My first tattoo was on my leg, the body part I am most proud of. My second tattoo was on the back of my arm, smaller and lighter as maybe I wasn’t ready to commit. And my third tattoo was on my back. The reason I get tattoos is to remember the time which has passed, not a singular symbol which stands for a meaning, but an image of the person I was and the chunk of time surrounding the getting. The symbol itself is irrelevant. I’ll start with the bird (leg). The bird, who is a roadrunner, was not intentional. I was on a road trip with my friend, C, and she had made herself an appointment with a woman to get a tattoo in Marfa when we were passing through. As the date approached, she realized she did not want to get one and so on a whim, I picked an image off of a flash sheet and got the simple stick and poke above the back of my knee on my hamstring. It is small, about the size of a silver dollar. Perhaps not because of, but at least in part, I will now always remember this road trip from California to Texas. It was 2021, the same year the state got its first big grid-failing freeze. With each poke, I felt those memories solidify, that I would not forget the potatoes cooked with Szechuan spices over the campfire, the woman who ran the shop in Alpine, so easily dismissed on the surface, but full of stories when you lingered a second longer, and cheersing with birthday tequila after hiking up to see the sunset above Arcosanti. 

I met a woman whose head was totally flat at the back, as if she had been set down too hard as a baby, neck unsupported. She invited me to a host bar with some of her friends, but not to worry, as it was all casual and this is just where she and her friends hang out. Her hair was that of a mermaid, which is how we got to talking, because I too want lilac hair. Since then I have had two dreams about hair bleaching, one in which I discovered that my stylist was lying to me and I really can bleach it again before March. I do not think my stylist is lying to me - the opposite, he’s concerned for my scalp health. It’s upsetting being so consumed by hair.

Visually, yummy is fun with its near palindrome dressing. The y’s without their tails could start to blend with the u, little vessels to hold what falls while the smoothness of the double ‘m’ creates a mini mountainous landscape right in the center. Sonically, it tells you what it is with those double ‘m’s as well. ‘Mmmm’ or  - ‘Why? You? Mmmmm. why?’ trailing off with a final question to the user which innocently requests for more information and a better understanding.

Is it better to live in a city that sinks or a city that shakes? A city that rains ash or acid? The past decade of my life has been lived in cities experiencing extreme climate crises and yet they are both perpetually summer with fresh fruit and veggies abundant. Faces are smiling and crowds of visitors and natives alike dot touristic streets. Los Angeles and Ho Chi Minh City are some of People’s favorites to visit and on opposite sides of the globe, both have swelling populations. For my birthday I had planned to visit Da Nang, a short jaunt up the coast, but it was hit by a typhoon and the wreckage is extensive. Because I do not want to be underwater, I will fly further North to Hanoi and visit Da Nang the following month instead. Life continues.

My dad always hated when I mentioned our dead parents club. This was my core group of friends in college. After years of knowing each other, we slowly found out that each of us had at least one dead parent. He would cringe at the excitement I conveyed upon meeting a group so similarly, seemingly cursed.

We Are Not in a Hurry // Musings

I often use my nails as the signal of time passing - oh! It’s time to cut them again?

Without the structure of semesters, long since past, and living without seasons my sense of time is lost. Whereas my peers seem to have those small people running around, always getting bigger as a reminder, I do not and my companions have a wide range of ages.

An absurdist look at putting a plate together.

“Recently, a friend and I observed that it’s not so much that I’m good at cooking, but instead, highly skilled at putting a meal together, specifically plating. Plating for me is not based on aesthetics, but the order and combination that people should put food into their mouths. What goes on top of what and what separates what should be thoroughly imagined prior to placing down a grain.