Note to reader: As opposed to the title of this series, I did not cook Fishermen’s Friend Mint Lozenges, nor am I endorsing anything about these lozenges. This is however an important post because it relates to a recent incident that happened to me, pitting me into a life crisis, of which I am working hard to recover from.


I have been self-tormenting and self-censoring, not knowing how to continue this series of writing, that I have decided to so openly share, about my traumas, my life, my relational mistakes and learnings, and more than anything, the long-lasting impacts abuse of all kinds that continue to reside within the deep veins, the tentacles of abuse so strongly hooked onto my intestinal walls that all I can could do in the last while was vomit.


However, with every purge also comes the forcefulness of clarity.Accepting the invitation of the waning crescent moon, I chose to surrender; to the words that have been storming within me, asking for every opportunity to leave my body, so I may rest and sleep. And then continue to let the creativity within my battered heart, be able to create some loving life again. I admit. I am a cheesy, romantic writer to myself. I savour words of practical loving. Words that motivates loving actions.


(Here is a loving action):Please support the Wet’suwet’en Peoples, Hereditary Chiefs of the Wet’suwet’en Nation, the Mohawk Nation with these resources that have been tirelessly provided so you can do something from your computer. Thank you to all who put so much energy into protecting the precious and beautiful lands and water. This is the supporter toolkit. Consider going directly to the camp. http://unistoten.camp/supportertoolkit2020/http://unistoten.camp/come-to-camp/Donate to Unist’ot’en.http://unistoten.camp/support-us/wishlist-needslist/http://unistoten.camp/support-us/donate/Support them through the wishlist.








For the last 6 months, Fishermen’s Friend mint lozenges have become my best friend on managing my trauma. I recently fought and escaped an assaulter who made it unsafe for me to return to my home. As a result, I ran away with one olive green backpack, and it would be my “home” for several months.I was homeless…physically, emotionally and relationally.I was homeless…again.


And Fishermen’s Friend mint lozenges were the only things I found safety with. The crinkling of the metallic seal-pack and the sharp pokey edges, which I keep putting my right index finger to, reminded me that I was alive.In the midst of each dis-associative moment, I would open the small pack and immediately whiffed the sugary puff, take one out and a deep breathe…before putting it into my mouth. Reminds me of grandma’s medicated oil (Safety) except it was very edible.


Chew, suck, chew, bite, bite, bite, bite, why, why, why,
what happened, chew, chew, bite bite, why, why, what, what, why, bite,bite…


I forgot to breathe


I’m holding my breath.


I’m holding my breath.


I’m holding my breath.


I’m holding my breath.


I’m forcing my breath


I smelled the mint in my nose and suddenly, I let out a long and deep sigh. Reminds me of 阿媽（“a-ma” — grandmother). The Axe brand medicated oil that I would often put on my chest when I needed comfort. It was fragrance…and freeze-frame memories repeating the images of A-ma, of trust, of safety, holding me and telling me how much she loves me. Like many stories I know, I too also love my more than I could love my own.


Spiritual trust of my grandma’s soul and memories of them were the “roots” of the house I found and carried. My A-ma would never allow me to go back. She was an artist, a musician behind the opera. She was dazzling. She tried leaving an unhappy relationship for another one that she thought would bring her happiness, only to find herself back in the family, and living out a life of many misunderstandings. The last time I saw my A-ma, before she locked hands with cancer eternally, she looked at me with eyes I remembered, the loving eyes of care and support, the one who understood me as her descendant, and mumbled with a voice that felt softer than the fall of a maple leaf, “YOU ARE BACK”.


Each time I panicked, I reached for these lozenges. YOU ARE BACK. Every time I thought I was about to lose it, I reached for these lozenges. YOU ARE BACK. They were always there, reminding me that I was still ok. YOU ARE BACK. I was still moving. I was still thinking and most importantly, feeling. YOU ARE BACK.

In the last few years of learning about my trauma responses, I have learnt a lot about how I respond to “trigger calmers” and to my non-surprise, making and eating food have been the most calming for me. In addition, music. In preparing each meal, I find my body “dancing” to memories of songs in my head. I would chop, dice, slice, carve often to rhythms of songs I love and shake my body shamelessly. In a way, I had the best of three worlds. Music, food, and dance, the pleasures of life that must always be celebrated. And what better way to find some joy while calming yourself down? It was also the closest I could get to my safe person, my A-ma.

