Final blog! It’s been nice. I was in a crisis since I didn’t have a solid idea of what to write about and currently, it’s 11:14. So I decided to write about things I love. This is kind of a stretch because none of these are that sentimental. 

The stars. I’ve always loved the stars. I wanted to be an astronomer when I was younger but ever since I took physics in sophomore year I scrapped that dream. It’s always fascinating how there’s an entire universe out there. Something I discovered when I went stargazing with Kathryn a while back is that I cannot see half the stars because of how bad my eyesight is. But I think the stars are really pretty.

Buying new books. I never actually read these books but buying books always made me really excited. 

Rocks. Smooth rocks are the best.

Lights. I was so disappointed when we stopped decorating Christmas trees because I wouldn’t be able to play with the pretty lights. If I could, I’d take a stroll down the city streets because it’s so much prettier at night with all the billboards and shop lights. 

Peoples’ laugh. This one’s corny but I love hearing laughing. It makes me feel better to know that those around me are happy and that I’m able to be in an environment where people are comfortable. I love making people laugh but I don’t consider myself a funny person but my favorite moments are laughing until we can’t breathe. 

Games. I grew up playing games with my brother and it’s still a good connection that we share even though we don’t live together anymore. 

A NICE PILLOW. I love pillows. If I could I’d have like six on my bed. It’s so comfortable! 

The gym! That’s a lie sorry Ashley. If I wasn’t so lazy I think I would frequent. 

The ocean. I’m actually terrified of water for some reason. At least dunking my head. But I mostly just enjoy looking at the water because it’s so calming just staring at the horizon. 

Stuffed animals. I’ve had my fair share of stuffed animals. So far right now my favorites are these three little stuffed animals my mom got from Taiwan. There is a seal, a dolphin, and a cat. The cat’s really ugly but I always cherish the stuff my mom gifts me. 

Moneyyy. Money does buy happiness. 

Shoes. I have a solid collection of shoes but it’s all pretty basic. Last year a way I coped was just running my parent’s wallets for new shoes. 

Long hair. My dad always complains about how my hair is all over the place like on the floor, in the sink, and everywhere. I don’t know I like having long hair so much but it’s a way I can control and express myself.

Pictures! I take an ungodly amount of pictures. Currently, I have 10,000 photos but I just have an issue with spamming photos and not deleting them. I’m a little upset that my parents lost a lot of my baby photos because I wanted to see what we looked like as a family when I was a baby. Others might find it annoying how much I take photos but in a sense, I want to be able to save the moment and have memories.

Long car drives. This is always the most fun to do especially at night. Music blasting and windows down are the most ideal. I always feel so free with others and that it’s just a moment of actually living life as a teen. 

Flowers. Unfortunately, I’ve never received flowers but seeing flowers on the roads and people exchanging flowers is always so wholesome. My personal favorites I think are peonies.

Friends! I’m glad that I have friends I’m able to confide in and talk to. I’m glad I have friends that will put up with my terrible ideas or go along with random plans that I want to do and have fun. 

Food. Food is a big part of my life because I grew up in a restaurant and a love language my mom is giving me food. It was a pretty big part of my personal statement because I’ve adopted that form of love for others because I like baking for others and cooking. 

I thought this list would have been a lot easier to make but There’s a lot I’m missing and for the past couple of years, I’ve been trying to find things that make me happy whether it be inanimate objects or people. Thanks for a good year! 

A lot of you might not know that I basically grew up in a restaurant for the first eight years of my life. When my grandpa first moved to America from Taiwan decades ago, he opened up a Chinese restaurant named “The House of Hunan”. A couple of years later my mom also moved from Taiwan for school and later ended up helping him run the restaurant after getting married to my dad.

I was really never attached to this place but as we start to move on to the next chapter of our lives I’m starting to reminisce more about my childhood. I’m starting to forget a good chunk of my childhood and this restaurant was the majority of it. It’s been closed for a while and now the building has turned into a Jimmy Johns but that’s beside the point. 

I actually have a lot more memories in the restaurant than at my own house. Since my dad had to work, my brother and I would come with my mom to the restaurant. But as we got older, we got more in the way so most of the time we were at my grandma’s house where our uncle would babysit us.

