Yi Yi: Retrospective Truths ALAN KE
To my knowledge, most kids don’t spend their seventh birthdays 35,000 feet above the Pacific Ocean. If it were up to me, I’d have chosen to celebrate somewhere like Chuck E. Cheese’s, anywhere other than the 13-hour purgatory of EWR to PEK. On a whim, we packed our bags as a family, swapping the comfort of a small suburban town in New Jersey for the monolithic metropolis of Beijing. At first, every bone in my body teamed together to reject the Chinese culture imposed onto my (so-called) American upbringing. In public, I’d assert my American-ness by speaking exclusively in English. At home, I abstained from any television besides the Chinese-dubbed runs of Lilo & Stitch. However much I tried, my acts of stubbornness proved no match to the indifferent rhythms of city life. To me, Beijing wasn’t just foreign or impersonal, it was isolating. It was a city I thought I’d never call home. Since its premiere in 2000, Edward Yang’s Yi Yi has commonly been credited as a film about everything. Its expansive scope and thematic breadth mean that every viewer is bound to latch onto something different about the film. For me, the film stands for a poignant image of East Asian urban life almost unrecognizable today. Growing up in China for over a decade, I learned to overcome my internalized biases as well as appreciate the vibrance of life in its capital. Though it’s set in Taiwan, watching Yi Yi for the first time reminded me of the city 6,000 miles away from California that I now consider home, a place I had
74 • spring 2021
