Discovering My Ancestral Home in China: A Journey Through Tragedy and Climate Crisis that Inspired ‘Red Pockets’

My book Red Pockets dives deep into inheritance and the ties we have to our ancestors and future generations. What do we owe the places we call home? This journey started with a visit to my ancestral village in Guangdong, China, after nearly a century apart, shaped by migration and upheaval.

In spring 2018, I finally visited during my research on petrochemical pollution in Guangdong. Coincidentally, it was the Qingming festival, a time when people honor their ancestors by cleaning tombs and making offerings.

My village was surprisingly well-preserved, just as my grandfather described. Taishan, known as the “home of overseas Chinese,” holds many similar clan villages due to its history of migration.

This trip stirred a mix of emotions. One elder remembered my family’s troubled past. Our ancestors faced early deaths, lost tombs, and our ancestral house was taken during the Cultural Revolution. Restoring our family’s place there seemed impossible; we’d need to build anew and gift money in lucky red pockets to the villagers. It made me ponder: what happens if we don’t honor our ancestors each spring?

Once back in the UK, the stories of pollution and ancestral neglect lingered with me. They took on new meanings as I continued studying toxic pollution and environmental injustice. In Chinese beliefs, neglected ancestors can become hungry ghosts, bringing misfortune and ecological harm. With climate change worsening, these hungry ghosts reflected feelings of grief, illness, and anxiety.

After feeling disillusioned by COP26 in Glasgow, it dawned on me that our debts to past and future generations are heavy. This realization fused two themes in my writing: my personal journey back to my roots and the broader challenge of addressing the climate crisis. I aimed to explore healing amid the loss of worlds we once knew.

Writing this book was a personal struggle. I needed to connect with the concept of hungry ghosts more intimately. Initially, I approached it academically, examining Chinese beliefs and global climate disasters. But I soon realized that my own voice was essential. When I infused personal experiences, the idea of ghosts became vivid and alive.

These hungry ghosts symbolize our physical and spiritual divides, the environmental crises impacting our lives: “A divided self, a divided world, a failure to honor…” They urge us to confront our broken responsibilities.

As I shifted to more hopeful themes, the burden of the narrative lightened. I discovered ways to coexist with these ghosts, finding joy in despair, and paths to connection despite our disconnection. This journey led me to an offering: a narrative of compassion and resilience in defending our lands and ourselves.