In the restaurant, we always sat at the first booth and I would always be so offended when people got sat there when it was busy because I liked to think it was our table. James and I would always have to find random ways to entertain ourselves. There was this little arch in the back corner of the restaurant that I liked to climb but I would often get told to stop because first I shouldn’t be climbing, and second it 

probably was weird for the customers to see a little five-year-old running around and climbing. I felt special because I knew a lot of people never got to experience growing up roaming around a kitchen growing up but at the same time, I kind of resented it. Thinking back we barely went on vacation because my mom needed to help her dad and I barely got to spend time with my parents.

I grew up in a place where there were tons of different cultures. I grew up in a place where I was loved and doted on but I never really had that close connection to anyone. Everyone was loud and scary and no one spoke. English. Actually, they all probably could to some extent, it’s just as a child who’s trying to learn to speak it gets confusing. All the workers were there when they brought my brother in a baby carrier and a couple of years later I was there too. The busy restaurant became a lot livelier. 

However, I still remember the interior of the restaurant well since it was basically my own playground. When you walk in there was this carpet that would always fold up and I would always trip on it once you got up to the counter, there was this massive Buddha statue that I would climb and smack because the hollow sound was funny to me. Then comes the restaurant. It was a pretty decent size with rows of booths at every wall. The kitchen was my favorite part because sometimes I would be recruited to help make crab rangoons and that’s where the soups were too. Honestly, the restaurant looked really sketchy but everything in Fort Wayne, Indiana was questionable. This place was kind of ugly but it was still my home. In the farthest corner was where all the extra chairs were and that was my favorite part to be. I would crawl under the chairs or cram myself in the chairs. Thinking back this was probably really nasty since this area had extremely low traffic because of how far and hidden it was.

My poor mother (maybe they couldn’t tell the difference)

Pretty recently I looked up the reviews of the restaurant and I remember seeing one mentioning how they had a five-year-old employee based on the year it was written I’m 100% sure they were talking about me. I was never allowed to help so there was no child labor going on! Sometimes I wonder what went through my grandpa’s mind as time went on. My cousins lived in California but there were here for a while and then they were gone. Then we moved and then we were gone and a couple of years later, his restaurant was gone too. I know that nothing lasts forever but sometimes I wonder what my life would be like if we stayed there. Would the restaurant have been passed down if it survived? But I’m still glad we moved because I’ve met so many amazing people that made my life a lot more fulfilling than it was before.

In my first reading of “To a Little Invisible Being Who is Expected Soon to Become Visible”, by Anna Lætitia Barbauld, I knew it was about a baby being born, but the language the poet chose made it hard to understand. The poet used complicated vocabulary and it was hard to understand the tone of the poem. I found the title unusually long but it helps the reader understand the purpose of the poem as it’s addressed to an audience that isn’t even born yet. During my reading, I noticed that all the stanzas have four lines and similar lengths. Another thing I found interesting was that there are nine stanzas which I saw as a representation of the nine months of pregnancy. 

The poem first starts out with “Germ of new life” which refers to the unborn baby and the excitement of the mother because of words like “happy”, “auspicious”, and “precious”. The mother is full of mysterious curiosity about the baby and doesn’t care about the gender or what it may look like and just finds the concept of the baby fascinating. The way the poem is written makes it seem like it’s dedicated to someone else and in this case, it’s a mother speaking to her unborn child. The first two stanzas focus on the long process of pregnancy and the delight that comes with it. 

In the third stanza, the mother describes to her baby the beauty of nature and what she wants to show the child, and how everyone is eager to see the baby. Halfway through the fourth stanza, there’s this unnatural pause. “But far the most anxious parent longs On their soft cheek a mother’s kiss to lay ”. Unlike the rest of the poem, each line has a natural finish, but in this case, it’s an odd break. I saw this as an emphasis on what was most important to the parent, which is the longingness to kiss the child’s cheek. Another instance of this type of break happens in the sixth stanza, “She longs to fold to her maternal breast Part of herself, yet to herself unknown;”. This follows a trend of unnatural breaks where it happens when the role of a mother is directly assumed. The first refers to the physical love that a mother can provide and the second is the biological factor. 

