Select: Other

In the list of things I am grateful for, lies the option, Other, so I leave some space and room, unfiltered, for magic to happen, like sunlight streaming into that room in Balai

1. A day sans alarms

2. This pink pen

3. Your mom holding back, for once

4. The feeling of envy just when you think you can’t dream anymore

5. Free dishwashing liquid

6. Mattress toppers

7. Numbered lists.

8. The thousand habits you can fall back upon

9. Like poetry, the accessible medium

10. But delusion, the less painful one

11. Coco Ichi curry with the red pickles

12. Ooku, being turned into an anime

13. Finally getting a schedule with your therapist

14. Clean sheets (fitted)

15. The promise of a cheese pull

16. A DM from your Asian dad

17. The near-zero (but never zero) chance Minghao could rub his scent on you

18. Solitude.

19. Loneliness, too.

20. A silly little bit that made someone laugh

21. A crisp negotiation, closed

22. Peace and quiet.

23. Two gush-worthy cats

24. A stolen reading lamp

25. Let Me In – EXO.mp3

26. The road stretching far ahead

27. Right Here. Right Now.

28: Other

shame and my body

You would not know how it would be to live in this body of shame.

I wrap my fingers and wrists, once, twice

Thrice in cloths and then gently over my eyes.

When I see myself I want to turn off the lights. Let’s be done with it,

I say. When I read the beautiful loves of the world, they are always

bathed in candlelight. Why is it so? Why is love, the love so dreamt of

and longed for in such soft light?

Isn’t the dream to be one with the empty air, where light and shadow

cease to be, where one just slides down a shade to merge one with oblivion? Oh to be in

delicious, warm oneness with the world.

To be fat is to draw outlines around your being and call it shame.

I can see my being, and yours. Or theirs. Kayo. Others, the rest. And me. Harsh, hospital light absorbed in the dark, in my edges.

Shame is a countdown that never hits one.

It slithers around my skin, coiling, and nestles in the center of my chest. (Do you call that my

heart?) And this, this parasite of a thing?

I want to be bathed in soft light. With candles, small and dancing flames

warming my cheeks like fingers meant to be there, caressing.

And yet all I have are these hands, mine.

Not yours, not anyone’s.

All over my eyes.

YNWA

January 13, 2023. I am closing a chapter in my life and embarking on a new one. Days have gone by since the turn of the new year where I have been either looking forward (as my career coach says, nth-order thinking), or retracing my 2 month-old steps in my head. Always in the future, or running circles in the past – never here and now.

It changed a bit tonight. God willing, I saw my old team (it hasn’t been long, to be honest) but we had a wonderful dinner. One that dragged a bit too long but with more than enough laughs to tide me over the slightly awkward but sweet ending. When we parted I ended up being the only one parked on the other side of town, so I had one of my Main Character walks around BGC at night.

It hit me then — I am alone now. Moving forward, with my friends and colleagues literally going the opposite direction, all of us going home to our own lives. It felt like the physical manifestation of this crossroad in my life.. me on a road never travelled by myself / a schism in my narrative string of time / a journey into the woods alone / the taste of sentiment beneath my tongue / like the fading aftertaste of some once-sweet fruit.

I made a promise to myself that I would treasure every single emotion I felt, especially the new. It surprises me every time – my heart can take this? Deep in my bones I feel centuries old, and as the years go by I worry there is nothing else, nothing novel to conjure anymore. On nights like this though, I continue to be surprised by my soul. The alchemy of a truth realized. And the truth is that I’m neither here, nor there- I’m moving.

The truth is that I always felt that fear of not changing as much I did fear changing. The funny thing is that I always will. Change, not change. Sometimes so plainly and so obviously, like that new kid in a classroom being adopted by the resident extrovert. Recently it’s been barely a whisper – just a hazy reflection on an old mirror. I’m still trying to get new glasses for this journey. It’s a solo act from this point (from what I’m seeing), but I’m happy that I have a lot of sweet fruit in my pocket. Thank you for keeping me company. I hope it lasts the ride.

I’m thankful that everything sweet is sweet because it is finite.

Anthony Doerr

Dear Chili — I hope you know that while you are on your own path, you’ll never walk alone.

Ending my palette year

I spent the last few hours of my 25th year on earth making a playlist of what it’s like being twenty-something.

I definitely haven’t felt both this alone and this real in the world. Sometimes it really leaves me speechless, and there are really moments, days, long stretches of time where I could just keep silent. There’s nothing to say. In the same way I could carve an eternity into a toothpick. There are no words needed because if I knew how to speak about it I don’t think I could take it.

The past 3 years have definitely been the toughest on me. There’s no path, and yet somehow it feels like I’m in a maze. Just walking blindly in a labyrinth (of what feels like my own creation, too). Less Sisyphean, but more like Icarus in Pieter Bruegel the Elder’s Landscape with the Fall of Icarus. (I always thought this would have more pizzaz, turns out flop eras are not meant to be televised.) But no matter, a fall is a fall of The Tower, and if there’s anything I’ve learned from months of dabbling in tarot readings – the Tower is good.

