My Chinese eyes.

American hands.

And a nostalgia for Budapest

A place I've never seen but through my father's eyes.

A mix of yellow and white

they say.

A twinkie.

A woman, whose petals are many different shades

of culture.

The language of one,

my sacred tongue.

I speak but can't be heard.

I long but can't be felt.

I spend my life trying to belong to one.

accepted by both.

Yet, as one. I am alone.

ethnically ambiguous

they say.

lost in between oceans of one motherland to the other

A new breed.

that searches for identity.

I am only left with myself