I am five years old. I sit on the couch in the basement staring at the glimmering TV that cheerfully chatters and sings songs, illuminating the afternoon. The basement is cold and full of crickets. Stacks of silk pillows from Thailand are piled on the black-and-white checkerboard tile floor. Next to the Cambodian fish basket table, rattan baskets are piled with Chinese scrolls my parents accumulated in places they lived abroad like Taiwan and Hong Kong. Behind the television,
