Ever since leaving China to study in England, I have been perpetually yearning for authentic Chinese food. While a traditional steamed fish may be more difficult to eat than a boneless deep-fried fish fillet, my mother always called it a delicate labour, jīng xì huó (精细活). I feel like living abroad has taught me to appreciate the negative space in me that is both the shape and absence of my Chinese identity. 

Hence, I consider my poem to be an intimate conversation with the reader about the process of preparing fish the Chinese way. It is a transnational journey of showing the reader how we eat fish, in hopes of understanding why we have preserved this tradition for centuries. Likewise, the images of an egret’s beak, the tāng sháo, and jīng throughout this piece are also distinctly Chinese, evocative of everyday sights in my hometown that I have dearly missed. Even the fork-tailed shape of the poem is meant to be reminiscent of the door decorations of carp used in Chinese New Year.

My imagery also plays with the duality of traditional culture as merely pseudoscientific and intuitive, whereas Western science is supposedly rational and methodological. I challenge this notion by unveiling the art of precision inherent in our customs, but also the fallible nature of the scientific method in pursuit of truths that pre-date it. 

Alternatively, my poem is a more literal piece about transnationality, grappling with myself and my partner’s identity as Chinese international students. It is a story of how two people approach being caught between the margins of nations, one trying to embrace the two identities, the other still working to reconcile the two. My piece ends on a tense, suspended note, because this is an ongoing issue, not just for the two of us, but for diasporas all over the globe.