But it is not easy. A dear friend recently reminded me of “the wave”. You know? The ones where you feel fine one moment and then completely flattened the next? Like opera, the duality of dramatic moments fall not only when things are hard, but with celebration as well. For some people, managing comes with taking a day at a time. Living with C-PTSD is a moment to moment survival. You know when people say, tomorrow will be a better day? I usually go for the next moment will be a safer moment.

And back to Fishermen’s Friend. Remember the long sigh I had after smelling the mint? That is now a practical metaphor of survival. Remembering to breathe. And remembering to thank the herbs that created safety for me. Remembering the memory of grandma who used medicated herbal oils. Remembering that I am still alive. Remembering that life can be refreshed. Remembering a-ma, my ancestor who have always taught me safety in her own ways, in my own body.

I have a profound love for ginger & garlic. As a mixed-race Nusantara, ginger is a familiar plant, native to the islands of Southeast Asia and is a deep-grounding comfort food for my senses. Let me put it this way. I will have ginger ALL THE TIME, in every meal. Give me ginger ice-cream, ginger drinks, ginger, ginger, ginger. Because they calm me down.

And then there's garlic. Even though garlic is not native to my birth region, I grew up in a diverse diaspora that continues to bring out the best flavours of this spicy "nug". Yes I call it a "nug" because garlic cloves are what I used to think gold nuggets looked like.

Living with Complex-Trauma means that triggers can happen on a daily, I repeat, daily basis. This makes having comfort food important but also tricky because we can abuse it, the same with other coping mechanisms. Like many folks, I have my own struggles of addictive tendencies and behaviours so I want to be clear that my choice of the word abuse carries with it a lot of compassion and understanding. Being someone who has gone through different forms of abuse, it is hard to accept that I can be abusive as well with things and with myself. So let's treat this subject of abuse with coping mechanisms very gently.

One of the fondest memories of growing up was watching my auntie pound garlic and ginger. I was always amazed at the sesame ginger chicken that she made and needless to say, that is a comfort food (I will cover this another time) that I will never say no to. As I work through trauma, I find the association of ginger and garlic to my auntie one that has been helpful. I have been retracing the moments of joy since complex trauma makes remembering the good times extremely challenging. I remember always coming up with a blank image in my head whenever I am asked what happy moments in my life were there. And it was as though I have amnesia. How do I forgot good moments? Do I surpress them so deeply?

The other complication of being part of a diaspora means that a part of me is cut off from the knowledge and ways of life that my ancestors had. Because of colonization, I often feel that I have been robbed of my cultural life, one that was meant to be filled with meaningful rituals and where everyone is interconnected, not disconnected. We would always share meals together which is not something I miss a lot of.

Ginger and garlic help me remember my cultural roots and how my ancestor treated ginger with deep respect for it's medicinal properties, which relates to a tidbit of my childhood. I used to have hives and according to my parents, they were sweat hives. I didn't know what that meant but all I knew was my sweat was too "toxic" for my skin. In an effort to help relieve my itch, my parents resorted to rubbing raw ginger on my skin, and it helped immensely. I later learnt that these "sweat hives" were actually stress-induced hives from being hyper-vigilant all the time.

One practical and somatic thing that garlic and ginger do for me is that sometimes when I feel frozen or am somewhat disassociating, a bite of raw garlic or ginger can bring me back to myself because all of a sudden, I am forced to focus on the spiciness in my mouth, which I thoroughly enjoy, by the way. Welcome to the wonderful world of masochistic coping mechanisms.

One other thing about ginger and garlic that gels for me is that fact that they are both roots. As a Virgo birthed in the year of the Chinese Earth Horse, I am all about the deep mud and deep waters. The essence of root healing and expressed through a spiciness that almost seemed impossible that a root vegetable can be that flavourful. What about our roots? What is the root of resilience? How do we nurture our own roots of strength and recognize that if we are reading this and doing things, that we are choosing to remain on mother nature's universe, and that our roots are deep and strong.

Ginger and garlic are great metaphors of strong roots that can stand well on their own and also compliment others, enriching flavours and taste pallets. The days of sitting in the kitchen watching auntie cook were the best days of my difficult childhood. Ginger and garlic remind me of my auntie and her kindness. As such, I consider them to be the aunties of the garden, always strong and flavourful.

Ginger - 薑 (Chinese, Pronounced "Ji'ang")
Garlic - 蒜 (Chinese, Pronounced "Su'an")