The poem as a whole after a couple of reads has an excited connotation. It has a rhyming scheme of ABAB CDCD and nearly all the words have the same amount of syllables so it has kind of a giddy tone. Despite the complex vocabulary Barbauld chose to use, the short words she chose gives the poem a child-like excitement.

Something I found confusing was in the fifth stanza where the womb is compared to a tomb. “That free thee living from thy living tomb”. I found this odd because compared to the rest of the poem, it’s unusual to compare pregnancy to a tomb which is very contradictory because one is about birth and the other is death. There’s another comparison to prison doors in the eighth stanza but the author may have chosen these types of analogies to emphasize the excitement of the mother. But the sixth stanza has a warm tone as it gets into what the mother hopes her child can achieve through her own sacrifices.

In the last couple of stanzas, motherly love is present. There are a couple of instances where the line ends with an exclamation point which further shows how little she can wait for her baby’s birth. When reading this poem, I focused too much on the possible social factors like economic status because matrons and nurses were mentioned so I thought they might be wealthy. But towards the end, the poem is simply talking about a mother wanting to give her child the best life possible. 

“With favouring spells to speed thee on thy way” confused me in a sense because it adds a magical touch. If she was able to chant a spell, she would cast it in order to meet her beloved baby.

I enjoyed this poem a lot. At first glance, it’s pretty long both in name and length but after a couple of reads it’s really just a sweet read. The title suggests the obvious, an unborn child that will soon be born and released into the world. The poem has a ton of complexities but yet is also simple to understand. All nine stanzas address the thoughts of the mother. She’s excited to meet her baby and give it the best life possible no matter what sex it is and is prepared to do anything for the baby.  

Bubble tea! A nice, refreshing drink that’s a staple for everyone!

Initially, I didn’t know that milk tea originated in Taiwan. I always thought it was from China or something. 

Surprisingly enough, I didn’t even know it existed until six years ago when I started seeing it more. I first started eating tapioca balls with sugar as a snack when I was a kid because the kind my mom would buy looked pretty to me.

Every time I go out for boba I always go basic and get brown sugar boba! I’m not a fan of matcha or any of the popular flavors. 

My mom liked making milk tea for us since it’s really only black tea, milk, and sugar. She sometimes buys these huge bags of tapioca balls for this. 

Anyway, talking about my mom, she’s Taiwanese! I’ve always gotten confused about labeling myself and I still don’t know if Taiwan is independent but that’s a problem to solve later. This blog’s going to be about my not so really cultural identity crisis.

I’ve never really considered myself Taiwanese despite my mom living her whole childhood in Taiwan. I grew up pushing it so far away from me that her being from Taiwan was one of my fun facts. My mom has always considered Taiwan as its own country but my dad constantly said it wasn’t. Through the years that stance has dwindled a ton and since then she’s aligned with my dad.

To be fair culturally wise I’m not in tune with either Chinese or Taiwanese culture but I’m still Chinese-American. Not Taiwanese-Chinese-American? or Taiwanese-American? or whatever. 

The most upsetting thing is watching my mom stray further and further from her childhood. I’ve asked her to teach me some words in her language and the smile that spreads all over her face makes me wonder how much happier she would have been if we were able to pick it up. When my brother and I were younger, she wanted us to join the Chigaco chapter of FASCA which is

 essentially an organization that helps the second and third generation to help promote Taiwan through public diplomacy. Or at least that’s what this website says. One of the requirements for this was to have at least one parent that was from Taiwan. To be honest I felt extremely judged because I couldn’t speak Mandarin and barely understood the adults but it was a really fun experience that I wish I was able to push through just to learn more about my mom’s culture. There were a ton of activities that I thought I would never get the chance to experience like the dragon and lion dances. I’ve participated in a couple of parades for this organization but I still didn’t really feel immersed. I know these dances are Chinese but focus on the environment. At that time I think I was too young to appreciate what my mom was trying to do and now I wish I was able to break out of my little shell and learn even if it meant getting embarrassed a little. 

Taiwan just seems so fascinating to me. It’s where my mom grew up and it’s an island! My mom has talked so much about the night market there and how many amazing things there are but also how dangerous it can be. Even though the life she grew up in is vastly different than mine in every aspect, I want to know what her life was like pre-me.

