i just got back from my trip to maine with my sis and mom...

surpise surprise my dad didn't decide to go eh? he's a workaholic and too practical to goto maine with us for a whole weekend to go hiking in Arcadia.

one thing i did take away from this weekend was a sense of pride in my family. in those 3 days with my mom and sis i felt like i was sitting around an eternal campfire that was my mother. and what else goes on during campfires but lots of storytelling. she told me the beginnings of their struggle. the green card. the money problems. the car problems. the fights. the things that made her want to quit and go back to taiwan.

i know this sounds like such a random sporadic thought, but i feel like i want to write down these stories. i feel like these stories shouldn't die. i feel like it's a story i would like to tell one day. the sad part is, i think their story is unique, but their struggle is not. plenty have struggled. immigrants i'm talking about. and my parents can look back to it now and not have to be sad, or regretful because they have achieved. achieved the life they had only dreamed about and has now given their two children.

i am so grateful. and i want to start writing these stories whenever i feel like i need to.