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An-Ya and Her Diary
An-Ya and Her Diary Read online
Copyright © 2012 Diane René Christian
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner.
Cover Design by Streetlight Graphics
Shoofly Press
ISBN: 1484055179
ISBN 13: 9781484055175
eBook ISBN: 978-1-62110-188-8
An-Ya
and Her Diary
A NOVEL BY
Diane René Christian
For my daughters
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
Chapter 64
Chapter 65
Chapter 66
Chapter 67
Chapter 68
Chapter 69
Chapter 70
Chapter 71
Chapter 72
Chapter 73
Chapter 74
Chapter 75
Chapter 76
Chapter 77
Chapter 78
Chapter 79
Chapter 80
Chapter 81
Chapter 82
Chapter 83
Chapter 84
Chapter 85
Chapter 86
Chapter 87
Chapter 88
Chapter 89
Chapter 90
Chapter 91
Chapter 92
Chapter 93
Chapter 94
Chapter 95
Chapter 96
Chapter 97
Chapter 98
Chapter 99
Chapter 100
Chapter 101
Chapter 102
Chapter 103
Chapter 104
Chapter 105
Chapter 106
Chapter 107
Chapter 108
Chapter 109
Chapter 110
Chapter 111
Chapter 112
Chapter 113
Chapter 114
Chapter 115
Chapter 116
Chapter 117
Chapter 118
Chapter 119
Chapter 120
Chapter 121
Chapter 122
Chapter 123
Chapter 124
Chapter 125
Chapter 126
Chapter 127
Chapter 128
Chapter 129
Chapter 130
Chapter 131
Chapter 132
Chapter 133
Chapter 134
Chapter 135
Chapter 136
Chapter 137
Chapter 138
Chapter 139
Chapter 140
Chapter 141
Chapter 142
Chapter 143
Chapter 144
Chapter 145
Chapter 146
Chapter 147
Chapter 148
Chapter 149
Chapter 150
Chapter 151
Chapter 152
Chapter 153
Chapter 154
Chapter 155
Chapter 156
Chapter 157
Chapter 158
Chapter 159
Chapter 160
Chapter 161
Chapter 162
Chapter 163
Chapter 164
Chapter 165
Chapter 166
Chapter 167
Chapter 168
Chapter 169
Chapter 170
Chapter 171
Chapter 172
Chapter 173
Chapter 174
Chapter 175
Chapter 176
Chapter 177
Chapter 178
Chapter 179
Chapter 180
Chapter 181
Chapter 182
Chapter 183
Chapter 184
Chapter 185
Chapter 186
Chapter 187
Chapter 188
Chapter 189
Chapter 190
Chapter 191
Chapter 192
Chapter 193
Chapter 194
Chapter 195
Chapter 196
Chapter 197
Chapter 198
Chapter 199
Chapter 200
Chapter 201
Chapter 202
Chapter 203
Chapter 204
Chapter 205
Chapter 206
Chapter 207
Chapter 208
Chapter 209
Chapter 210
Chapter 211
Chapter 212
Chapter 213
Chapter 214
Chapter 215
Chapter 216
Chapter 217
Chapter 218
Chapter 219
Chapter 220
Chapter 221
Chapter 222
Chapter 223
Chapter 224
Chapter 225
About the Author
My pen is finally touching your pages. It is time to tell our story. Our story began in China and now it continues in America. I want to write about our old life and I want to write about our life now. I will write it all down with hopes that somehow I can connect the two worlds that I have lived in. Right now those worlds seem so far apart. I don’t know if it is possible for my world to ever feel whole, without a crack down the middle…but it is time to try.
1
Dear Diary,
All that She left inside the box was a blank book and a name. You are the book, and I am the name…An-Ya. As you know, my name is printed on your first page. Did She write it? What did She look like as She stood over you with Her pen? Were there tears in Her eyes? Why were you left empty inside?
I wish you could speak to m
e. You have too many secrets. You remember Her putting us in the box. You remember how far She carried us. As we lay beneath the red gate, did we stare into the sun or stars? Did I cry? Did She cry?
Why can’t you answer me? I don’t like that about you. These are my secrets to share and not yours to keep inside these blank pages. It is not fair. It’s not fair at all.
