Stay True: A Memoir

Chapter 9 centers on the theme of Memory and Narrative. Ken remained a palpable presence in Hua’s life after he was gone. Reminders of Ken were everywhere, including in the songs he listened to, the books he read, and his decision to attend Harvard: “Boston had been Ken’s dream, not mine” (169). Hua’s obsession with the past, particularly, “pursuing other people’s memories and dashed dreams” (171) influenced his course of study at Harvard: “The aspect of my course work I loved was the archival research, snooping through boxes of old files, looking for ways to access some deeper understanding of someone’s art” (171). He states, “I was fascinated by the kinds of stories you could tell with the things someone left behind” (171). What Hua enjoyed about research was precisely what he did in his personal life. When he needed a break from his studies, for example, he sorted through the Ken-related things he kept in a padded envelope, including cassettes, a map of San Diego, Ken’s funeral program, and pages from Barry Gordy’s IMBROGLIO. Also included in the Ken-related things was a copy of Edward Hallett Carr’s What Is History? with passages underlined by Ken. Carr advised taking a critical approach to works of history, arguing that historical facts are largely indisputable, but that how facts are arranged is subjective. Hua brought up the topic of subjectivity when Ken purchased Carr’s book, describing history as “a tale we tell, not a perfect account of reality” (174). Hua felt close to Ken as he read What Is History?: “I delighted when he underlined the same passages as I would have, and not the obvious thesis statements, but Carr’s playful digressions” (179). One such passage addressed the role of accident in history, an issue that relates directly to Hua’s view of Ken’s death. For years, Hua struggled with what-ifs related to the night Ken died. Only after a semester of therapy did Hua realize that “what happened simply happened” (180).

Hua’s memoir underscores the fallibility of memory. Hua tried to write about his history with Ken, only to struggle describing even simple things: “The dry music of his laugh, the bemused look he’d give just before he trapped you into contradicting yourself. I couldn’t remember how tall he was, whether he wore derbies or Timberlands” (175). In fact, “[t]he more I wrote about Ken, the more he became someone else” (175). These lapses in memory made Hua question whether the stories he told himself were false. Hua also questioned his memories after seeing a friend from Berkeley, who questioned his friendship with Ken: “What she said cast a pall over my memories, my ability to tell a story about myself. Maybe Ken had tired of me and once mentioned this to her” (171). Ultimately, however, Hua was secure in the bond he shared with Ken, describing the friendship as one that was “staged in private, on balconies, in cars, walking in search of pizza” (170).

Hua coped with his grief and guilt by keeping Ken’s memory alive. This included writing to Ken in his journal and scouring the internet for any mention of Ken: “I was looking to see if anyone had kept his name alive […] scraps from local newspapers reporting on the trial […] announcements from his local church about the scholarship set up in his honor” (176). Like Hua’s memories, however, “shards of the past kept disappearing” (176). Long after the media stopped reporting on Ken’s death, Hua discovered a legal document describing the circumstances of his murder and his killers’ trial. Hua describes this document in a matter-of-fact tone: “[The killers] told their friends that they had a long night. That they’d had to do a Bonnie and Clyde on someone. That person was now gone. He had begged for his life” (178). Therapy helped Hua let go of his guilt about Ken’s death. With professional help, Hua finally realized it was “time to let go of that part of the story” (184).