The Joy Luck Club

"How do you know this? " she asked eagerly.

"You see it on everything. Made in Taiwan. "

"Ai! " she cried loudly. "I'm not from Taiwan! "

And just like that, the fragile connection we were starting to build snapped.

"I was born in China, in Taiyuan, " she said. " Taiwan is not China. "

"Well, I only thought you said ' Taiwan ' because it sounds the same, " I argued, irritated that she was upset by such an unintentional mistake.

"Sound is completely different! Country is completely different! " she said in a huff. "People there only dream that it is China, because if you are Chinese you can never let go of China in your mind. "

We sank into silence, a stalemate. And then her eyes lighted up. "Now listen. You can also say the name of Taiyuan is Bing. Everyone from that city calls it that. Easier for you to say. Bing, it is a nickname. "

She wrote down the character, and I nodded as if this made everything perfectly clear. "The same as here, " she added in English. "You call Apple for New York. Frisco for San Francisco. "

"Nobody calls San Francisco that! " I said, laughing. "People who call it that don't know any better. "

"Now you understand my meaning, " said my mother triumphantly.

And really, I did understand finally. Not what she had just said. But what had been true all along.

I saw what I had been fighting for: It was for me, a scared child, who had run away a long time ago to what I had imagined was a safer place. And hiding in this place, behind my invisible barriers, I knew what lay on the other side: Her side attacks. Her secret weapons. Her uncanny ability to find my weakest spots. But in the brief instant that I had peered over the barriers I could finally see what was really there: an old woman, a wok for her armor, a knitting needle for her sword, getting a little crabby as she waited patiently for her daughter to invite her in.

Rich and I have decided to postpone our wedding. My mother says July is not a good time to go to China on our honeymoon. She knows this because she and my father have just returned from a trip to Beijing and Taiyuan.

"It is too hot in the summer. You will only grow more spots and then your whole face will become red! " she tells Rich. And Rich grins, gestures his thumb toward my mother, and says to me, "Can you believe what comes out of her mouth? Now I know where you get your sweet, tactful nature. "

"You must go in October. That is the best time. Not too hot, not too cold. I am thinking of going back then too, " she says authoritatively. And then she hastily adds: "Of course not with you! "

I laugh nervously, and Rich jokes: "That'd be great, Lindo. You could translate all the menus for us, make sure we're not eating snakes or dogs by mistake. " I almost kick him.

"No, this is not my meaning, " insists my mother. "Really, I am not asking. "

And I know what she really means. She would love to go to China with us. And I would hate it. Three weeks' worth of her complaining about dirty chopsticks and cold soup, three meals a day-well, it would be a disaster.

Yet part of me also thinks the whole idea makes perfect sense. The three of us, leaving our differences behind, stepping on the plane together, sitting side by side, lifting off, moving West to reach the East.