Who Am I?

My Grandfather lived in Hong Kong and owned a factory. He loved my sister and I and snuck candy to to us during our extended stays. For my 5th birthday, he gave me a cake that I buried my face in. He passed away when I was 7. The ceremony was quiet and colorful. At 7, your memory is defined by shapes, colors, sounds, and smells. 

I remember monks.
I remember the smell of fire.
I remember the colors.
I remember Buddha.
I remember food.
I remember butcher knives.
I remember running my finger along a knife.
I remember the blood.
I remember no pain.
I remember my mother.
I remember her pain.
I remember my grandfather.
I remember his love.

My mother went to say her final prayers, she loved my sister and I. She never snuck us candy, but gave us unconditional love. That's her in the photo above, she's pretty petite and when her knees buckled at the weight of the loss, I understood, for the first time, the complexities of loss, emotion and empathy. 

We folded and burned paper offerings for his afterlife. The monks directed the family to a long communal table under the shade of a large tree to celebrate his life with food. His death became more real, no more hugs and candy. Sadness set in, a butterfly landed on the table. The monk said things I didn't understand. The adults cried and smiled simultaneously. It was confusing.

When someone passes away, they return reincarnated to say their last good byes. So there was my Grandfather, perched on the table, all his loved ones there for his final farewell. The occasion was marked.

And then he flew away.

Maybe it was a coincidence the butterfly landed on our table, but that landing changed the way I saw the world. 
I remember.


Warren Chow

I was born in Brooklyn, NY and bred in Perth Amboy, NJ. Williamsburg, Brooklyn is home. 
My parents are Chinese and Mongolian immigrants from Hong Kong currently residing in NJ. 

Wanna chat?
warrenwchow@gmail.com