Features
Thanksgiving in Chinatown: Beyond cultural borders
By Claire Chang '20
December 1, 2016
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I was lucky enough to beat the Upstate New York snowstorm and instead make an appearance in sunny Los Angeles for my very first Thanksgiving Break. Leaving campus, I was disappointed to find out that I would not be riding one of the 20-foot long Hamilton-chartered limousines. However, this dismay quickly subsided when our own van passed by a familiar limo that had ended up on the side of the road at the expense of a flat tire.
I spent the four-hour layover between Newark and LA with a fellow Hamilton first-year, window shopping at a store appropriately named ‘America!,’ where equal amounts of Clinton and Trump memorabilia were sold.
After returning to the seats at my gate, my friend nonchalantly pointed out the destination on the screen above us: London, Heathrow. As it happened, my gate had changed at the very last minute, and I needed to be on the other side of the airport within 10 minutes. Had he not pointed out the new destination, I would have missed my flight.
Feelings of joy came over me as I set foot on the LA terrace. My friend Diana pointed out to me once that the heights of Hamilton’s trees exceed the heights of its buildings, and to come to a city where the opposite existed was thrilling. I did not think I would get as emotional as I did when my Nainai (paternal grandmother) and Gugu (paternal aunt) greeted me at the door of their apartment in Chinatown. To be in any home, let alone their home, had been for months a foreign concept. In that moment, it was familiar and welcoming.
I was happy to oblige eating any and all home cooked meals, as my aunt remarked that I had gained too much weight. Instead of a turkey, we enjoyed Peking duck, complete with duck skin and sugar, duck soup and the main duck wrap. Dumplings, rice cakes and various unidentifiable stir fries entered my system as Commons food left…and it was awesome.
During my stay, I also had the chance to visit fellow friends hailing from Hong Kong, who happened to be studying in prestigious Californian schools. I rediscovered how small the world was when I stumbled upon someone I had known in elementary school, just as my high school friend was walking me around the UCLA campus.
Meanwhile, my other friend snuck me into her film class at the University of Southern California, where we watched the same pilot of a sci-fi horror show in both its original French form and American version (the latter was not as good).
After the class was over, the professor casually declared that he would be spending Thanksgiving dinner with ‘George,’ and would attempt to get ‘answers’ from him. I turned to my friend to ask her who George was, and she looked at me blankly, replying with ‘George Martin,’ A.K.A. George R.R. Martin, A.K.A. writer and producer of Game of Thrones.
My own Thanksgiving turned out to be nothing short of a Thanksgiving beyond cultural borders.