on the eve of my departure to america, you asked me to spend some time to listen to your stereo with you.

my aunt’s words - translated, for my agong’s eulogy - break me open each time i read them. decades later, my sister and i, knee-deep in moving my parents out of our childhood home, unearth agong’s beloved record player and the more than 300 vinyls that he brought with him from taiwan when he, too, made the journey across the ocean.

you find me here, today, swimming in piles of alphabetized records, craving the world in which i had already fallen in love with music while he was still alive - the world in which we sit beside each other as each movement ebbs and flows, at long last experiencing awe in the same language.

anchored by ethereal cellos and haunting vocals, deciphering the knots in the pine beams is an atmospheric re-interpretation of the symphonies and vinyls he cherished. it is an unearthing, a re-sculpting, a reaching - for a world in which dignified goodbyes are not a luxury, for a world unburdened by time on the eve of departure. for a world in which i have forgiven myself for all the goodbyes i meant to say.