowloon,
———becoming friends with my mother, and this reality’s just
beautiful, isn’t it? I’d visit her childhood home, the size
———of a celebrity’s walk-in closet, as Grandpa arrives home
from work overseas, and my teenage mother’s on the phone
———with her friends, and my Grandma’s outside in the heat—
long hours at the pajama stand, local aunties and moms
———haggling prices. In real time, my mother and I drink tea,
and I daydream about the egg-shaped JELL-O I craved
———as a child, while my mother tells me about her favorite
superhero as a kid: Ultraman, who protects the Earth
———with beam attacks, superhuman strength, and the ability
to turn giant—his egg-shaped head, his named translated
———to “salted egg” from Cantonese, and my mother and I,
we laugh over how his English name doesn’t pay homage
———to salted eggs or duck eggs or even JELL-O eggs, and I’d
do anything to protect my mother—like mother, like daughter.
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