Writing

Sometimes I don’t really know what to write, and then I think oh, you shouldn’t write for the sake of writing, you should write because–because you’re trying to write something. Because you’re trying to convey something. Because there’s a story you have to tell, a thought to flesh out, a destination to get to. You’re driving your point home.

But I don’t always have a point or a story or destination. And then I remember how I used to squirrel away hours just stabbing down words, stringing together sentences, writing whatever I wanted just because. Because it was fun and it made me happy and I didn’t really care if people read it or loved it or hated it. It was like rubbing on unscented lotion. It’s therapeutic, no one really knows you’re wearing it, and it’s something you do for yourself. You’re not trying to leave behind little scent fragments of yourself. You’re just doin’ you.

And I like how writing’s an avenue to sort things out. It’s like talking through a problem, but writing through ideas instead. I’ll start off with a nebulous idea of what I’m going for, or something I’m trying to get out and by the end of, oh, five or ten pages, I’ll have come to some conclusion. That, or at least have reached greater clarity on something than I would’ve if I hadn’t written it at all. Thinking is thinking: chaotic and constant. Feeling is feeling: sometimes uncontrollable and inexplicable and discomforting. Writing’s sorting through that. If my head were a tree raining varied thought-leaves, then writing’s my little rake.

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Some Obscure Sorrow

As I was cleaning the house, I stumbled upon college brochures to universities I ended up not going to. Meanwhile, the house had erupted in dust, my nose was running up a storm and I sat there wondering what this feeling might be called.

It reminded me of a site called the dictionary of obscure sorrows. True to its name, it includes obscure sorrow after obscure sorrow, from exulansis [n. the tendency to give up trying to talk about an experience because people are unable to relate] to altschmerz [n. weariness with the same old issues that you’ve always had.] Note: completely on empathy-board with the second one, particularly at 3AM as I jotted down: there’s no time elapsing space passing I’m just lying here still paralyzed and wishing–

And I wondered if there was a term for the sense of “would have, could have, should have (didn’t)”. Would have taken this path, could have gone down that road, should have backtracked, but in the end I didn’t. Every second, it seems, we’re veering left-right-and-center onto multiple forks on this road o’ life, making decisions that culminate into this giant knot of now. And now I’m wondering small thoughts like oh, what if I’d gone to this school? Been on this campus? What if, instead of being surrounded by city and lights, I’d been surrounded by, oh, trees and school buses? And maybe I’d have felt different but maybe I’d have felt the same, but I don’t think I’d be the same or that I’d be who I am now.

And I think that’s okay.

Sometimes there’s a voice in my head quoting something I must have read, and it goes: “has it ever occurred to you that maybe you are exactly where are you supposed to be?” Well. Not really. But then again, maybe I am and we all are, y’know, right where we’re supposed to be….

So despite whatever obscure sorrow this has yet to be coined, I look back and like to believe that there’s purpose, if not order. And even though sometimes the world seems to be blowing to shit and we’re huddled in fear and sadness and so much fear I think back to a poem I read and saved when I was 17:

as a reminder

the world is heavy but your bones (just a cubic inch) can hold 19,000 lbs

ounce for ounce
they are stronger than steel

atom for atom
you are more precious than diamond

and stars have died

so that you may live

2:04 AM

At 2 in the morning I’m never quite sure of what I’m doing anymore or what this is except that it feels a little like madness and I’m hell-bent on creating.

But it does not/will not/cannot replace the voltage you feel at 5 in the morning when you’re inching along and it suddenly dawns upon you: this fits. Collapse in tired happiness and make poetry out of it in the morning. (Hearts handing out little paper milk cartons that read MISSING.)

