5AM Goodbyes

It is currently 5AM, and Thalia and I have just made our way to the MSY airport. The early morning and heavy suitcases all feel familiar. As in, our travels to New Orleans just one month ago. But this experience feels different. Instead of arriving with intense anxiety, I am leaving with a heart full of gratitude. This past month has been an amazing experience. 

I am sitting at my gate writing this blog with the same Angel Food Smoothie I had on arrival. It feels strange to be back in this airport to return back to California. My flight takes off in three hours. There is really nothing I can do except fester in my own thoughts. And really, there are a lot of thoughts circling in my mind right now. When I first accepted this Maymester, I had no idea what to expect. I could not have envisioned the impact it was going to have on me. This experience has not only given me memories, but also has encouraged me to look at the world around me in new perspectives. 

Over the past week, I have found myself reflecting about where I come from. I grew up in Redondo Beach, California, which is a beach suburb in Los Angeles county. This city is a place of comfort, safety, and opportunity. I think it is easy to take places of origin for granted, but my time in New Orleans has reminded me just how lucky I am. How lucky am I that my parents sacrificed everything to immigrate to another country for a better life. Every opportunity I have in my life is a direct result of their resilience. 

These thoughts have been running through my brain during this past week in New Orleans. This lingering feeling became especially evident whilst having a cooking class and dinner with Maria Vieages. Chef Maria Vieages was born and raised in Louisiana. She earned a degree in radiology, which then eventually turned into a chef career after her hospital coworkers recognized her cooking talents. She built her culinary career doing pop-ups, but like so many others, her life was uprooted by Hurricane Katrina. A client in California asked her to move out to Sonoma County following the disaster. She made a living there for over 13 years, working for major clients like Jeff Bezos and catering for companies like Cards Against Humanity. Maria has recently moved back to Louisiana where she now does cooking classes and New Orleans style pop-up shops. While the class was intriguing, I found her vulnerability most admirable during our time with her. She shared the hard truths about the devastations of Katrina, and how she lost everything alongside the difficulties of watching her own community suffer.

What struck me most was her contrasts between California and Louisiana. She expressed how California, with all its wealth, has been able to rebuild itself after disasters more effectively and efficiently. Meanwhile, communities in Louisiana are still struggling to recover from their 2005 hurricane. She discussed the lack of investment into critical infrastructure by the government, and how they still continue to neglect the systems meant to protect their vulnerable neighborhoods. Many people were displaced, with no means to return home. And that is when it hit me: how lucky I am.

I am grateful to have been raised in place with resources and a political will to protect its people. I thought about how I was raised with this inherent belief that stability is guaranteed, when in reality, it is not. My parents’ sacrifices allowed me to grow up in a community where economic recovery is possible, and where people’s voices are more likely to be heard. Listening to Maria, I felt the weight of this privilege. But, I also feel inspired by her grit in the face of adversity. Her story reminded me that gratitude is not passive, rather it should drive us to pay more attention to the people around us. 

While California holds its many advantages, Maria also pointed out that the state lacks this one quality: human touch. Despite its size and countless people, there can often be a noticeable disconnect amongst communities. A sense of one collective identity can be difficult to find in California. However, in New Orleans, shared values of community is what closely ties its people together. The people are what makes this city so special. There is a deep love here for one another. 

This has made me reflect on the pain and tensions surging throughout Los Angeles, and across the country. For a country that is so richly diverse, we truly struggle to embrace this aspect as a strength of our nation. We talk about unity, yet remain intensely divided. This is why I love New Orleans. It feels like a bubble of love, where diversity and differences are celebrated. There is a collective identity here, and an unspoken pride about their home. New Orleans has an ability to accept every visitor that provides a true sense of belonging. As expressed by friend Evan from Louisiana: “You’ll find there is nothing else quite like New Orleans”. And he is right, there really is no place like here. 

