Joanna Zhang

Meredith College, North Carolina, USA

I am ten. I am wearing a grin and my grandfather, mother, father, sister, cousin, and aunt also have smiles, or the semblance of one in the case of my aunt. We are wearing long sleeves and pants, bright red blossoms of color against muted grays. My grandmother, grandfather, and I are sitting in the front. I am in the middle, with my other relatives standing in the back. Some of us noticeably have deadened expressions. My uncle seems to be unprepared for the camera, but I wonder at my grandmother’s face. For some reason, my grandmother looks winter-cold as she stares straight into the camera. Her lips are arranged as if she ate something sour that morning and is remembering the taste of it. Why does my grandmother look so acidic? Perhaps it is having to pose for a picture, or the press of bodies surrounding her, making her claustrophobic. Or, is it that she does not enjoy being with her family at all? Even studying this history in pixels, I do not know; I only know that I remember her more for her expression than if she had been smiling.

I am ten. I am wearing a grin and my grandfather, mother, father, sister, cousin, and aunt also have smiles, or the semblance of one in the case of my aunt. We are wearing long sleeves and pants, bright red blossoms of color against muted grays. My grandmother, grandfather, and I are sitting in the front. I am in the middle, with my other relatives standing in the back. Some of us noticeably have deadened expressions. My uncle seems to be unprepared for the camera, but I wonder at my grandmother’s face. For some reason, my grandmother looks winter-cold as she stares straight into the camera. Her lips are arranged as if she ate something sour that morning and is remembering the taste of it. Why does my grandmother look so acidic? Perhaps it is having to pose for a picture, or the press of bodies surrounding her, making her claustrophobic. Or, is it that she does not enjoy being with her family at all? Even studying this history in pixels, I do not know; I only know that I remember her more for her expression than if she had been smiling.

I am ten. I am wearing a grin and my grandfather, mother, father, sister, cousin, and aunt also have smiles, or the semblance of one in the case of my aunt. We are wearing long sleeves and pants, bright red blossoms of color against muted grays. My grandmother, grandfather, and I are sitting in the front. I am in the middle, with my other relatives standing in the back. Some of us noticeably have deadened expressions. My uncle seems to be unprepared for the camera, but I wonder at my grandmother’s face. For some reason, my grandmother looks winter-cold as she stares straight into the camera. Her lips are arranged as if she ate something sour that morning and is remembering the taste of it. Why does my grandmother look so acidic? Perhaps it is having to pose for a picture, or the press of bodies surrounding her, making her claustrophobic. Or, is it that she does not enjoy being with her family at all? Even studying this history in pixels, I do not know; I only know that I remember her more for her expression than if she had been smiling.