In the cosmic blink of an eye we will be gone; in the cosmic flutter of a lash we’ll fall in love. With definitions and coppery fingers–with catchy songs and awful hope. With deviant behaviors and dreaming awake. With rain and shadows that you skip-skip-skip through because you’re too busy dreaming in hollowness.

body as friend (or foe)

my body’s a friend tonight while i’m scarfing down heaps of korean barbecue, determined to get my money’s worth. in the bathroom, i do the math. 12 plates of food would equate to $5 per, which would certainly be worth it. i’ve barely eaten all day, feeling little appetite and suppressed hunger. so the small monster unleashes at the table. i stare seriously at the meat, assessing how quickly each types cooks, sensing the unevenness of the grill. i watch the fire, blues and yellow licking the metal.

my body’s a foe tonight on the verge of explosion. the 12 plates have come. by plate 7, boyfriend is done. he has been done. will you be ordering more? he looks at me with wide desperate eyes. my own have hardened into determination. somewhere the headache i’ve had all afternoon evaporates. in its place is now a racing heart and fueled adrenaline. we soon find out that he is a terrible sidekick. “now! wait, no.” i glare at him. “now!” we turn at the same time to a coast not-clear. i glare at him again. he laughs into his sleeve, and i dump a small plate of disturbingly authentic octopi. i think that octopi do not deserve to be eaten. they’re too intelligent.

when we skid out of the restaurant, hearts beating wild, we compare it to our summer heist of 2017. we’d roadtripped to a restaurant with a view by the mountain, a view by the sea. in lieu of the four hour wait, we slipped through an open chain-link instead. as a child, i flirted with rebellion, hard–rules were only made to be broken. these small tastes of harmless rule-breaking take me back to a time when we ran into locked rooms only because we weren’t allowed. adrenaline was always what makes it memorable.

To nobody in particular–

I broke my ‘no caffeine after 12’ rule. I had two cups of coffee, one decaf, and stopped by the local Indian market for masala chai (or chai masala, whichever it is) I broke my ‘no caffeine after 12 rule’ so that’s why it’s 1 and I’m on my phone, eyes bleary, legs jumpy.

Apparently one of my students cried after seeing how well he did. And admittedly I teared up when I heard how another did. I’m apprehensive about my later students, though. I sometimes feel as though I can sense these things, and I felt like something would be off and lo and behold, failure memes galore. My stomach sank a little. I had woken up to two emails from parents, effusive in gratitude and kindness. I said thank you, so or so is so or so brilliant etc, and I wish her the very best etc.

But ah, we will see. The next few weeks will be interesting. Truthfully, I’m just taking life as it comes.

The chai was okay. It tasted too milky, and then too authentic. And so I sipped it three more times before I liked it. But it wasn’t the best I’ve ever had, so I think I’ll finish this box and buy a new brand next time.

A few days ago, I fell in love with a hamster at the pet store. My heart still aches when I think of his soft fur. I desperately want a pet, but dogs smell, cats are sheddy, hamsters live too-short lives, and rabbits are scarce. Sigh. He looked like a mound of snow with a slightly muddied head. I had already cycled through names (snow? Cotton? Rufus?) but ended up not buying him. Then I couldn’t stop thinking about him. I grow attached quite quickly to little creatures.

Audible sigh. I’ve already found most of my graduate school resources and outlined all the chapters in the textbook because my mind gets so numbingly restless. It screams to organize information and consume knowledge.

On another note, irks me when people shit on reading. I can understand how much of a disadvantage it puts kids at when they can’t read efficiently. (As my eighth grade Latin teacher once said, “you know when you call a subject stupid because you don’t get it? Well, the subject’s not stupid. You are.”) Efficient literacy is a hard skill to teach and have. I’d prefer to teach math over reading comprehension any day, because logic I can explain, but written nuance? shit.

I could ramble on about the advantages of effective literacy and this impact on the education gap, but it’s 1:30 and I’m exhausted because I broke my ‘no caffeine after’…well, you get it.

Another midnight letter addresses to nobody in particular. Regards, warmly, have a blessed day. From, me.

100 Books Reading Challenge

Started a reading challenge project mid-spring of 2017. The goal: read 100 books by summer in a year. I’m inching along, albeit at a slower pace than I’d like. Figured posting the list on my blog would hold me accountable–also, I get to share cool books!

So here’s a list of books I’ve reading; I plan to update every 10 books or so. If you have any book recommendations, I’d love to hear them! 🙂

Note on April 10th, 2019: Oh! I am just about done with this project. It’s taken me two years, and I’m just 7 books away. In looking back, I realize that some stories I have forgotten, while others have burned into my memory. I’ve bolded some of the stories I really loved and remembered.

