Bao, and the tension of being an Asian mother in America

The first time I watched Bao, I gasped out loud in the middle of a crowded theater. In less than four minutes, this short had captured me. In it's seven minute running time, it has made me cry the three times I've seen it. (I'm also a big baby that maybe had tears in my eyes watching something as dull and meandering as Step Up 2: The Streets, but don't let that fact discount the expertly-crafted emotional tension director Domee Shi was able to build.)

There is not a single word spoken in the entirety of the short, and this is what makes it especially poignant. Many first-generation Asian families are characterized by a lack of emotional discussion—the parents simply don't have the language, the practice, or the tools to express their feelings. Emotions, when they are felt, are often stifled. That this short follows the emotional journey of a lonely, Chinese mother as she silently copes with her only child growing up highlights not only the nature of her suffering but also the experience of living in an Asian-American household.

Bao begins with a mother creating dumplings. Her husband almost immediately leaves for work, leaving her to finish her meal on her own, when, lo and behold, one of the dumplings she made for breakfast becomes a precious lil bao baby. She and her child spend every waking moment together. However, her child does not remain a child forever. As the bao gets older, the rift between mother and son also grows.

Every mother watches their children grow up. As they get older, their children rely on them less and less, disappearing into their own chosen worlds of friendships and relationships. Babies become adults, and they become complex beings with wants and needs that now diverge from that of their parents.

Although Bao does not explicitly state this, you see the mother's loneliness. She is living in a country that no longer feels like hers, so her family becomes everything. Her child becomes everything.

We see her pain as her son rejects her over and over again. We feel for her as she tries to connect with him in the only ways that she knows how—quality time and food. We see as that becomes no longer enough to hold the fabric of her family together. We understand the lengths that she, in a moment of desperation, is willing to go to. She is willing to suffocate and consume her son's autonomy to keep him at home and keep him as her child.

The short ends in a touching moment of the whole family making dumplings together. Although we get the sense that the main conflict of the family has been dissolved, I couldn't help but still feel sorry for the mother as the credits rolled. She is still lonely. She still doesn't have something to fill her day-to-day to make her feel fulfilled.

This is the loneliness of being an Asian mother in America. Your children ignore and, at least in my case, resent the culture that is a part of you. You cannot connect to the communities around you, so your family becomes your nexus. Your children adopt American ideals that you cannot understand, and this tension follows you through your whole life. And yes, your children mature and, at least in my case, embrace the culture that is a part of you. But your family remains your nexus, even if you are no longer theirs.

I loved that I was able to have a peek into a quiet, Asian-American family story through an animated Pixar short. I know I saw my father in the dad slurping down his breakfast and hurrying off to work. I saw my mother in the mom preparing a Chinese feast for her son in an attempt to connect. I saw myself in the son who prioritized himself over his family.

Stories that speak to truth are universal, even if the focus isn't something that feels familiar.