The Parents are in Town!

Since I moved back to Los Angeles after my two-year stint living in Hong Kong, my parents have not visited me and it has been almost a decade! This past Labor Day weekend, my mother and stepfather finally came to town, and everything that could go wrong went wrong. No running water, racist attack, and my car died in the middle of Hollywood—all within the first two days of their visit.

A water pipe on my street burst the night before my parents’ arrival and I had no running water for 20 hours! The workers from the LA Department of Water and Power were up all night attempting to fix the issue with no idea when the problem would be fixed. When my parents arrived the next day, I couldn’t bring them home after their long flight because we couldn’t use the toilet, wash our hands, or cook. It’s so easy to take for granted the luxury of running water! I took them to lunch at Din Tai Fung for Taiwanese food and then walked around Century City Mall. After a couple hours, we decided to come home with the game plan of walking to a nearby cafe to hang out when any of us needed to use the bathroom. When we got home, the water still was not fixed. My parents wanted to relax after their plane ride and did not want to have to go out again so we were all hesitant to hydrate. Fortunately after a couple more hours, the water came back on before we had to venture out to find a toilet! Hallelujah! Thank goodness I showered and washed my hair the night before.

On their first night in LA, I took them to one of my old favorite restaurants, Tar & Roses, in Santa Monica. I hadn’t been in 2 years and was excited to be able to share the experience with them. I don’t go out to eat that often anymore because I’m finding that the quality and service has changed a lot since the pandemic and I’m usually disappointed. Of course, it’s even more difficult to impress my parents. They are accustomed to delicious seafood in Boston. The restaurant scene in Boston is amazing, unpretentious, less expensive, and always reliable wherever you go. And the pandemic has not changed that. When I was there recently this past May, I found myself impressed by every single meal I ate out at a restaurant.

And then after dinner, we were victims of a verbal racist attack. As we walked back to my car on Santa Monica Blvd and 5th, a white man pulled at his eyes and yelled, “Hey, hey, you Ch*nk family!” Fortunately, my parents didn’t understand what happened. They didn’t understand what the man said or did. But I understood and my blood boiled. I yelled obscenities at him as he walked away. I explained what happened to my parents and they weren’t upset. Or maybe they were and just didn’t show it. They were probably used to internalizing it. But I don’t want this to be something anyone has to “get used to.” My parents survived a genocide and came to America as refugees searching for a better life and it seems like not much has changed since their early days in this country. My mother has already been through so much in this life and I was so upset that she had to experience racism in LA on her first night visiting me.

The incident was triggering. Made me think of the years of microaggressions and acts of racism that I have experienced my entire life. When someone makes you feel less than one day, sure, maybe you can shrug it off. But how about if someone makes you feel less than every day. Or maybe once a week, once a month. Then multiply that by every year you have lived. And now imagine it’s not just one person making you feel less than all those years. It’s someone at work. Someone at school. Someone at the grocery store. Someone off the street. It’s your neighbor. It’s someone in your friend group. It’s not one person you can avoid. Not one incident. It’s everywhere. Throughout different stages of your life. Happening again and again. What does that do to your mental health over time? What does that do to your sense of worth?

Going into the weekend, I was already feeling fragile with some other things going on in my life and also with everything happening in Afghanistan, which is a reminder of what happened to my parents in Cambodia with the genocide. It’s so sad and upsetting. During the early days of the pandemic, I went on walks often to get out of the house. Then I stopped when the violence against Asian Americans, and particularly the Asian elderly, increased. Only in the last couple months, I had been feeling comfortable enough to go on walks again and then this happened. It’s not something I could just easily shake off.

The next day, I took my parents for a Thai lunch at Hoy Ka in Hollywood. When we walked back to my car afterwards, my car wouldn’t start. I had to call for a tow truck and learned that my car battery was dead. Got a jump start and had to spend our afternoon at Pep Boys waiting to get my battery replaced. This was the 3rd thing that went wrong that weekend. I tried as hard as I could to put on a face so that I wouldn’t worry my parents, but the truth is, I felt so beaten down. I’m sure they noticed. I had no appetite. I couldn’t eat. When we came home, I saged the apartment. My mother superstitiously threw rice and salt over my balcony and did a short prayer with insence. Leading up to my parents’ visit, I had already been stressed for weeks with work and it had been on my mind all weekend. That next day, I collapsed onto my bed and napped for two hours. I never nap but I was so emotionally and mentally exhausted and my body couldn’t hold it in anymore. You can try to act like everything is okay, but your body doesn’t lie. Everything was not okay.

People say things happen in threes. That was it for us that weekend—the broken water pipe, the racist attack, and my dead car battery. We spent the rest of their time in LA cooking, eating, and visiting the Venice Canals and the beach. I’m glad my parents visited me but I’m sure it wasn’t the best trip for them. After I dropped them off at the airport, I felt a huge weight lifted from me. I no longer felt pressure to pretend that everything was okay. I felt like I could sort through all my complicated emotions and thoughts without having to fake it. I felt like I was finally allowed to be exhausted and not have to worry about how that was perceived or how it would affect anyone else.