1. One! Hundred! Demons!, Lynda Barry
2. James and the Giant Peach, Roald Dahl
3. The Absolutely True Diary of a Part-Time Indian, Sherman Alexie
4. Here, Richard McGuire
5. Zombie Survival Guide, Max Brooks
6. Burned, Ellen Hopkins
7. Is Everyone Hanging Out Without Me?, Mindy Kaling
8. Walking Dead 1, Robert Kirkman
9. Walking Dead 2, Robert Kirkman
10. I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings, Maya Angelous
11. Milk and Honey, Rupi Kaur
12. Partner Track, Helen Wan
13. Girl, Interrupted, Susanna Kaysen
14. Kafka, R. Crumb
15. Project Jennifer, Jill Rosenblatt
16. Dignity, Donna Hicks
17. Can We Talk About Something More Pleasant, Roz Chast
18. Ginny Moon, Benjamin Ludwig
19. Autobiography of Barefoot Gen, Nakazawa Keji
20. Meow Meow, Jose Fonollosa
21. Beautiful Darkness, Fabien Vehlmann
22. Phenomenal Woman, Maya Angelou
23. The Skin Above My Knees, Marcia Butler
24. Essential Poems (To Fall in Love With), Daisy Goodwin
25. Sailing Alone Around the Room, Billy Collins
26. Future Tense, Paintings by Alex Gross
    
27. Why Not Me?, Mindy Kaling
28. Thirst, Poems by Mary Oliver
29. Global Street Art, Lee Boffkin
30. Men Without Women, Haruki Murakami
31. Vintage Cisneros, Sandra Cisneros 
32. Have You Seen Marie, Sandra Cisneros
33. Woman Hollering Creek, Sandra Cisneros
34. The Quiet Eye: A Way of Looking at Pictures, Sylvia Judson
35. Blue Nights, Joan Didion 
36. The House on Mango Street, Sandra Cisneros
37. This is How You Lose Her, Junot Diaz
38. The Embassy of Cambodia, Zadie Smith
39. Love Mad Poems, Rumi
40. The Wolves In The Walls, Neil Gaiman
41. Forms of Distance, Bei Dao
42. 73 Poems, E.E. Cummings
43. The Love Bunglers, Jaime Hernandez
44. Little Book of Little Stories
45. Shoplifter, Michael Cho
46. Rick & Morty Comics
47. Fresh Complaint, Jeffrey Eugenides
48. Stone Butch Blues, Leslie Feinberg
49. White Teeth, Zadie Smith
50. South and West, Joan Didion
51. Dear Dumb Diary
52. Stories Julian Tells, Ann Cameron
53. Stitches, David Small
54. Tuesdays with Morrie, Mitch Albom
55. Buddha in the Attic, Julie Otsuka
56. Pretty: Stories, Greg Kearney
57. Night Watch, Malin Lindroth
58. Constance and the Great Escape, Pieere Le Gall 
59. Rapunzel, Paul Zelinsky
60. Jane and the Fox & Me, Isabelle Aresenault 
61. I’ve Loved You Since Forever, Hoda Kobb
62. Corduroy, Don Freeman
63. Buck, MK Asante
64. Chemistry, Weike Wang
65. The Life-Changing Magic of Tidying Up, Marie Kondo
66. Soviet Daughter, Julia Alekseyeva
67. Things Fall Apart, Chinua Achebe
68. LIFE 70 Years of Extraordinary Photography
69. On Tyranny: Twenty Lessons from the Twentieth Century, Timothy Snyder
70. SHOCK
71. Beijing: Imperial and Contemporary
72. Abandoned America, Matthew Christopher
73. The Polaroid Book
74. The Kite Runner, Khaled Hosseini
75. Cats, Jane Bown
76. The Photographs of Carl Mydans
77. Camanchaca, Diego Zuniga 
78. Creepy Carrots, Aaron Reynolds
79. Lies in The Dust : A Tale of Remorse From The Salem Witch Trial
80. Persepolis, Marjane Satrapi
81. Going Into Town, Roz Chaz
82. Doodle Diary of A New Mom, Lucy Scott
83. The Marshmallow Test, Walter Mischel
84. From the Mixed-up Files of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler, E.L Konigsburg
85. The Bonesetter’s Daughter, Amy Tan
86. Interpreter’s Maladies
87. Rx
88. Because We Are Bad, Lily Bailey
89. Frida’s Bed, Slavenka Drakulic
90. Zenobia
91. Light Filters In Poems, Caroline Kaufman
92. Sweet Land Stories, E.L Doctorow
93. Hap and Hazzy at the End of the World, Diane DeSanders

