Home to me is a hot bowl of gukbap. Home to me is a TV playing Korean news in the background all day. Home to me is a place where I yell “다녀왔습니다!” (I’m home) and am welcomed with “밥 먹어라” (Go eat) in response. Home to me is my family.

My family has constantly made sacrifices for me. My parents owned a 24-hour convenience store for over 10 years. This made it very difficult to go on trips because of their long hours. This also made it difficult to spend quality time with them. My dad worked tirelessly everyday. Whenever someone quit or got fired, he would have to work 80+ hours a week and would come home pretending to be completely fine. It was not an easy job. There were attempted armed robberies and arson and there would be a constant need to be on edge. My mom, despite working long shifts at the store, would drive me and my brother to all of our extracurricular activities - sitting through hours of traffic and waiting to finally go home and rest in bed. Every trip we went on was a blessing and took an incredible amount of planning, money, and sacrifice. Despite being exhausted from work, my parents would take us on road trips to Canada, camping trips every summer, hiking on weekends, and -- if we were lucky -- we could fly out of the country.

I’ve lived with my grandparents my entire life. My grandma prepares meals for our entire family every single day without fail. My grandpa works out in the garden for hours so that we can have beautiful flowers to look at and fruits and vegetables to eat during the summer and fall. They have taught me so much about Korean culture and have instilled values in me that make me who I am today. From valuing community and respect for others to even being able to be fluent in Korean, I have them to thank.

Home to me is my grandma asking me for help with her phone. Home to me is my mom yelling at me to clean up after myself more because there is too much hair on the floor. Home to me is playing video games with my dad after a long day of work. Home to me is listening to my brother rant about school projects. Home to me is my family.

Grace Bahn (she/her/hers) born in Muscatine, Iowa and raised in Seattle, WA, is the author of the written story, “다녀왔습니다! (I'm home!).”Grace is a University of Washington Alum, graduating with a BS in Psychology, and the Co-Founder of The Komorebi Project. Her piece is inspired by her family and the tireless sacrifices they made for her growing up:“My family helped me become who I am today and make my home feel like home.” She describes herself as curious, empathetic, and responsible. In her free time, she loves to listen to music, watch shows, embroider, and sing. Grace soon plans to pursue Human-Centered Design and Engineering and be a UX designer/researcher who creates products that bring people closer together and advocates for minority voices.

Julie Kwon (She/Her/Hers) from Seattle, WA, currently residing in Brooklyn, NY is the illustrator and writer behind the piece, “A Good Tired.” Julie Kwon is a current student at Pratt Institute studying Animation and the Illustrator/Animator for The Komorebi Project. Her piece was inspired by the comfort and security she feels from living in a full house. Julie describes herself as ambitious, bubbly, and an extreme Virgo. In her free time, she likes to play video games, draw comics, exercise, and skateboard. You can find more of Julie’s work here or on her Instagram @kwomics.

Inpsired by Mama Don't Worry by Sam Kim

Sometimes the way that you failed to receive love is the way that you love.

As I grow older, I think a lot about how I do not deserve my mom’s love. As a single mother, she sacrificed tireless hours, relationships, and health to nurture me. But most importantly she has always affirmed me in who I am and can be.

I can be at my worst, 20 lbs gained, makeup-less, and my mom can look at me and see her “beautiful baby.” As a child, I would bring home hideous arts and crafts and my mom would coo; looking at it with adoring eyes and gushing words. But above all, she never fails to tell me how much she loves me.

The indirect way of saying “I love you” is a common story amongst Asian-American kids. We all know it: it’s the stay up when you’re out late to see if you came home safe, cook for you despite being angry, and bring you fruit when you’re up late studying maneuver. It’s everything in actions, yet nothing in words.

This is an experience my mom had, and her mom had, and her mom’s mom. But for me… I am fortunate to live a life where being told you “I love you” isn’t so hard.

So one day, as I do, when speaking to my mom about the ways she grew up she said something that truly stuck with me:

“Eddy-yah (yes that is how she pronounces my name). I want to love you in the ways that I never received love. When I grew up, all I wanted to hear was that my parents loved me but they were never around-- always working, always socializing. I grew up fast, I had to always cook for myself, clean for myself, and love myself. That is why I never wanted kids. But the moment I had you, I realized that I wanted to love you in all the ways that I was never loved. You were my second chance.”

This is when I realized. Your fate is not sealed by the ways that you were loved: for when you are not loved in the ways you wish to be, you have the incredible opportunity to do better. In doing so, you may transform generations and generations of relationships and people in the future.

Adaline Lee (she/her/hers) from Vancouver, Washington, is the author of the written story, “Loving You in the Ways I Wasn’t.” Adaline is a current student at the University of Washington, studying Communication, and is the Lead Editor of The Komorebi Project. Her piece was inspired by the song, “Mama Don’t Worry” by Sam Kim as the singer writes about his mother’s tireless nags and how they represent her love for him. Adaline’s piece is in recognition of her mother and the unconditional love that she felt growing up: “I think when I was younger, I wasn’t able to understand how much my mom sacrificed for me. As a single mother, she gave up everything, and as I grow older and slowly experience the hardships of adulthood, I can understand a little bit more of how much she loves me.” Upon graduation Adaline plans to pursue a career in Adolescent Therapy, working with high-risk youth. She describes herself as eccentric, passionate, and creative. In her free time, she enjoys dancing, painting, and connecting with others.

