Time

You can't buy time, turn back time, stop time, speed up time, or slow down time. When it comes to the people you love, there is never enough time. Life is strange and things can change in a matter of seconds. To say that the last two weeks have been tough is an understatement. It has been one of the scariest and most challenging moments in my life. My mom is my most favorite person in the world and to see her in pain, in critical condition, broke my heart. Her condition has slowly improved over the last few days and she's showing progress but it's still early. I pray every day and every night that my mother will have a full recovery.

That first day I saw her in Neuro ICU after her operation was horrible. I saw my mom at her weakest. It was tough. I had to be brave and strong for her but inside, I wanted to break down and cry. It’s difficult to see someone you love in that condition. I have been visiting my mom in the hospital everyday for the last two weeks for 4-5 hours at a time. I have been updating my sisters and my family every night, but they didn’t have to see her. They didn’t see her frail and bruised body, the tubes that went into her nose and down her throat, the needles that went into her veins, the bandages or the 50 staples in her head. They didn’t hear her weak, barely audible voice, her complaints of pain, discomfort, and fear or her pleas for food and water. She was so uncomfortable in the hospital and there wasn’t much I could do. I was helpless.

I could not eat, sleep, or function that first week. But I had to put on a brave face for her and for my stepfather who needed to lean on me. But the thing is, I needed someone to lean on too. I couldn’t keep all of this stress, worry, and fear in. It’s not part of my parent’s culture to ask for help, to talk about family matters. One of the things I realized I needed this year is a community and a community does not have to be just family. My mother has never taught me how to build a community because it’s not part of her culture. But I’m learning now, it is something I need to do for myself despite our cultural differences on this matter. My stepfather does not like me accepting help, but I need help. I can’t do all of this on my own. Working reduced hours (and making reduced income) and checking in with the hospital every morning, making my stepfather lunch, heading off to the hospital every afternoon for 4-5 hours, making my stepfather dinner at his regularly scheduled time, then updating my sisters and uncles every night, and then keeping my stepfather company before he goes to bed. By the end of the day, I am exhausted. I can’t think about food at a time like this and I barely have had time to go to the grocery store. I don’t know what to cook to feed my stepfather. If it were me alone, I’d eat a cup of noodles or a frozen meal just to get by. But my stepfather can’t function that way. I’ve accepted meals from an old friend and from my mom’s friend. My stepfather doesn’t want to burden anyone. Culturally, we are clashing in how we handle a situation like this but I need help or I can’t be strong for him or for my mom. I can’t do it all on my own. I’m going to break.

Then this week, my mom turned a corner and started regaining her strength. She was finally able to start eating again. I was able to bring her food from home, which makes all the difference. Her swallowing wasn’t perfect but it was improving. How do they expect people to heal in a hospital if they are being given horrible food? Eating homemade Cambodian food made a huge difference for my mom and I was so happy that I could help her in that way. After two weeks in the hospital, she was finally discharged and is now in rehab. She is more comfortable and wearing her own warm clothes that I brought for her from home. She seems stronger but she still struggles with daily tasks. She gets frustrated and impatient with herself because she can’t function the way she used to it. It’s going to take some time for my mom to heal but I’m praying for a full and speedy recovery so that she can come home soon.

Back from NYC!

I can’t believe I skipped the entire month of June without writing a blog post! Where did the time go?! After returning from a month long trip to Boston to test out recipes with my mom, I was in LA for a week before I had to fly back out to the east coast again to NYC to see family. Family from Boston, NYC, and Paris with 4 toddlers in tow. It has been an exhausting last 2 months! You have no idea how happy I am to be home! I love my space. I love my alone time. I love my home. I love LA.

I feel really behind on work that I need to do for myself. Just because I have a flexible schedule, doesn’t mean I don’t have work. Just because not all the work I do involves a paycheck, doesn’t mean it’s any less important. Just because my work doesn’t immediately produce an output doesn’t mean it’s not working towards something. Sometimes, I feel like it’s hard for people to understand that. And I just don’t want to constantly have to explain myself or remind people that. Even though the east coast was productive, I feel like I lost a little bit of the momentum I have worked hard to build to get myself motivated and committed to my journey.

Anyways, I am happy to be back home. Happy to return to my routine. Happy to get back to my schedule. Happy to be in my own kitchen cooking again on my terms. I don’t think I will be going anywhere for awhile. Here are a few shots from my trip.

Back in Boston!

One of the best things about being an entrepreneur is having a flexible schedule. I can meet a friend for lunch or spend the morning hiking and then work till midnight afterwards. My working hours don’t have to be within the construct of a rigid schedule. However, there are disadvantages to this lifestyle. Projects and work load are not always consistent. While I can run errands during the work week, I do spend most of my weekends working. I have to pay for my own health insurance. I’m still working out the kinks to a steady stream of income. I must deal with the emotional highs and lows of feeling like both a success and a failure. This is best demonstrated in the below chart created by Derek Halpern. But ya know what? I wouldn’t have it any other way. I do not regret my decision.

