The Leek Deity

Nicholas Liu '22

ISHU, NAOMI DEOKULE '21

The Leek Deity

Nicholas Liu '22

Every night, my mom would sit on the sofa, iPad in hand, and browse through Wenxuecity—think BuzzFeed but Chinese. Once engulfed by an article, she would call me over and announce to my overwhelmed seven year old self, “Ah, ni kan zhe ge xiao hai, look this kid, he only 3 and is master of calligraphy! Wa sai, wow, this kid only five and can play the piano like Lang Lang!” Then she would turn and stare at me with murderous intent in her eyes. “Ni zai gan shen me, what are you doing? All you know to do is play the games. You could be like them too.” I didn’t understand how my mom could have such grand expectations of me. Were “Asian children” and “prodigies” supposed to be synonymous with each other? Was I supposed to be the subject of another mother’s envy as well? These questions faded as time progressed and her grasp on my life reluctantly weakened.

However, in the beginning of my freshman year, there was a resurgence in her desires. “Ni bi xu, you have to do speech and debate.” At first, I was in denial. Her english isn’t great; she may have misspoken. “Mama, shen me, what?” “You have to do speech and debate.” The confirmation of her brash command left my body tense and my mind numb. What does she expect? For me to just be good at everything? For me to do whatever she asks? And why can she force me to do something? Wo bi xu zuo zhe ge? I have to do this? Maybe if I had taken out the trash today, she would’ve been in a better mood and wouldn’t be imposing her will on me. Unfortunately, bargaining with myself didn’t help. My mind melted into a soup of memories and everything despicable that plagued the relationship of my mother and me sputtered to the top.

Several years later, she revealed the source of her unfound confidence.

* * *

My mom grew up in a poor rural community in China. It was one of those places where the streets are grey and covered in dust and the buildings are riddled with cracks and tilted from weak foundations. Chickens roam freely and sausages are strung along doorways to cure in the sun. Even after my mom left for America, little effort has been made to modernize the community. When we visit during the summer, it feels like walking through my mother’s childhood.

“When I was young, my mom was busy so my sister take care me. I was two and she was twelve. One day, I suddenly swallow hair clip. Immediately, my sister very scared. She not want Apo, grandma, to find out. So she immediately think and come up with idea. She hang me upside down and start shaking, ta yi wei wo shi ge dai zi, she thought I was a bag!” Of course it didn’t work; humans aren’t bags. Furthermore, while telling the story, my mother’s voice was thick with admiration for her sister despite such misguided methods. How could she look back at this situation and think that her sister’s plan was legitimate? Her life was on the line, and she was acting like my aunt was a genius.

My grandma eventually found out and they hastily rushed to the hospital. I could only imagine a mud shack in the middle of a rice field, run by an elderly man who stroked his flowing beard in contemplation of life. At the hospital, my mom had an X-ray taken to locate the hair clip. The doctors revealed that the situation was more critical than expected and they would need to perform surgery on her to remove the clip. However, Apo said “bu yao”—no. My mom claimed that Apo wouldn’t let the doctors operate on her because “wo zhi you liang sui, I was only two”. That was fair; maybe Apo had a better, safer plan. She did not.

“She told me, eat the jiu cai, the leek. Everyday, she just feed me the leek. And wo guai guai de chi, I was very obedient.” I asked my mom by what logic that was supposed to work; she had a magnificent explanation prepared. “The leek has the long green fibers. They wrap around clip. They protect me.” I was in horrified awe. My grandma must have envisioned the leek as a mythical spirit manifested in a garden vegetable, as a deity from the ancient times with its fluid tendrils and unwavering resolve apprehending the hair clip. Reject all science and logic: Apo put my mother’s life in the stalk of a leek.

In order to validate her method, Apo had my aunt look through my mom’s excrement after each meal. As you can imagine, that posed several issues for my aunt. First, she would be sacrificing her sense of smell for the sake of my grandma’s high stakes experiment. Second, she would have to watch my mom 24/7; keep in mind that my aunt was only twelve. It just so happened that the one time my aunt wasn’t paying close enough attention to my mom, a dog ate the test material before it could be analyzed. Apo had to figure out if the hair clip had withdrawn. The only solution? “Apo want to cut dog open. My neighbor so sad, the little boy cry so much. But the parents agree and let Apo do it.” And so they did. They cut the dog open. I asked my mom if they found it. “Mei you, no”. Before I could delve for more details, she promptly proceeded.

Several days later, the hair clip expelled itself. Along with it came the leek spirit who dutifully completed its quest in healing my mother and quelling the apprehension in Apo’s mind. But what I found most incredible was how nonchalantly my mom told me this story—a life or death situation which she turned into trivial afternoon chatter. It was as if letting doctors do their job made less sense than treating your own daughter with fantastic remedies. It was as if dismembering a dog had no moral implications. However, as foolish as Apo’s decisions might seem, I know that she did everything out of care. Maybe in another timeline, Apo chose surgery over leeks. But in this one, her confidence in the Leek Deity saved my mom.

* * *

Like Apo, my mom’s bloodstream is spiked with perpetual confidence that aims to challenge the laws of fate. Her insistence eventually pushed me over the edge and I stumbled through speech and debate practices and competitions. Was I good at it? No, not at all. I was garbage. While I would like to think that she meant the best for me, the endeavor severely diminished my faith in her confidence. At a time when I was most stressed, she expected me to transcend the confines of mental health and time. I know she loves me, but her expectations slowly drain me.

I don’t want my mom to be confident in me. I just want everything to work out on my own terms, without a guardian vegetable.