I’m sitting in the dim of my kitchen, glass of pinot noir at hand, dead flower petals and strings of ear buds scattered about my desk as I catch glimpses of darkening grey through the window. This shade of slate won’t seem to let up, though we were teased with a few days of shimmery sunshine and afternoons filled with the fluff of cherry blossoms.
Driving through the sunlit, endearingly gritty streets of Tacoma yesterday evening, I chat with my friend Ben after what felt like a very long, very sad day. We were both hurting for different reasons. Me because of one of the many little deaths out of which life always returns, and he because of the ugliness he had encountered that day with his students.
Sometimes in a moment alone after a thread of days spent around people for extended periods of time I’ll feel a very distinct feeling of hollowness. For sanity, I require time to just be quiet and still- maybe scrolling through websites, paging through a book, or staring out the window. Although necessary and mostly tenderly enjoyable, there’s a barrenness to the space around me when instead of clattering around in the kitchen or chatter from across the room I hear only the mechanic purr of the heater and cruel tick of the clock.
Layers of ugliness and masterpiece.
There are days when it feels like everything has been flecked with rose gold and hazel and honey. They are rare and they’re when I feel my heart in my throat and even sleep deprived and synapses slow, everything feels delicious.
Inappropriate and sometimes downright aggressive encounters are not rare in the life of women today. All women, to varying degrees, experience some form of misogyny, disrespect, or overstepping of boundaries just too consistently.
*Written October 24th (my mom told me to publish this immediately after I read it to her; hi mom: love you)
Throughout all of my past romantic relationships, I have told one big, fat lie: “I hate romance/rom-com films.”
This last week I got to spend time with my sister, Hilary, and my brother in law, Ron at their home and where I like to call one of my “happy places”. The places where I feel at ease, where stress’s chilling fingers find it difficult to find a full grasp, and where I feel unconditional love.
Writing today from Gate B9 in Taipei, waiting for a plane to- you guessed it- Phnom Penh, Cambodia. I’ve spent the past few weeks back in Washington making sure life still exists there (it does, and it’s thriving) and making some connections for work which has been rather exciting.
It’s already been a month since I made my first trek to Phnom Penh and experienced this well-known yet no less easy twelve hour layover in the McDonald’s-less Incheon Airport in Korea. The last time I was here, only a mere hundred feet away from where I sit now as I finished another entry, I was crying my eyes out. It was after a long night of slamming Soju and Asahi with Yoshi and our new friend, Misato, hashing out all of our frustrations and navigating through feelings of our impending work trip. I had experienced a restless six hours in the airport hotel, I was feeling anxious and disoriented, not knowing what to expect as I went back to the country I had left so recently and simply exhausted physically and emotionally.
