Coffee Stained Stories

May 3, 2022

🎧

My grandma died last year. It was Valentine’s Day. I was lounging on my couch, in my apartment in Vancouver, when I got the text from my mom. I took a moment, cried a little, then called Mom.

It was early morning in Korea where my parents live. They were getting ready to head up to Seoul. Mom seemed to be in a hurry, and I didn’t have a lot to say, so the call was brief. I sniffled a little before I hung up. 울지마, Mom said. Don’t cry.

There was a literal ocean between us. I didn’t get to attend the funeral. I haven’t hugged my mom or dad since Grandma passed. Grieving in the time of Covid.

Grieving from afar is weird. My job had a bereavement leave policy, and I took two days off from work. But I didn’t go looking for the one black dress I have somewhere in my wardrobe. I think I stayed home and watched dumb shows. Mom sent photos from the funeral, and all I could do was reply with heart emojis.

Isn’t that stupid.

Now, it’s been a whole year and I’ve moved even further away, I live in New York. But I’m thinking about Grandma. And so here I am, at Grief Garden.

March 25, 2022

I was never a candle lighter until my last year of uni, when I had a roommate who was one. She would often light a candle in our living room, and I thought it was pleasant. Quiet and relaxed nights were a rarity that year, but on some of those quiet evenings, I would light a candle, sit on the couch, and read one of Kim Thúy’s books.

When you’re hopping on a six hour flight, all you can really hope for is that the person sitting behind you isn’t a kicker and that the person next you isn’t obnoxious. But if you’re especially lucky that day, you might be seated next to a stranger who’s lovely to chat with and would tell you about a magical bookstore you didn’t know existed.

So it’s a real treat, living my wildest NYC dream of being an MFA student but homesick for Canada, when you get to meet Kim at the gorgeous bookstore that you only know because you were on a plane that one day and she hugs you as if it’s a reunion.

March 29, 2021

If you’ve found the key to success in life AND landed your dream job AND have had no sad days recently AND magically reconnected with your kindergarten sweetheart and then got engaged to her AND bought a beach house AND you don’t check the news– or perhaps slightly more realistically, you’re thriving in whatever way that might look like to you – I love that for you.

But this is for you who’s not thriving. Like that one song from that one sitcom goes, if it hasn’t been your day, your week, your month, or even your year, this is for you.

You see, I’m a highly feel-y person. And to be honest, it took a fckn’ global pandemic for me to acknowledge and accept that fact. Last spring, I broke down crying at the grocery store looking at the empty shelves in the canned goods and pasta aisle. And in the days and months that followed, I’ve been numb, I’ve been angry, I’ve been sad, I’ve been exhausted, I’ve been bored out of my mind, I’ve been anxious, with a lot of what’s been going on in the world, in life, and in my mind.

Some days, all it takes is a good cup of hot coffee for me to feel great about the day ahead; some nights, it takes seconds for unprovoked sadness to kick in. Some days I’m mesmerized by the little ducklings at the park or the fresh tree buds that signal spring’s arrival; other days it might be gorgeous out and I don’t feel like stepping outside. I have moments where I feel optimistic about the post-pandemic future that we’re about to create together; other times, I’m irritated and exasperated just thinking about it.

I’m grateful, though, that I’ve started learning to put my feelings into words. And I’m proud to have started to give my mental heath at least close to as much love and attention as I might into maintaining a healthy body.

This is for you who’s not feeling great, you who feels as far away as could be from thriving. And this is for me who will have my share of high highs and low lows.

It won’t always feel this way. It won’t always be this way. In the meantime, be generous to yourself – it’s been a difficult time.

You’re beautiful. You’re brilliant. You’re resilient. You’re so damn strong – even if your brain sometimes tricks you into thinking that you’re not. Even if you haven’t done anything remotely productive today, yesterday, or the day before that.

You’ve got this.

March 22, 2021

Here in Canada, we often like to think of ourselves in terms of how different we are from our southern neighbours. But when you look at the two countries’ histories, it’s impossible not to notice the same forces and patterns that have shaped them both, often with strikingly similar timelines. Through colonialism, white supremacy, wars, resistance, migration, civil rights and solidarity movements – all of it.

In the present moment, too. Some of the most haunting and enraging news headlines of this past year, out of Minneapolis, Louisville, D.C., Atlanta, might have come from across a physical border. But we’d be in complete denial if we pretended that systemic injustices and racial hate stopped at the border.

This week, I find myself re-reading Cathy Park Hong’s Minor Feelings: An Asian American Reckoning.

February 20, 2021

I could talk about how upsetting it is not to have been able to fly out to Seoul and be with family to hug them and grieve with them at this time. I could talk about the relief in the knowledge that she’s no longer in pain as she had been for so long.

I could talk about how faithfully she served God. And how many people’s hearts she touched with her generosity and wisdom. But I don’t doubt there’s people far better versed than I am to attest to that.

