This month I was feeling massively cathartic, more so than usual (hence this post.)
During the first weekend, I celebrated my birthday with a few old and new friends in Monterey Bay. I got a glimpse of playful sea otters gliding on the water, and I swooned. My heart felt like it was going swell out of my body, purely from joy. We hit the coastline of the 17-mile drive, venturing out onto the rocks during low tide, our eyes peeled for any small movements that indicated life was there. I wanted to cry at how much that moment felt like a movie: the sound of waves crashing on the shore, a gentle breeze blowing through our hair, beautiful landscapes surrounding us, newly made friends curiously exploring uncharted lands as though they were children again cautiously but enthusiastically scoping out a new playground.
The following Sunday, I went to the SF Renegade craft fair, and I felt so remarkably moved by the artisans. They’re so freaking cool! Doing what they love, creating art, making a business out of it, and making our day with their joy-sparking creations. I walked away feeling so inspired to get back into my arts and crafts.
Most recently, I bawled my eyes out in bed (several times), got emotionally WRECKED, and hollowed out reading Crying in H Mart by Michelle Zauner. It’s a beautiful, yet heartbreaking memoir about how the author begins to embrace her Korean history and culture following her mother’s cancer diagnosis.
Chapter by chapter, I frequently thought about my own Asian American identity, and my relationship with my parents and their siblings who all grew up in Vietnam and fled to America to raise me, my brother, and my cousins. Reading Michelle’s words, I was reminded that I’d failed to embrace my own culture growing up. That I’ll sever my connection to my aunts, uncles, and grandparents should my parents depart from the earth before them. That I’ll lose the history of everything my parents sacrificed, worked for, and gave to me so I could live this life.
This thought pierced my heart, made it sink, and broke the dam of tears (several times, as previously mentioned.)
The theme from this month’s post is gratitude (fitting considering Thanksgiving happened a week ago.) I owe this life of seeing sea otters and experiencing movie-worthy moments to my parents whose sacrifices and outpour of unconditional love push me to recover my cultural roots while I can. Cảm ơn mẹ, cảm ơn ba.
Onwards, to December:
Grateful,
~ Kaci