I Want to Talk About Uncle Wallace: Against Chinese American Stoicism (Exclusive)
When my uncle Wallace died, I wanted flowers. I wanted cards with condolences in frou-frou cursive fonts, and clumsy hugs and all the other kindnesses I generally avoid. Most of all, I wanted to talk about my 108-year-old grandmother's favorite son. Visiting their Bay Area home, I once saw Waipo kneel on the floor, back when she was a spry 90-something, and mend a hole in his sock without asking him to take it off.
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