 

escapril

we left the cold blank walls
white and bland
stripped of photos
of colors & memories
that’d be left, soon enough
i was littered with anxiety, apprehension
—excitement, above all
of not knowing the change that was
to come

since then, it’s been more of a yearning for
continuation
as i drive through the well manicured
trees that carve in like
they do in the movies
pristine and intentional
i find myself feeling like the summer before then
before that start
before we began

today i wake up to a third letter
i begin to map out schedules, requirements
and costs
this time
i yearn for stillness, not movement
practicality, not dreams
mute pastels, not lights
familiarity, not novelty
i curl into what is safe

reaching to any and all good
that came before
things are different
yet not so much
five years have passed
but it feels like nothing has
this is my new fresh start
a sturdy continuation of everything that
has come before

---

we used to dance in the rain
because we wanted to be like stargirl
stargirl with the long blue dress
stargirl with the whiskery pet rat
stargirl, who meditated on fields
and danced in the rain
and who lived so vivaciously
we wanted to do the same

we used to dance in the rain
because it made us feel free
as people ducked into corridors
we sprinted onto fields
we filled our oxfords with mud
laughed with our chins to the sky
we would immortalize youth forever
cold shirts plastered to our backs

---

remember when
you had your soul with you
honey
(resting on a) crow’s perch

(i thought)
when am i gonna lose you
(for we had) grown nothing
sin no halo (so you cried)

(go and) save me from your kindness
fill me up with (your) anthem
throwaway
my man

break free
little white
dove
one day it’s gonna break

---

did you know that psychopaths
do not feel much anxiety?
that they remain unnervingly calm
heart beats low and steady
the truth is
she says
I do not remember the last time I was genuinely anxious
her hands lay flat
maybe I used to be
but not much anymore
not much anymore
in what situations did you ever feel anxious?
a small nudge
I don’t know. dumb things, little things like
indecision, emotional pools
hands clasped

---

there’s an outdoor smell clinging
to my hair after we sit outside on the patio
to our left are thickets of dried up bushes
to our right are seesawing heehawing burger devourers
we talk numbers, business, philosophy
finance and people
i decide i’m more interested in the personnel part

there’s an outdoor smell clinging
to my hair as i sit on a small foldable
army green chair, virgin suicides
propped open in my lap
to my right are big rubber tires
to my left is pungent smelling vinegar
filling the giant vat that used
to be my bath tub

today i sit indoors
lightly observing rain drops clinging to the window
cliched trees sway in the wind and murky
green water ripples thru the canal
this is the most intentional deja vu
the greenest of green spaces
i left and i returned–
this is the closest i get to nature

---

on the last night
i very much
wanted to leave

by the stacks of
kleenex tissues
glass and dust
donatable
non-donatable
hopefully-were-donated
goods
i was very much ready to go

please come
i am making ravioli and soup
i’ll bring you tissues–just please come

so we piled into the car and talked about pharmacy
arrived at her home to
orangey butter lights
crawled the staircase to the lace
and gold living room
trailed
to the leather couch i’d watched end of the fucking world on
to the desk i’d painted “best friends at”

to the bed where we’d
watched bachelor and gossiped
and cried

over the tomato thick soup
i lament illness
(full circle) and movement and
so many little things i can’t remember–
we set the table
forks spoons plates
food atmosphere celebration and
all

embracing this time
for us all to be
together

like extended family
we bond
like fourth cousins
we cackle
we watch in amusement as family members begin
to pair off
raising their voices in enthusiasm
waving wildly

we curl up on the couch
observing quietly
and my heart feels so warm

---

morning dusk
falling dawn
blinding white

covers

---

the less love there is
the more i write about it
the more love there is
the less i write about it

when i’m swimming in love requited
the last thing i want to write about is love requited

