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Josafat Moreno likes to go by Josco, pronounced hose-co. He has the slender build of a 17-year-old but he’s actually 46. Josco’s mustache sprawls across his upper-lip. It matches a small patch of hair under his lower lip and his neat chin-beard. His black hair appears to have a mind of its own. Sometimes he tames it with a rubber band, which reveals a buzzcut on the sides. Otherwise, the long locks across the top of his head dance around freely. Based on his physical appearance, some may call Josco a “hipster” who lives in a newly gentrified part of Brooklyn. Others may assume that he’s just another European footballer with a trendy haircut. He thinks of himself as an artist. But out of the many things that Josco can be labelled, most people won’t guess that he came into America as an illegal immigrant. Josco doesn’t really flinch or…

Downtown Flushing, Queens. The doctor’s assistant talked as he worked. He had heard of Stony Brook University, he told us in an accent like our own, but he had attended another American medical school. “Are you a royal prince?” my mother inquired further, her Beijing accent subdued. “Yes,” said the assistant, not offended. “Where are you from?” He replied, unsurprisingly, “Qingdao.” Of course. Why else would he speak Mandarin in an accent that, quite frankly, held as much retroflex as our own? His city has, for the past century, been the hub of activity in Shandong province; a neighbor of Beijing. Like all northerners, their people punctuate their sentences with rolling Rs, unabashedly slurring their words together in an accent so guttural it would make a German blush. — There is no doubt that children are precious in every culture, least of all in Chinese culture. The one-child policy has,…