Nonfiction

Visiting My Mom at Hmart

H Mart may be a place to delight in new foods and buy five gallon buckets of soy sauce. It’s also the place where you see that the model minority myth is just that, a myth.

Two weeks ago, I read Michelle Zauner’s poignant piece, “Crying in H Mart,” in The New Yorker. As a Korean American, much of the story resonated with me, but many of my experiences diverge. For one, my mom, is very much alive and all up in my business like my gynecologist. The only difference is that my gyno has better bedside manners.