Maybe Life Is Just A Collection Of Meaningful Moments
Don't overlook the random connections. Plus, 'Yellowface,' an underrated comfort watch, and sources of grounding in NYC.
After schlepping my luggage on multiple trains and getting semi-lost on the subway, when I arrived at the Ritz-Carlton in Fukuoka, I wasn’t exactly keen to socialize. So when the marketing manager asked to join me for what was supposed to be a solo Kaiseki dinner at their restaurant Genjyu, I begrudgingly obliged. Several courses in, it became apparent her English was the best I’d encountered yet on my trip. After a week of travelling around Japan by myself, I didn’t realize just how starved I was for a conversation that went further than pleasantries. The elaborate multi-course meal, served overlooking a cool blue horizon from our window seats on the 24th floor, was impressive but faded into the background as I became completely immersed in our conversation.
My dining companion had previously lived in New York, and so she received my observations of how Japan compares to the West enthusiastically. We shared our contentment with being single and childless, and lamented over the long flight of stairs we both had to face every day to get to our apartments. I talked about my banana obsession and explained how it stems from a banana ritual my late mom and I used to have every night before going to bed.
Towards the end of our three-hour dinner, I told her I dreamed of writing a memoir one day, once I felt wise enough to do so. I told her this with the same dismissive tone I always do when I confess this goal of mine, as if I’m not qualified enough—both in skill and experience—to undertake such a task.
And yet, her response was unlike any I’d received. She looked me straight in the eyes and said confidently, “I will wait for your book.”
The weight of her words hung in the air as time lurched to a halt. In the brief silence, something transpired between us that was beyond language or translation; a mutual understanding expressed through feeling. After the pause in the exchange of words, our eyes both started to water. The unexpected bubbling up of emotions snapped us back into reality, and we both expressed confusion as we wiped our tears. “I don’t know why I’m crying,” I said. “Me neither,” she said. Afterward, it was clear to both of us that something magical had transpired that we didn’t have the words for. It was connection.
I’ve had so many of these moments in my life. Moments of genuine connection with people—both friends and strangers—that stop time and stick with me. For much of my 20s, I was quick to overlook these fleeting connections, as I was in my era of solitude. As I get older, I’ve started to care more about developing meaningful relationships and find myself longing for connection more often. As much as we’re expanding our definitions of love, the predominant cultural script is still that a meaningful life comes from having long-lasting friendships and a partner to build a family with. When I buy into this narrative, I often feel like I’m falling short. I don’t have many close friends and most of my socializing is through work. Facing the fleeting attention spans and addiction to novelty so many people my age exhibit, it can be hard to turn one-off connections into lasting friendships.
After this profound moment of connection in Japan, my immediate reaction was disappointment upon realizing we lived on the other side of the world from each other. “I wish we lived in the same city so we could hang out!” I said. When you find something good, you want to hold onto it, make it last a little longer, if not forever. It’s why so many people stay in relationships long past their expiry date, out of hopes they’ll reignite the connection they once had. When we said goodbye to each other, we exchanged contacts and shared empty promises of seeing each other next time we were in the same city. But realistically, I know we’ll probably never see each other again. But this doesn’t negate the connection we had, however fleeting it was.
I often wonder if I died tomorrow if I’d be content with the life I’ve lived so far. For so long, I’ve held onto the hope that I’ll have that life—the one with close friendships, maybe even a solid group of friends—one day. It’s waiting for me I just have to keep putting myself out there. That’s the narrative I’m sold. But what if this is it? A life of solitude frequently dotted with fleeting but revelatory connections with people I’ll never see again. Who’s to say that isn’t a meaningful life?
Best,
Anna
Published 📝
Forbes - 7 Must-Try Japanese Wellness Experiences
Would you bath in volcanic sand or have dried mugwort burned on your skin? With several therapeutic benefits, these Japanese treatments are more than a novel experience.
Reading 📖
When you’re a person of color, you carry around this voice of the prejudiced thoughts white people might be thinking about you. You like to think you’re just being paranoid, but every time those thoughts are verbalized by a white person, you’re reminded that racism really does exist.
This is how I felt reading Yellowface, a book that takes us into the mind of a white author who steals a manuscript from a Chinese American novelist and publishes it as her own book titled The Last Front. Here’s a shining example of the protagonist’s inner monologue:
“Ever since The Last Front came out, I have been victim to people who think that, just because they’re ‘oppressed’ and ‘marginalized,’ they can do or say whatever they want. That the world should put them on a pedestal and shower them with opportunities. That reverse racism is okay. That they can bully, harass, and humiliate people like me, just because I’m white, just because that counts as punching up, because in this day and age, women like me are the last acceptable target. Racism is bad, but you can still send death threats to Karens.”
