Tonight, Chris and I went to see the play Aubergine, a play about the power of food as a form of expression that could potentially be stronger than words. It was particularly amusing because the playwright is Korean, and it’s told from the perspective of a Korean American who has already lost most of his Korean language skills. Throughout the play, they touch on a variety of issues, including lack of generational understanding, the pressures to live up to strict Asian expectations and upbringing, the failure of Asian families to acknowledge many truths and human emotions. In the end, the protagonist’s father dies after not having had the soup that his son, a chef, had so painstakingly made for him as his last meal before leaving this world (he even killed a live turtle for this soup to please his uncle, his dad’s brother who came all the way from Korea to see his older brother one last time). And the son thought in the end, he didn’t even want to eat my soup; he died without me in the room. Not only did he not want my soup, he didn’t want to have his last moment on earth be with me. It was a painful moment.

Shows like this always remind me of the inevitable fact that one day, my parents will pass from this world, and it’s absolutely terrifying to me. In the back of my mind, I wonder and probably know that there will be many things I won’t get to say before it’s too late; it’s like how I felt with my brother. Except in my parents’ case, in a “normal” life, children should live to see their parents pass, not vice versa. I should accept this as a fact, as a part of my upcoming reality whenever that may happen. Will they know that I always worry about them and wonder if they are truly happy? Will they know that I always wanted the best for them in the same way that they always thought they wanted what is seemingly the best for me? Will they know I wished every day that they could trust the world a little bit more and have a little less anger against everyone? I don’t think so, and it’s mainly from a lack of understanding. And to be brutally honest, will they know that even though they may one day die, my anger against them because of how they mistreated my brother will likely live on forever in my life, until my death?