In 2021, I met a wonderful group of people who formed the writing club. We gathered periodically in cafes sprinkled across Taipei to sometimes write, mostly chat about life. As 2021 came to an end, we reunited virtually to write our yearly reflections together.
At sharing, each piece shined themes of personal growth or revelations. There was Yun-Te, who reflected on the transition from student to a working professional. Jenny celebrated achievements like speaking in multiple coding conferences. Meanwhile, my page was blank. The past year was still a mess I didn’t want to touch.
2021 at once flew by and dragged on. At a glance, it was a terrible year. In the span of two months, I lost two people dear to me. First, my Ama. Then, my friend Ethan. Both were very sudden. One from heart disease, the other from a car crash.
Growing up, as silly as it sounds, I yearned to experience death. Many autobiographies of successful people include such tragedies. That’s how greatness is built, it seemed.
When I finally met death, it wasn’t so inspiring. It was gray skin and a dark purple tongue. Ama was splayed out lifeless on her bed when I came home. Around me, people were dressed in black, discarding everything red in our house. Our living room was vacated, turned into a funeral hall. Everyone was in a haze — here but not quite here, as if Ama seized a small piece of each person’s spirits as she left.
We didn’t speak about it after the fact, even though everything around us was changing. After completing the funeral traditions, our home was torn down without much notice. Ama’s room became white walls, no longer referred to as “Ama’s room” but the “Japanese style room”.
For as long as I remember, I’d start my days to the sight of Ama rocking with a Japanese novel in her tatami room. “Gao za!” I’d yell. She’d peer up from her book with a smile. Other days, we’d read together — me with an English book in hand, her with a Japanese book. Despite our mismatched native tongues, we found commonality in these silences. Before the abrupt erasure of her physical footprints, these became the memories I cherish most.
I always expected grief to occupy a set time period. One week of crying, then we’re done. But the truth is death stains. It’s a cycle of wounds that bleed, scab, heal, and bleed again.
Sometimes, it is paralyzing, other times, it’s okay enough to mention briefly in a conversation. In the midst of it, death brought uncontrolled breakdowns after a simple “how are you?” and a warped sense of time (how could the world move on so quickly after loss?). Even months later, when I think I’ve moved on, I’d tear up again when Ethan’s favorite Frank Ocean starts playing in a random store.
To encounter these losses and still package 2021 with optimism felt blasphemous. How can I ever frame death in a positive light? I didn’t want to settle for trite adages to round out my year. But, I guess that’s just a human tendency — we make sense of things with the stories we create. Maybe that’s why this quote from a therapist’s memoir offered me so much comfort:
“The price of loving so deeply is feeling so deeply — but it’s also a gift, the gift of being alive,” — Lori Gottlieb
As I look back on 2021, I see that I was blindsided by grief. What I couldn’t see was all the love that made grief possible and palatable. To experience loss requires a lot of gain in the first place. To recover from loss takes a community of support. All around me is love. Though sometimes disguised as pain, these feelings are a gift, the gift of being alive.
Of the many reasons to love, here are a few from the past year:
- Quality family time with siblings and cousins from abroad visiting Taiwan
- First Weiya at PicCollage
- Conquering a couple more peaks — Yushan included
- Participating in funeral traditions to honor Ama’s life with loved ones
- Gabor’s endless support and kindness, even when my dad uses him for tech support
- Familiarity of old friends like Taicrew, Kumquats, Benita, etc
- Deepening new friendships with writing club, PicCollage, etc
- Running and singing by Danshui riverside with Tiff
- Participating in my first design competition with a rockstar team #HOT
- Living with Cindy and Hank, the kindest roommates who feed me peeled fruits despite my intense hair-shedding
- Solo travel in Taidong — strangers and cats who quickly became friends
- Nature overload in Shiding, Pingtung, Kaoshiung and Yuanli
- Work from Tainan with Yun-Te — bonding over life principles and milkfish
- Cozy potluck and company on New Year’s Eve
2021 wasn’t all about death, it was also a year of love. These things can coexist without contradiction, I’m starting to see. “We’re all just people trying to get by,” Yun-Te told me recently. Indeed, we’re all just trying our best to get by. Though I still don’t have many grand revelations from 2021, I’m just glad I got by.