That same week after much contemplation, I decided to part ways with a client. I realized it was not a good fit for me and it had been negatively affecting my mental health for weeks. Sometimes you have to walk away and let go of things that don’t serve you, as hard as it may be. When I made the decision, I came home and napped for two hours! The next day, I napped again. I’ve never napped so much in ONE week! My body was mentally and emotionally drained. And it took me about 5 days to recover. I am just starting to feel like myself again. I’m slowly coming back to life.

It’s ironic that my last post was about feeling good. As easily and quickly as things can go well, things can all come crashing down at once as well. You have to take the good with the bad. Things can change and turn around in a second. But all experiences are learning experiences and we can’t have one without the other.

I would love to add some new recipes to the blog soon. But for now, I need to take care of my mental health, listen to my body, and give myself a break. In the meantime, check out my Instagram for all the yummy food we ate during my parents’ visit!

Life Right Now

The last couple of weeks have been very emotional for me, as I’m sure it has been for everyone. I’m angry, upset, and sad that we live in a world that is filled with so much racism, violence, and hate. News and social media are flooded with updates on more violence and police brutality. I can’t help but read up on everything—every death, every act of violence reported, every story, and people’s opinions of events, and then getting emotional and angry. I think we all have a lot of learning and unlearning to do. I want to help in any way that I can by sharing the news, signing petitions, donating to the Black Lives Matter movement, and also protesting (this was my first time). Change is needed and these protests have already made a difference over the last 3 weeks. Amongst all this chaos, it’s beautiful to see people come together to fight for change.

However, a part of me also feels helpless. The first weekend of the protests were a little scary because I live in the middle of where a lot of the violence and looting erupted. This caused curfews to be placed on the city for 5 days, storefronts on every street to be boarded up, and the National Guard to be called in. With a global pandemic, civil unrest (rightfully so), and 3 months of lockdown, my anxiety was soaring. It was hard to focus on work yet work was busier than ever. I wished there was more conversation at the digital “office”. A part of me was addicted to keeping up with all the news updates, but at the expense of my own mental health. I thought it was my duty to keep up with everything and share it on my social media channels even though it made me feel enraged and emotional all the time. I thought that if I didn’t do those things, if I didn’t immerse myself in all of the negative things happening in the world, then it would mean that I didn’t care. So I was not allowing myself a “break” from the news. I was not allowing myself to feel any type of joy. But what good was that doing to anyone, including myself? Can I still learn, listen, and share without drowning in all of the negative news?

I had my 2nd anxiety attack last week (my first one was at the start of the lockdown). With the world around me feeling like it’s falling apart and living mostly in self-isolation for months, I have felt really alone and sometimes, scared in my own apartment. I’ve been very emotional in the last 2 weeks and I’ve cried a lot. Like the rest of the world, I’m probably just feeling more vulnerable and sensitive to everything because I’m worn down by all of the problems we are facing right now—the pandemic, the lockdown, social distancing, the downfall of our economy, and also the recent protests that have shed more light on the injustice and racism that still exists in the U.S. today. I’m worried about my future. I’m worried about the world. I feel disconnected from people. Everyone is struggling mentally right now and dealing with their own problems so it’s hard to seek consolation from anyone.

Recently, a particular childhood memory had been reoccurring in my thoughts and making me feel very emotional. I was maybe about 5 years old, living in Stockton, CA as a child. My older sister was in school. My younger sister was next door, at the neighbor’s. My father was around, even though he was usually absent during my childhood. My mother urged me to go to my neighbor’s with my younger sister. But I didn’t want to. At 5 years old, I felt too proud to go to my neighbor’s. I didn’t want to feel like a burden. I didn’t want them to think I needed them. I felt embarrassed and maybe even ashamed. My parents needed to leave. I think they were going to work. They got into the car and backed out from the parking lot of the apartment complex. I cried. I cried while running after their car, yelling out for them and begging them not to leave me. And then, they were gone. I ran back into the apartment, sat on the couch with tears streaming down my face. Then I saw a rat run across the living room and I screamed and cried even harder. I don’t remember what happened after that. Maybe I watched cartoons and eventually stopped crying and fell asleep. I don’t know. I was always a scared child. I’m a scared adult too, actually. I’ve always remembered this moment from my childhood but for some reason, it had been replaying in my head a lot during the first week of the protests in LA.

