Kao Kalia Yang

Writer Kao Kalia Yang re­flects on her friend­ship with an old­er cou­ple who has guid­ed her life – and her ca­reer.

‘In my clos­et, I have a shirt that once be­longed to my grand­moth­er… When I’m an old woman, I should like to wear it.’

I live in the mu­sic of your words cre­at­ing a world in which lives like yours and mine are pos­si­ble.

Thir­ty years ago, the record-set­ting storm was one of the most in­cred­i­ble nat­ur­al ex­pe­ri­ences of one Min­nesotan’s life.

In mem­o­ry of the homes that have taught me about sur­vival, how to be a fam­i­ly, and how to ride the winds of hope.

For the first time in my life, I stand un­pro­tect­ed by the tow­er­ing fig­ures of my broth­ers.

My dreams were built on the foun­da­tions of my grand­moth­er’s life. They were not her dreams for her­self but for us.

Friends are in­stru­men­tal to your jour­ney. Even if they aren’t per­fect or don’t be­have the way oth­ers’ do.

Like you, I was afraid of how I would sound in Eng­lish to the peo­ple who were born speak­ing the lan­guage.

Here in this coun­try, you have to learn how to do things the way oth­er peo­ple do, to sur­vive.