Transcendence of Music

I do not understand the technicalities of music. I do know how to read sheet music. I do not play any instruments, and I definitely do not have a good singing voice. Honestly, the list of what I can’t do musically could go on. 

BUT, 

That has never stopped me from loving music. Music is for everyone, transcending geography, time and even language. It is fascinating how it can connect people all over across the globe. Through music, I have bonded with my parents, my friends from other states and countries, and even strangers. This is one of the reasons I have come to love New Orleans. There is an undeniable friendliness that exists here, especially in the musical context. Here, you do not need to be a musician to be part of the experience. 

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Road Leaving Rural Louisiana

For some context, I was raised under parents who indoctrinated music into my daily life. Specifically, my fondness towards country music has been influenced by my parents. It has always been funny watching people’s reactions to my Asian immigrant parents’ love for country music. Friends would often do a double take when they realized my mom and dad sing along to Garth Brooks, Luke Combs, and Morgan Wallen. Thus, the idea of coming to Louisiana excited me. It would give me the chance to hear my childhood music on the radio stations. Whilst traveling around the state with my classmates, we dialed to every station possible to hear some good ole’ country. Luckily, we came across a variety of stations like “Cajun Country”. As expected, I was joyfully singing along to these songs. However, I was the only one in our small sprinter van to know all the lyrics to these songs. That did not stop me from my singing. 

As our trip went on, we moved away from the stillness of rural Louisiana into the bustling environment of New Orleans. The city pulses with one defining sound: jazz. Unlike the country music I was raised with, jazz was unfamiliar territory to me. While I intended to seek familiar country songs, I was suddenly immersed in the sounds that encapsulates the very identity of New Orleans. Over the past couple of weeks, I have truly enjoyed indulging with this new musical style. I have always considered myself to be adventurous in my musical tastes, and this experience has pushed this quality further. Country music tends to develop its stories in a straight line, while Jazz flows in a manner that surprises its listeners. It is intensely expressive, and I can feel the raw emotions that exude from the musicians. And really, this has been the beauty of this Bookpacking experience: opening myself up to new sensations that challenge the regularity of my life at home. 

First Night @ Cafe Beignet

My first exploration of Jazz was at Cafe Beignet on Bourbon Street. It is a touristy location that sells gumbo, jambalaya, and of course, beignets! Our eight person group gathered at the tiny metal tables, listening to the band playing. The band, a trio of older musicians, played with an effortless energy that filled the air. I did not recognize any of the songs, but I did not need to. Jazz has an inviting nature, in which anyone can listen too. This moment illustrated the way Jazz is an expressive art form that fosters human connection. Sitting and listening to music with my newfound friends was a sweet experience. We often come back to Cafe Beignet to enjoy the music.

Recently, Andrew took us to Preservation Hall. Located in the heart of the French Quarter, the venue has continued traditional New Orleans jazz since 1961. The musicians who perform here range in ages from mid-20s to early 90s. Unlike other jazz spots, Preservation Hall felt incredibly authentic (maybe because we were not allowed to have our phones out)! Our 45-minute set was led by Branden Lewis, who plays the trumpet. He has been leading the world-renowned band since 2022. My favorite moment came when the bassist stepped forward to both sing and play. The experience was moving as he provided an extremely soulful performance. By the end of the performance, the congested room was alive with laughter, dancing, and smiling. This felt like a genuine jazz experience. 

After the band finished, Richie wanted to purchase a t-shirt. While we were waiting around, Branden Lewis approached our group, having noticed my “USC Trojans” shirt. He started to converse with our group, asking about our class and what brought us to New Orleans. Branden proceeded to share his own journey into playing the trumpet. He encouraged us to continue pursuing these new experiences. Our conversation eventually turned to discussing our novel Coming Through Slaughter by Michael Ondaajte. Lewis emphasized that “everyone should know Buddy Bolden,” recognizing Bolden as a foundational figure in New Orleans Jazz. Artists like Louis Armstrong credit Bolden for being an early influence. While Bolden’s influence is undeniable, Lewis also acknowledged that he was a controversial character during his time. This is a topic we have discussed in class, regarding his behavior toward women and aggressive outbursts. Despite this controversy, it is evident how deeply rooted Buddy Bolden is in the New Orleans Jazz community.

