Before, I’d associated my Chinese side with judgments about my body, clothes, grades, and romantic life, but my eyes were opening to how far it went beyond that superficial interpretation. Parents wanting more for their kids than they themselves had, the emphasis on hard work, Dr. Lin helping Drew and me out with a courtesy visit, my mother making free Essix retainers—these were small examples of the better parts that had been lost beneath the toxic waste. But now I was ready to see. Being honest with myself and my parents helped me realize that Jing-Jing was a side of me that I should be embracing, not pushing out. My drive, my loyalty, my selflessness—they were fostered by the community too. And I could love those pieces without embracing the negative parts. I was allowed to find the joy in sharing a second language, a deeper connection, and Cháng’é jokes with Drew. Maybe one day with my parents, too.

As I looked at a porcelain vase painted with images of children playing, it dawned on me that the name Jing-Jing bothered me because the repetition was a practice done with little kids, and I wanted to outgrow it and how my parents treated me. When they were ready, I’d ask them to drop one Jing.

I had my own moments with the art, but I also couldn’t stop watching Drew as he took everything in with a reverent silence. I gestured to the hanging scroll in front of us, a stunning landscape of trees, mountains, and clouds inked with thin, rounded strokes thousands of years ago. Then I pointed toward the contemporary section we’d just come from. “Your work is so unique, blending Chinese techniques with American landscapes, but I think what makes it the most special is the je ne sais quoi you bring to it. Your perspective, your creativity, your—”

“Pain,” he finished, and I stopped, waiting to hear more. A second later he said, “Sometimes I wonder if there was a silver lining in my wayward journey. I tapped into myself and had complete freedom with my work and found my voice, my style first.” His lips curved up in a small, reflective smile. Then he added, “Though it’s not a journey I’d recommend if there are any other alternative paths,” and we laughed together.

A few hours later, when it was time to head for the airport, parting from Drew felt both difficult and easy—difficult because I didn’t want to be away from the person who brought so much light and comfort into my life, and easy because I knew where we stood. Where I stood both with and without him.

For the first time, I didn’t feel like I was changing skins as I left California and returned to Chicago. There was just one skin now: a Chinese-American one that deserved to be wanted and was wanted. By herself. As is.