"to give death" = "chestnut"

밤 (verb): to give death, (noun): chestnut

 I wonder whether memory is different for immigrants, for people like my mother who leave an entire wisdom behind. Migration teaches death and deprives, for memory isn’t something that ripens, but rather, bleeds internally. Memory sustains itself through ritual and this morning, we successfully completed our tri-annual ritual of screaming at each other in a broken mix of Korean and English during the drive to the airport. It is times like these when I am reminded of grief's endless innovations and its deprivation of language. Our grief becomes illiterate when my frustrations worsen my withering Korean and my mother falls silent from the shame of her misunderstood English. Maybe silence is its own form of language. It usually feels silent when I sit on the plane to weep and weep, to wish that her understandings of the world were real. By the time it takes off,  I feel a reckless urge to break free from the cycle of Korean female dread and seek my own pace in this lifetime-- but this in itself is an acknowledgment of the lingering of language. Memory of my mother is an unnatural, rootless nostalgia and it will continue to rot in the way that it is loved. 

I would like to believe that language will always linger despite its number of crossings, but tonight, the repetition of words feels rootless and the memory of my mother and I's tri-annual ritual feels like punishment.

__________________________________________________________

in honor of my mother and i's tri-annual ritual of eternal feminine trauma:

here are THREE tea ratings from Paru :D 

Pandan Waffle

rating: 4.8/5

This is by far the starchiest tea I have ever drank in my life. Not only do the rice pellets give it a layered coating in its aroma, but the sliced dates also produce an inherent thickness in diameter of sweetness that has yet to be replicated. The coconut notes are not too light, yet not too overpowering and as Jacob Yi states: "the coconut is neutral--like Switzerland". The French brought waffles to Vietnam during the colonial period, where they interfused with the distinct Vietnamese flavor of delicate florals and leafy pandan to create the traditional delicacy this was named after. Despite its colonial cultural history, the tea tastes perfectly sweet and thickens firmly in your palate. The nutty, starchy, and brisk beauty of Paru's Pandan Waffle was delightful and I gladly endorse it with a high rating.

Sweet Rice Oolong

rating: 2.7/5

This oolong tea was much lighter, casual, and lacked a bit of structure compared to the Pandan Waffle. On initial impression, the scent of the dry leaves was thickly starched with promises of sweet rice cakes and sweetness. However, the actual taste of the tea was quite underwhelming, as it tasted very similar to any normal oolong. The starchiness only existed in its scent and its unoriginal taste did not match up with its seductive aroma. Its arrangement of dried bits was beautiful, however, overall mid. Hopefully it is one of those oolong teas that taste stronger upon the second brew.

Lemon Lychee

rating: 3.1/5

Just like the Sweet Rice Oolong, the scent of lemon in the leaves was significantly stronger than the taste of the brew itself.  There were no hints of licorice and the citrus notes were incredibly subtle and it 

was almost a physical strain to try to taste the promised notes of chrysanthemum and lychee. However, its simplicity wasn't too misconstrued as I prefer the flavor profiles of black teas to be simple and straightforward. I believe it can make for a nice, midday brew, but nothing too unordinary.