I saw The Farewell last week at the Charles Theatre in Baltimore. Having watched the trailer and skimmed a few reviews, I was ready to see Awkwafina shine and to cry out my feelings. But surprisingly, I didn’t. Not because there weren’t moments worthy of tears—I more or less psyched myself out of it.
I thought I’d walk out of the theater a crying mess because I’m sensitive to any story about grandparents, having only spent a significant amount of time with one grandmother, and never being around a grandfather. Instead I was filled with this yearning to be surrounded by my family—all of them, from both sides—and all our imperfections.
There’s a scene in the movie when the camera pans around the table and Billi (Awkwafina’s character), her dad, her nai nai (grandmother), uncle, and cousin are playing a drinking game. I may not have understood what they were saying but there was so much joy in that one moment it’s almost bringing me to tears as I recall it.
I can’t remember the exact details of a moment like that from my own history, but the feeling is familiar; I know it’s happened before. And so, the next day, with The Farewell fresh on my mind, I put aside some work and spent more time than I usually would with my mom. We didn’t talk about anything in particular; I simply accompanied her to her best friend’s house. She picked vegetables from their garden and afterwards, we all shared halo-halo (the Filipino dessert made with shaved ice, lots of different toppings, ube ice cream, and evaporated milk all mixed together, hence the name “halo halo” which translates to “mix mix”). It was a most ordinary and extraordinary Friday evening.
(Part 2 coming soon)
three generations 