Crying in H Mart

by Michelle Zauner

I remember these things clearly because that was how my mother loved you, not through white lies and constant verbal affirmation, but in subtle observations of what brought you joy, pocketed away to make you feel comforted and cared for without even realizing it.

Above all, I wanted so desperately for her last words not to be pain. Anything, anything at all but that.

It felt like the world had divided into two different types of people, those who had felt pain and those who had yet to.