Sam Choi (he/him/his) born in South Korea and currently residing in Federal Way, Washington, is the author and artist of the piece, “Loving Without Saying So.” Sam is a University of Washington Alum, graduating with a degree in Psychology and Comparative History of ideas, and is an Illustrator at The Komorebi Project. His piece is an ode to his mother and the consistent love and support she has shared: “When I was first coming to terms with my gender identity, I was terrified to come out to my mom as trans. But instead of rejecting or shaming me, she embraced me with open arms and cried with me. She has continued to offer and share so much food and love with me, allowing me to truly come into the person I am today.” Sam soon plans to attend graduate school for clinical psychology work to work with Trans youth. In his free time, he enjoys doodling, playing scrabble or Bananagrams with his partner, and watching thriller/horror movies with the people he loves. You can find more of Sam’s work on Instagram at @sam.doodles.

Krandhasi Kodaiarasu (she/her/hers) from Northern California, is the author of the poem, “Ode to ‘99.” Krandhasi is a current student at the University of Washington studying Psychology, and is the Co-Founder of The Komorebi Project. She was inspired by the tropes of “found family”; people that evoked intangible emotions rather than a physical location: “I pieced together this epistolary with a chock full of things that I saw as a part of me: relatable, odd, and above all reminiscent of the warmth and love a home would have.” Krandhasi describes herself as talkative, as she loves to have conversations with others and knows how to have a good time. In her free time, she likes to belt out old songs and read.

Ziva Xu (She/They/Them) from Shanghai, China is the author and artist of the piece, “A Sea of Memories.” Ziva is a current student at the University of Washington studying Human-Centered Design and Engineering and is a Website Designer/Developer at The Komorebi Project. Ziva’s piece was inspired by the places they have been with their family and the significant memories of her life. They describe themself as outgoing yet introverted lover of people. Outside of school, Ziva is actively involved in community work and projects/research on equity and immigration advocacy in HCI. Ziva has plans to attend Graduate School to study Human-Computer Interaction, and love to spend quality time with their family and friends in her free time.

I was born in Hong Kong. I lived in the same urban apartment until I was seventeen years old. At the time, I thought of the city and my family as home. These days, my memories are not particularly happy. I considered my mom to be my best friend, but my parents experienced a strained marriage. I have many memories of my mom-the person I loved the most-being unhappy in our home there, but I was not fully able to understand why.

When my parents officially separated, I began to comprehend what was happening to their relationship. At the same time, I was struggling to come to terms with my place within my family. In high school, I began to realize that I was not straight. I was not born as ****; I grew up as a girl with my mom constantly pressuring me to date boys and trying to get me to act more like her definition of a lady. I knew that I couldn’t tell my family that I wasn’t a straight cis girl because they do not accept LGBT+ people.

When I came to the UW, I met my current girlfriend. We started dating during fall quarter of our freshman year. We both experienced homophobic roommates at UW, but neither of us could change dorms. I was also constantly experiencing racist microaggressions in class and on campus. I got lots of comments about how good my English is, despite English being my first language. I was immediately stereotyped as an Asian girl trying to get into Informatics, and I was constantly being put into boxes or tokenized by both students and faculty. I never considered UW to be my home because I never felt accepted for my race or sexuality.

My girlfriend and I kept our relationship hidden from both of our parents for over a year, pretending we were each other’s roommates. Then she was outed to her family by a friend, and my sister began threatening to out me to my parents as well. I had to come out to my parents as bisexual before I was ready, and they stopped speaking to me for weeks. When they did begin to talk to me again, they would only discuss how I would end up with a man, even though I had been dating my girlfriend for almost two years. They ignored who I was, and my mom strongly avoided talking about anything related to my sexuality.

A few months later, I came out to my family as transgender and told them I wanted to be called ****. My sister got upset with me, told me I would never have a career because of my “choice”, and suggested that I repress my feelings and not physically transition. My parents did not understand at all. They still refuse to call me by my chosen name, instead insisting to use the incorrect name and pronouns when talking about me. This was the point when I stopped considering Hong Kong and my family there to be my home.

Currently, I don’t have a home. My parents moved out of Hong Kong after the National Security Law was passed out of concern for their personal safety, and they sold my childhood apartment without giving me a chance to visit. They live in Taiwan, where they care for my grandparents. They have made it clear that I am not welcome in Taiwan, and my relationship with them is nonexistent. They have chosen to stop loving me because of who I am. I know that this will always be a part of my story, and a part of my definition of home.

I was living in an apartment with my girlfriend and our dog in Seattle, but when COVID began in March, we were forced to break our lease and move in with my girlfriend’s parents for financial reasons. I am currently living with my girlfriend’s conservative family in Colorado. Six of us are living in a three-bedroom, one-bathroom house. My girlfriend and I do not feel accepted here, and we don’t consider this to be our home. I am hoping to move back to Seattle in January 2021, but that depends on if the pandemic gets better or worse.

