art by Sol Skelton
There is a saying that blood runs thicker than water. But is it as deep as the depths of the Red Sea? Or as wide as the birth of the Pacific? The far-reaching waters of seven oceans connect the most foreign corners of the seven continents. But as waves flood onto the shore, they push land masses farther apart, chipping slowly, ever so slowly away at the rock, so that its effects can never be noticed.
But I’ve noticed.
The Atlantic separates my parents’ home in Guangzhou and mine in New York. My family lives on the other end of the ocean — an entity that technically has no end. For 14 years, the ocean has diluted my bloodline, so much so that I cannot see their faces in my head or hear their voices in my dreams.
I wait and I wait and I wait for their citizenship papers to be approved. And I wait and I wait and I wait some more. For 14 years I’ve waited, so much so that I question whether it would have been easier to jump into the ocean and grab at my bloodline, rather than wait on the land for it to slowly wilt away.