You and She are a lot alike. All mysteries and no answers. She made a terrible decision leaving you empty, because it left me empty too.
2
Dear Diary,
You and I have been together all of my life. We waited together. In China I waited for Her to come back. If a stranger entered the orphanage, I was sure it was Her. Or maybe She was sick, or maybe She died, and He would come. I studied every person that came in. I knew They were coming back. I was so sure. But They didn’t come. We watched baby after baby find their home before us. Everyone wanted the babies. I kept growing and growing, and every day I was less special than the day before. People loved the babies. I never stopped hoping for Them to return for me. But nobody wanted me there, not even Them. I should have stopped hoping. It would have been easier that way.
Instead of Them, strangers, who look nothing like me, came from the other side of the world. They came to take me away from China forever. If She returned, then I would be gone. Maybe I was happy to know that someone wanted me. Maybe I was sad that I would be lost to Them forever. Maybe I was angry that it didn’t matter what I thought because other people decided for me. Maybe I felt all of these things and so much more.
We flew to the other side of the world, and I never stopped holding you close to my chest. You were empty and so was I. My only friend in the world. The only one who understood where I began and where I was going. We flew together and everything we knew before was gone.
3
Dear Diary,
I have a new mother and a father. I call my father Daddy. I call my mother Wanna. I call her that in secret because she Wanna be my mommy. She can’t. They mean nothing to me. I know their names, I know how many papers they signed to make me their daughter, but those papers mean nothing. I don’t have anything else to say about them right now.
4
Dear Diary,
I have a sister now. Her name is Ellie. She was adopted from China as a baby, and now she is 3 years old. She was one of the special babies that left the orphanage over and over. Actually, she is not that special. She doesn’t remember anything about China. She makes up fake stories and thinks that they are real. She forgot China. I didn’t forget. I remember my life in China. My new parents think that she is wonderful. I don’t care what they think, because they will never know how special I am. I will never share my life with them and I will only tell you. Only you will understand the whole story. I will fill your emptiness and that will be enough.
5
Dear Diary,
I gained a family and I lost a family. Forever. They never came and I was taken to America. I wanted to go back. I hated everything about my new life. Nobody looked like me, the food tasted awful, and worst of all was the night. I had never slept alone before, except maybe during my time in the box. I don’t know how long I was in the box before I was found. But after that, I never slept alone. I was always surrounded by rows of sleeping children waiting just like me. I was used to the sounds of crying, coughing, snoring, and sneezing. It was my night music in the orphanage. America was too quiet.
My new family put me in a room by myself. All alone. I couldn’t tell them that I was afraid. I couldn’t speak. I knew the English words. I learned them in China. The problem was that the English words wouldn’t come out. I only knew how to scream. I screamed outside my new parents’ bedroom door. I never screamed in China. I don’t know what happened to me. I screamed and cried, and they kept taking me back to my room. Over and over. Night after night. Finally one day, I gave up. My pillow was always wet. I hated the night and I still hate the night.
6
Dear Diary,
You are probably wondering why I waited so long to write in you. For eleven years I have held you and stared at your red cover and looked at your empty pages. You are covered in gold flowers. I have counted them many times. They are beautiful. You are beautiful.
I thought maybe She had a plan when she left you with me. I thought Her plan was for me to keep you empty until She came back for us. I know it doesn’t make sense. She didn’t leave me a plan, so now I need a plan of my own.
Sorry I waited so long.
By the way, I gave you a name. I named you Penny. I am filling your pages with Pen. Nobody can erase you. Nobody can make you empty again.
7
Dear Penny,
Do you remember the little girl in the orphanage with the white hair and grey eyes? I don’t know how you could forget her. She was with us all of the time. I remember everything about her, but for some reason I can’t remember her name. Her name sounded something like—Abby. It makes my head hurt to try and remember her name. Why can’t I remember her name?
I do remember that she was an annoying little girl. She followed me everywhere and held onto my shirt wherever we walked. Her eyes didn’t work well. Sometimes one eye would go the wrong direction.
When she came in to the orphanage, she would not let the nannies feed her a bottle. Only I could give her the bottle. She would not touch anybody but me. If I didn’t feed her with a bottle, then she wouldn’t eat.
