A letter to my friends about coming back to things.
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There is not a whole lot I can say that you haven’t heard a million times about the state of the world right now. There are many voices—some better than others—in the conversation, and I’ll just let them carry on with it. But I’m concerned with how you, as an individual, are doing, and I figured I’d share a personal update as well.
Read MoreI don't think it can be done.
Read MoreThe concept of intentional rest is something I’ve always struggled with, and something I’m trying to cultivate in my day-to-day going forward. The fact of the matter is that I’m exhausted, I’m always exhausted, I don’t remember when I wasn’t. And I’m so tired of being tired.
Read MoreI grew up reading constantly, but like many, I stopped my strong reading habit after I no longer had a curriculum for it. I read books here and there, of course, but I couldn’t call myself a voracious reader anymore. This annoyed me (I still would not put myself in that category), so I set the bar low at one book a month.
Read MoreNew York mornings are kindest when you get up before everyone else, when you can let the light in without the sound. They are the sweetest when you went to bed at 9pm, an impossibility when that’s the time you finally walk through your door and hop in the shower and you still need to eat dinner.
Read MoreI have been practicing saying goodbye to her my whole life. Because that’s the thing when you live half the world away from your grandparents. You spend a lot of time saying goodbye.
Read MoreSo I have this picture in my head of the perfect day. It is slow and detailed and calm. I feel refreshed and inspired throughout this day. I feel content and peaceful. My actual day, of course, is rarely that.
Read MoreThere’s a meteor shower. I’m above the clouds and part of the atmosphere, so there are dozens. Tiny meteors streak across the sky, lighting up in flames for a brief second before they are vaporized in the atmosphere. I am in awe.
Read MoreI gave myself a fever on Wednesday, like an idiot.
Read MoreEven a teammate in high school, a child of Chinese immigrants, would insist that I was not really Asian. I balked. I remember the day my parents became naturalized. So if I wasn’t Asian what were they? What was I? I told her: we’re from the Philippines. That’s in Asia. I’m Asian. That doesn’t count, she said.
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