In the future, home to me would be a family who calls me by my chosen name, understands the challenges I face every day, and accepts me for who I am. Home is a place where I feel safe and celebrated for being myself.

“Home Kong" is a piece that narrates this author’s journey of reconciliation between their Queerness and Asian heritage. The author wishes to inspire and help others who may be coming to terms with their sexuality and/or who experience the difficulties behind coming out. “I think it's important to be transparent about the struggles of coming out and the process behind it. I am fortunate to be from Taiwan--the first country in Asia to legalize same-sex marriage. So I think I have the privilege to speak out about my story. I hope it helps other people feel less alone.”

My hometown, Taipei, the capital of Taiwan, has been greatly influential on why I embrace changes, conflicts, and diversity with acceptance and consideration. During my childhood, my parents brought the whole family abroad so holidays were the only time I returned to Taipei. However, Taipei was never unfamiliar. Rather, it evoked a sense of comfort. When I was younger, I preferred Taipei over the city I lived in. The convenient metro station had the power to take me to anywhere I desired to go - which, looking back on it, was really not a lot of places. For a naïve child like myself at the time, however, I felt like with a simple subway card I had the world at my fingertips. The food tasted like nostalgia I could not replicate anywhere else. As I have grown up, I have finally come to understand the complexity Taiwan has to offer. Beyond the simple pleasures, I see innovative technological advancements and pure undisturbed nature - skyscrapers providing a stark contrast against mountains and 7-11s located amongst local businesses’. I experience a love-hate relationship towards this mixture of development (centering politics, but let’s keep it simple). Nevertheless, this is precisely the reason why a deep-rooted connection is formed and strengthened. Like family, the city you are born into is also beyond your choice; but you learn to accept both its beauties and flaws, and the characteristics that fall between those extremes. Perfection is an illusion in the sense that it only exists against imperfections, and Taipei embodies both. This perfectly imperfect hometown of mine provided me with the inspiration I needed to approach the world with a unique, broadened point of view, and for this I am grateful.

Helen Chang (She/Her/Hers) from Taipei, Taiwan is the photographer and writer of the piece, “Taiwan: Driving Me with Its Juxtaposition.” Helen Chang is a current student at the University of Washington studying Psychology and Art, and is the Graphic Designer at The Komorebi Project. Her piece is inspired by the inconsistency of “home”as she moved frequently. Her piece includes photography from her hometown in Taiwan and the ways that she has felt the most connected to it:“My background has been messy as I travel back and forth from places. Where I can call home has never been definitive to me, but as I grew up, explored more places, and met more people, I realized that each place was impactful. However, among all the cultural influences, Taiwan connected with me the most.” Helen describes herself as honest, straightforward, and soft-hearted. In her free time, Helen likes to draw, do yoga, watch Netflix, shop, and connect with friends from different countries. You can find more of Helen’s work here or on her Instagram @h14c6.

Growing up, I struggled to find consistency in my life as it was hard to find a place that I could always return to and be 100% myself in. Situations and circumstances often changed, people transitioned in and out of my life, and I continued to outgrow old places as I faced new lessons and gained different perspectives. To cope with the changes, I eventually learned to never get too attached to anything for long in fear of it all slipping away one day. However, no matter how short-lived an experience or person may have been in my life, the impact of each individual memory still remains strong and marks a special period of time in my life.

These feelings of inconsistency that I became all too familiar with gave me a sense of confusion for identifying a place that I could confidently call “home”. For me, home isn’t a physical place; but rather, I find that it’s more of an unseen presence or feeling of rest. Home to me is found in the quiet—the parts in between conversations, in between people entering and leaving, and within the conversations in my head that make sense of all that is going on around me.

Although some may disagree, I find that there’s something oddly comforting about the quiet that makes it more than just an empty space. Some may even say that it is unneeded, but I find that it is the one place that is able to tie all of my thoughts together—all of the growing connections I’ve created with people and realizations I’ve made about the world around me. I find that I can process life a little better and understand myself more when I revisit the warm feelings of nostalgia and excitement I get from remembering the special people, places, and things in my life that are unique to my own journey. It’s nothing specific, yet something that I can call my safe space—an endless box of memories I can always look back on no matter where I am in life. I think that’s reassuring, to know that the past can’t change even when everything around me does. The fact that I can go anywhere and still feel at home when I sit in the quiet keeps me grounded and I can enjoy the present for what it is, before that too becomes another memory.

Olivia Nguyen (she/her/hers) from Lynnwood, Washington, is the author of the written story, “A Box of Memories.” Olivia is a current student at the University of Washington studying Communication, and is the Social Media/Marketing Lead of The Komorebi Project. She describes her piece as a space to process her everyday thoughts and emotions. “A place is just a place until you attach feelings and memories to it, which are connections you make in your mind regardless of where you may physically be in the moment.” Olivia describes herself as an idealist and an over-thinker with many creative hobbies such as writing, sewing, playing with makeup and clothes. You can find more of Olivia’s work on her Instagram @olivi.an.