 |
| Photo by Flo Dahm from Pexels |
Dear me,
While reading Crying in H Mart by Michelle Zauner, I couldn't help but naturally seek a part of me in her story. That was of course found through food and HMart. Except I didn't grow up with H Mart because there simply wasn't one in Utah. Instead, I grew up in the small Vietnamese markets hearing Vietnamese words float by my ears; picking up my favorite Asian snacks like Yeo's soy milk, yan yan, and the multiflavored gum packs where the gum came in tiny balls, and whose flavors were quickly lost as I tried to chew through a big glob trying to see how big I can make this bubble. It wasn't ever a big bubble.
I found a comfort in seeing chè in the fridge alongside the Vietnamese yogurt, bánh mì that can be quickly made to order, and some bánh xèo and gỏi cuốn that you can just pick up. The bánh rán and bánh tét and chả lụa I later learned you just can never find in an H Mart just because it's distinctly Vietnamese. It took me many months and stumbling before I was able to find them here in Washington state. The Vietnamese language floating around me, the aisles distinctly tiny, and me towering a bit over everyone. (I am barely taller than an average Vietnamese person from what I have observed, post-puberty.)
It's not quite home, but it eases my homesickness and my hungry stomach. And it helps to know that for a moment I'm not alone in my ever wandering place in this world.
And now the weather:
0 comments:
Post a Comment