As a child,
Gazing out the window of the streetcar
Onto the busy streets of Spadina,
The rows of
Sunburnt signs of red, gold
With bold strokes and
Phone numbers of businesses,
The restaurants which served
A taste of warmth and love,
The clicking of the tiles
Of the old men playing Mahjong and Xiangqi,
Always fascinated me
The endless flow of crowds bustling through the shops
Of sweet, bright tropical fruits,
Speaking in different tones
That I vaguely understand,
Always set my parents at ease
I never quite understood
How it gave my parents
A tinge of nostalgia of a home
Far far away,
Often told to me through photos
As their memories replay,
Like the VHS tapes,
With songs and stories of tight-knit communities
Of strength and endurance,
Of hope
Growing up, did I begin to learn
Of the attempts to demolish it
Of the boycotts
Of displacements
Amongst other injustices driven
By a pandemic of fear and ignorance
Though nothing compared to
A community’s resilience
And hope,
A lantern in the dark
Now that I’m older
And hopefully wiser,
Do I have an inkling of how Chinatown is home
Why I Wrote This Piece
This piece was inspired by my childhood growing up in Toronto. As a child, I used to go to Chinatown with my family who would often tell me stories about their life back home. It was also inspired by another time when I took a school trip to Chinatown and learned more about the history of Chinatown which made me reflect on my experiences.
