Ann Cheng Q & A with Eastern Iowa Review
Chila: Tell us the story behind "Grape" and "Hills," and why you felt essays like these would be a good fit for a "journal of good spaces" (which we entirely agree with you on, btw).
Ann: “Grape” and “Hills” come from the time immediately after my niece Lena was born and my mother was diagnosed with terminal cancer. Holding Lena is the best comfort I have, but also the strongest reminder of the future that will continue without my mother. Until my mother’s diagnosis this past summer (2015) when I moved home, I talked to her on the phone every day for at least half an hour. So while I am writing about death, I am also writing about the family that is so warm and so good in the face of unfathomable loss.
Chila: I was so sorry to hear about your mother; these things certainly change our perspective on life and what's meaningful. Tell me, how does your heritage inform essays like these? That is, give us a glimpse into your upbringing and what it means to you, how you transformed in your view of it over time.
Ann: Moving from Boston to Cincinnati is a shock to the system of a mixed-race Asian woman, and being here again brings back memories from my childhood. Many of these memories form the foundation of my racial identity, one formed largely of otherness and exclusion. Yet being back in Cincinnati also means my siblings and my cousins, essential parts of the extensive network of my mother’s Hungarian-Jewish family. These are the people I love the most, even if this is not a place that I love.
Chila: When did you first get the serious urge to write down your thoughts about things, life, whatever?
Ann: I am relatively new to writing. I teach high school, and a few years ago I started writing letters to my classes after long weekends or breaks. In these letters, I share vulnerable moments with my students, and often their letters back are similarly open. I realized the satisfaction and power I find in words and the ideas they let me figure out, and I began writing not just for my students, but also for myself. Most recently, I was talking with a friend and she said, “This is an essay. You need to send this somewhere.” She inspired me, and so I submitted it!
Chila: And we're glad you did! Outside of caring for your family and writing, what makes you happy? Favorite books or places to visit? Special photos or remembrances? Kooky television shows? Volunteer activities?
Ann: Making pottery and teaching make me happy. Making pottery is thrilling in a similar way to writing—I know what I want, and all I want to do is keep trying to get there. Teaching also feels like art, but instead of clay or words, the medium is people. And so teaching is less predictable, and oftentimes more difficult, but I have so much appreciation for the students I teach and the teachers I admire and the ways that I hope to grow as a teacher. Teaching, like ceramics and writing, scares me and thrills me and makes me want to be better and better.
Chila: That's cool, Ann, and a worthy process and goal. Now, I see that you attended Harvard and then taught before moving to the Midwest. Do you miss it? Will you try to get back into it at some point?
Ann: My partner and I plan to move back to the east coast soon. There are things I like about Cincinnati, and the people I love the most are here, but there are places that are better for me. I want to live somewhere I am comfortable in my body, where there are people that look like me, where what I am fighting for is more often on terms that I chose, rather than only fighting for my humanity.
Chila: What else should we know about Ann Cheng? What can you tell us that will help us put a face and a personality with the two short essays you've provided the Eastern Iowa Review?
Ann: I think my niece is the best niece! My favorite thing is when she puts her head down, makes concentrated pooping noises, and then looks up and grins.
Chila: Tell us the story behind "Grape" and "Hills," and why you felt essays like these would be a good fit for a "journal of good spaces" (which we entirely agree with you on, btw).
Ann: “Grape” and “Hills” come from the time immediately after my niece Lena was born and my mother was diagnosed with terminal cancer. Holding Lena is the best comfort I have, but also the strongest reminder of the future that will continue without my mother. Until my mother’s diagnosis this past summer (2015) when I moved home, I talked to her on the phone every day for at least half an hour. So while I am writing about death, I am also writing about the family that is so warm and so good in the face of unfathomable loss.
Chila: I was so sorry to hear about your mother; these things certainly change our perspective on life and what's meaningful. Tell me, how does your heritage inform essays like these? That is, give us a glimpse into your upbringing and what it means to you, how you transformed in your view of it over time.
Ann: Moving from Boston to Cincinnati is a shock to the system of a mixed-race Asian woman, and being here again brings back memories from my childhood. Many of these memories form the foundation of my racial identity, one formed largely of otherness and exclusion. Yet being back in Cincinnati also means my siblings and my cousins, essential parts of the extensive network of my mother’s Hungarian-Jewish family. These are the people I love the most, even if this is not a place that I love.
Chila: When did you first get the serious urge to write down your thoughts about things, life, whatever?
Ann: I am relatively new to writing. I teach high school, and a few years ago I started writing letters to my classes after long weekends or breaks. In these letters, I share vulnerable moments with my students, and often their letters back are similarly open. I realized the satisfaction and power I find in words and the ideas they let me figure out, and I began writing not just for my students, but also for myself. Most recently, I was talking with a friend and she said, “This is an essay. You need to send this somewhere.” She inspired me, and so I submitted it!
Chila: And we're glad you did! Outside of caring for your family and writing, what makes you happy? Favorite books or places to visit? Special photos or remembrances? Kooky television shows? Volunteer activities?
Ann: Making pottery and teaching make me happy. Making pottery is thrilling in a similar way to writing—I know what I want, and all I want to do is keep trying to get there. Teaching also feels like art, but instead of clay or words, the medium is people. And so teaching is less predictable, and oftentimes more difficult, but I have so much appreciation for the students I teach and the teachers I admire and the ways that I hope to grow as a teacher. Teaching, like ceramics and writing, scares me and thrills me and makes me want to be better and better.
Chila: That's cool, Ann, and a worthy process and goal. Now, I see that you attended Harvard and then taught before moving to the Midwest. Do you miss it? Will you try to get back into it at some point?
Ann: My partner and I plan to move back to the east coast soon. There are things I like about Cincinnati, and the people I love the most are here, but there are places that are better for me. I want to live somewhere I am comfortable in my body, where there are people that look like me, where what I am fighting for is more often on terms that I chose, rather than only fighting for my humanity.
Chila: What else should we know about Ann Cheng? What can you tell us that will help us put a face and a personality with the two short essays you've provided the Eastern Iowa Review?
Ann: I think my niece is the best niece! My favorite thing is when she puts her head down, makes concentrated pooping noises, and then looks up and grins.
I so appreciate Ann's thoughts on her writing and life, and wish her only the best in the days ahead. May she place herself exactly where she feels she needs to be. And hugs to the little punkin' these essays speak of! ~Chila
Ann Cheng currently lives in Cincinnati, Ohio in a house with eight people and a baby.
Ann Cheng currently lives in Cincinnati, Ohio in a house with eight people and a baby.