I was able to buy a one way ticket home to Boston to spend some time testing out some recipes with my mom. While it has been nice to get out of town, it’s cold over here still. It has been raining everyday. I’ve been here for about a week so far and have already been able to test out 4 Cambodian recipes (pineapple sweet and sour soup, meatloaf, marinated beef salad, and Cambodian omelet) with my mom and make 4 new recipes of mine for her to try (vegetarian curry, vegetarian bolognese, pork carnitas tacos, and sticky toffee pudding). I still have about 4-6 more recipes to test out with her while I’m here. I should probably start thinking about when I’m going to return home to LA. Hmmm…

I got a chance to get out into the city this past Friday to try a new restaurant (Row34) in the Seaport area one night and it was delish. Sometimes you just need a break from the parents and work! I’m also going to NYC this weekend and staying for a few days afterwards to see my sister and my niece.

Here are some pics from my trip so far.

In My Dreams

I had the strangest dream last night. I’m driving along a narrow, dark road with rails. I don’t know where it leads. I don’t know why I’m on this road. And I don’t know where I’m going. I can’t see anything. It’s pitch black. But I keep driving anyway, using the rails to guide me. There are people in front of me but I can’t see them. I keep inching forward cautiously, afraid that I will hit someone. I can’t stay still because I’m in the middle of nowhere. I have to keep moving but I feel nervous. Finally, I get to a crossroads. Darkness has faded and there is finally light but it’s super foggy so I still can’t see very far into the distance. I have 2 options. I can choose to continue going on that same path even though I don’t know where it leads. It looks like it gets lost in the fog. Or I can go into the train station that has suddenly appeared. I choose to go into the train station, but then I don’t recognize any of the destinations on the map. I am frustrated. I don’t know which train to take, where I am, or where I’m going, or how I even got myself into this situation. I’m lost. And then I wake up.

It was one of those dreams that lingered, long after I was awake. They say that dreams are a reflection of your current state of mind. I have also heard that your mind works to resolve issues in your dreams. Perhaps, my dream was trying to tell me something or provide me with an answer to a question I didn’t know I had. This feeling of being lost has been reoccurring for me, not just in my dreams but also in real life. My dream did not need to tell me this. I had been feeling it everyday for maybe…the last year as well as on and off throughout my life. By now, I really should have learned to embrace this feeling. But I naturally resist. I get uncomfortable. I feel anxious. I fight it. I worry about not knowing my destination. I worry about being complacent. I worry about moving in all different directions but never really getting anywhere. Maybe I need to stop trying to hold on so tightly, let go and ride the wave. How do I do that?

About a year ago, I once told a stranger about my journey last year: getting laid off, starting a cookbook, and going through a break up all at once. Embrace the uncertainty, embrace the unknown, he urged. He said, “You may not like your apartment now, but you know what, this could be the last apartment you live in on your own, as a single woman, before you meet your life partner and move in with him.” When I told him about not knowing what I was doing with the cookbook, he said, “You’re going to figure it out. You’re going to finish the cookbook. Once you finish the book, you’re going to think back on this time when you didn’t know what you were doing and appreciate the journey. Embrace this part of the process.” It helped to hear someone say that to me.

This week, 2 random strangers reached out to me, one on my blog and one on my Instagram. The person who reached out to me on my blog is from San Diego and he just wanted to say that he hoped I finished the cookbook and that he loves Cambodian cooking. The person who reached out to me on Instagram wanted to tell me that she peeked at my blog and loved my story and encouraged me to keep writing because she is looking forward to my cookbook. Sometimes, kind words from strangers make all the difference.

xx

Davy

Savory Cambodian Crepe

For as long as I can remember, I have had chronic allergies and difficulty breathing. As a child, I got sick often. As an adult, I still get sick often. Doctors could never identify the problem. I didn't have asthma. Allergy shots didn’t help. It wasn't a severe issue, just uncomfortable and inconvenient. 

When I was 9 years old, my mother, my sisters, and I ran away from my abusive father. We left California and found ourselves in a tiny studio apartment in the suburbs of Boston. We made ourselves a home with hand me down furniture. I shared a full size bed with my mother, while my 2 sisters slept together in the bed next to us. Every time we ran away from my father and moved into a new place, I had issues breathing. My nose often bled. The air was always too dry.  It was never quite right.

One night, I woke up complaining to my mother that I couldn't sleep because I couldn’t breathe. I may have also been sick. My mother led me out of bed and into the kitchen. I immediately resorted to what always soothed me when I couldn't breathe; I climbed onto a stool, stuck my head out of the kitchen window in the middle of a Boston winter. I distracted myself by watching my breath form clouds in the air as the snowflakes gently caressed my face. The cold air calmed me. 

As my head hung out of our kitchen window, my mother pulled out leftover banh chao from dinner earlier that night. She assembled two plates of the savory crepe, mixed it with fresh vegetables and herbs, and smothered it with sweet Cambodian fish sauce. She summoned me over to our dining table. Together we sat in silence, side by side, eating banh chao with our hands. Both of my sisters slept soundly in the open room next to us. 

My mother and I didn't speak. We just ate. In that dimly lit dining room, surrounded by darkness. In the middle of a cold, winter night. In that small studio apartment. Away from my father. And finally, I could breathe again.️