Stay True

You know, I never really thought much about picking up “Stay True” until I saw the person ahead of me in line buy it. It felt like some sort of ritual, as if the book was calling out to me. And let me tell you, diving into Hsu Hua’s self-reflection was like peering into a mirror reflecting my own struggles with family, identity, and friendship.

Hsu Hua, born in 1977 in sunny California to Taiwanese parents, embarked on a journey that echoed my own battles with finding my place in the world. Despite the fifteen-year age gap between us, his words struck a chord deep within me, unraveling tales of familial bonds, cultural clashes, and the weight of cherished friendships.

As I delved into his narrative, I couldn’t help but wonder: What did “true” mean to him? Was it honesty, authenticity, or something else entirely? Regardless, his story began with his parents’ decision to leave him in California while they pursued opportunities in Taiwan — a pivotal moment marked by the rise of TSMC and the ever-evolving landscape of the semiconductor industry.

His relationship with his father, fueled by shared moments of music and culture, served as a beacon of intimacy amidst the distance that eventually grew between them. But as Hua grappled with the realization of his parents’ struggle with English and the inevitable pull of cultural dissonance, he found himself adrift in a sea of rebellion and cynicism, all while maintaining his academic excellence.

Fast forward to his Berkeley days, where Hua found himself navigating the complexities of friendship in a whole-male dorm. It was there, amidst the eclectic backdrop of Berkeley’s campus, that he crossed paths with Ken — an American Japanese whose charm and authenticity shattered Hua’s preconceived notions of what it meant to be “cool.”

Their friendship blossomed over discussions of philosophy, sports, and the unfettered freedom of Berkeley’s campus. Despite Hua’s aversion to parties, Ken introduced him to a world of contentment, co-authoring movie scripts and sharing moments of pure joy.

But life, as it often does, took a tragic turn with Ken’s untimely death — a loss that left Hua grappling with the haunting echoes of “what if.” For twenty long years, he found himself ensnared in a web of grief and regret, seeking solace in the pages of murder news and the memories of their shared adventures.

Yet, amidst the tales of loss and longing, one memory stands out — the day when Ken’s kindness shone brightest. Hua recounted the day they visited Ken’s workplace, a shop in a department store selling shoes for children. There, amidst the hustle and bustle, Ken spotted a little boy and, with a smile on his face and a red balloon in his hand, bowed down to offer it to the child. In that simple act of kindness, amidst the backdrop of the bustling Bay Area, Hua witnessed the beauty of Ken’s spirit and the depth of his compassion.

And then there were the conversations about love and relationships, where Ken’s wisdom and understanding pierced through the complexities of human connection. Hua’s honesty about his own apprehensions towards physical intimacy, and Ken’s gentle guidance, painted a poignant picture of vulnerability and growth.

Reading his story, I couldn’t help but see shades of Murakami’s “Norwegian Wood,” with its themes of loss and longing echoing through the pages of “Stay True.” But Hua’s journey is uniquely his own — a testament to the enduring power of friendship and the transformative nature of storytelling.

Sometimes you have to write, draw, dance, or talk to yourself to lift the past.

Thank you for sharing your story. I feel you, Hsu Hua.