Grandparents
What are you? I’ve been asked this question most of my life because people don’t know what to make of a face that’s both Japanese and Caucasian. But when I think about who I am, I think of Baba and Jiji. I think about making our favorite recipes, how each dish tastes a little bit different according to “ingredients” like the hour, place, or conversation. Much like these recipes, I am always changing in response to the things I learn from the people I love.
One hot dog, a buttery rice ball, and a dash of shoyu. The butter and shoyu’s saltiness, the hot dogs’ smokiness, the nostalgia of every spoonful. They take me back to New York, where my grandparents lived only minutes away. Several days a week, a common scene unfolded in our apartment: Jiji stacked animals with me and my sister, while Baba serenaded us with the clink of pans in the kitchen as she prepared her signature “butter rice”. The pure joy I felt in those fleeting moments are important for me to remember because they keep my definition of joy alive and clear.
A nori sheet, sticky rice, one shiso leaf, and two sashimi slices. The nori’s texture contrasts with the chewiness of the fish and rice, but this dish’s tastiest elements were the vegetables Baba carefully picked from the supermarket. What made them truly special was how we constructed and ate them between turns on Mahjong. Our family’s tradition of making handrolls and playing board games emerged after my grandparents moved to Hawaii to be closer to Japan. As our visits became less frequent, I began to grasp the lengths my family took to conserve our relationship with Baba and Jiji. With every trip, I grew more appreciative of the time we spent together, which deepened my understanding of joy by seeing that it creates ground from which gratitude can grow.
Steaming shoyu broth, a boiled egg, bean sprouts, three nori sheets, and a serving of noodles. During my two-week visit to Japan, I had dozens of ramen bowls and traveled on the Shinkansen from the Golden Pavilion to the Fushimi-Inari Trail. However, what surprised me most about Japan was what I learned about my grandparents. Seeing them run errands, meet with friends, and take walks together gave me a sense of admiration for Baba and Jiji as individuals who led their own lives, rather than simply as doting grandparents. This admiration not only made me grateful for the time we shared; it brought me greater awareness of myself. I reflected on our experiences together to connect with my Japanese identity rather than relying on their physical presence in my life.
When I heard Baba and Jiji wouldn’t be visiting anymore, I felt worried. Worried about what would happen to all our traditions of food and board games, worried that without them there, all the memories would fade away. But my relationship with Baba and Jiji has grown stronger by weathering time and distance. It’s become a part of who I am: a person who values change as a constant; a person who sees myself through the shifting lens of relationships rather than as a fixed set of traits; a person who employs joy, gratitude, and awareness to move through the world.