Certainly home I grew up in wasn't too overtly Asian in style. Partially because we were just too poor and having 6 kids was too big to care about delicate, ornamental things displayed much at home.
As someone who moved around more than I would have liked, I felt this so deeply Lani 🫶
Now with kids, I feel a self-imposed pressure to create a very specific vision of a home - the one I’d see in movies, shows and in the homes of neighbors and friends. It makes me wonder if I’m building a home the “right” way in the hopes that my girls will never wonder “what is a home?” They’ll just know.
I appreciate all the detail you brought into this piece. It felt like I was right there with you in this memory especially when you spoke of your aunties and uncles! My favorite part of our Asian culture! 🫶
Hmmm. I love that you pointed that out. It is a wonderful community-building way that we Asians can take for granted. Thank you for that.
The fact that you’re concerned about building the right home for your girls is a good sign that you are conscientious and you care. I’m sure as long as the girls feel as though there are spaces for them to express themselves, they will feel right at home. xo
From the yellow of the Giorgio bag to homes that feel "brown" to the Wishful Blue that never even got a chance, this could be an essay based entirely on memory colours. So vivid and evocative, Lani. There's a sadness here though too. I was moved by your descriptions of the paintings and the brush strokes found there since the connection to your dad is palpable.
Thanks for noticing the colors, Sue! 🎨🦚Because I certainly hadn’t on a conscious level! Just the brown ~ brown, brown, homes of Hawaii. I feel very grateful to have grown up in the homes that I had. Nothing fancy, but filled with interesting things to look at and explore! xo
So much imagery here, Lani. It's amazing how much we can remember about the 'stuff' inside a home, from the furniture, the colours, the smells, to your mum's Thai newspapers.
Sorry about the renters and the dog who ruined your home. Although I am inclined less to blame the dog given that the renters were the ones who allowed it roam about so much in the house itself. Ugh some people suck.
Yes, I can’t blame the dog, but the dog owners. Whenever I visit my hometown I like to walk by this house. The current owner is a CRAZY plant person; it’s overgrown so much you can’t see anything else but the foliage.
Home is where you are, Lani! Sometimes home is just the space within the four walls where you feel safe to let down your guards and free to be yourself. ❤️
In my parents’ when we were children, we simply had a tv top ceramic vase (which I have now) and inexpensive nice vase and head bust for goddess of mercy (kuan yin). They didn’t have much money. Water they brought larger floor vases when we were adult.
It’s tough when we don’t have much, but I also believe that what items are around the home reveal the person behind the object. For example, my aunt in Thailand, she’s a hairdresser in a small town, but she fills the cabinets with stuffed animals. These are not high quality ones, but it doesn’t matter; she loves them because she never had them as a child.
Hi Lani, l love the detail and description of the decor of the houses. While l didn’t live in as many houses, the decor in our house and the other houses we frequented during my childhood are the things l remember most. My mother’s best friend is Sri Lankan (Aunty Yvonne), and to enter her house for our weekly Saturday visit, is sparked when l cook the foods that became my favourite staple. Then there were the Yugoslav houses, friends of my father … a totally different vibe, decor, food etc … to the diverse homes of other kids l went to school with (l grew up in a culturally diverse part of Melbourne).
Thank you for opening the many doors to your many residences. The photos, l had to go to photo albums as well, or boxes of photos that are still in those boxes! My mother would often send me envelopes stuffed with photos and the only ones adorning our shelves were those of old b&w ones of ancestors from her side of the family … besides first birthday portraits of my sister and l, above her bed. Sorry, now l am writing an essay 😂.
Anyway, thank you, your writing is so rich and descriptive, it invites us to reflect on our world after we have tasted yours. Thank you 🙏💖
Thank you, Simone. I feel fortunate as well, to have grown up around such diversity. It helps to have the world come to you, especially at a young age, and to be modeled acceptance.
