The Concept of the Asian Robot Maid Has Haunted My Life

“I, Roomba,” excerpted from We Radiant Things by Franny Choi

We named her Rosie. She was a gift from my parents, who have seemed mildly horrified by the state of every apartment I’ve ever lived in. The day she arrived, I did a little dance; it hardly mattered that she had no face. “Good job, Rosie!” we said when she navigated out from under a chair. “Oh, Rosie, I’m sorry,” I said, untangling a yarn ball from her teeth as she blinked in polite distress. I slid merrily around the hardwood in my socks, clearing shoes and backpacks out of her path. She and the cat kept things civil. I was sorry when she died.

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