Today I’m simply thinking about her and celebrating the woman that I’ve been blessed to have known as my grandmother:

A true family matriarch, she was the love of my grandpa’s life, mum to four incredible humans and their spouses, and grandma to us four little ones.

She laughed boisterously. She prayed for her children and their children daily. She lived and loved fiercely. And she’ll be missed so dearly.

February 1, 2021

Longtime readers of the blog will know that I am a huge This American Life fan.

Don’t worry, I’m not delusional: I don’t pretend to have an imaginary fanbase of longtime readers. I just love when podcast hosts say things like: “Longtime listeners will know that our producer so-and-so has eleven dogs,” and I wanted to say it this one time. Let a girl daydream, ok?

Anyway, for the first week of 2021, This American Life re-ran an episode called “The Show of Delights.” There I was introduced to Ross Gay’s Book of Delights, a collection of essays about -you guessed it- delight. For one year, every day Gay wrote down things that delighted him. One time, it was carrying a tomato seedling through airport security and onto a plane, and the unusual, hilarious, delightful interactions that ensued.

Listening to this (and later, his book), I was inspired to give it a try myself. It wasn’t going to be beautifully-written, thought-provoking essayettes like his, but I would write down something that delighted me each day.

Let me remind you, as if you don’t already know far too intimately: January 2021 was a crazy news month, and in many ways, a continuation of the difficult times that it has been for some time. But one could argue, what better time is there than now to actively look for delightful moments in life? I thought of it kind of like how I try to force a habit of gratitude when I’m feeling most ungrateful.

So I did indeed start a practice of writing down the little moments of delight every day.

And here, I thought to share some of my daily delights of the past month.

January 31, 2021

Back in late 2019, I was thinking a lot about places. I still do. Interviewing different individuals for this blog, I learned about little bits and pieces of life in cities and towns in far corners of the world. And in turn, I found myself reflecting about some of the places that are near and dear to my heart. And so I wrote about it.

For whatever reason, it sat as a draft for many months. And now, over a year later and in a global pandemic that has confined my life and my imagination mostly to my living room, stumbling upon what I had written then hits a different spot. And I thought I’d finally share it.

Summer-into-fall thoughts, 2020

When you see division wherever you look, anxiety and fear thick in the air, where do you go to find beautiful things?

I say this with humility and caution. I know full well that this season’s been more taxing, more devastating for far too many hearts. But I have struggled, to find beauty amidst the heartaches. Nuance-less attempts for a positive spin only agitate me more.

But… I’m attuned to season changes now more than ever. In the absence of a packed schedule and the bustling rhythm of the pre-pandemic normal, I know better what sustains my soul.

Can we stand with those who are oppressed, forgotten, mistreated, misunderstood? Those whose sacrifices and sufferings are taken for granted. Can we hurt with those who hurt – it’s been a year of a lot of that.

After all, don’t we all feel – the anger, the fear, the grief, the despair, as well as the little wins and glimpses of joy –

It’s that perfect peach. It’s the melty cheese. It’s the summer breeze. It’s the beautifully made bed every once in a while. A carefully curated bookshelf is like a well-stocked pantry, and a shared laugh makes a world of difference.

And you know… as for making a difference in the world, we can do better, we will do better, it is that important.

And yes, I had to look long and hard. But even when it feels foggy with a mix of heavy emotions, there’s hope, there’s strength, there’s beauty here still.

Yours,

S.

June 2020

I haven’t been able to write these past few weeks. I’ve scribbled pages and pages of messy notes in my journal about all that’s been going on in the world, but trying to articulate it in a way that is coherent and beautiful has been impossible. As someone who has a pathological need to write to make meaning of what happens in my world, this has left me feeling apprehensive.

Though, arguably, this isn’t the time to fret about producing something beautiful. You don’t create a beautiful world by only choosing to see what’s beautiful, by looking away from the injustices and the brokenness in your world – especially ones that don’t touch you directly.

Admittedly, that’s what I’ve been doing all this time. While I’ve been frustrated to find a divided society in which people seem unwilling to listen, I never listened, either. My understanding of how marginalization plays out in my own city is upsettingly limited. I know shockingly little about Black and Indigenous histories here in Canada.

This week’s episode of This American Life, titled Here, Again captures so much of what’s been at the forefront of my mind that I’ve struggled to articulate. There’s nothing in this episode that’s presented as brand-new information or a radical idea. And yet, it resonates with me.

An exhaustingly familiar story, as the makers of the show call it.

Yours,

Sarah

Mid-April thoughts, 2020

This isn’t easy. I’ve been thinking a lot about what my friend Bianca said to me the other day:

“Now even more so than ever, we need a little compassion and care. We’re all going through something really difficult right now, we’re not all doing ‘fine.’ We’re all worried about something.”

Here are some of the things I’m feeling. Some of my thoughts, worries, and reflections this April.