Stories with a very well-loved tea set

Maggie Zhou

Some of my fondest family memories are of nights sitting around the dinner table with my two sisters listening to my parents tell us about their childhoods in China. Mum would have just cooked up some kind of delicious feast—typically eggs, green veggies, and some fish. And we’d all have our own individual rice bowl set up, complete with a little plate and chopsticks. All of our share plates would be set up in the middle, and, as we ate, we would suddenly be pulled into a vastly different world through their storytelling.

My parents grew up in Guangdong, which is a province in the south of China. Before they moved to Australia in the late 80s, life was really different to what we know now. Politically it was a rocky time ... they both had five to eight siblings, and they were raised in poverty-stricken conditions.

What love looked like in their families was a lot different to what we imagined. My mum is such an affectionate woman and mother. She’s always doting on us, telling us she loves us, and hugging us. She tells us how, growing up, she never received that kind of affection from her parents, despite knowing that they cared for her and loved her very

much. She was never hugged by her parents, not even once. It makes my mum’s loving affection even more remarkable. Regardless of the fact that my mum’s family was quite poor, when I think of my late grandma (Mama), this great vision of her appears—of her short gray bob, perfect side part and neatly pinned clips. In all my memories of her at every age, she was meticulously primped. And she was constantly making her children presentable.

There was a lot of pride in my mum’s family. Every year, Mama would get them all together to take family portraits. At the very last minute, right before the photoshoot, she would dip a hairbrush in water to flatten everyone’s hair. Giving everyone new clothes for Chinese New Year was another tradition. Actually, the only time my mum and her siblings would get new clothes was on Lunar New Year. A lot of the time those clothes were made by hand by my grandma, or my mum’s older sister.

Much like those dinner table conversations that transported us from the present into the past, after every meal my dad would pull out his very well-loved tea set to prepare tea for us. It’s an intricate and thoughtful process, and something that hasn’t changed for decades. I imagine my ancestors doing the same—gathered around the common vessel, listening to stories together.

On one hand these stories feel so foreign—geographically and culturally. We’re learning about a massive part of my parents’ history and identity that I will never fully grasp. But there is so much symbolism there—so many reflections that are rooted in values and lessons that are so relevant to my life. Yes, there was a lot of pain and suffering, but there is so much humour and lightness too. I came to realise these are very human experiences rooted in values and histories that are universal. They give me a sense of pride and a deeper understanding of my parents through honouring their culture, their upbringing, and their past. All that has carried through to us all together today—we have come so far.