It felt special to talk with the lead member of the Preservation Hall band. It tore down this barrier between performer and audience, highlighting how music is truly universal in its ability to connect people. More than that, this encounter has embodied my experience thus far. Music is the true identity of this city. It brings together a diverse community and creates a shared space for everyone. Whether it is the jazz echoing through the French Quarter, or strangers complimenting my Grateful Dead hat, or the Cajun Country radio station, the musical sounds that travel through New Orleans invite connection. To me, jazz reflects the resilience and spirit of this city, flowing freely and bringing people together in unexpected ways. I am deeply grateful to explore this new experience. It has furthered my belief in the ways that music connects people. 

Never Turn a Blind Eye

Turning a blind eye is a severely common practice in today’s world. If it does not affect me, why should I care? I am no exception to this reality. It is easier to not care about a problem than it is to actually act on it. That does not mean it is right. Sarah Broom illustrates this dilemma in her novel The Yellow House following the disaster of Hurricane Katrina. This hurricane destroyed the Broom household, displacing her family for years. It displaced thousands of families in New Orleans East. Even now, much of the black population has not returned to the city since 2005. President Bush encouraged families to make their long-awaited return to the city to turn it back on its feet. But, how? Many of these communities did not have the financial capacity to return home. Furthermore, there was a glaring lack of support for these families. Specifically, people that originated from impoverished, predominantly Black neighborhoods. This depicted the situation in New Orleans East after Katrina. The government funneled aid to the visible parts of the city, like the French Quarter. Sarah Broom’s neighborhood was not included in these plans. This absence of care was unbelievably present when we visited the Ninth Ward and New Orleans East. Empty lots filled the land, signifying the families that never were able to return home. The land of Sarah’s childhood home was sold away since her family could not afford to rebuild it. Her family never returned to 4121 Wilson Avenue. 

“This is the place to which I belong, but much of what is great and praised about the city comes at the expense of its native black people, who are, more often than not, underemployed, underpaid, sometimes suffocated by the mythology that hides the city’s dysfunction and hopelessness.”

— Sarah Broom, The Yellow House

The signing away of the yellow house illustrated the systemic neglect of these areas by governmental institutions. The Yellow House no longer exists, it has recently been sold to the car junkyard. This neglect is a prime example of turning a blind eye. After Katrina ended and news started shifting to other topics, so did the sense of urgency to support those affected. People in power and the greater public of New Orleans largely disregarded the suffering of low-income families. However, Sarah’s work does not let us forget this. Through The Yellow House, she forces us to confront what happens when society collectively decides that certain problems and people are not worth investing in. She calls us to pay attention, even when it is inconvenient. 

Over the past two weeks, I have found myself relaxing in CC’s Coffee House in the French Quarter, the very place where Sarah Broom once worked. I usually order some type of over-priced iced coffee, along with a bagel (cream cheese costs an extra $1.05…ugh). Yesterday, as I sat here mindlessly sipping my iced mocha, I realized I was the exact person the Broom alludes to in The Yellow House: a tourist who only associates New Orleans with the French Quarter. Prior to reading the memoir, I was blissfully unaware of the other neighborhoods, like New Orleans East. I never paid attention to these impoverished communities that live in the shadow of the French Quarter. This realization mirrors the broader issues that Broom discusses. Money pours into transforming the city so that it is appealing to outsiders, while little of that revenue is directed towards rebuilding the areas that define the true identity of New Orleans. So, what does this dilemma say about the city, or us, when the communities that need the most care remain hidden from view?