The idea of writing about home seems both natural and daunting. It’s a timeless question, What is home?, but I never tire of hearing the answers. I’m glad my words made you reflect on your own (love that line), too. xxoo
Oh my goodness Lani, what a powerful, layered chapter! And what a great answer to that question "What is home?" I felt every shift: the moves, the colours, the shock, the blood, the reek (eek!) and that vivid texture of growing up between cultures. I love how you hold these memories with such clarity and tenderness ... even the painful ones.
What struck me most was how deeply attuned you were, even as a young girl … to the feel of each neighbourhood, to have to quickly learn the codes of belonging, the quiet humiliations, the Hunger Games (side note: I loved those films!), the small triumphs and the way a paper bag with a designer's name on it ... could change the emotional weather in a room.
And then your portrait of your mother’s world … the Thai aunties and uncles, the décor, the food, the errands that were really a kind of community making. There’s so much love threaded through those details, even when times were hard. You literally shine on the page, for there’s so much joy, laughter and vitality that just bursts through ... even during those shitty, piss-y moments.
It's incredible how you hold both the wound and the wonder of those years. Your writing, as always, is intimate, honest, beautifully observed and funny, of course ... because well, as I'm learning ... you just can’t help yourself!
Thank you so much for inviting us into the living room of your childhood and sit with all the textures and contradictions that shaped you. Bravo! 🙏💖
My goodness, I almost want to go back and reread what I wrote. Such high praise! But what I marvel at is how other people read your work, especially work you’ve lived, and therefore feel some distance to, some mundanity towards.
But as we get older, and I’m sure you can relate as well, I also marvel at the life we’ve lived, what we endured, and how for me anyway, it feels like ancient history. 🙃😆Thank you for your words, and for being here, and for your generosity, always.
Certainly home I grew up in wasn't too overtly Asian in style. Partially because we were just too poor and having 6 kids was too big to care about delicate, ornamental things displayed much at home.
Six kids were the decoration 🙃😅
As someone who moved around more than I would have liked, I felt this so deeply Lani 🫶
Now with kids, I feel a self-imposed pressure to create a very specific vision of a home - the one I’d see in movies, shows and in the homes of neighbors and friends. It makes me wonder if I’m building a home the “right” way in the hopes that my girls will never wonder “what is a home?” They’ll just know.
I appreciate all the detail you brought into this piece. It felt like I was right there with you in this memory especially when you spoke of your aunties and uncles! My favorite part of our Asian culture! 🫶
Brilliant, brilliant, brilliant!
Hmmm. I love that you pointed that out. It is a wonderful community-building way that we Asians can take for granted. Thank you for that.
The fact that you’re concerned about building the right home for your girls is a good sign that you are conscientious and you care. I’m sure as long as the girls feel as though there are spaces for them to express themselves, they will feel right at home. xo
🫶🫶🫶
From the yellow of the Giorgio bag to homes that feel "brown" to the Wishful Blue that never even got a chance, this could be an essay based entirely on memory colours. So vivid and evocative, Lani. There's a sadness here though too. I was moved by your descriptions of the paintings and the brush strokes found there since the connection to your dad is palpable.
Thanks for noticing the colors, Sue! 🎨🦚Because I certainly hadn’t on a conscious level! Just the brown ~ brown, brown, homes of Hawaii. I feel very grateful to have grown up in the homes that I had. Nothing fancy, but filled with interesting things to look at and explore! xo
So much imagery here, Lani. It's amazing how much we can remember about the 'stuff' inside a home, from the furniture, the colours, the smells, to your mum's Thai newspapers.
Sorry about the renters and the dog who ruined your home. Although I am inclined less to blame the dog given that the renters were the ones who allowed it roam about so much in the house itself. Ugh some people suck.
Yes, I can’t blame the dog, but the dog owners. Whenever I visit my hometown I like to walk by this house. The current owner is a CRAZY plant person; it’s overgrown so much you can’t see anything else but the foliage.
Thanks for reading along, Sarah! xo
Such vivid descriptions and language, Lani - I could really visualise the places you've lived.
After a similar amount of moving around the world, I have no clearer answer to the question about home that you pose.