---

what color is this
the woman asks
i stare at it hard
beige and grey, i decide

when the woman pats the foundation
gently on my face
she observes and so do i
it’s tinted orangey

do you think this goes well with that?
the woman says
i pause and say yes to the cream–
i thought they were the same outfit

---

hard edges soft smiles
skin cleaner than artificiality
musters
floral beckons pink
gasps
femininity’s clasp
and loosening fingers

---

must you gab on so constantly interpret my quiet for surliness you’re doing that thing where you go silent yes my life 99% of the time who’s got time to talk so much well I do I love it and my lips are pursed and my head is saying must you gab on so constantly

---

dirt and grime and a cloud of dust / I promised I wouldn’t leave again

---

we were made of stardust
of a billion cosmos
skin of the sky
(and as we looked towards the night
I so very much wanted to believe it)

us–can you imagine?–made from the destruction of celestial bodies
only to return, full circle, to the dirt beneath weeds
i told myself that one day I’d buy you a telescope
just so we could see our mirrored selves

lighting up
a swarm of melting bodies

---

there’s a quick lilt that falls on her lips
sky kissed bronze falling in wisps
she leans in forward and nonsensically quips
“red velvet red velvet draped her hips”

---

 

cinnamon flecked bodies of
spice dipped milk
churning spoon and metal
glass clinks
aromatic whispers from my arms throat
and up
a full-bodied warmth
dances into my chest

---

 

were dreams the actualization of
latent unsaid
content?
(as freud posited)
or were dreams of something more
meaningful–
say, synchronization?
(as jung offered)

as i lie in bed
wrapped in distorted memories
cocoon of broken lights
i piece together the nothingess of logic
knowing that my subconsciousness
has weaved itself
indelibly
incoherently
infuriatingly

back into myself

day 16 of escapril 

a letter to you

I was accepted to all four graduate psychology programs I applied to! It’s official, I guess. I’ll accept an offer tomorrow.

It’s funny. I never thought I’d go to grad school. It was around my freshman year I stopped caring about grades as well. I figured nobody would see them, anyways.

The thought of reading up on more psych studies and research makes my heart tingley. I remember my first psychology textbook: I found it in the biology room and stole it for a few weeks. “Readers don’t steal and thieves don’t read.” Ah. You thought wrong. I was a four year old klepto whose books were hidden from her.

---

Words. “YOUR AWESOME” my student emailed me. I suppressed the grammar-lover in me. Grammar is important, despite my not adhering to it on here. I used to be terrible at it. Nowadays, I make every single student remember that the semi-colon’s twin is the period. It has a twin.

Sometimes when I see their notes I have to try hard not to laugh. I explained ellipses the other day, foci–a small bane of my geometric existence. I told him to “THINK STEWIE.” So he drew a Stewie and wrote it down on the paper. Where do Stewie’s eyes go?

---

I spent the past Monday playing video games with my friend. On Sunday we got lunch. Korean. It’d been a while since I’d seen them. We sat quietly for bouts of time. It felt comfortable.

---

It’s 1:30 AM and I can’t sleep. Insomnia doesn’t plague me the way that it used to. But it crept up two nights ago. I felt an irritating hunger pang and went to the kitchen to find food. I found a roach in my cup instead; I tried not to scream, but I did.

When I can’t sleep, I write. I write until I’m tired. I write until my brain has emptied itself on page. I write until there are no more thoughts swarming my brain.

Fell in Love With The World In You

A short film I made with footage taken in California, Philadelphia, Texas and New York.

Art Commissions

Lately I’ve been getting some inquiries about drawing requests. I decided to make a clearer style and pricing chart to highlight how people can commission a painting!

In regards to style, I’ve decided to delineate between “chunky” and “smooth” paintings. Whereas “chunky” paintings have visible shading, “smooth” paintings are light, airy and “buttery.”

The process itself is fairly easy. Send a request and photo; pay via Venmo or PayPal; I’ll have the image to clients in 3-5 days.

In the past, I’ve been commissioned to paint wives, sons, mothers, siblings, musical artists and models. If you’re interested in a digital painting, please feel free to message me here.