Resthaven Memorial Park. This is where Sarah’s childhood best friend, Alvin, was buried after his death in a car accident on Chef Menteur Highway. His grave remains unmarked, with no headstone, or physical remembrance to commemorate his life. At the entrance of the cemetery, a massive stone stands to honor the Haydel family. It stands proudly next to a tiny podium that reads, “In memory of the unknown infant and all other victims of Hurricane Betsy, September 19, 1965, that will never be forgotten”. It is unclear if the Haydel name is in relation to the owners behind the Whitney Plantation. Regardless, the symbolic nature of this juxtaposition is striking. The grand memorial directly next to the anonymous victims’ marker relays a deeper story about who gets remembered and who slips into a historical silence. It is an illustration of the racial inequality that is etched into the very landscape of this city. Names like Haydel are preserved while lives of the most vulnerable, like Alive, are completely forgotten. 

This imagery instantly transported me to the Whitney Plantation and to the film, 12 Years a Slave. Watching this movie was emotionally taxing, showing intensely gruesome scenes based on a true story from Solomon Northup. I found myself wincing and desiring to look away. But, that is the point. It is supposed to make viewers uncomfortable. History this brutal is not meant to be digestible, it is meant to reveal the realities of our nation's past. At the Whitney Plantation, reading firsthand accounts from enslaved people who lived to see 1865 was haunting. Even after the Emancipation Proclamation, the fight did not end there. Freedom did not equate to equality. The struggle continued, and still does, for Black communities to claim spaces in an unjust world. This was evident while visiting the William Frantz School, where four young black girls had to fight for their spot at school. 

Our group visited places most affected by Hurricane Katrina, including the abandoned Six Flags. This land, once known as Jazzland, has been recently bought by Elvin Ross under another company. He took us around the empty lot. While the buildings are completely destroyed from the flooding, Mr. Ross sees potential. He plans to transform the area into a filming lot that doubles as a space for corporate retreats. His vision is ambitious as he plans to develop a multi-purpose filming space, a family recreational area, an eSports area, villas, etc. It was inspiring to witness a New Orleans native be passionate about addressing the aftermath of Hurricane Katrina. It felt more so about reclaiming a space repeatedly written off by others. Mr. Ross expressed how he believes finishing Jazzland is important to the surrounding community as it is one of the final steps in rebuilding the city. 

While the Yellow House no longer stands and the land is being absorbed into a junkyard, the memories and stories still remain. Sarah Broom’s memoir forces readers to witness the people and places that society often chooses to ignore. From unmarked graves to forgotten neighborhoods, Broom reminds us that memory holds power and that silence is an active choice people make. Thus, we each hold a responsibility to not turn away when atrocities are being performed. We owe it to communities like New Orleans East to never turn a blind eye again. 

Through the Eyes of a Vampire

91 degrees. 70% Humidity. Endless walking. Drenched in my own sweat. Doing everything to escape the heat. 

Why would THIS city be a vampire’s dream?

Anne Rice, a New Orleans native, chose to set her hit novel Interview with The Vampire in this vibrant city in the early 19th century. The gothic story follows Louis Pointe du Lac through his journey of vampirism. Louis escapes to New Orleans with Lestat after their identity is revealed. The city becomes their long-lasting home, where they house their ‘daughter’ Claudia and live as a family for around 65 years. We, the readers, gained insight into their safe haven wandering these streets. The ‘family’ resided in a home with a beautiful gallery, a prominent structure that we pass by daily. While Lestat chose NOLA for its practical advantages, Louis developed an emotional bond with the place he called home. So, I ask myself again, why choose New Orleans? 

This question echoed in my mind as I stepped foot into the smothering heat. I constantly found myself in a pool of my own sweat, seeking any form of air conditioning during our walks that seemed to last an eternity. This, most definitely, was not the breezy Grand Isle we had spent the last few days in. Yet, I find myself completely enamored with this city. The first night, our cohort journeyed down to the French Quarter for our first indulgence with jambalaya and gumbo. We walked aimlessly through the town for hours, witnessing the lively community present in the Quarter. From street marching bands, to perpetual jazz, to the sultry air thick with secrets, the Crescent City dances to a timeless rhythm. This singular night shifted my entire perspective: New Orleans is where a vampire’s soul is most alive. 

