Being Chinese-American means going to Chinatown with all the other tourists on Chinese New Year while all the actual Chinese people have closed down their shops and are at home with families cooking up a feast.
It means attempting to ingredient scout in Chinatown for all the random vegetables and sauces you grew up tasting in your mouth but quickly forgot how to pronounce.
It means not knowing what to toast to your grandparents and relatives in China after dropping the classic 春节快乐! one liner.
It means spending the night of Chinese New Year at a club where the visiting DJ is this Asian-American DJ who attended an Ivy and went into consulting and ended up pursuing music. And celebrating him for it, because even though it’s something you’d never be able to do, it gives you hope.
It means a lot of things, most of all carving out this space between two cultures with one foot in the door in each and trying to keep them both open at the same time but actually wishing you could just shut both and build your own world where you are the new normal instead of the other way around.