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“Food was how my mother expressed her love. No matter how critical or cruel she could seem—constantly pushing me to meet her intractable expectations—I could always feel her affection radiating from the lunches she packed and the meals she prepared for me just the way I liked them.”
― Crying in H Mart
― Crying in H Mart
“Life is unfair, and sometimes it helps to irrationally blame someone for it.”
― Crying in H Mart
― Crying in H Mart
“Love was an action, an instinct, a response roused by unplanned moments and small gestures, an inconvenience in someone else’s favor.”
― Crying in H Mart
― Crying in H Mart
“How cyclical and bittersweet for a child to retrace the image of their mother. For a subject to turn back to document their archivist.”
― Crying in H Mart
― Crying in H Mart
“The memories I stored, I could not let festered. Could not let trauma infiltrate and spread, to spoil and render them useless. They were moments to be tended. The culture we shared I was active, effervescent in my gut and in my genes, and I had to seize it, foster it so it did not die in me. So that I could pass it on someday. The lessons she imparted, the proof of her life lived on in me, and in every move and deed. I was what she left behind. If I could not be with my mother, I would be her.”
― Crying in H Mart
― Crying in H Mart
Manu’s 2025 Year in Books
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