My Abuelit A Fictional Narrative

Kian also loved school. Every morning his father would drop him off, and every afternoon, his mother would pick him up. One autumn day, after his father hugged him goodbye, Kian’s teacher introduced a new friend to the class.

“Everyone,” said Kian’s teacher, “please welcome Maricela. She just moved with her family from Peru”.

At first, Maricela could only speak Spanish. She spent most of her days drawing silently by herself, never saying a word to anyone, but as soon as her grandmother came to pick her up, Maricela would spring out of her seat and yell “Abuelita!”. The two would chat excitedly in Spanish as they left the classroom.

One winter day, Maricela came to class with her hair tied in braids, just like her mother and grandmother. “Who did your hair”? Kian asked Maricela. “My

For the first time in what felt like forever, Kian asked his mother to tell him a story. Kian’s mother nodded and smiled.

“Kian, have I ever told you the story behind your name?” Kian’s mother asked.

Kian paused. “I don’t think so.”
Kian’s mother closed her eyes as she recalled memories of leaving China for the first time. She told him about how worried his grandparents were that they would never see her again, and about how she promised that she would be back someday. She told him about how she decided with Kian’s father to name Kian after her hometown, Xian, so that he would always be a part of that promise.

“You see, Kian”, his mother said, “Your name is one of the things which connects you to your family in China. It shows that you belong to them, and that they belong to you.”
Kian thought about all the other things which connected him to his father and mother. He thought about all the songs they sang and the food they ate. Kian also thought about the stories which he loved so much, remembering how close he felt to the people and the places inside of them. He remembered how warm and safe they made him