The first 4 months of 2024 have been… in short, wild. It’s been back-to-back-to-back-to-back, so I’m somewhat forcing myself to write this in hopes of processing some of it.
17 days ago, Tony and I boarded a plane to San Diego to hang out with family, show my Vietnamese cousins around town, and to have our second wedding celebration.
The San Diego wedding was supposed to be a full-fledged celebration, complete with a tea ceremony with both our families and a banquet with 100 of my parents’ closest family and friends!
That is, until my grandma passed away. Instead, we made the decision to cancel the larger wedding, and instead, hold a much smaller banquet dinner for just family.
It truly was a beautiful day. My uncles and parents got emotional during our tea ceremony. We drank and ate and danced and sang the night away. We looked absolutely REGAL in our aó dài. Tony and I got to reaffirm our marriage, and we got to do it surrounded by family members who have gone and continue go far out of their way to show up, from my grandmother’s funeral to our wedding celebration.
I deeply wish my grandma could have been there. I could tell my mom was wishing for the same.
I question a lot about why I was so adamant on not having this San Diego wedding celebration before the Colombia wedding. And now that I see how much these individuals mean to our family, how incredibly happy my parents were that night, I question why I was so resistant to including them in our wedding in the first place.
Maybe if I hadn’t chafed so much against my parents, my grandma could have been there too, to give us advice on marriage in our tea ceremony.
I guess I can’t second guess myself so much… But we’ll certainly see how this shapes future me’s perspectives on family and duty.
Then 12 days ago, Tony and I boarded another plane. This time to Oaxaca, Mexico to hang out with friends, visit David and Iris in their new home, and to work remotely for the week.
I admit— after all the travel and emotional turmoil of our Colombian wedding and honeymoon and funeral for my grandma, Oaxaca seemed like… a lot. I wasn’t emotionally, physically, mentally, spiritually prepared to show up, and I almost cancelled.
That is, until I got an earnest phone call from
convincing me that coming to Oaxaca would be fun, and he would plan it all (and he indeed, did plan it all).Oaxaca was amazing. Those who know me know that I have a terrible habit of falling completely in love with every where I visit, and then day dreaming of whether or not I should move there. But watching David and Iris hit their stride and follow their hearts… how could I not also fall in love???
I learned about how rude it is in Mexico to not greet everyone you see with a buenos días! and a huge smile. Or that you should say buen provecho to every table on the way out. I marveled at Oaxaca’s textures and colors and textiles and murals. Talk about ART and CREATIVITY. My thoughts actually slowed down, in the best way possible.
I learned the value of having friends who not only share their experiences, listen to you, validate your emotions, but also ask questions that make you think twice. At least two times David triggered an introspective psychoanalysis of myself on a ride, just by asking a few follow up questions. I may not be someone who can always reply in the moment, but I super value the opportunities to think more deeply.
(In other words, David, I am still thinking about what it means to be an eco-dictator).
What a gift of friendship and love the week in Oaxaca was.
Then 7 days ago, Tony and I boarded another plane, back to San Diego. Just in time to send my Vietnamese cousins off to Saigon, as well as attend my grandmother’s 49th day funeral rites at the Buddhist temple and send her soul off to the afterlife.
Seeing my grandma’s photo on the altar in the Buddhist temple didn’t knock me over as deeply and completely as it did 7 weeks ago. I suppose that’s healing.
I’m still unsure how my mom is doing. She has been so busy hosting and preparing and cooking and cleaning and working and traveling — she hasn’t had a spare moment to breathe. And she wants it that way.
I have not dealt with even a fraction of what my mom has handled in her 64 years. I haven’t lived through war, moved countries, learned a new language, raised 2 children, taken care of two aging parents until death, worked long hours in thankless jobs... Her resilience and strength has gotten her this far in life, and raised up countless of others along the way.
I guess at what point should I be worried? And how do I know when that is, especially if I’m not around?
Then 4 days ago, Tony and I boarded our final plane to finally head home (I really should buy hella carbon offsets this year). Our little casita in Oakland— an imperfect city, but one that I love and miss whenever I’m away.
Here we are home and are faced with whether or not we should renew our lease in our current apartment, or try to move. These questions are also in concert with questions around… do we want kids? when do we want kids? would we stay in the Bay? should we move to be closer to family in San Diego? how do we make sure to see family in Chicago as well? but how do we also maintain friendships with people we love? how do we create a life where you can balance this all?
Is it even possible?
Anyways, no answers yet. If any of you have advice, I’m all ears.
For now, I’m just daydreaming about living in San Diego near my parents, but spending summers in Chicago and / or Oaxaca, Colombia, or Vietnam, and trying to convince our friends to do the same and / or co-parent with us.
No big deal ;)
My primary thought after I read the post: such rich photos. Rich in texture and color and rich in content. ;)
How is this the first time that I see that middle photo of Tony’s boy band choreography with you as hype MC in the background? Amazing. I’ll know that I have been fully accepted by your family once I get an invitation for karaoke night at your parents’ house. I can’t wait. (And I hope one day we can show them Mexico’s under-rated karaoke scene.)
Your newsletter convinced me that when my precious time comes to an end, I want to be in Vietnam or Mexico. (Or New Orleans, if it has to be the US.) Western, anglo, American death rituals just don’t to it for me. Imagine living nearly a century and all you get is a 60-minute funeral? Call me selfish, but I want my friends to come together for a meal every week for seven weeks. Or to put a photo of me and a plate of peanut butter and banana toast on the altar de muertos every November. Or at a minimum, a second line in New Orleans. (Ideally all three.)
And if Iris and I aren’t commune-neighbor co-parents, we’re gonna at least be the dope tío and tía who teach them fluent Spanish and how to make proper tacos.