Traditional love languages disappoint us, but we are immigrants. Again and again, I witnessed the ways we are adept at starting anew, lives from scratch, snippets cobbled together like a lullaby.
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I learned to love in the language of food, but the consequences of that ran deep.
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Exactly one month ago, I left my office job for good.
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She is the first Vietnamese woman I’ve watched fight in a blockbuster movie, yet a critical examination of fans’ reception shows us the limits of accepting diversity in Hollywood.
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It is not enough to lump such diversity under one name and call it a day.
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Though my mother took such pride in her exceptional Vietnamese cooking, my embarrassment of her smelly dishes originated in elementary school and stayed with me until fourth-year university.
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