Listen, I knew what this book was about before getting into it. But I waited weeks with this on hold from my library and it finally was available as I wrapped up my last audiobook, during a five hour drive. So despite knowing some parts of it would be a little too relatable I started listening to this while driving and that was a bit of a mistake.

There are parts of Michelle Zauner’s story I already knew so well. Losing a parent to cancer, knowing it’s happening and feeling like you have to cling to the time that you have. There are parts I could never relate to, growing up a white kid with the worlds blandest foods as my only cuisine til I reached adulthood. The way she writes about the foods she shared and loved with her mom made me regret not being as adventurous, reminding me to be in the future. Feeling the ties loosen of her connection to her culture is something I couldn’t imagine - maybe I have had fleeting moments where my Jewish last name feels so much more like a misrepresentation with my father and grandparents gone, but that was already so loosely connected to me in the first place.

Anyways, ten minutes in I was already losing it. I felt solidarity in the times I cried in grocery stores and at red lights in the driver seat. That guilty, jealous feeling when you see older people with their aging parents. I was surprised at the mention of her reoccurring dreams about her mother after her death - down to the exact plots I have had the same dreams. It never seemed like something I could ask others I knew that had been through something similar. I felt a lot of catharsis with this book. I cried of course, but I knew that would happen.