Letters From the Den
Letters from the Den is a space for honesty, vulnerability, and reflection — a place to say the things we never got to say. In many immigrant households, love is shown more than spoken. Emotions go unspoken, gestures carry weight, and silence often stands in for connection. This project gives those moments a voice. Each letter is a window into real relationships — between parents and children, across generations, or even to our younger selves. Some carry gratitude. Others hold pain. But all are deeply human. Whether you’re here to read, reflect, or write your own, welcome to the den. You’re not alone here.
The Collection
"In the Background, But Never Far"
I love this photo because it reminds me how fully, unequivocally, my mom is my mom. She says it from time to time—that being my mom was her plan, her destiny. We have a bunch of pictures like this from Disneyland. They remind me of a simpler time, when all I knew was my mom, and all she cared about was me. The thing is, my mom rarely went on the rides with me—she’s scared of them, lol. But look at her holding that bag. That’s exactly how I remember her at Disneyland: waiting in the background while I had fun, already planning the next thing. She was just happy I was happy.
"The Thread Between Us"
In this quiet, powerful moment between a 94-year-old grandmother and her great-grandchild, Lina captures more than just a family photo — she captures presence, lineage, and the universal longing to feel connected. Despite the language barrier and nearly a century between them, their expressions reveal a deep curiosity and mutual understanding. This photo, taken during a trip to Asia, reminds us that our stories are not lived in isolation. They carry the echoes of generations — of trauma, of wisdom, of love.
"A New Year, A Familiar Feeling"
This photo was taken during a Chinese New Year party at my house in 2013, when I was 10. It’s me with my brother and best friend — smiling, unaware of how precious these gatherings would become. As I’ve grown older, I’ve slowly drifted from my Chinese heritage, but memories like this remind me of the warmth, the tradition, and the deep cultural roots that once filled our home each New Year. These parties weren’t just celebrations — they were a connection to who I am.
"Achi"
This is a photo of me on my wedding day with my Achi (grandmother) on 12 December 1987. Achi wasn't my real grandmother. She was my maternal grandmother's sister in law. Because my grandparents died when I was young, Achi loved me like a grandmother. She and I were devoted to each other. I would take her to hospital appointments and to KFC. We laughed when she insisted on sticking to traditional Indian ways. She died in February 1988. I fell sick and felt lost in the world. Some nights I close my eyes and whisk myself away to a time when she was alive and life was full of my cultural filled joys.
"Three Generations"
This is a photo of my dad with his parents in Biloxi, Mississippi, around 2001. I was about four at the time. My dad came to the U.S. alone at age 13, and didn’t reunite with his parents until nearly fifteen years later. When they finally arrived in 1998, they were already in their sixties and started working in a shrimping factory, like many Vietnamese immigrants. A few years later, we all moved to Houston together. In 2005, my dad helped bring over his five siblings and their spouses—he hadn’t seen some of them in over twenty-five years. Now, they all live on the same street. I grew up surrounded by cousins, aunties, uncles, and both sides of my grandparents. My grandmother passed away in 2021 from COVID complications. My grandfather is 89 and still lives with my aunt. My life has always been filled with many voices, meals, and memories—shaped by generations under one roof.
"The Thread That Binds"
This photo captures a special celebration called Raksha Bandhan, a festival that honors the bond between siblings. On this day, a sister ties a rakhi—a sacred thread—around her brother’s wrist. It’s a symbol of love, protection, and a promise to always be there for each other. Growing up, this ritual was one of the few quiet moments we shared—where teasing turned into laughter, and laughter into a quiet understanding. Even now, no matter how far apart we are, we still find a way to keep the tradition alive. That simple thread reminds us of where we came from—and the bond that can never be broken.
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We’re building a tapestry of family stories. Whether joyful, quiet, or bittersweet — we’d love to include yours.
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