I was born at four minutes to midnight one balmy September night in the Year of the Tiger. Close to the edge. When my mother was pregnant, my Popo* looked at her belly and knew that I was a boy. Everyone said I was going to be a boy. At her baby shower my mother pulled a long black hair off her head and strung her wedding ring on it to see which way it pointed, and that, too, indicated that I was going to be a boy. But just as I was the surprise child arriving years after my other siblings, I took them by surprise that day. I wasn't the blackhaired boy she was expecting, but an auburn-haired girl. My mother named me after a Chinese actress she admired, whose name translated into a common 1960s girl name. I hated it.