Act 2 Scent 1: Rubberband
Updated: Aug 20
A detour spectacle ~
As a first-generation Asian American, the immigrant dream often is to build a foundation in the new home. Integrating ourselves with higher education, corporate pathways, deeply rooted relationships, all in pursuit of the American dream. And yet, over time, there’s a gradual pull back towards our cultural origins, as if returning to a place that never fully left us.
Perhaps not what our ancestors had in mind when they created a new generational opportunity for those who come after. Is it my curiosity, fascination, or lingering attachment towards Chinese cultural roots that has fueled this ongoing tug-of-war? It’s a question our first-generation voices have carried: do I truly belong where I have settled?
“To be, or not to be—that is the question“.
— William Shakespeare, Prince Hamlet in Hamlet (Act III Scene 1)
A quiet tension exists between defaulting to the norm and moving, like salmon swimming upstream, toward something that feels backwards and yet natural. Through an olfactory lens, scent also reveals its own path, often diverging from the apparent source. This aromatic paradox can be found in the violet leaf.
Often overshadowed by the coveted heart-shaped violet flower and its soft, powdery sweetness, the violet leaf (Viola odorata) reveals a distinctly green character of its own. From the floral pedicel to leaf stem, a hazy dampness lingers along the skeletal threads of its foliage. On first inhale, the nose recalls the intensity of freshly cut morning grass, blanketed with dew—each droplet echoing the hush of sorrow along the wandering path of mythical Greek priestess, Io.
In Greek mythology, Zeus was known as both a powerful supreme being and, at times, a compassionate lover. To conceal one of his affairs from his wife Hera, he transformed Io into a cow, condemning her to a somber life of wandering and grazing. In a rare gesture of remorse, Zeus turns Io’s falling tears into violet flowers.
Violet rests between blue—reflection of tears—and red, persistence of the heart. A waterfall of melancholy sorrow absorbed and embodied by the violet leaves.
That same herbaceous tenderness can be found, one gentle simmer away, in the self healing watercress soup “西洋菜湯” (in Cantonese pronounced “sai yeung choy tong”).
A classic Chinese detoxing soup many of our ancestors have made using ingredients such as watercress, carrots, honey dates, both sweet south and bitter north almond kernels (see Act 1 Scent 2: Sweet Tooth Compass), and pork ribs. Its a nourishing way of removing toxins after consuming fried and salty foods, a savory reminder of our culinary heritage of balancing the ying and the yang of all we take into our bodies. 西洋菜 translates to “Western vegetable”, bridging the gap between Western and Eastern influences.
Born in Hawaii, raised in Los Angeles, and tethered to Hong Kong, an umbilical cord spanning across the entire Pacific. Uneasy acceptance that slowly eats within; directing my compass, cracking the conforming shell, and unleashing the molten yolk towards the East.
Silent convergence between two culture lives within me, constantly weighing between what seems familiar and what feels driven. The unspoken expectation carried on our shoulders, and if we were to depart from the foundation our elders have set in stone, are we betraying them. As the years tally, what appears as dormant,
…is fermenting and deepening with time.
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