My step-grandmother Maria passed away yesterday from complications of cancer. But I never established a deep relationship with her. She was a small woman of 5 feet when I first met her over 9 years ago shortly after my grandmother passed away. A rather quiet old lady bundled in sweaters in California with her arm through my grandfather\’s. That was the first time I ever knew of her existence. As it was common back in the day, she was my grandfather\’s \”second\” wife when he had to leave Hong Kong to make money in Peru. She was a first generation Chinese in Peru. A secretary to fit the stereotype. At that time, my grandmother was devastated…hurt…deeply. And when my grandfather finally returned to Hong Kong after more than 20 years, María was kept as a shameful family secret.

When I was 12, she came to the Bay Area. She only spoke Spanish and could barely speak any English. My Spanish skills never matured enough to hold a fluent conversation and over the last 9 years, we barely exchanged any words except smiles at those dinners every other week. Sometimes I saw my parents shake their heads at each other when she would show up to those dinners adorned with the flashy jewelry. The house where my grandparents used to babysit me when I was young was changed from a drab Chinese-style furniture to the latest antiques. A coffee cart, a lamp with three golden flowers and a large TV chest always set at the local Spanish channel. I rarely went to the house when she arrived. I have been there probably only 4 or 5 times in the last 9 years.

And so I found out today from my sister. And sadly enough, there\’s no sorrow on our side of our family. We went through obligation and filial piety.