I went to Shanghai for the first time in 1987. My grandma had died, and the family plan was to spend a month in China.
It was my Chinese father’s first trip back since he’d immigrated to the US in the late 1960s.
Sleeping in my father’s family’s home, meeting relatives for the first time, sharing meals, hearing Mandarin all around me, and navigating the maze of their neighborhood marked the beginning of my connection to Shanghai.
My Shanghainese father met my Mexican mother near Los Angeles in the 1970s, and I grew up speaking English and Spanish. I even chose Spanish as my minor in college.
But I didn’t speak Mandarin. Growing up, my father didn’t talk about his past or his Chinese roots.
Instead, it was through food that I learned about my dad. Our trips to Chinatown provided me with a peek into his world. Before the days of international food aisles in grocery stores, trips to LA’s Chinatown were necessary for Chinese ingredients — my dad did a lot of cooking.
Chinatown was also where we went to celebrate special occasions. As a kid, I remember the excitement of catching glimpses of the Lunar New Year dragon parade from a restaurant.
For birthdays, we would stop by Phoenix Bakery to pick up a strawberry whipped cream cake with sliced almonds.
Looking after my dad
My parents divorced when I was in college, and it put a real strain on my relationship with my dad. But in my late 20s, we slowly began to reconnect.
I remember him hosting a Chinese Thanksgiving. One of my cousins cooked crab with green onion, egg, and ginger.
After my dad had a stroke that left him paralysed on the left side of his body, he was unable to speak.
I helped as a caretaker during the last two years of his life. I scheduled appointments, managed transportation, went with him to doctor’s appointments, prodded medical staff to do as much as possible, and cheered on his physical therapy progress.
Our Chinese connection
My dad died in 2017. Two years later, I traveled back to China.
I walked the streets of Shanghai, after what would’ve been his 83rd birthday, and I felt that at any moment, I would turn a corner and bump into him.
I’d think about him — almost as if I could hear his voice — whenever I smelled dumplings frying and tried to decide which variety to choose. I reveled in the hum of people walking, cycling, or rushing to their destinations. I loved watching early morning deliveries — boxes of fresh vegetables dropped off at restaurant doors.
Struggling to pronounce words in Mandarin added to the vibrancy.
Shanghai felt electric, and as the city revealed itself to me, I knew my father was watching over me, welcoming me back to his hometown or laughing at my attempts to speak Mandarin.
The majority of that trip was spent in Shanghai, but I also visited Hong Kong to see my grandfather’s grave and spent three days in Beijing.
Shanghai felt like home
I was drawn to Shanghai and wanted to move there. At the time, I was in graduate school, switching careers from journalism to urban planning.
I came across an English teaching position in Shanghai. I had yet to make peace with my father’s passing, and in addition to the high cost of living in LA, I felt I needed a change.
I arrived in Shanghai with two suitcases and from January 2023 to earlier this year, I called China home. I worked as an English teacher and corporate language instructor.
In Shanghai, the ease and options for getting around, the low cost of living, incredible food, and widespread use of digital wallets made life feel incredibly convenient. I also loved exploring the city.
Across from the hotel we stayed at in 1987 — which is walking distance from where my dad’s family home once stood — I often found comfort. When the weather was good, I’d sit on a bench, munching on a shao bing, a Chinese flatbread a little larger than a corn tortilla, which became one of my favorite snacks.
And I fell in love with walking — to get a latte, pick up steamed pork buns, to meet friends, or just take in the city. Something I had rarely done in LA.
I wandered Shanghai’s wide streets and its small, tucked-away alleys lined with old homes. In those quiet lanes, far from the boulevards and busy pedestrian promenades, Old Shanghai still lingers — patiently waiting to tell its stories.
I was happy about the life I was creating.
The old parts of the city made me think back to that treasured first visit with my father. In many ways, Shanghai will always feel like home.
When my employment contract ended and the job offers I received were insufficient to keep me in Shanghai, I moved back to the US.
But I didn’t feel ready to leave.
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