Hmmm. Yes. The question lives on. Thanks for sharing, Jeffrey, and for your kind words.
Home is where you are, Lani! Sometimes home is just the space within the four walls where you feel safe to let down your guards and free to be yourself. ❤️
🙌 I 100% agree. Feeling safe, and free to express yourself, and be yourself, xo
In my parents’ when we were children, we simply had a tv top ceramic vase (which I have now) and inexpensive nice vase and head bust for goddess of mercy (kuan yin). They didn’t have much money. Water they brought larger floor vases when we were adult.
It’s tough when we don’t have much, but I also believe that what items are around the home reveal the person behind the object. For example, my aunt in Thailand, she’s a hairdresser in a small town, but she fills the cabinets with stuffed animals. These are not high quality ones, but it doesn’t matter; she loves them because she never had them as a child.
Hi Lani, l love the detail and description of the decor of the houses. While l didn’t live in as many houses, the decor in our house and the other houses we frequented during my childhood are the things l remember most. My mother’s best friend is Sri Lankan (Aunty Yvonne), and to enter her house for our weekly Saturday visit, is sparked when l cook the foods that became my favourite staple. Then there were the Yugoslav houses, friends of my father … a totally different vibe, decor, food etc … to the diverse homes of other kids l went to school with (l grew up in a culturally diverse part of Melbourne).
Thank you for opening the many doors to your many residences. The photos, l had to go to photo albums as well, or boxes of photos that are still in those boxes! My mother would often send me envelopes stuffed with photos and the only ones adorning our shelves were those of old b&w ones of ancestors from her side of the family … besides first birthday portraits of my sister and l, above her bed. Sorry, now l am writing an essay 😂.
Anyway, thank you, your writing is so rich and descriptive, it invites us to reflect on our world after we have tasted yours. Thank you 🙏💖
Thank you, Simone. I feel fortunate as well, to have grown up around such diversity. It helps to have the world come to you, especially at a young age, and to be modeled acceptance.
The idea of writing about home seems both natural and daunting. It’s a timeless question, What is home?, but I never tire of hearing the answers. I’m glad my words made you reflect on your own (love that line), too. xxoo
Yes, what is home? 💖✍🏻 A sanctuary of emotional safety, of belonging 🙏
100% 🙌
Oh my goodness Lani, what a powerful, layered chapter! And what a great answer to that question "What is home?" I felt every shift: the moves, the colours, the shock, the blood, the reek (eek!) and that vivid texture of growing up between cultures. I love how you hold these memories with such clarity and tenderness ... even the painful ones.
What struck me most was how deeply attuned you were, even as a young girl … to the feel of each neighbourhood, to have to quickly learn the codes of belonging, the quiet humiliations, the Hunger Games (side note: I loved those films!), the small triumphs and the way a paper bag with a designer's name on it ... could change the emotional weather in a room.
And then your portrait of your mother’s world … the Thai aunties and uncles, the décor, the food, the errands that were really a kind of community making. There’s so much love threaded through those details, even when times were hard. You literally shine on the page, for there’s so much joy, laughter and vitality that just bursts through ... even during those shitty, piss-y moments.
It's incredible how you hold both the wound and the wonder of those years. Your writing, as always, is intimate, honest, beautifully observed and funny, of course ... because well, as I'm learning ... you just can’t help yourself!
Thank you so much for inviting us into the living room of your childhood and sit with all the textures and contradictions that shaped you. Bravo! 🙏💖
I agree – the wealth of details made this such a rich read.
😁🙏😍
My goodness, I almost want to go back and reread what I wrote. Such high praise! But what I marvel at is how other people read your work, especially work you’ve lived, and therefore feel some distance to, some mundanity towards.
But as we get older, and I’m sure you can relate as well, I also marvel at the life we’ve lived, what we endured, and how for me anyway, it feels like ancient history. 🙃😆Thank you for your words, and for being here, and for your generosity, always.
Thank you for a beautiful start to my morning. I love this story, your voice, all of it.
Awww, thank you, Rebecca! 😍🌄🙏