I recently moved out.
Like last week.
I am 30 years old.
And this is the first time leaving my parents’ home.
Like really leaving home.
Not staying weekdays at university.
Not studying abroad.
Driving last Friday night with my car packed, I felt emotions.
Lots of them.
I felt tears but I didn’t end up crying so that was kind of anti-climactic.
But I felt… things.
This felt like and still feels like stepping over to a different place.
A different world.
But it’s not that act itself that’s causing the ruckus.
It’s knowing that everything led up to that moment.
It’s remembering my journey with my relationship with them.
It’s the acknowledgement of the courage it took and takes to be me, with them.
It’s the path of searching for myself in the concrete block of cultural, societal, whatever-al norms and expectations.
It’s the trail to peace, to understanding, then grasping, then surrendering to the okay-ness of being me.
Not the Grace I was taught.
The suburban Korean-American church-going Grace.
Me, the Grace I choose, the one whose desires matter, whose thoughts, inklings, ideas matter.
Me, the one who is living this life.
The act of moving out felt more like a symbol of the growth, expansion, evolution over the years.
It was already happening, at the core of my being,
shedding the things, everything that I don’t choose anymore.
The ways of being, the ways of thinking, believing, walking this path.
It was already happening, the movement inward and toward more of me, more of this life, more of God, more of more.
Looking back, I feel gratitude.
Gratitude, gratitude, gratitude.
I feel deep honor and respect toward my parents.
It goes beyond our interactions, our history, our rockiness, our good times.
Honor and respect for their place in my life,
my place in theirs.
Honor and respect for things indescribable,
for the magnificent orchestration of this wonderful experience of love.
Honor and respect for the grace of being their daughter,
of having them as parents.
Honor and respect for their journey and mine.
How could any of it be wrong?
This is not the beginning.
The beginning began a long while ago.
This is not the end.
The end doesn’t exist.
This is a beautiful point in this beautiful life
to remember and cherish.