The last time I watched my home videos was when I was still in college, around 19 or 20. I thought they had gotten lost somewhere in my dad's junk mansion, and each time I returned home, I searched for them in vain. I'm 33 now, and I finally found them stuffed in a paper bag and hidden in the corner of the upstairs office.
I started bawling at the first sight of my mom on camera. She was holding me, just a few months old, playfully rocking me back and forth on the bed. The sound of her voice felt so unfamiliar at first. I had forgotten how young she sounded. During a week, I watched all seventeen DVDs that my grandpa had converted from VHS's sometime before he died. I watched with tenderness and heartache and longing, as I grew up under her careful supervision. Little Amelia was so serious and fearless and silly and afraid of being too far away from her mom. The way she loved me, and the way I loved her was so undeniable that I repeated over and over, Mom when will you come back? It was so clear that I was her little best friend, and she was my foundation in this world. I miss her desperately all over again.
When I reached year two in the videos, I witnessed one peaceful moment of making dumplings ahead of Lunar New Year with her and my nainai (grandma) off camera. Nainai hands me a wrapper with a dollop of meat filling, and I pinch the edges together with focus but not precision. The dumplings come out lopsided, not entirely sealed. From behind the camera, Mom says, "My precious baby doll, folding dumplings at two years old." And then, "Oh no no, this one got messed up," as I try to gather the wrapper edges into a bundle. "Try again," she encouraged while handing me another wrapper with meat filling dollop.
The next one is beautiful, she says. "Very beautiful, show Mom, let Mommy see!" she coos, as I hold up my barely-sealed dumpling, smiling proudly. The way I looked up at her breaks my adult heart. I was so so happy to win her approval. I set the dumpling on the plate full of my other flat half moons. "When Dad comes home, he'll eat wrapper soup. This plate is all for Dad, right?" she teased, proud still of my flawed dumplings. I fold a few more, holding each one up to show my Mom, waiting for her congratulations each time. I can hear the pride and excitement in her voice, as if being my mother was the greatest joy in the world.
She eventually sets the camera down so she can begin rolling out more wrappers next to me. And so I want to roll some wrappers out too - "just like Mommy." I watched Mom adeptly roll out more wrappers, flattening the little dough circles that my tiny hands couldn't flatten all the way. She does it so quickly, in between handing me a bigger rolling pin, a bigger cutting board, and a pile of flour, so I could join in. When she is done, she grabs another pile of unshaped dough, kneading it into a smooth ball, stretching it into a long donut, and ripping it into little balled pieces, estimating the portions by feel. She creates a giant pile of little dough balls, while chatting with me nonstop. I begin to cause chaos, ripping up her perfectly formed dough balls, as she proceeds to roll out more perfectly shaped wrappers. Nainai folds them into presentable dumplings. I continue to rip up more dough balls with the spoon that I demanded, churning through them faster than my mom can keep up, but she doesn't get mad. She thinks it's amusing. She calmly tells me to stop wasting all her dough.
"Two years old, and my baby is folding dumplings!"
"At three, she'll learn red braised fish."
"Then she'll learn roast duck."
"Look at her making hand-pulled noodles." As my little fingers rip and pull one of the dough rounds into two gluten ropes. I smile at my mom's sense of humor, enamored at the way she remains patient with me, as she tried to get dinner on the table.
I watch this scene front to back several times, trying to place myself in that moment in time. This memory of us making dumplings together had always been so blurry, illustrated by a few photographs of me Mom also took that evening. I had no idea that behind the scenes she could roll out wrappers that effortlessly. I had no idea that the well-worn rolling pin I still use was the same one she used thirty-some years ago.