My mom could go on for hours about Taiwan. She’s talked about the types of street foods I would absolutely love and that sightseeing that we could go on if we ever did have the chance to go together. We’re both getting older and I’m scared that trip might never happen because of the covid regulations and the times she’s gone back she wasn’t able to take me because of some family issues. So in a sense, it feels wrong to just say that Taiwan is still just China. I know ethnically that Chinese and Taiwanese are the same but it sucks that I’m not really able to verbally differentiate that without going into my family history. 

Taiwanese food is so good though. It doesn’t matter if it’s similar to Chinese food, that isn’t the point right now. One of my dreams is to speed down the streets in Taiwan on a moped and admire the little stalls and eat to my heart’s content. 

With my mama of course.

One thing I learned is that I’m terrible at gaslighting myself. In all honesty, it’s a good tactic! I tell myself I studied enough, or that I’ll have time in the day to ready myself. But, it never worked. I waltzed into senior year ready to tackle my last year of high school and have fun. I took three blended classes and that was the worst schedule decision I’ve ever made in my entire life. It sounds very ideal, having a blended 1, 4, and 8. But if you know me as a person, I have absolutely no restraint. I sleep in first, I hang out with friends 4th during their lunch, and 8th I just never paid attention to anything. Junior year was terrible for me mentally. I’ve also learned that I’m really bad at working with others. Since joining peer tutoring in the second semester of junior year, I’ve tutored a total of four sessions. Four. I went three times a week. Also, I’m a pe leader and I’ve become the same as the leaders I disliked when I was in my freshmen year. They should be more selective when it comes to this. I dealt with a lot of issues that I was terrified would affect me this year as well, so I decided to pretend everything was fine. Grades won’t matter in the future and all I should focus on is spending more time with friends and family before I have to become independent. 

Some advice I would give to incoming seniors is not to procrastinate on college applications. And ask for recommendations early. I had such a warped perception of college applications. I thought the personal essay would be easy to write, the supplemental essays were only like 150 words, and that I could finish them with no stress. That didn’t happen. I remember cramming in the little study room stressing about the essays. When you write these, isolate yourself, you’ll get nothing done with people around. To the incoming seniors, focusing on enjoying the school year is the most important. After this year, we’ll be waking up in a different room, and seeing different people, and social media is the only way we’ll be able to see updates from each other. 

The last six months have been pretty fulfilling for me. I used to hate the bus, I haven’t taken the bus since freshmen year, but the traffic is awful. The bus schedule just seems so glorious than my tardies. My dad once complained that I took his car, so I asked if he could drop me off, but he had the audacity to say it was too much work for him. As of today, while writing this post, my perspective of Gabriela Clara Hernandez has changed. “Is there an ‘e’ in Santa Claus(e)?”. I’ve started to respect my parents more. This sounds terrible but I’m talking in terms of taking care of someone. My dad went on a ton of business trips so it was just my mom and me for a little. But ever since we both got covid, she’s been pretty sick and I took up the initiative to pick stuff up for her and cook. I didn’t realize how exhausting it was to do. My parents made sure to check up on me a ton but I wanted to be someone they could rely on. Sometimes I have to remind myself that it’s my parents’ first time living and that they’re not perfect. 

Some lesson I’m going to take away from this year is that I really should do my work during blended times. My blended anatomy in the morning is not a late arrival nor a coffee opportunity. I need to learn how to stay more organized and manage my time better. Another thing I learned is that caffeine is never the answer. The drinks taste terrible and I just have cases of energy drinks that I can’t even chug because it’s carbonated. If I don’t sleep, I figure I’ll be fine if I just have an energy drink, and the anxiety I get from it is just a fun effect! 

I know that I’m still on a journey of self-discovery but so far senior year has been extremely fulfilling with my friends and family. I’ve gotten all the support I need and I’m not sure I’m ready to create another chapter of my life. 

My blog’s supposed to represent a recipe book but I’m just going to say piano is a recipe for disaster! 