You know how these go, baby girl. It’s the hero’s journey at present. Your mind is such a gift. How you could hold the world and turn it upside down, topsy-turvy, but somehow still land on self-doubt. Of regret, of sabotage. I wish I could crawl into your brain and live there. In one of its curves, crannies. I could lay a nest there. Keep it warm and smelling of the softest of vanilla. A bed to watch the clouds pass over your head. I could count the stars there, take you surfing on the rings of Saturn. We would have our own golden record. I wonder what we would hear.

“Can I handle the seasons of my life?” — Landslide, Fleetwood Mac

I surprise myself every time.

Although I don’t know where and when I am, I’m so grateful.

1. Grateful for the art that has accompanied me, transformed me, sat beside me on the japanese high school rooftop of my life. Of the relationship I have with music – how can a musical note carry the weight of this emotion over centuries? I am so lucky. For the stories that have opened my mind. For the films and shows that have swept me and transported me to live lives within lives. For characters I can put in my pocket. For the artists and singers and poets and composers and writers… you make life worth living. A pleasant, sweet note.
2. Grateful for the friends who have walked this road with me, whether they know it or not.
3. Grateful for knowing. That’s me – I did that. Can you imagine, baby girl? You did that. For all that’s happened, you gave yourself the opportunity to grow. I wish you knew what’s behind the door you unlocked. It’s paradise, this hell. But time is on our side. There are minutes ahead of you like a road stretching far beyond the horizon. I love the way you take it slow. Stop and smell the flowers okay? The sun is still blessing us wherever we go.

A life-changer, this one.

I think I’m not there yet, Ji-eun-ah. I don’t know if I’m fine yet. But I’m learning more about who I am, what I like. I like mid-priced wine that I can’t describe yet. I like jazz and r&b. I like laughing with my friends. I like the color orange, I like the feel of a spice go down my throat. I like the lingering scent of a perfume that smells like a praise kink, from a day ago. I like it rainy saturdays and mornings where I only hear birds. I like to think they are wild geese.

Slow down you crazy child. You’ll get there. And you’re already there. I need you to open your eyes and romanticize your life. Your short and beautiful and quiet and wild and boring twenty-somethings. Time is on our side. I’ll be right here, whenever you feel you frozen. I’ll have a flower for you. A hydrangea, or a king protea. Wherever you find abundance and courage – distill it, and bring vials for the journey ahead.

You’ll make it. You’re already there.

— Secrets from a Girl (who’s seen it all)

I do not dream of labor

sometimes i think – why am i less inclined to driving myself to death working vs some of my successful friends? is this my character flaw, a level of pretention or inflated sense of self, or hubris? like why cant i throw myself headlong into work if it’ll give me some semblance of successs or achievement.

i realize now that i’m proud of myself, my subconscious self. whatever you call it – hubris, or the remnants of my time in europe — i think she is protecting me. reminding me that it’s simply okay to not want to ruin yourself for something you don’t even fully want. and even if it doesn’t sound brave or life-changing to others right now, it’s my way of protecting myself, and it’s my way of discovering my boundaries.

and i’m only relatively “lazy” vs the best of the best. i think that’s awesome. i’ve always been proud of my ability to straddle worlds (in this case its between type A and B, although I know im type A).

i realize now that i’ve always had it. i also have my core values in my mind. in that sense i haven’t fully betrayed myself, not in the way that i think.

Lessons from frying chicken

Today I sort of went through my own Saul to Paul revelation. I am writing this to cherish that wave of gratitude I felt so powerfully. (I think I’ve come to a point in my life where I’d like to appreciate every emotion I feel, good or bad — ika nga ni dad from CMBYN, we only have one heart and body in this life. I think my therapist would approve. Anyway I approve, and that’s what matters.)

I digress. Back to Saul/Paul. I was nearly blinded in one eye yesterday. It was a Sunday afternoon and I wanted to enjoy myself so I decided to make fried chicken sandwiches from scratch because we had extra egg whites from the carbonara and key lime pie the day previous. Shit happened, I was not too careful that day and so the face shield was left unworn, the chicken plopped straight into the oil, the oil displaced and straight up on my face. On my right side, my right eyelid the biggest spot affected. It was painful as fuck.

But like any woman (I suppose) I finished cooking, finished baking the bread, making aioli, pickling onions (I realize how fucking domestic this sounds, but I love it), even managed to eat the damn sandwich and play SUPERSTAR SMTOWN. Posted on instagram, even — brandishing the infamous sandwich like it didn’t nearly blind me. Eventually I was like, fuck this shit is painful as hell. Panic ensued, a bit of a meltdown, yadda yadda.