These are the exact thoughts I like to tell myself white people don’t have. But author R.F. Kuang articulating them on the page shows me I’m not the only one with this fear. Yellowface is a critique of the pervasive whiteness and racial blind spots of the publishing industry, but the questions it asks can be applied to seemingly any industry claiming to prioritize DEI, and ourselves. Even I, a half-Asian writer, was alerted to my own racial blind spot when I realized I’d been assuming the protagonist was Asian until they were introduced as white a third of the way in.
Fascinating themes aside, it’s also a well-written, thrilling page-turner. I can’t remember the last time I read a book so quickly.
Articles:
👭 Why friendships have started to feel like admin.
“We are so burned out by our data-heavy, screen-based, supposedly friction-free lives that we no longer have the time or energy to engage in the kind of small, unfabulous, mundane, place-based friendships or acquaintance-ships that have nourished and sustained humans for literal centuries,” writes Rosie Spinks.
🇨🇳 How Chinese students experience the United States.
✍️ On Toni Morrison’s rejection letters.
🎤 “Karaoke like a crushing hangover in a crowded bus terminal, except that everyone insists that you REALLY ought to enjoy yourself.”
🍿 Where can I find one of these Blockbusters in NYC and how do I get a reso at Chain?
🥤 The new wave of drinks taking over Big Soda.
🥪 Corporate alternatives to the compliment sandwich.
Watching 📺
I rarely revisit shows but lately I’ve been craving comfort so I’m rewatching Kim’s Convenience on Netflix. Named after the real convenience store in downtown Toronto, the show follows the Kim family who run the shop (a very common occupation for Korean immigrants in Toronto, my own Korean family owned a convenience shop too!). The show is meant to explore the dynamics of multi-generational families (Appa and Umma are immigrants and their kids are raised in Toronto), but it also does a great job of capturing identity politics and the changing social landscapes within major cities (with lots of nods to Toronto). It ran from 2016 to 2021 but so much of it still holds up. It’s also where Simu Liu got his start (he plays the son)!
Listening 🎧
I listened to Taylor Swift’s new album this weekend and it’s excessive. Quite literally—it’s a whopping 31 songs(-too)-long. I was bored listening until Florida!!!. She caught my attention with the relatable lyric, “and my friends all smell like weed or little babies.” But then I was like, am I really hearing what I think I’m hearing: the word “Florida” in the chorus!? Many of the lyric choices have me confused like this one. But musically, this is one of the strongest songs on the album, maybe because it involves Florence Welch. Another one I predict being a hit is Who’s Afraid of Little Old Me? which has that movie soundtrack-build typical of Swift’s most successful songs.
But it’s hard to look past the often-cringey lyrics of this album that express Swift’s self-awareness of her stardom in ways she hasn’t before—see: “I'm having his baby... No, I'm not! But you should see your faces!” and “put narcotics into all of my songs and that's why you're still singin' along.”
I’m also over all the songs about boys, as NYT critic Lindsay Zoladz observes of the album, “it is almost singularly focused on the salvation of romantic love; I tried to keep a tally of how many songs yearningly reference wedding rings and ran out of fingers. By the end, this perspective makes the album feel a bit hermetic, lacking the depth and taut structure of her best work.”
Snacking 🍌
A unexpected health scare on Wednesday had me in search of grounding this week (more on that later). When I feel out of sorts, my instinct is to isolate, so I’m surprised it’s been my time with others that’s been bringing me back to myself over the last few days. Thursday, I went rollerskating via Welly with Audrey —we had vulnerable conversations I won’t soon forget. She turned me onto Too Good To Go, an app that’s preventing food waste by selling surprise bags of foods local restaurants would normally toss for under $10 (not sponsored!).
The next day I unintentionally had my second try of the app with Veronica Chan. Our surprise box from Caffe de Martini had curried chicken focaccia sandwiches, two slices of cake and a pastry (for $5!). We also tried some new tea I received from Bean & Bean, a local coffee brand started by a Korean mother-daughter duo who are trying to bring more women into coffee (less than 5% of coffee farms are owned by women). But more than the fab food and tea, it was my time with Veronica—someone who is also championing waste reduction and making her own Brooklyn neighborhood greener—where I found grounding.
Connecting to nature seemed to be the theme of the week—I went to the New York Botanical Garden for the first time with food journalist Natalie Cruz (also a crusader of sustainability, she has a great Substack—Food For Thought), to check out their impressive orchid fashion show. Orchids always remind me of my mom (we named our first cat after the flower), so I felt comforted at the sight of such creative floral fashion designs. As Natalie promised, the gift shop did not disappoint and I was tempted to buy all their beautifully packaged seeds.
But I already had some I received at a media lunch this week at Ci Siamo hosted by Beyond Green—an online platform of sustainable hotels, resorts and lodges located all over the world. Similar to Regenerative Travel (where I used to work!), they have a strict vetting process for making sure a hotel meets three criteria: environmental sustainability, protection of natural and culture heritage, and giving back to local communities. I’m inspired to see more hotels responding to the growing demand for sustainable travel.