I like making my hating the piano a part of my personality. I’m honestly surprised I didn’t write my personal statement about this silly little instrument. I feel like everyone I know has played the piano; it was just me who was robbed of the ability to quit. Since my high school career is coming to a close, my career as a pianist is also going to end. So, I’m going to reflect on the experiences my ability to play the piano has subjected me to.

Jazz Ensemble! I hate jazz with my whole being. Joining the jazz ensemble as an 8th grader was completely on me but it was a situation where I couldn’t just up and leave. I wanted to expand my horizons. I wanted to work in an ensemble. I wanted to like jazz. But most of all, I wanted to turn back time to when I wasn’t ambitious and stop myself from auditioning. I wasn’t creative enough to compose a fun little riff on the spot and lived completely on edge during rehearsals. It was way too hard to sight-read both hands at the written tempo and overall a mess every rehearsal and since the keyboard was connected to an amp I was just hyper-aware of how loud my mistakes were. I had a relatively okay background in music theory but what I had to do was completely unrelated! That overall experience was a 6/10 as the performances were kind of fun. This also serves as a formal apology for my lack of practice to those in this picture.

Orchestra! I don’t know what happened to me in this musical era but middle school orchestra was a disaster. I played the viola because it was such a popular and delightful instrument to play and I couldn’t wait to learn a third clef! For some reason, we had a large viola population and didn’t have enough scores to fill each stand. So my stand partner and I were granted the gift of the third violin part despite her preaches of how important the violas were. This caused so much unnecessary stress. Just because I could read multiple clefs didn’t mean I could blast a tune on any instrument. This continued on for all three years. It went all downhill in 8th grade. Joining jazz ensemble somehow was an invitation for my orchestra teacher to request me to play the piano for her. All the experiences I was put through really made me question what I was doing. I got such little information about

anything I did and little to no prep I just felt bad because I was dragging people behind. First, she asked if I wanted to play with the advanced ensemble and I was excited too because I had friends there but I really did regret it later. Anyway it was the same time as jazz ensemble in the morning so I obviously couldn’t do both and it was my fault one ensemble couldn’t rehearse. The piano did not play a key role in either one. The second instance that

really destroyed my faith was playing for the 5th-grade orchestra. I did what any musician does and played what was on the page but my teacher failed to inform me that the little elementary schoolers were performing at less than half my tempo. So I realized this DURING the performance and very well could not look up at her conducting or hear the orchestra because of the amp next to me or just even function. These instances are extremely trivial but I’m just as spiteful as 124.

Finally the last actually fulfilling experience I had with piano at school was Tyler’s Mr. NNHS act. I say that for only practicing for two weeks we were pretty good at something that was music related. What I found the most amusing was the fact counting was the main issue for us despite Tyler being the drum major and counting being ingrained into my head. Maybe it’s because the school had nothing to do with this experience or I had a choice of what to do that I actually enjoyed it. I enjoy performing with friends as it’s always a delightful experience to witness people playing instruments as it’s never a daily occurrence. If I ever ask to play a song together, I plead.

I know music is a great way to connect with others and I wouldn’t give up being a musician for anything but I really wish I had more stories about competitions rather than school experiences. 

I had originally planned to have my blog theme as cultural foods that I dislike but I’ve deviated quite a bit from that. I’ll continue next week. Maybe.

Anyway! Crocheting!

Back in 2020, I picked up crocheting as a hobby during quarantine. I usually gravitate towards things I need to be handsy with and crocheting was one of these. 

The first thing I made was a little octopus that only had seven legs because I messed up and from then on that was the only thing I made because it was easy. That and balls because I liked to toss things around and crochet balls were soft and non-destructive.

Learning to crochet was relatively easy; getting used to holding the hook was the hardest part. In order to learn, I asked my mom and watched Youtube tutorials. Crocheting is actually really really boring, but to me, it’s the kind of thing that’s so boring you want to keep doing it. 

I crocheted a lot during quarantine and I developed a little click in my wrist that annoyed me every time I moved so I stopped crocheting for like a year. 

The biggest project I ever did was a mushroom bag I did over the summer. I lived and breathed little mushroom squares for a little over a week. Each square took me around 45 minutes and I had to make 42 of those to get the size I wanted. Around 32 hours! It took me another two just to assemble the thing and another like three to make the handles. I’m pretty satisfied with the outcome but I’m pretty sure crocheting should be a relaxing hobby but those 40 hours felt like pure torture after the first three. The bag just sits around my house now and I only use it for my piano books.

