Crying in H Mart

by Michelle Zauner

love was an action, an instinct, a response roused by unplanned moments and small gestures, an inconvenience in someone else’s favor.

For the rest of my life there would be a splinter in my being, stinging from the moment my mother died until it was buried with me.

When one person collapses, the other instinctively shoulders their weight.

I wanted to advertise how deeply loved my mother had been. I wanted every passerby to question if they had a love like that.