I am Chinese-Canadian, but I do not identify myself as such based on my passports or the color of my eyes. Instead, I am defined as such through the words of my language. Literature and my family have been bounded together by generations. The love of learning is so deeply engraved in our family line of Chinese doctors and scholars that my grandfather carried with him nothing but his books when he crossed the ocean to Taiwan during the Chinese Civil War. Today, I cannot imagine a second where I am not constantly enraptured by the scent of paper, demanding the words to whisper to me their secrets and knowledge. As a young child, naturally, I could not identify the characters of the Chinese language myself, but I was still mesmerized
