Canto Cutie - Volume 3

金 鱼 婆 婆 Goldfish Granny
In this story, I reflect on the tender relationship I had with
a Cantonese woman who cared for me when I was young.
Goldfish Granny allowed me to feel comfortable in my
Cantonese heritage, something that I've always felt a bit
detached from. Even her name, when spoken with my
family, is a combination of Mandarin and Cantonese (we
say "goldfish" in Mandarin but "grandmother" in
Cantonese) and speaks to my identity as someone stuck
in a liminal space of these adjacent cultures. I hope to
continue making art and writing stories that explore the
complicated but hopeful relationship I have with being
Canto so I can connect with fellow Canto cuties and
deepen my understanding of our history and fight for
liberation.
I never learned her real name. She lived in a grand home
with a lacquered brown door and a fish tank brimming
with puffy red cichlids. Her floors were wooden and
glossy and I would lie on them for hours at a time,
thinking of ways I could speak to the fish. With
unblinking eyes, they’d approach me from behind the
glass and sing bubbles into the water, their pouts
opening and closing. 魚 , they said, 魚 , 魚 , 魚 . Wo, I’d
respond. Me, me, me.
After I learned how to introduce myself to them, I’d
spend the rest of the afternoons trailing Goldfish
Granny. While she tended to the weeds in her garden, I
searched for stones and hid the smoothest ones in her
pockets. That way, she wouldn’t miss me when I had to
go home for the day—it would plop out at bedtime and
she would know that I’d been thinking of her. I hoped
she knew this.
Most afternoons, she would tuck me into bed and brush
the hair from my eyes, letting the sunlight trickle onto
my lids as I fell asleep. After an hour, I’d wake to the
sound of the blender and the sweet smell of banana and
milk: her way of showing me she’d missed me too. After
sipping at the froth and then gulping down the rest, I’d
kiss the jade bracelet at the bedside table and join
Goldfish Granny at the front step. She’d help me slip into
a jacket while I fumbled with my shoelaces, glancing at
the fish as they laughed at my shoddy efforts. We’d walk
hand in hand to the grocery store a few blocks away,
sharing this bit of warmth as the sun sank lower into the
sky. I’d count the lines on the ground, gripping her hand
tight to hurdle myself over the larger cracks.
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