Navigating Memory, Grief, and Identity in Stay True by Hua Hsu

Author Hua Hsu

Hua Hsu’s Stay True is a memoir that intricately explores themes of identity, self-discovery, and the emotional journey of loss. At the heart of Hsu’s narrative is his quest for authenticity, which intertwines with forming and understanding his identity through culture, friendship, and grief. His reflections on these moments reveal the complex, evolving nature of selfhood—a theme that Hsu revisits repeatedly. To understand his struggle to carve out a space for himself, we must consider how Hsu grapples with his place in a world that is shaped by external forces and how, ultimately, his friendships and his memory of his late friend Ken help him better understand what it means to be indeed himself. The key question here is: What does it mean for Hsu to be authentically himself, and does he ever get there?

Hsu’s exploration of identity is deeply tied to his experiences as an immigrant and the pressures to fit into societal molds. Throughout the memoir, Hsu reflects on his early efforts to differentiate himself, noting how these moments are essential in “carving out a space” for oneself in a world filled with external expectations. This desire to stand apart is not unique to Hsu but is fundamental to many people’s identity formation. However, what sets Hsu apart is his realization that authenticity is not simply about rejection—it is about self-awareness and connection with others. As he writes, “Friendship is about the willingness to know, rather than be known” (Hsu 73). This line encapsulates Hsu’s evolving understanding of authenticity—not as something performed or adopted to fit into a predefined category, but something that emerges from genuine connections with people, especially those who challenge and support us in our journey of self-discovery. 

Early on, Hsu constructs a surface-level identity defined by what he rejects. He resists mainstream culture—opposing smoking, drinking, and partying—not out of deep personal conviction but because these behaviors seem to represent conformity. At times, it’s clear that Hsu’s identity is shaped by the desire to distinguish himself, but this raises a key question: is he making these choices because they align with his authentic self, or is he simply performing rejection? Hsu reflects on this tension throughout the memoir, questioning whether his efforts to separate himself from mainstream culture are rooted in authenticity or a desire to be seen as different. This struggle with identity—where it’s built as much on what is rejected as what is embraced—is a critical turning point in the memoir. 

Hsu’s perspective shifts as he forms a deeper bond with Ken, his college friend. Initially, Hsu resists the friendship, seeing their differences—Hsu as a reserved Taiwanese American and Ken as a confident Japanese American—as barriers. However, as their friendship deepens, Hsu’s understanding of identity evolves. He realizes that true authenticity comes not from rejection but from being willing to understand others, letting people into your life, and sharing in the process of self-discovery. As Hsu reflects, “Friendship is about the willingness to know, rather than be known” (Hsu 73). This realization challenges Hsu’s early conception of authenticity. It pushes him to expand his understanding of identity—not as something fixed or static, but as a fluid, evolving process shaped by relationships.

The death of Ken is the turning point in Hsu’s memoir, forcing him to confront not only the pain of loss but also the fragility of the identity he had worked so hard to define. In grappling with grief, Hsu realizes how fragmented memory can be and how the process of remembering itself is integral to the way we form and reform our sense of self. The memoir’s exploration of memory—how it’s shaped by time, loss, and trauma—mirrors what is discussed in Reading Autobiography Now by Julia Watson and Sidonie Smith. In their analysis of autobiographies, Smith and Watson note that traumatic events often fragment memory, leaving behind disjointed pieces that make it difficult to form a coherent narrative. Hsu’s reflections on Ken are marked by this fragmentation, revealing how grief disrupts our sense of time and memory, which in turn impacts how we understand ourselves.

In many ways, Hsu’s story speaks to a universal experience of identity formation: the tension between belonging to a larger community and holding onto personal, cultural origins. As a second-generation immigrant, Hsu experiences the push and pull of wanting to assimilate while resisting the pressures to conform. His reflections on race, culture, and his parents’ sacrifices add a layer of complexity to his identity quest. The struggle to reconcile one’s cultural background with the desire to be part of the mainstream is a central theme in Stay True, and it shapes the way Hsu understands both his identity and his grief.

So, does Hsu ever become fully authentic, as the prompt asks? In many ways, his memoir suggests that the search for authenticity is ongoing—it’s not a final destination but a continuous process. Hsu does not offer a neat resolution or a clear sense of having “arrived” at his authentic self. Instead, his story reflects the fluidity of identity, especially in the face of trauma and loss. By the memoir’s end, Hsu’s journey toward authenticity is not about fully separating himself from external influences or cultural expectations. Instead, it is about learning to navigate those forces while staying true to his own values and forming more profound, more meaningful connections with others.

Stay True is ultimately a meditation on the complexities of identity formation, shaped by culture, friendships, loss, and memory. For Hsu, authenticity is not a fixed state but a dynamic process shaped by personal experiences and the relationships we form. This resonates with many readers as we grapple with the push and pull between staying true to ourselves and fitting into the larger world. In reflecting on Hsu’s journey, we are reminded of our own search for self and how relationships, loss, and memory play a crucial role in shaping who we are.

Some friends complete us, while others complicate us. Maybe you feel as if there were nothing better in the world than driving in a car, listening to music with friends, looking for an all-night donut shop. Nobody says a thing, and it is perfect. Maybe your lifelong fascination with harmony finally began to make sense in those scenes, packed in your family’s station wagon, singing along to “God Only Knows,” waiting in the parking lot until the song was over.

— Hua Hsu