For the first bag I ever made I think it’s pretty solid. There’s no huge mistake and it’s functional!

The most recent thing I made was a birthday present for Meg Gurram back in September (happy 17th). I was planning to make a duck for every birthday but I was being too ambitious so this might be the only duck. I never actually took a picture of the final product and this was the only photo I could find of it. So unless Meghana texts me back within me typing this blog this is the photo that stays. I swear the final product was adorable and looked more duck-like.

I just realized I make a lot of mushroom-themed things. I don’t actually like mushrooms all that much but I find it a cute concept to make. I like making tiny things so I made a mini mushroom as tall as my thumb and gave it to my brother and mom. I got into a fight with my brother and he left the mini mushroom by my door and that was actually so heartbreaking for what.

I don’t crochet for myself, come to think. The only thing I’ve used or touched was the bag I made. Other times whenever I make something, I give it to my parents. I enjoy making things for others; I guess it’s another love language of mine. It’s more rewarding doing stuff for others than for myself. I think that handmade gifts are a give or take kind of thing. The receiver may not be satisfied with it but the time put in to make it has already passed. In the end, it’s mostly the thought that counts, I hope.

Crocheting is a good pass time for me but I haven’t been indulging myself recently. I’m planning to pick it back up soon to make some stuff for Christmas for my friends and family. I have a theme in mind but I have no idea if I can execute it properly. It’s always exciting to think about things but I always feel like such a nerd for paying extra attention to what type of yarn I use and nitpicking all the materials I need to use. But seeing the smiles on people’s faces is always the most rewarding part.

Thanks for reading about my crochet journey even though this post might be all over the place! 

As many of you know, I have an older brother named James. He’s currently studying computer science (nerd) at UIUC with a chemistry minor. His 20th birthday is coming up soon so I decided to dedicate this post to him as a tribute. I don’t think I can even consider this a tribute because I’ll spend my word count making fun of him. I’ll also not show him this. 

To start off, James Huang was born on November 6th, 2002 in Fort Wayne, Indiana. A little over two years later, I was born. My mom loves to tell me the story of our first interaction. The day after my birth, my dad brought toddler James into the hospital room to meet his new baby sister. However, toddler James was terrified. In his eyes, his beloved mother was holding a monster. It was just me and my big full-of-hair head. According to my mom, their conversation went like this:

“Do you want to say hi?”

“No”

And then he ran.

Anyway.

Later, he warmed up to me when he realized what I was. I was told he would lift the baby formula box, put it down, pick it back up, and put it back down. One time he spilled it and grabbed a broom to try and clean it. It didn’t work because he was half the size of it. But hey, that was my food you wasted. 

A lot of the stories my parents tell me are from our young years because I guess we just weren’t cute enough to remember as we got older. 

James couldn’t say “Jessica” when he was two so he shortened it to “Caca”. My parents thought that was SO. CUTE. So they started calling me that too! Unfortunately, my parents weren’t too well versed in other languages as immigrants. So my name was “Caca” for a good chunk of my life until the staff at my grandpa’s restaurant were like, “don’t call her that”. 

Thanks, Baobao.

Throughout our school careers, I *didn’t* want to do what he did. I chose to do the viola because he did the violin. Similar, but not the same. He did Spanish, so what did I do? Learn French. However, I did my best to take similar classes as he did in high school.

I often compared myself to him. I wondered why I struggled in school and he didn’t. It was weird to see how different we were despite being raised the same. He towers over my parents, while I’m a smidge shorter. He’s reserved and I’m hot-tempered. My eye prescription is stronger than his despite me being younger. Did I just get the short end of the stick? Genetics are wonderful.

James is the type of person who’s just naturally bright but lacks so much common sense. I like to think I have an aptitude for cooking and baking, he, however, does not. I remember once I wanted to make pancakes for Mother’s Day a few years prior and asked him to melt some butter. He did as he was asked except the butter, still wrapped, sat in the middle of the microwave. I told him he needed a bowl or else it would get messy. So he puts the butter in a bowl and back into the microwave. With the still wrapper on. There were no Mother’s Day pancakes that year. 

