Ava Chin > Quotes

“May we all experience that kind of acceptance and love.”
― Ava Chin, Mott Street: A Chinese American Family's Story of Exclusion and Homecoming

“Thich Nhat Hanh once said about family members through the generations—they are the same, yet different.”
― Ava Chin, Mott Street: A Chinese American Family's Story of Exclusion and Homecoming

“He had grown used to the eyes upon him as he and his uncle traveled from their bedroom community in Brooklyn to Chinatown. When one woman dropped her purse at his feet and Shim handed it back to her with “Your handbag, m’lady,” and a flourish, she’d nearly jumped out of her seat in surprise. He mentioned none of this to Chun, because after nearly a month in Hong Kong in her steady presence, the sharp edges of being treated with suspicion were blunted by a film of nostalgia. New York was home; this trip had made him realize that.”
― Ava Chin, Mott Street: A Chinese American Family's Story of Exclusion and Homecoming

“I am trying to keep it all together -- not lashing out in anger, not bursting into tears, because what is anger, but pain masquerading as bravado?”
― Ava Chin, Mott Street: A Chinese American Family's Story of Exclusion and Homecoming

“Did he contain himself as he felt inside Elva’s vagina, smooth like a cul-de-sac, with no discernible cervix, no peekaboo womb or errant fallopian tubes? Did he express surprise or consternation upon uncovering what lay before him, an extra . . . what? No, not an unusually large, blushing labia, but a real-life miniature penis, one that could become aroused with certain thoughts or feelings, but which at that moment remained flaccid between his cold, clinical fingers.”
― Ava Chin, Mott Street: A Chinese American Family's Story of Exclusion and Homecoming

“Shim could not tell if the woozy light-headedness of nascent love that made his breath catch every time he saw Chun was partially a function of his own interrupted sleep as his hours began matching that of Nethersole’s most in-demand midwife, or the warmth of Chun’s strong, elegant hands when she switched from holding on to the bar under her seat to clutching his waist on a day when they hit a bump and she had to prevent herself from flying off the bike.”
― Ava Chin, Mott Street: A Chinese American Family's Story of Exclusion and Homecoming

“(Good riddance, Yulan must have thought, to finally leave the one-room shack and her in-laws behind.)”
― Ava Chin, Mott Street: A Chinese American Family's Story of Exclusion and Homecoming

“Yulan wondered if he wanted to have her again, in that way, even though she suspected that she was already pregnant, her menstrual cycle having gone missing for some weeks now. She sat near him and waited, but Chin On’s face was a mask as smooth and elegant as a vase, and pretty soon he was loudly snoring. Yulan began collecting the opium pipe, and the entire works, the residue slow and sticky like tree resin, when Chin On suddenly grabbed her by the wrist. Leave it. I don’t like you doing this in front of the children, she said. Did his grip become a tightening vise, so that her breath caught and she cried out in surprise, the pain sharp and searing, until she released everything in her hands? Did he hit her? If it wasn’t for the mitigating circumstances of the opiate, it’s likely that he would have hit her. Chin On’s rage would become legendary in the family lore, but Yulan was experiencing it for the first time in a very long while. Even under the calming presence of opium, Chin On didn’t like anyone, especially a wife, telling him what to do. Whatever happened that night, she felt the pressure of his fingers against her wrists, long after the bruises disappeared.”
― Ava Chin, Mott Street: A Chinese American Family's Story of Exclusion and Homecoming

“I am trying to keep it all together—not lashing out in anger, not bursting into tears, because what is anger, but pain masquerading as bravado?”
― Ava Chin, Mott Street: A Chinese American Family's Story of Exclusion and Homecoming

“One day, Elva visited, as she often did from Brooklyn. Lily and Normon were chasing one another, tripping over their younger brother and all falling into a heap onto the floor. Chun grabbed the two by the arms and gave both a swift rap to the head with a sharp knuckle. Lily swiftly burst into tears. Normon bit his lip, nostrils flaring, refusing to cry. Chun flew into a rage—the eldest needed to model good behavior for the youngest children, and here was the toddler Johnny on the floor, bawling. If Normon was going to be so hard-necked obstinate, then both Lily and Normon, as the oldest children in the pecking order, needed to be punished. With a harder rap to the head, they were soon both crying—Normon’s face breaking open like a floodgate. Before she knew it, at the sight of them, Chun was herself in tears. It’s unclear if Elva put her hand on Chun’s shoulder or cleared her throat and said, Okay, enough, but once she’d ushered the children into their bedroom, she returned to find Chun sitting on a chair. They hate me, Chun said. They love you—they’re just being children. Not them, Chun said. The women—in this building. Why? They know that I am different, Chun said, attempting to explain, but knowing it was no use. For Elva, they were all Chinese at 37 Mott, but Chun was distinctly aware of the divisions. It was embarrassing to talk about such things to her aunt, her only true friend aside from Doshim, and a lofan. Elva was truly puzzled. “Shouldn’t that no longer matter here? You’re in a new country! This is America, after all.” Chun’s natural inclination to try to please Elva, to pretend that things were fine even when things were so bad that mo’ paa, mo’ waa—you can’t crawl, can’t scratch—made Elva’s misunderstanding feel like an anvil pressing down on her chest. “Don’t give up,” Elva finally said, her hand on Chun’s small shoulders, so bony like a little bird, now shaking as the tears began to flow. “I know it seems impossible, but there is always a way.” • • •”
― Ava Chin, Mott Street: A Chinese American Family's Story of Exclusion and Homecoming