Abby would grab my shirt and not let go all day. Do you know how annoying it is to have someone holding your shirt all day? Sometimes I pushed her to get her off me. Sometimes I pushed her down. But she always got back up and grabbed back on.
If I wanted to get rid of her, I would go outside to play. She wasn’t allowed outside in the sun. Sometimes I would get tired of her and go outside. Abby would sit inside the door and wait for me to come back in. She is probably still sitting there. Waiting. I didn’t say goodbye because I was happy to have her off of my shirt. I should have told her I wasn’t coming back. She is probably still sitting next to the orphanage door, waiting for me to come back and starving.
8
Dear Penny,
I found out I was going to America when a nanny came to get me and took me to meet an English teacher. I asked why I was meeting an English teacher, and she said it was because I would need to be able to talk to my American family. There wasn’t any time to think about it, or time to ask more questions, because she walked me down the hall and pushed me into a room. There was nothing in the room except for a desk, a chair, and a Chinese man. I walked into the room and put you under the chair and sat down. There were no windows to look out, just the man standing over me. He wasn’t nice to look at either.
The man, my teacher, told me to sit down and to listen closely. He was not a nice man, not at all. He told me that my American family was paying him to teach me English and he would be coming every day. He said I would have a lot of homework to do. The teacher said it was his job to show the American family that he was an excellent teacher. If I didn’t learn, then he would look like a bad teacher. So he said I better pay attention or he would smack me. I believed him and I always paid attention.
Many months went by, and over and over I repeated English words and wrote English words. I walked around the orphanage, Abby hanging on my shirt, and named every object I could find with the English word. Chair, light, wall, shoe, toilet, door. It wasn’t long before I knew more words than I could count. Sometimes Abby would try to speak in English too. It was like a game to her. It wasn’t a game to me. It was going to be my life.
One day the English teacher didn’t come. My American family came instead. I’m tired of writing. I am going to put the pen down now.
9
Dear Penny,
I was thinking about the day that I first saw my American family. The first time I saw them was in a photo that they sent to the orphanage. A nanny gave me the photo and a letter from them. I didn’t read the letter for a long t
ime because I was too busy looking at the picture.
They looked different than I imagined they would look. The picture was taken next to a lake. It is the lake that we go to now almost every day. I was surprised to see a little Chinese girl in the picture. She was too small and happy, and I knew I wasn’t going to like her very much.
Wanna and Daddy looked happy too. Wanna’s hair was yellow like the sun and her face was round. She was much smaller than Daddy. His hair was black and he was much bigger than Wanna. He looked like he was the nicest. His smile wasn’t as big as Wanna and my new sister, but he didn’t look mean either. Plus, his hair was black. Maybe it wasn’t Chinese black, but it was dark. At least something about him was the same.
10
Dear Penny,
My house is light brown on the outside and old on the inside. The floors are wood and there is a fireplace in almost every room. When your feet hit the wood floor, it makes the floor talk. If you are going somewhere in secret, then you need to walk on your tiptoes.
Some fireplaces don’t work anymore. The one in my room doesn’t work, but the living room and kitchen fireplaces do. On cool nights Daddy will put wood in the fireplace. Sometimes, even on the hottest days, the night will be cold.
I like to sit next to the fireplaces and watch the wood burn. I am not allowed to sit too close, but I sit close enough that my whole body is warm and glows orange.
There are trees all around the house, and they are the brightest green that I ever saw. Beneath the trees is grass that is almost as green as the trees. From my window I can see the blue lake. It takes a long time to walk there, but from my window it doesn’t seem so far away.
11
Dear Penny,
When I was in the orphanage, I read the letter from my new family. I remember that I was scared to read it and I know that I waited. The photo was already too hard to look at. I was nervous about the letter.
I do remember being confused after I finally read the letter. It was filled with things that couldn’t be true. My American family said that they loved me, that they couldn’t wait to hold me, that they missed me, that they thought I was beautiful.
I knew that they couldn’t feel these things because they didn’t know me yet. I knew that they imagined a daughter that I was not going to be. I wanted to believe what they said, but I was too smart to believe it. I knew too much, and I knew the badness inside of me that they would hate.