I’m told I don’t give off “little sister energy”. Maybe it’s because I held more responsibility despite being the youngest. My parents would call me to check up on us, rely on me to plan birthdays, and cook for James and me when they weren’t home. I think it’s because I’m the only child in the household now. When we had overlapping years in school, James would actively avoid me because I embarrassed him too much when I came up to him. Goal achieved I guess. 

We were never as close as I’ve seen other siblings be. But when he first moved out for his freshman year, I cried every time I passed his room. It made me sad that I didn’t realize how much I would miss him and that we wouldn’t be living together as a family anymore. I was worried he wouldn’t be able to survive without my mom cooking for him. My parents drive to his apartment every month, a trunk full of frozen food, to make sure he’s well fed. It’s a little laughable but he’s studying hard at least!

When we dropped him off for his sophomore year, that was the first time I hugged him since we were little. It was bittersweet but awkward. 

I often think James is questionable and I’m sure he thinks the same about me, but I wouldn’t trade him for the world. 

Actually, debatable. 

Egg tarts! 

Egg tarts are a simple yet popular Chinese dessert originating in Europe and traveled to Asia in the early 20th century. Today, these little delectables can be found in dim sum restaurants and Asian bakeries. 

Growing up, my mom loved taking my brother and me to Chinatown. She would always make pit stops at the sketchiest places but the desserts there were always so good. 

Except for the egg tarts. 

I’m a pretty picky eater if you hadn’t figured it out by now. The egg tarts my mom would buy would always look so pretty but taste so weird. The dessert was as big as my palm and the crust was the best part. In my opinion, the treat did not have the ideal crust-to-custard ratio so that was upsetting. Since I really liked the pie crust and I was not #driven to save food, I was the miscreant who ate around the tart and left whatever I didn’t want for my brother or mom.  But Dan Ta is a staple in Chinese cuisine! So I would always see if I would suddenly like it but leave behind a butchered tart. 

I think a little part of me wanted to like these desserts because of my mom. When she grew up in Taiwan, these treats were a luxury to her, and I felt guilty about how easily I could waste the food. She would bring us to Chinatown because she wanted to immerse us in the food she grew up eating. As immigrants, my parent’s perception of food is a lot different than mine. They didn’t grow up in the privileged life they were able to give me, yet they didn’t berate me for being picky or wasting food as long as I was fed and happy. And in a sense, this influenced me into using food as a love language. I liked the compliments I would receive and how I could take up the burden of cooking off my parents (even if I still made them do the dishes).

One thing I do enjoy is baking, so I decided to make mini egg tarts to share with my friends and parents. 

The recipe itself wasn’t hard, but the process was straight-up annoying. I decided to do everything from scratch because I wanted to make tiny ones and it called for a puff pastry. If you’ve ever made one you would know the struggles. There were two types of dough I had to deal with, and in order to get the flakiness, I needed to make sure there were layers and that the ungodly amount of butter I used didn’t seep into the other dough. The custard part was relatively straightforward with a lot of eggs, milk, sugar, and water. Although this process took a really long time, and I was supposed to be writing my college apps, I thought it was really rewarding and I would definitely do it again. 

Anjana Ramahandran: 10/10

Artistic explanation! Very supportive! I loved the enthusiasm when eating! You really inhaled it with a smile! 

Meg Gurram: 10/10

Made my day. Loved the pun and detailed explanations you gave about the dessert

Kaetlyn Patnaude: 8/10

I love surprising people

Izzy Chew: 8/10 

Where’s the grammar Izzy 

I liked how you appreciated the cultural aspect!

Kate Zhao: 6/10

I think the crust is better than the egg honestly 

Grace Carsello: 7/10 

I used five eggs in the recipe 

I’m glad you tried it!

Tyler Bresnick: 4/10 

Horrible explanation 

The outside was a crust? Creamy? What?

Soohyun Cho: 6/10

Unoriginal tbh

Ria Pande: 11/10

SAVED THE BEST FOR LAST

IMPECCABLE SUPPORT

THANKS RIA