Fast forward to today. It dawned on me. I could’ve been fucking blind. If I blinked 0.02seconds later. Or just 0.2mm down. Just a decimal away from a complete 180 in my life. It dawned on me like a freezing bucket of water and all I felt was relief. Gratitude. For some freak reason (apart from bodily instinct) I am reading this stucky fanfic with my two eyes. With both. Granted, I’m scarred so mercilessly at the moment — still. I’m here with two eyes and I’m reading this. I’m not gonna wear an eyepatch (although kinda cool in theory only).

There are days where I feel like shit isn’t ever gonna go my way. For the past months I’ve been there. Down in the dumps, staring at a reality narrowed into a shape of a gutter. Or a laptop screen, in 2021 pandemic lexicon. In some ways I’m still there (look at my last post), fallen, falling, about to fall, completely out. But when I look back in hindsight (like we always do):

I want to remember that for at least an afternoon, for a couple of hours I was just so grateful and happy to be alive. In this body, this mortal coil. My arms and face bruised up, skincare fucked for a while, but two eyes open, unencumbered. Witnessing my two comfort characters go through their beautiful, fictional life they so deserved. I’m not St. Paul, but damn — did I feel like I saw Jesus in some way.

hit the road and schrödinger’s rat den

“On an unfamiliar path, anyone can lose their way. All you need is the courage to face the unfamiliar and daunting path again.”

C. Seungcheol’s Hit the Road episode

I came across this quote again recently and it’s been an endless sort of comfort for me (as well as the entire SEVENTEEN discography on loop, #selfcare). What strikes me is the power of again. In our hellish version of Groundhog Day — what does it mean to change? What is struggle? Do we get actually get better; is there any point to our struggles?

Posted the quote on a mood tracker app and a stranger recommended this poem to me.

Isn’t it strange how the universe sends you messages? The visual of falling into a pit in the sidewalk has been chasing me endlessly the past weeks — case in point, my Rat manifesto slash brainrot post — and was even the turning point in Pixar’s Soul. The exact moment the carpet was pulled from under him.

I find relief mulling over this quote, this poem, that visual. Facing an unfamiliar road again. You’ve faced it before, and you will again. You’ve fallen, you’re about to fall, you will fall, you’ve gotten up. It feels like the fall but it’s just another iteration in the cycle you’ll eventually break. It takes less time, every time. The sidewalk will curve to cave in, but you will walk on…. on an unfamiliar, daunting road… again. 🙂

Memes to describe 2020 me :)

Alternatively titled: GPOY without context

I heard we should chronicle our quarantine experience so here’s my contribution to the void!

• 

  24YO Chili discovering meditation

• 

  I knew being a romantic would screw me over one day

• 

  Confused but cute?

• 

  Well we’re all just horny here

• 

  I want my own “corner”

• 

  What y’all do when all your thoughts are intrusive

• 

  Mentally im here

• 

  worm 😦

• 

• 

Last two are just a treat for my gyuhao pea brain.

That’s it. That’s the post.

how’s this for an anecdote.

there are nights where i just can’t stomach how terrible i feel. i feel stuck in a hole i can barely crawl out of. like the dude who was standing on the sidewalk on the exact spot (unbeknownst to him) for a sinkhole to appear to drag him straight down to my definition of a Living Hell – a New York City rat den. imagine 30 minutes of that. My actual nightmare come to life. again – i would simply rather perish than have to live through that. No life insurance plan would account for rat-related PTSD, methinks.

Not to say i’m living in that circle of hell. But it sure as hell feels like (what i imagine) to be that moment where you realize you’re lying in a rat den. The floor beneath you has literally caved in and now you’re lying in literally the worst 10sqm of new york city. If i could describe 2020, up til around august it would have been the standing on the sidewalk (a real shitty one in my head). August to October — probably the carpet pull, the moment the ground caved. Q4 is the real fucking deal. Reality has dawned and there’s no escaping. I’ve accepted I’m in the rat den. Practically swimming in urban rat, clenching my body like spongebob in a desert.

Me to myself as i realize that i’ve written two paragraphs of rat propaganda and i’m past the point of no return

Like a true fucking millennial i’m masking my sheer burnout and existential dread with the worst headline i’ve ever seen this year. But honestly – how the fuck do I get out of the rat den. It feels like I’m one with the vermin at this moment.

Huh. Funnily enough I didnt intend for this to be a stream of consciousness. I’m realizing how absurd this is as I type. The power of metaphor, huh… This bit back immediately.

It seems as if the universe is really sending me signals to just. Fucking. Do it. Do something. Be the brave firefighter who descends into Actual Hell to pick yourself up. Save yourself bitch. No rat solidarity here.

I knew this sexy ass man would save me one day. He does, but I want to remember that ultimately, it was me.

We’re getting out of this rat den no matter what.

Diving deep

An excellent talk from a true talent. Much to be learned about humility, mindfulness and connecting with our nature.