The city embodies the very essence of eternalness. It is a timeless city – surviving hurricanes, fires, and wars, refusing to fade into history. It births a breeding ground for the coexistence of past and present tales, catering to creatures who live for an eternity. Living in the shadows of a sleepless city, vampires are not subjected to survival, they are capable of fully indulging in the intoxicating forces that make New Orleans. As expressed in our seminars: it is a city of vices. It invites anything and everything. There is no doubt that this fulfills a vampire’s innermost desires. Similar to Louis, I find myself forever tethered to this high-spirited culture. 

“There was no city in America like New Orleans… a magical and magnificent place to live. In which a vampire, richly dresses and gracefully walking through the pools of light of one gas lamp after another might attract no more notice in the evening than hundreds of other exotic creatures”

— Anne Rice, Interview with the Vampire

Centuries later, I am interacting with these very streets, and living in the magic described by Louis in the early 19th century. The second night there we wandered into Bourbon Street, infamous for its constant inebriated visitors and wild revelry. Immediately we encountered jumbo, multi-flavored daiquiris and glittering beads! It was disappointing being the only 21 year old in our group ;). The moments spent on Bourbon reflected the ageless nature of New Orleans; a magnificent location filled with an air of flamboyancy from decades prior. It became clear how easily a vampire could move through these streets at night. 

However, it is not just the celebrations that linger through these streets. A grotesque history continues to prevail beneath these overflowing crowds. There is no hiding the scarred history of deep racism that the city wears. The very buildings we brisk by daily hold more memories than we can imagine. During our Ghost Tour of the French Quarter, our guide took us past Madame Lalaurie’s mansion. Through the various fictional stories relayed through the night, this one was horrifyingly real. This story is stained in my brain for years to come. Known for her cruel, torturous behavior towards countless enslaved people, Madame Lalaurie is a remembrance of the pain embedded in the city’ past. Her home still stands strongly on Royal Street, a haunting reminder that New Orleans is not just the beauty that meets our eyes. 

The very streets thousands of tourists step across today carry the bones of forgotten people below its surface. There are no named graves for these enslaved people. Their blood, sweat, and tears have built the very physical and metaphorical foundation of New Orleans. Our group walked through the Business District, witnessing buildings that used to be slave pens. There is no ignoring the truth that confronts us. Thus, the Crescent City cannot be fully understood, or truly loved, without truly acknowledging this history. Its attractiveness is inseparable from its suffering, and its spirit is shaped as much by resistance as by its festivities. 

My experience in New Orleans thus far has illustrated the answers to my question. New Orleans is the perfect setting for all types of creatures, vampires included. I share Louis’ deep affection for the seductiveness of New Orleans, yet it is impossible to to escape the darker truths that Anne Rice mindlessly overlooks. In her novel, Rice depicts vampires in their murderous form, especially towards enslaved people. She encapsulated the visual beauty of New Orleans while simultaneously neglecting the city’s development through racial oppression. Similar to Louis, I feel unbelievably drawn to the chaotic nature and vibrancy that the city brings. I will live my life in search of a place that matches this energy. In contrast, I carry the truths of NOLA’s painful past. Its enchantment and charm is undeniable, but so is the history that shaped it. Everything in New Orleans is eternal – from past to present.

The Smoothie King Awakening

After landing at the Louis Armstrong Airport, Thalia and I swiftly exited the plane for the entirety of it was plagued by nauseating turbulence. We had three hours to fill before heading down to Grand Isle. I immediately locked eyes with the enticing Smoothie King logo when entering the terminal. As a California native, I just had to have my first-ever Smoothie King experience. This, I concluded, would be the cure to our queasy journey. After consulting Thalia, I ordered a medium Angel Food smoothie. The sweetness of the icy drink melted onto my tongue, unraveling the best drink ever. Realization quickly settled in after I took my final sip: I was in Louisiana. Founded in Kenner, Louisiana in 1973, Smoothie King unexpectedly became my first taste of the state’s rich culture and history.

