Letters from a Chinese American Granddaughter
The last in a three-part series, by a girl caught between cultures and looking for answers.
By Sofia Yee (she/her), Special to shades Magazine
Read Part One HERE. Read Part Two HERE.
‘The Dutiful Daughter‘
From a young age, my grandmother had me and my cousins trained.
In unsteady English, she would say, “When Ma Ma lou [ages and becomes old], you take care Ma Ma, right?” And as young kids, we wouldn’t dare reply negatively. We would just bob our heads up and down, not entirely sure of what we had just signed ourselves up for. Thus, the tradition of filial piety prevailed in my 21st century, Chinese American family.
But amidst the chaos of ancient China, the pillars of filial piety provided the backbone of society, creating a hierarchy that has survived to this day. Filial piety is the expectation that one will respect and obey the elders in their family. Eventually, this Confucian principle became synonymous with harmony and peace, a law in itself that no one would dare defy.
Children obeyed their parents, wives submitted to their husbands, husbands obeyed their own parents and the emperor bowed to his ancestors. Over the centuries, filial piety – hau sun, as my grandparents call it – has not strayed far from its roots. To this day, there is a social expectation and obligation that one must care for their elders. It’s a full-time job.
When I think of the ideal, dutiful daughter, I think of my mother. Whether it’s technology troubles or a doctor’s appointment, a grocery run or an unexpected phone call, she is always the first one to drop everything and be there for my grandparents.
Ma Ma (paternal grandmother), Poh Poh (maternal grandma), and Gong Gong (maternal grandpa) are always at the forefront of her thoughts. Along with my aunts and uncles, she sacrifices hobbies, sleep and a little bit of sanity for my grandparents. Since she was in high school, my mother has put her parents first: Even her first paychecks from bussing tables went straight to her parents. While it may seem to others as if my mother’s devotion to caring for my grandparents is a burden, for her, each task is rooted in quiet gratitude.
On the other hand, there’s me: An Americanized Chinese American girl. And according to the standards set by my mom, I’m not a filial, dutiful daughter. In fact, I’m far from it.
I’m a self-centered, needy and stubborn teenager whose parents’ lives now revolve around my life. They drive for hours on weekends to my tournaments and my meets; countless times they’ve had to wait for me when I linger too long with friends. Listening to my dramatic recollections of my day, my stress becomes their stress, my triumphs their triumphs.
My parents have miraculously survived being chauffeurs, chefs, personal shoppers and, perhaps most heroic of them all, therapists without complaining once. And yet I’m still the first one to challenge them, to spark debates over dinner and be unapologetically vocal about my ideas.
My lack of filial piety becomes even more apparent when you hear my broken Cantonese. As a kid, I remember doing everything to avoid picking up the phone when my grandparents called. Anything to avoid facing my own failure at being a good granddaughter.
Yet my grandparents see another girl. The granddaughter in their eyes is zhen hai hau sun (really filial). Because the girl they see is the girl who used Google Translate to write birthday cards in Chinese characters, the girl who crocheted them a lopsided hat at Christmas and the girl who baked them fresh bread for Father’s Day. Try as she might, the girl would rather speak in broken Chinese than not speak to them at all. While my mom and I are constantly doubting if what we do for them is enough, my grandparents, who’ve never asked for anything themselves, have never felt more content.
When I feel my Ma Ma’s rough skin in my hand, I catch glimpses of the girl she sees, too. In those moments, I understand filial piety is not merely transactional. Parents don’t raise children for the sole purpose of having a permanent caretaker in their “golden” years. Nor is filial piety settling a lifelong debt – literally, from your parents giving you life.
Guiding Gong Gong as he relearns how to walk or listening to Poh Poh laugh out loud, I realize filial piety is the last thing on my mind. It’s just love: Imperfect, endless love. And what wouldn’t I give to make them smile again.
In closing
At the beginning of this series, I wrote that my biggest fear was never knowing how to peel apples. Admittedly, I was lying to myself.
My greatest fear was losing my identity, failing to pass down the heritage that my grandparents had worked so hard to preserve. It never was, and never will be, about the apples. It will always be about the village that has taught me strength, love and kinship … no matter how far I go.
Recently, I saw a video of a Harvard graduation speech where the graduate spoke about her immigrant mother’s unspoken act of love: A thoughtfully prepared plate of fruit. At first, I scoffed – the story of Asian parents and cut fruits has been told dozens of times before. But here I am, sharing my own stories tied to the same themes, love and fruit.
I don’t take either for granted.
Sofia Yee (she/her) will begin her first year at Pomona College in California the fall 2026 majoring in English and Math. Connect with Sofia on LinkedIn.
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