“Rain, Resilience, and Resolution” by Serena Cai
Rain, Resilience, and Resolution
by Serena Cai
The day had started out bad enough.
First, Aradan woke up late, dashed his way through the pouring rain, tripped in a puddle, and not to mention, he failed his quiz, too! Now to make matters worse…
“The bus is delayed?” Aradan huffed, watching his breath swirl in a vapor in front of him.
Yeah, okay, maybe he could’ve grabbed an umbrella before he left. He refreshed the AC Transit app, in the hopes that maybe, the app was mistaken. To Aradan’s immense annoyance, it was in fact, not mistaken. At this rate, Aradan was going to be late for work, and his boss was going to give him an earful about being on time and all that jazz. Well, if the bus wasn’t arriving for another twenty minutes, he might as well grab a bite to eat. At least then he would feel productive.
Tugging his soaked hood over his head, Aradan turned to the curb, ready to dash through the rain again.
“Aradan?” An old man with short cropped white hair in a dark blazer approached, hobbling beside him. If Aradan had been just a second quicker, he would’ve dashed straight into the guy.
“Ni qu na li?” Aradan’s elderly neighbor gestured to the rain around them.
“Xian zai xia na me da yu, bu yao qu le…”
Where are you going? Aradan translated mentally. It’s raining too hard for you to go anywhere.
“Bu yao dan xin,” Aradan replied. Don’t worry. “I’m just gonna go get some food.”
That was when a lady with chocolate colored skin dressed in bright yellow traditional African attire bustled in between them, accidentally knocking Aradan into a large puddle on the street.
If the same lady hadn’t offered her hand to him, asking, “Are you okay?” Aradan might’ve lost it right then and there.
Aradan reached for the woman’s hand and got up, doing his best to wring the water out of his shirt. The woman continued, “I’m so sorry I didn’t mean to—”
“It’s fine,” Aradan replied. It wasn’t her fault the weather decided to wreak havoc on them, after all.
“If there’s any way I can make it up to you—”
“It’s fine,” Aradan said again, glaring at the ditch where the puddle had formed. “Sometimes I just wish the Bay Area had better streets, that’s all. Not to mention this is the second time I’ve fallen into a puddle today—”
Mr. Chen chuckled. “Zou lu de shi hou yao xiao xin yi dian..”
“I know.”
“I know a little bit of Mandarin,” the African woman said, “But could you translate?”
“He’s just saying I should be a little more careful. Which is fair, but the construction crew also needs to fix the traffic lights down the block. Not only that, with inflation soaring uncontrollably, the homeless population is bound to continue increasing.”
“Perhaps,” Mr. Chen interrupted, in his thick accent. “You should look at our home as more than just its flaws, Aradan. Appreciate it for its virtues rather than dwelling on its shortcomings.”
“Yeah,” Aradan grumbled. “Sure.”
“For starters,” the woman began, “The Bay Area stands out as one of the most diverse regions on the globe. In another country, people like us would not be speaking to each other so openly.”
Aradan glanced around. “A Chinese man, an African woman, and a white teenager…. Given that my ancestors might have enslaved yours at some time in the past. I am sorry about the little recognition your cultures are receiving.”
“It’s beyond your control,” Mr. Chen replied. “You are but a product of long ago history, a mere speck in the present sculpted by the past.”
“Still!” Aradan protested. Aradan paused and looked at the woman. “Sorry, what’s your name?”
“Aisha,” the woman replied with a small smile.
“Aisha, nice to meet you. I’m Aradan. But still, it’s unfair that people of your ethnicity are being faced with violence because of history’s long shadow.”
Aisha let out a sigh. “That may be true… but look over there.” She pointed towards a spot further down the street.. “Do you see those folks there?”
It took Aradan a moment to properly grasp what was happening. Slowly, the outlines of many sign holding individuals came into view as they approached the bus stop.
“A #BlackLivesMatter Protest,” Mr. Chen noted.
“Well, yeah,” Aradan replied. “Of course Black lives matter! I would join them too, if I didn’t have to rush home.”
