Don't Fear (The Change)

February 28, 2026

Glou, a local favorite cocktail and mocktail bar in Providence, shut its doors. The announcement came suddenly. Its patrons were given a handful of days of advance warning. So they all naturally flocked there to say their goodbyes.

I was not Glou's biggest fan, but I had been there a few times. When I was still a PhD student at Brown, Glou was the favorite place for several other students in our lab. When Glou decided to close down, many had already graduated and moved to greener pastures; nonetheless, they remained attached to it, and implored me to go say goodbye on their behalf.

I also had a couple of unforgettable memories at Glou. One night, after a meal at a nearby restaurant, I went there with my favorite person in the world. I remember saying something odd about sharks and the sea. She liked it when I would have one of my eccentricities. She pierced me with a fiery look that I'll always remember, even more clearly than my own name. She too had moved away by then.

Buddhists consider attachment to be the root of all suffering. I won't go that far, but I will admit it is the root of a common human failing: our deep-seated fear of and resistance to change.

A place like Glou closing is exactly the kind of change I always found most difficult to accept. I am a foodie with a deep appreciation for all people and places that are dedicated to that craft. Even more so, I am a sentimental man, and I cling to memories so dearly, and the memories always attach to a place. The owners of Glou wanted to move on to something else, but to me, they were trying to wrestle away my memories, and I was clutching them with both hands.

I went to Glou on its last day to pay my respects, together with two friends I had made very recently, Amelie and Soeun. Glou was packed and there was no place to sit, so Amelie and Soeun took me down to a place near the snow in Glou's backyard. Providence had just come out of a historic blizzard. The backyard was covered knee-deep in snow, other than a small pathway by the door. We found some folding chairs and wrestled with them; we managed to open two. There were other patrons there smoking; they wrestled with the chairs too, and got none to open. We shared a laugh, strangers and friends in the cold.

In the snow, we made little alcoves to hold our glasses for us. We told each other stories and exchanged toasts throughout the night. I did my usual jester routine. Amelie did her happy dance and broke down the tasting notes of the drinks with refined, gastronomic ruthlessness somehow juxtaposed with youthful, care-free joyousness. Soeun, the stoic that she is, interjected sparingly with Delphic comments as she looked inquisitively at the chairs and snow, like a curious biologist who just found a one-of-a-kind Insulindian Phasmid. We were joined by other friends who came and went to say their farewells. We sampled special nectars and oranges that come all the way from wherever they make chartreuse.

By the end of the night, I had understood what Leonard Cohen was talking about and who the hell Suzanne was.

I had a rare epiphany towards the later part of the night. I was no longer afraid of change. What I had thought was a vicious attack on my memories from the decay that is this life turned out to be a catalyst for new ones.

Since then, Amelie has become my train buddy on an otherwise long and boring commute, and we have gone on many quests: we lost and found her phone halfway through Rhode Island and back, we befriended the leeks lady, and we fought U-Haul and won. As for Soeun, I cooked her fish livers and cherry lamb, and I pranked her senseless with all sorts of cucumbers, but I could not fluster her (yet).

I am sure I will be their sidekick in many adventures to come.

Along with all that, my memories at Glou remain as bright as ever. I haven't forgotten the fire in her eyes, and it has never stopped making me smile. English is not my first language, but I think this is what they call a win-win.