Then I realized the parallel. I live in an apartment by myself. I’ve felt very alone and scared here during the pandemic and the initial violent protests. There is an annoying squirrel that I’m scared of also that runs back and forth across my balcony rail, and sometimes he even comes up to my balcony door. I’ve had this squirrel problem for some time but I have never been home as much as I have been now due to the pandemic. I’ve named him Stuart. Sometimes Stuart crawls up my screen door, sprawled out like spiderman. One time, he climbed up my balcony chair, stared at me, and then jumped towards me but hit the window and fell back. I don’t like Stuart. He’s aggressive. He startles me sometimes when I’m out there and I run back into my apartment. I just realized that the squirrel is symbolic of the rat from my childhood memory!

Also, I had spoken to my ex-boyfriend the weekend of the first violent protests in my neighborhood, and I broke down and cried to him. I broke down a lot that first week. I was so upset and scared. He offered to come over to be with me, and he even said I could stay at his place if I was too scared at my apartment by myself. It was a nice gesture but I said no, even though it would have been nice to not be alone and to be comforted by someone who I knew cared about me. Instead, I cried all week on my own. Then I realized HE was playing the role of my neighbor from my childhood memory! Granted, there are other complications with seeing an ex-boyfriend, but I was also too proud. I didn’t want to appear needy and weak, and maybe I was even a little embarrassed that I was falling apart emotionally.

The current circumstances of the world seem to have brought me back to how I felt when I was 5 years old—abandoned, neglected, isolated, scared, and alone. I don’t blame my mother. She survived a genocide in Cambodia and an abusive marriage with my father. She was learning a new language, adapting to living in a new country as an immigrant and refugee, going to community college, and working 3 different jobs to support us. She had very little resources then and we were poor. But I was a little girl, scared at home and scared of the world and scared of my father.

It was very powerful for me to realize all of these parallels. I don’t have to relive my past though. I can change my present. I can change the trajectory of my future. I don’t have to be completely alone and isolated all the time. Even though it is challenging to connect with people right now during a time of social distancing, I can still make more of an effort. It might take a little work to find the right people to connect with, since everyone is going through their own issues right now and may not have the capacity to be as supportive as I might need.

But it’s not impossible, I hope. I had this problem a few weeks ago and sought out the company of a couple of friends (honoring social distancing guidelines), thinking it would make me feel better to see people, but then I actually felt worse after seeing them. I didn’t feel like I could share with them all of my feelings. I felt judged. I didn’t feel understood. It didn’t seem like they wanted to engage in the type of conversation that I was craving with another human being. Seeing them just reinforced my feeling of being alone and made me feel even more depressed. However, I can’t let that one attempt, and a couple others, deter me. I just have to keep trying (and brush off the disappointment and maybe even rejection) and be open to reaching out more, asking for help, and accepting help. I am so grateful that I have my Zoom appointments with my therapist every other week.

Even though some stores, restaurants, and businesses have started to reopen and more people are out, the pandemic still exists. Masks are required to be worn everywhere. It’s such a strange time we live in. A part of me is confused as to how to proceed with my life. I feel anxious about the transition back to some sort of normalcy. Maybe what I’m feeling is social anxiety because I’ve gotten so accustomed to quarantining. I’ve seen people gathering together in groups and expanding their social loop. And this makes me feel like I should be doing the same versus continuing to practice social distancing and being alone. I think a part of me is envious because I don’t know if I’m ready to start socializing again or even where to begin.

I’ve lost touch with people during the lockdown. Or maybe I was never really in touch with them in the first place? I just don’t feel like many people are available to me anymore for a few different reasons. Everyone has different comfort levels with seeing people during the pandemic. A lot of people my age have partners and families and don’t really feel a need to expand their loop beyond that or they are just dealing with their own challenges at the moment. In the past, my outlets for socializing, when my partnered friends weren’t available, would be to join activity groups or attend different networking events. Right now, it’s not really an option though because of the pandemic. I guess my fear is that if I try to find my way back to “normal,” I will realize that the pandemic wasn’t the reason I was alone. I may have been alone even before. I think I’ve felt alone for most of my life. And I need to change that. I don’t have to live my life like that little 5 year old girl, crying on the couch by herself.

At the beginning of the pandemic, I found different ways of entertaining myself—practicing ukelele, taking long walks, trying lots of new recipes, organizing, yoga. Over time though, I have felt less and less motivated to do any of those things. But I think, along with making more of an effort to reach out and connect with people, I also need to get creative again and explore newer ways of sparking joy for myself. It’s okay to seek joy. It’s okay to take breaks from the news and social media. It doesn’t mean that I don’t care about the injustice that is happening around the world.

I made doctor appointments this week now that offices are accepting patients again. I have an annual physical scheduled, a physical therapy session, and an upcoming appointment with an Ear, Nose, Throat specialist that I had been putting off for over a year. I also have a massage scheduled for this Friday. My body has been so tense and tight, and a massage will definitely help with all of the stress that I’ve been feeling and holding onto.

I’m healing old broken wounds. I’m falling apart so that I can put myself back together. I’m learning how to take care of me. And that is a journey in itself.