Motherland

Motherland

By Jasmine Low 

For my mother, Shirley Cheah.

Written intermittently between 2003-2008. 

Performed at Time Out KL's Launch Party in March 2008

Frangipani Bar, Changkat Bukit Bintang, Kuala Lumpur.

She’s there among us. 

She is our mother.

She is Chong Qing. 

As large as that 3,000 year old city of thirty one million individuals

She snuggles beside the thighs of Yangtze and Jialingjiang

And she breathes life

Last Sunday he was significantly impressed

Spotting her in dancing unison at the people’s park

A duck rice meal and she was off like the Chung King express

Qing Qing seals off her pregnant suitcase with red tape

Even redder is her passport, tightly concealed between her navel and navy jeans

And her cheeks, blossoming with that certain tell-tale glow

 

The women from China

My father would proclaim

Are so pure, so innocent

The women from China

My mother would blame

Are so profane, so manipulative

The women from China

And I, me in the middle

Are the centre of attention

We, are one for all

                 

We travel on an express train from Dusseldorf to Prague

And visit several bleak european cities

We are the new age Chinese female

And they know as they look at us with suspect

Nationality aside

We look the same

As do Greeks, Italians and even DJs of Ibiza fame

But we dress, think and eat different

Those women from China

Say those other women of similar heritage

Who live in lovely manicured gated communities,

Are dangerous!

 

They steal our husbands

They have children with the silly bastards

Then leave in search of their American Dream,

Leaving our poor bastards in a love stupor, unmasked and in trouble

We, are the new Chinese women

The daring females who voice opinions

We light up Chinatowns

And indulge in fusion conversations

Qing Qing from Chong Qing

Dons her wings

She is ready to take flight

Like a newborn bird leaving its nest for the first time

 

For when she lands

I will cease to exist

As I was once exotic, you see

Admired, desired, feared.

But now the multiplicity in WE

Our long black manes

Our phonetically similar names

Make us no different than just two independent women

Yearning for some space in this crowded crowded world.

- end -