I applied to and was contracted by Punto Urban Art Museum to create a mural within The Point neighborhood — a predominantly Latinx community — inspired by Mexican American author Reyna Grande’s memoir A Dream Called Home. My concept highlights a rice cooker that my partner gifted to me 14 years ago, which has, over time and through many homes, become a symbol of our relationship and overlapping experiences as multiracial people of Chinese and Cuban American immigrant families. Through this initiative, I also participated as a Pro-Artist for the Creative Point Neighbor Program, where I acted as a teaching assistant and mentor for aspiring-artist residents creating their own murals for the same call.

Art statement

When I was a freshman in college, my boyfriend Jacob gave me a small red rice cooker as a Valentine’s Day gift. We’d been dating for about a month, and I had mentioned to him how much I missed white rice. It hadn’t occurred to me until I went away to college that it wasn’t a common staple for other American households as much as it was for mine: my family would have it with nearly every dinner, multiple times a week. Our school cafeteria only served rice on infrequent occasions, usually with specialized dishes (like samosas on Indian night). I was touched that Jacob had taken note and had gotten me such a practical and heartfelt gift.

We both come from multiracial and multicultural families, so even at the beginning of our relationship, being able to share our nuances and joys and frustrations brought us together quickly. Jacob is first generation Cuban American. His Abuela brought her children to the US when his father was ten years old: first to Connecticut, then New York, and ultimately Miami. Abuela’s ropa vieja is a coveted recipe that Jacob gets closer to mastering at each and every attempt. Ropa vieja, or “old clothes,” is a slow-cooked shredded beef dish that is not complete without rice and beans.

I’m second generation Chinese American; my maternal grandparents came to Boston after WWII. My Por Por immigrated from Toisan by arranged marriage to my Gung Gung, who had already been in San Francisco since the age of 15 and had served in the US military. After finding their footing in Chinatown, they opened the first Chinese restaurant in Gloucester, MA (“China Port”), moved to the suburbs, and raised six kids. My mom, a first generation Chinese American, grew up in transit from the city and the family business and continued to work at the restaurant to pay for her nursing degree at Salem State.

My family moved to three different houses in Beverly, MA over the course of my childhood, each one marking a new era of my life. Home sometimes felt like a transitory state. My parents have moved once more since. But even so, their oversized rice cooker is usually percolating on their kitchen counter.

Since 2009, my red rice cooker has traveled with me to four dorms, three apartments, and three houses, many of which Jacob and I have shared together. Fourteen years later, we look back and laugh at how it has unexpectedly become a symbol of our relationship and overlapping identities. Sometimes the cooker is filled with yellow rice for ropa vieja, and sometimes it’s filled with plain white rice to be paired with fish, chicken, eggs, or vegetables: a vessel of care that can be carried with us to each place we call home.