Talk back. Stay up late. Don’t do the dishes. Eat pizzas and cakes. Say, “Huh?” when people ask you things in Hmong. And when that man approaches you—sometimes, he is your age, sometimes is as old as your father, sometimes he disguises himself as a savior (a college graduate, an only son, a Christian, a suburbanite, a white man, even a black one)—be wary. I have seen the good girls go down. They smile back. They give out real phone numbers. They sneak out during the daytime. They start framing you for work undone. Next thing you know, you, the bad girl, are the one staying at home, reading, doing homework while she, the good girl, deteriorates into something you have only seen on TV. Soon, the good girl marries, gets pregnant (or perhaps it is the other way around), and she is stuck in that hole she worked so hard to get out of, that hole people like us are born into. It is hard to dig oneself out of that hole with manicured nails and high heels. Worse, a man who continues to shove dirt so that no matter how much she digs, she remains stuck, rooted like a grand oak tree, something we admire from afar but can never transplant, for she is destined to remain in this place. You, who have yet to be born, will never have to touch dirt. But you cannot forget your past. You cannot trick yourself into believing you are separate from us. You cannot return as a savior. That is the trick of it. How can you can know your history and also be free from it?