Not even a full week into our month-long experience, and a deep sense of camaraderie has descended upon our eight person group. From home-cooked, family style meals to group sunset swims, a tight-knit community cultivated in Grand Isle from simply existing together. Small talk about the exhausting heat and potential thunderstorms transformed into enlightening discussions over Hawaiian culture, familial relations, and personal dilemmas. Unfiltered and inappropriate conservations flowed past midnight. I initiated communal dinners by cooking meals every night with Nicole, and by no means, do I consider myself a chef. It is safe to say that we quickly adopted the openness of Creole culture that encapsulates their group identity, as depicted by Edna Pontellier. 

“A characteristic which distinguished them and which impressed Mrs. Pontellier most forcibly was their entire absence of prudery. Their freedom of expression was at first incomprehensible to her, though she had no difficulty in reconciling it with a lofty chastity which in the Creole woman seems to be inborn and unmistakable.”

— Kate Chopin, The Awakening

Edna’s immersion into the Creole identity was vastly different from her Kentucky norms. This behavior, in a way, influenced her rash decisions to fulfill her innermost desire: independence. Encountering expressive personas, like Adele and Robert, allowed her to view her identity in a new manner. Existing in the freeing nature of Grand Isle fostered the beginning of her personal enlightenment. Learning to swim in the alluring ocean was Edna’s first discovery of autonomy, relieving herself from the torment of the feminine prison. Similarly, our Maymester group embraced our own version of independence. Alone, we gained the free will to participate in sunset swims, in the same waters as Edna, in an attempt to regain ourselves from the suffocating finals environment back at USC. The ocean was warm to the touch, urging me to swim further out and rejoin my friends. Being able to mimic the characters in our texts is an experience comparable to none. This remains my favorite memory from our days spent in Grand Isle.

“The voice of the sea is seductive; never ceasing, whispering, clamoring, murmuring, inviting the soul to wander for a spell in abysses of solitude; to lose itself in mazes of inward contemplation. The voice of the sea speaks to the soul. The touch of the sea is sensuous, enfolding the body in its soft, close embrace.”

— Kate Chopin, The Awakening

The lifestyle on the Isle heavily contradicts the bustling, fast-paced environment in Los Angeles. Our days consisted of engaging in a routine parallel to those in The Awakening by Kate Chopin. From speeding golf carts and the warmth of southern hospitality, to reading on the beach under the scorching sun. The population on Grand Isle is just short of 1,000, thus laboring close relationships amongst the Island. This community has bravely and repeatedly endured natural disasters through passion for their shared identity. Our group caught glimpses of these relationships via food: a bonding practice rooted in Creole culture. I do not consider myself an adventurous eater, yet 24 hours in the Isle, I was consuming fried alligator nuggets and venison tamales from ‘The Starfish’. This restaurant is one of few that inhabit the surrounding land. Our waitress, Tiffany, welcomed our tourism with open arms and drew us in with her endearing personality. We all ordered an assortment of items, with each bite bringing us closer to the long-standing history of Grand Isle. 

I am a creature of habit. Leaving California for a whole month led to thousands of worries. Much like Edna Pontellier, I long anticipated Grand Isle for the uncertainty of my individual growth. Her days spent on the island unleashed a dormant longing for self-expression under oppression. Although my experience differs from Edna and Kate Chopin, I realized that I often suppress myself for the desire of constant control and repetition. Being in Grand Isle started to strip these layers away. The immediate calmness of our surroundings forced feelings of comfortability. While Edna’s path ultimately led to her demise in the ocean in a final act of self-determination, I leave with an alternative journey of personal discovery. I depart with an awakened sense of living deliberately so as to not allow my fears dictate my decisions.