I Wanted to Get Married, But I Wasn’t Ready to Lose Myself
While Ruth’s words— “where you go I will go, and where you stay I will stay”—made for a heart-stilling pseudomarital vow, I was not selfless enough to promise the same.
n the months leading up to my wedding last year, I found myself grappling with an internal dilemma. Magazines, family members, and targeted ads were telling me that bridehood was a time full of abundant joy and giddy celebration. And it was; waltzing around my studio apartment with my soon-to-be-husband trying out first dance songs, fielding song requests from old friends, thinking about how the important people in my life could have roles in the ceremony. But throughout it all, I struggled with a dawning sense of terror, a swill of anxiety that followed me around through busy preparations and happy well-wishing.
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There is a part of me, even after so many iterations of faith and years of living in an adult body, that is waiting for punishment, waiting to be banished from the Garden.
Hafu carries insinuations of otherness; of not belonging, but being fetishized. How do I carry this name and this history at once?
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Remain forever hungry, or enjoy the tried-and-true? Sometimes, I learned, it’s okay to double down on the life you have.
Ramen is comfort food, a thing to soak up your regrets and get you through a rough day. But my favorite way to enjoy it has courted great controversy among my friends and family.