“It’s the thought that counts,” Aisha commented gently.
“The thought alone isn’t going to bring black people to justice!” Aradan watched the chanting protestors as he spoke. “It’s going to take more than just thoughts to bring African Americans the equality they deserve—”
“Aradan, the thoughts are what lead to protests like the one right there.”
“It is not just Black people who are protesting either,” Mr. Chen pointed out. “Can you see the color of their skin?”
Aradan narrowed his eyes again. Mr. Chen was right. It wasn’t just black people holding up signs, but lighter skinned individuals as well. Some of the signs read “Asian Lives Matter” as well.
Some people of his own ethnicity were in the crowd too. A crowd of all skin tones was coming towards them. And despite the pouring rain, they continued to march, under large umbrellas nearly the size of the trees overhead.
“It’s the dedication that got us free from slavery,” Aisha continued. “The teamwork, the willingness to make a difference.”
“That’s great and all, but it doesn’t matter if the government decides to ignore you,” Aradan muttered bluntly.
“That’s why it takes time. Change isn’t going to happen if you don’t put in the work.”
Aradan did have to admit, protesting during a heavy storm did imply a lot of dedication. He was inspired by the fact that people of all backgrounds were working together.
“Look around the street, tell me what you see.” Aisha said.
“I see a Japanese restaurant, an Ethiopian bistro, and a French clothing store.” Aradan observed.
“There are people from many cultures who express themselves. Isn’t that something worth celebrating?”
Aradan slowly nodded. “Well, I guess this wouldn’t have been possible a century ago.”
“There is a saying we have in Mandarin,” Mr. Chen added. “Shui di shi chuan. Water drops pierce stone. We will achieve political equality if we only keep fighting.”
“And since the fighting has definitely gotten free expression for you…”
“We’ll keep fighting until we’re acknowledged,” Aisha finished. “The will of the Bay Area to preserve all these different cultures, to fight for recognition, is what makes it a great place.”
“Plus, people here are so supportive of each other.” Aradan said, watching a child move their umbrella over an adult to shield them from the rain. “I guess I didn’t really notice it much because of how normal it seems.”
“Just more evidence of the diversity that’s been made possible! You are a great example—do you think you would’ve been able to learn Mandarin if not for all the people who have fought to get Chinese recognized?”
“Actually, I’m half Chinese myself… many people just assume I’m white because, well,” Aradan gestured to his blond hair, blue eyes, and pale skin. “I look as white as they come.”
“Mixed race,” Mr. Chen said.
“Yes. My father immigrated from Hong Kong.” Aradan glanced at Aisha. “Yeah, humanity’s fighting spirit is great and all, but how is that different from the rest of the world? What sets the Bay Area apart from everywhere else?”
“Do you think you could find a sushi bar in Africa as easily as you can here?”
“Maybe?”
“What about an Ethiopian store in Vietnam?”
“Okay, probably not—”
“Take their words, for example.” Aisha nodded to the protest parade, which was now passing them. “What are they saying?”
They were chanting, that’s sure, Aradan thought.
Some were singing in a language Aradan didn’t recognize. Another group was singing along to a melody that one of the protestors was playing on a guitar. Two kids not much older than Aradan were holding up a poster with the words RIGHTS FOR LGBTQ+
Aradan could hear the chant of “Chi ku!” woven through the organized chaos. Endure hardship. It all fit together in a way, he noted, as the different people would pause to let another take the spotlight. Rain continued to pound on their umbrellas with the strength of twenty hammers.
“You would not find something as culturally diverse as this so easily,” Mr. Chen remarked. “Zhe xie ren zhen shi hen bang.”
“I agree,” Aradan said, watching the protestors continue down the street. He turned to look back at the large white city hall rising from the ground behind them. “These people are amazing indeed.”
The Bay Area might have its shortcomings, but it was home, Aradan thought.
Wherever you looked, there were people of color. And that was what made it special.
Because people like Mr. Chen and Aisha would never truly be alone in an area as culturally diverse as this one.