Growing up, I thought birthdays were the best day of the year until you were 18, then 21, then 30… and that anything after that was just an awful sad reminder that you’re old. I also thought that birthdays were the day of when you have a justifiable reason to be selfish, the day of when you could really do whatever the hell you wanted, the day you hopefully get the presents you wanted but didn’t get for Christmas…(and the day you could tell that those who didn’t say happy birthday weren’t your friends)
But I now believe that a birthday is ultimately a date to celebrate another year of survival and hopefully accomplishment preferably with loved ones; we all go through incredible experiences earlier or later, and grow older faster or slower – mentally and physically in years.
When I was a kid with my very active parents and “asian genes”, I believed that my parents could live forever.
I truthfully have done a terrible job in keeping track of my parents’ age (partially in denial that they are aging) and honestly forgot their birthdays a handful of years. It wasn’t until a few months ago that my older brother reminded me that our dad’s 80th birthday was approaching…and that we should probably buy tickets to LA and celebrate with him altogether.
Because of COVID, we cancelled our flight from NYC to LA. But O and I drove over cross country and were just 50 miles away; I certainly couldn’t let COVID deter my dad’s birthday into anything less than awesome.
So like any other overenthusiastic woman planning for her nonexistent child’s birthday…I coordinated as best as I could the best birthday possible.
Stumbling into his old closet in Orange County, I found photo albums stashed away, neglected and gathered them.
In 8 damn decades: photographs changed from classy black and whites to ..sepias resembling an Instagram filter… to vibrant colors and smiles of my childhood with my dad.
Without many dates nor recollection of who is who / where is where, I placed the images from top to bottom, left to right based off of the photo quality and how my dad had matured (just hoping that the baby photo I found was of him – and to my amazement- was)
What I love about my dad is that while he’s been extremely wise, he has always been particularly young at heart – encouraging me to make friends with whoever, hang out with whoever until whenever, play video games like Star War’s Episode 1: Podracer , watch MTV’s Daria, welcome any of my friends over for a slumber party, go out for McDonald’s fries – Full Moon Sushi – and then probably Wendy’s for frosty shakes on our way back home.
While my dad’s memory has been declining, there’s something incredible about the power of photographs and how they trigger memories. While my dad has been living with strangers, I assembled these photographs to remind him how incredible of a life he’s been leading and that his family and friends were always with him in some form – and to my relief, he soaked it all in and explained to me who they were in smiles.
While my dad’s an absolute genius, he’s never instilled the “helicopter parent” or “crazy tiger parent” demands to be #1 at math, science, tennis, or piano at all throughout my childhood. While I was particularly a rebellious prick watching some MTV crap, he was totally faithful in me, patiently helping me with homework everyday. While waiting in lines or in elevators, he’d almost always compliment someone or strike up a happy convo, constantly reminding me to smile and be happy and love others. I was embarrassed, but I get it now. I get why his #1 values were to be happy and always love.
As for celebrating, I thought that it was silly to shower people with gifts and plan accordingly to a theme… but I finally also understand why women, particularly moms go “all out” for their child’s birthday – especially his/her first birthday. This was the closest for me to experience preparing for a nonexistent child’s birthday – one meal and/or present wasn’t enough. Aside from the shadowbox of photos and a Japanese dinner, I prepared a watercolor painting of our dog, big/little dipper card in watercolor, ice wine from Niagara Falls, a telescope since my dad’s been heavily studying Einstein’s theory of relativity, and the celestial cake.
I get why photographers want to capture every single moment of intimacy and laughter (and why you designate a photographer while you host/spend time with family/try to Facetime other family/get music) My parents threw me lovely birthdays where I was “the princess”, and on the flip side- this was my opportunity to be treat him like a king.
Days later and coincidentally Star Wars Day…May the fourth be with you and still – Happy birthday dad. I love you to the moon and back x 17.
Thank you so much to all the support and vendors during this time:
Japanese dinner – Sushi Koshu
Cake – Pufffect Bakery Cafe
Crafts – Michaels
Groceries – Gelson’s
While I was in London, I figured I might as well swing by Paris on my own. Since I was jet lagged for the first 2 days in London, I figured I might as well just take the first train ride to Paris. One all nighter for traveling wasn’t uncommon for me, but 2 hours of sleep on 2 days was entirely a new level that I hope none of us has to endure. But because I was too excited and tossed/turned all night (calling friends of different time zones) I bounced off C’s bed and quickly caught the bus for my 6am train ride to Paris + ridiculous security protocols. (Eurostar is the way to go. Shame on America for not having transportation services like that)
And before I knew it, I arrived Paris within a few hours. My first and last time I visited Paris was back in 2014 and an entirely different experience with my Itoya coworkers (who paid for us to visit everything including the Louvre, Eiffel Tower, and Palais Garnier via Taxi)
Immediately after arriving Paris (ah, the good ol’ Gare du Nord) + picking up train tickets, my priority was to grab a croissant …obviously, further away from the station/shopping. Something about walking down boulevards with no reception was very liberating. As soon as I found a hole in the wall bakery along my path, I walked in. I didn’t even know how to pay for the croissant (nor ask for it), but began pointing at one and am (optimistically) sure that the French owner didn’t overcharge me. That flaky, buttery croissant just smiled at me and spoke to me that I was officially in Paris. And that’s how I really woke up to Paris.
Because I didn’t really plan/RSVP this trip either, I couldn’t visit Musee d’orsay and Atelier des Lumières (damn you Mondays + Pre-sale tickets) However, I did manage to scavenge my way through various city zones and got a good glimpse of the streets. Paris’s metro to me is Tokyo’s metro + NYC’s metro; Efficient with automated announcements, but strangely filthy. Somehow, every train I’ve been on is cooler than NYC’s. I’m still traveling to see which can disprove that.
Whenever I was tired or felt defeated, I grabbed more buttery carbs like this huge galette (+ a glass of champagne) to regain energy.
Fortunately, one museum I was able to step into was Musée d’Orsay, with a fantastic collection of Van Gogh’s water lilies. My photograph doesn’t even capture a quarter of how dainty and wonderful it is to be in the space with lilies that large. Something about museums that I realized I’m disturbed by is when people papparazi around an art piece and take too many selfies for me to never get to. Something that I love about museums is re-experiencing brush strokes, particularly Impressionist work.
Although I’m not a shopping enthusiast, the only shop C recommended me to check out was Merci (but before, a kickass French waittress at Merci’s cafe gave me that wonderful detox tea that really, kicked my ass)
Merci’s store is impressively well curated, quaint, and dangerous with a superb collection of various textiles, accessories, furniture, home decor, stationery, and beauty products (basically, everything I love). If American Apparel + Anthropolgoie + West Elm altogether gave birth, then Merci would be their offspring. Merci tempts me to go all the way back to Paris just to pick up another plate.Although I’m not a shopping enthusiast, the only shop C recommended me to check out was Merci (but before, a kickass French waittress at Merci’s cafe gave me that wonderful detox tea that really, kicked my ass)
While I was a bit concerned about how I’d freely and quickly explore Paris on foot without having to #RentAFrench, be fluent in French, nor carry a fanny pack for my passport, I’m quite proud to say that I did everything I wanted to do…and more. Something about my solo day trip in Paris made me very proud to be a woman. (Was it because I’m a designer? Because I didn’t look suspicious? Because I didn’t keep looking down at my phone?) Whatever the reason was, France made me feel fantastic. Paris is certainly comparable to NYC in having filthy streets. But somehow, it’s still so much more romantic and chic.