Staying True: Reflections on Hua Hsu’s Memoir and the Power of Everyday Moments

I received Stay True by Hua Hsu from one of my best friends, Graham. At first, I didn’t see it as a gift specifically “chosen for me,” but as soon as I began reading, I recognized so much of myself—and our friendship—mirrored in its pages. From obsessively curating music playlists in college to forging the deep connections that shape who we are, Hsu’s memoir felt both comforting and challenging.

Unexpectedly, the story takes a heartbreaking turn with the murder of Hsu’s friend Ken- being the emotional person I am, cried several times. This shock propels both Hua and the reader to confront how we hold on to—or lose—friendships, memories, and meaning.

Reading Stay True pushed me to write more, highlighting the importance of capturing how we feel in the present. It’s easy to overlook the power of everyday routines until we look back and realize how these small, shared moments form the bedrock of our fondest memories. Finishing the book, I found myself returning to the themes in Camus’s The Stranger—in particular, how people are “supposed” to feel in deeply emotional situations, and how often our internal experiences go unspoken.

Here, then, are some actionable takeaways—lessons I’m drawing from Hsu’s memoir, woven together with my own reflections.

Everyday Moments Matter More Than We Realize

There’s a scene in the book where mundane routines and small talk take on a deeper significance, especially after tragedy strikes. That made me think of my own childhood. My grandfather was a master coffee roaster, and my father worked at the same coffee company. Even now, the smell of beans—like fresh coffee colliding with the lumber aisle at Home Depot—instantly brings me back to those warehouse days. It was just “normal life” back then, but looking back, it’s clear how special those ordinary moments were.

Lately, I’ve been trying to hold onto that truth: the “everyday stuff” can turn into the good old days before you know it. Sometimes all it takes is shooting a quick text or photo to a friend—“Remember when we...?”—to keep the spark alive.

Capturing Feelings Through Creativity

Stay True is also about how Hsu used writing to process grief and keep memories alive. I’ve always loved making music playlists or tapping out a rhythm on drums—a love passed down from my dad, who had a thing for percussion. Recently, I tried piano to connect more with melody, and I even picked up an Aerophone (a digital sax), hoping to feel the music through my chest in a way that’s different from the percussive beats I’m used to.

I’m learning that journaling, painting, or creating a simple playlist doesn’t have to be “professional” or polished—it’s about capturing a moment in time. I don’t want to sound like I’m telling anyone what to do, but if you feel a pull toward writing, painting, music, or any art form, it can be a powerful way to say, “This is how I feel right now.”

Connecting With Curiosity and Care

One of the most moving aspects of Hsu’s memoir is how music, culture, and ideas brought him and Ken closer. It wasn’t just about their shared interests, but the sense of creating something meaningful together. I get that same energy when a couple of my friends come over, and we lose track of time listening to albums or showing each other random YouTube clips. It doesn’t happen as often these days—life gets busy—but I see now how much it matters to keep those windows of curiosity open.

Sometimes, I’ve daydreamed about hosting a mini get-together—a “micro salon”—where we each share a favorite song, poem, or passage. Maybe that sounds grandiose, or even a little selfish (“Hey, everyone, gather ’round my living room!”), but I think having a space to share and really listen to one another can bring a new depth to our connections.

Allowing Yourself to Grieve—and Feel

As emotional as I can be, I still catch myself wanting to numb out when life gets tough. Stay True reminded me that caring deeply—risking heartbreak—is part of what makes us human. If we don’t let ourselves feel the pain, we also miss out on the joy. It’s easier said than done, though.

Embracing the Slow Process of Growth

There’s a metaphor in my head about laying stones one at a time, going back for more, and maybe inventing a wheelbarrow when needed. It’s not about how fast the path gets built but understanding each stone’s purpose along the way. I’ve felt that tension—part of me wants to rush toward “success,” and another part wonders, “What’s the rush for?” Maybe it’s more meaningful to move slowly and stay mindful of what each step represents.

Being the “Connector” Friend Without the Pressure

I’ve realized I naturally fall into the role of “the planner” or “the friend who texts everyone happy birthday.” It’s something I genuinely enjoy. But I also know how exhausting it can be if you feel like you’re the only one trying to keep the group together. Spontaneous hangouts sometimes end up being the best nights of all, so I’m learning to balance scheduling with letting life unfold.

Instead of always organizing something formal, I’ve started doing little check-ins: “Hey, want to grab lunch?” or “I’ll be at the golf simulator tonight if anyone wants to stop by.” It keeps the door open without feeling like a major event that people might bail on because they’re busy or overwhelmed.

Holding Onto a Lifelong Conversation About Meaning

Finally, there’s that deeper theme in Stay True about meaning—about how loss can jolt us into realizing what matters most. As each year passes, I find myself asking bigger questions: Am I doing what I love? Who do I want by my side? But I also recognize that trying to “solve” life all at once is impossible. We figure it out in bits and pieces.

I’ve started taking five minutes at night to ask myself: What brought me joy today? What felt challenging? It’s a small practice, but over time, I notice patterns. It keeps me aware of the direction I’m heading and whether it’s aligned with who I want to be.

Final Thoughts

Stay True by Hua Hsu is a powerful reminder that the ordinary can become extraordinary in hindsight. It’s a story about friendship, grief, and the significance we attach to the music, notes, and conversations we share. Ken’s sudden death underscores that tomorrow isn’t guaranteed, which can tempt us to pull away in fear or push us to lean in and cherish every moment more deeply.

My gratitude goes to Graham for sharing this book with me and, by extension, reminding me that the little moments aren’t so little—these are the everyday miracles that make us who we are. It might sound cliché, but truly, the best times are often right now, if only we take a moment to notice.

Thanks for reading and letting me share these thoughts. I hope they bring a bit of comfort and maybe a spark of joy—or at least a reminder to pause and breathe in the fragrance of what’s right in front of us.