Into the City

We spent several hours on the road, stuffed with jammy kolaches and Vampire Weekend. One of the first songs I played was A-Punk. I had always thought the lyrics to A-Punk were: Do you want to go slowly / into the city? And I had always thought it kind of intimate and friendly. Like yes, Ezra, lead singer of Vampire Weekend, I would love to be stuck in traffic with you, now could you sing me a song? … More Into the City

Accidental Date II

The best dates are accidental – the bookstore/coffeeshop you didn’t expect, the historic square you didn’t anticipate, the flea market you didn’t know about. Today had all three – the bookstore/coffeeshop, the historic square, the flea market. I had an itch to go somewhere, maybe a bookstore or coffeeshop, preferably somewhere with space, parking, novelties, … More Accidental Date II

Decade of Digital Photography | 2o1o – 2o13 pt. I

Ever since I was little, I’ve captured tidbits and moments of my life on camera. This eventually snowballed into a love for photography, a (now-defunct) photography business, and, most recently, developing film at home. In an effort to organize old photos floating around the Internet – and my hard drive – I’ve started a project … More Decade of Digital Photography | 2o1o – 2o13 pt. I

Stories We Craft

One psychology article that stuck with me revolved around happiness and memory. How our happiness, or lack thereof, goes hand-in-hand with the stories we craft. The stories of our lives, the stories of ourselves. These stories help us create meaning and to make sense of the world around us. … More Stories We Craft

The Morning

Like a two year old, I’m starting to re-marvel at the mind, and how the people around us can only infer so much from the things we deliberately say. It’s like that quote from Murakami I always circle back to, whenever I feel tired or misunderstood or whatever: “I sometimes think that people’s hearts are like deep wells. Nobody knows what’s at the bottom. All you can do is imagine by what comes floating to the surface every once in a while.” … More The Morning

Rambling

Is there ever a point when you look back at your writing and think, wow! I hate my writing? That’s where I’m at right now. I look at old drafts and hidden posts. It’s all just… cringe. And yet here I am, still typing away. My private diary entries, on the other hand, are rambling, … More Rambling

Doodles

At first, I figured this iPad was mostly and only good for the procreate painting app. Over the past week, I feel like I’ve unlocked drawing heaven: I have an app to doodle in, an app to sketch in, an app to jot dreams in. It’s like having a million digital notebooks all stored in … More Doodles

Shopkeeper

This blog, since its inception in 2016, has since evolved from a bloated poetic mess to a bloated journalific mess. For the past hour, I went and vetted my content–all 20 pages of it. I removed unnecessary posts–ones where I didn’t seem to be saying anything at all–and potentially private posts, even if they may … More Shopkeeper

Rose

“It is the time you have wasted for your rose that makes your rose so important.” ― Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, The Little Prince

Peanuts

Our souls are like peanuts, our bodies, the shells. I remember thinking this the night we came home from burning incense. We burned paper money. I think we bowed. Me, in my gangly western body, oversized and overstretched. Metal lockers. Ashes. Peanuts. Light enthusiasm for existence has been coupled with a headachey down-to-earth boredom. While … More Peanuts

Dear diary,

I am at a boba shop, curled into the corner, taro boba and book by my side. I am reading Fruit of the Drunken Tree by Ingrid Rojas Contreras and finding comfort in the italicized Spanish and descriptions of Colombia. It reminds me of the books I read by Dominican writers, when they’d mix two … More Dear diary,

String of Thoughts

A string of thoughts, in no particular order: The mind is the strangest thing. One of my favorite books reminds me that we’re all stuck in our heads, projecting our own distorted notions of reality onto the screen of our minds. It’s all constructed, pieced together by attention, a weird believable 3D fabrication that we … More String of Thoughts

Disposable Diaries: Tale of Two Cities

Hopping from the East to the South draws each region into sharp contrast. Against the tall and narrow East, the South seems wider. Twangy recorded voicemails, the norm, strike me as peculiar (“hah-lo, yoo’ve reached–“) Cityscapes turn to landscapes and steel structures melt to lake water. Welcome home, where it’s hotter, quieter, sunnier, brighter, lazier, slower, … More Disposable Diaries: Tale of Two Cities

Mango Poppers

Lately, I’ve been flooded with memories. Vignettes. The sight of a person early morning, blue polo, by the coffee machine. Sunday runs with friends and pastel chalk we’d line ourselves with. Fifth grade secrets about love once unrequited, reversed, now going unrequited. Hallway hugs and devious plans, being called on our shit by the guy who got expelled. These images, vivid and clear, are like bursts of yellow mango poppers. Syrupy and strange. Abrupt and angry. And then they fade, quickly, only to make way for another.
More Mango Poppers