lifestyle, Personal, relationships, Travel, United States

artifacts.

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The sky is a sorbet of bright white clouds and silky grey with strips of unripened blueberry through the tall, secret-telling windows of our new apartment. I hear only the whirr of the washer and dryer, every so often interrupted by the shriek of a seagull. I’ve spent the past few hours sorting through the boxes stacked high against the cool concrete walls. Piling up dust blanketed books and milk glass to haul to Goodwill, sifting through ancient Sharpie covered CDs scattered among ink filled day planners, and tossing stack upon stack of irrelevant business cards. While I’ve moved seventeen times in the past ten years, I somehow manage to hold on to some impressive memorabilia.

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lifestyle, Personal, relationships

“like” this.

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Scroll, scroll, scroll. Like, like, like. Tweet, repost, share.

Pressing my thumbprint onto the home button of my iPhone and waiting for the screen to illuminate, I never felt that my desire for connectivity on social media or phone to be abnormal. Because it’s not. I’ll sit in a friend’s living room where everyone else’s eyes scan their screens, I’ll sit in a café and more than half the faces are turned downward to their phones. I’ll be at a party and people are Snapchatting or taking selfies left and right, unembarrassed and filtered.

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Family, lifestyle, Personal, relationships

imperfect.

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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.

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Beauty, Family, Personal, relationships, Travel, United States

Tide pool.

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I spent the two days this past week on the Oregon Coast, in familiar yet missed salty air,  hair whipped to and fro by the rambunctious wind. It has been years since last visiting those dunes, since witnessing the crush of the tide and feeling the emptiness and fullness of the Pacific.

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Personal, Uncategorized

Reminder.

Brushing it off and saying “it’s just one of those days” is a disservice to yourself. It’s a cheat out of giving yourself permission to experience real pain, real emotions, real sadness. Whether or not you understand where it’s coming from doesn’t necessarily matter- and it doesn’t make it any less.

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Family, lifestyle, Personal, relationships

Your True North.

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In my favourite book The Virgin Suicides, after a first attempt at death, young Cecilia is asked post-slitting-of-the-wrists “What are you doing here, honey? You’re not even old enough to know how bad life gets.”

Her response, “Obviously, Doctor, you’ve never been a thirteen year old girl.”

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Art, Cambodia, Expat, Family, Fashion, Food, lifestyle, Music, Personal, Phnom Penh, relationships, Travel, United States

Whirlwind.

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Layers of ugliness and masterpiece.

It has been 13 days since soaring into the air towards Phnom Penh, Cambodia and two full back home, in Washington- in Tacoma, That Quiet Little Mountain Town. The amount of breaths, thoughts, experiences…stuff… that has happened in these past two weeks: in the world, in America, in my heart: vast. I am exhausted, fatigued to the bone and only able to process scraps at a time, little scintilla of memories as my mind rests and wanders, wakes and tremors.

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Uncategorized

Wonder.

“Pain is inevitable, suffering is optional.”

It’s one of those quotes that I feel like I’ve been told more times than any normal person should be told, but again- that’s probably just me overanalyzing once again.

I haven’t completed a blog entry in some time now, I’ve started plenty, but none seem to encompass the roller coaster of a ride my life seems to be on right now. This one probably won’t either but I might as well try.

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Expat, Music, Travel

Nick Waterhouse @ King Tut’s.

Nick Waterhouse

One thing severely lacking as an expat in Phnom Penh is a solid and exciting music scene where I look at a poster or flip to the back of a magazine and say “YES! They’re finally showing!”. There are a few local bands and groups from small punk groups to jazz quartets along with some local singers who cover Top 40 hits, but nothing compares to the smashing availability of music venues, acts, and talent that strikes my fancy like that of the Pacific Northwest- and for Ritchie the music available in Scotland.

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