November 2015

Children often learn to hate the word "no". They become resentful hearing it so often from adults. Since my mom doesn't speak English, the word "no" didn't mean much to me growing up.

The word I absolutely hated, without a doubt, was this word I don't even know how to spell. Something like "dang hoang" or "dang hang" (I spent 15 minutes trying to Google it to no avail).

It's general meaning was something like "proper" or "becoming". She'd say this word to me all the time, telling me that I had to "act properly" in public.

Honestly, I never really acted badly though. I never threw temper tantrums or did the numerous weird things I'd catch my preschoolers doing. But I think she, being a lonely, intimidated foreigner in this big, predominately white, all English-speaking word, really tried her best to not stand out which meant I also had to be as bland as possible to never attract attention.

And so, I never did anything that was very interesting. 

But there were always little things. 

The glasses that sat askew on my face for years. That voice which was always one or two levels above acceptable. That obnoxious laugh. The shoes with the holes. 

Always the shoes with the holes. 

But I guess she won this time because it turns out wearing shoes with holes in the snow only leads to wet socks and misery. 

Touché, mom. Touché.

And now a pair of dirtbags.

"You guys brush your teeth??"

Yeah, we're dirtbags, not barbarians.

People have career plans. Climbing aspirations. Relationship goals. Social ambitions.
 
Never in my entire life could I tell you what I wanted to do with myself. I couldn’t do it when I was in kindergarten. I couldn’t do it when I was graduating high school. I couldn’t do it when I was graduating college. I still can’t do it today.
 
I couldn’t tell you (or even him) why I liked my ex-boyfriend or what I want to do with my climbing or what my dream job is or what country I want to live in or if I want to have kids ever.
 
Despite the obscene amount of words I make, my words fail me in explaining any of these things.
 
I just want to burn brighter than the fucking sun.
 
Is that so much to ask?
 
Am I just a huge hippie?

...

Though in all honesty, making words doesn’t take as long as you’d think.
 
I’m just transcribing stories that I’ve already narrated to myself a thousand times.
 
I spend a good amount of every day hanging out in the Memory Box.
 
Whenever I’m doing something mindless, I go into the Memory Box. The Memory Box is filled with gigantic cabinets which are, in turn, filled with manila files detailing every Memory. I pick out a random file and flip through the pages of pictures and words.
 
Some files are better written than others. They’ve been written and re-written and re-written a million times.
 
Others are dusty and scrawled in child-writing.
 
Some are covered in stickers and colors and others are tear-stained and torn.

...

In addition to the Memory Box, I also spend a good amount of time kickin’ it in the Nothing Box.
 
The Nothing Box is usually where I am when we’re in the midst of a conversation and you see my eyes glaze over and you ask, “What are you thinking about?”
 
Then I turn to you and say, “Oh, sorry. Nothing.”
 
“Really?”
 
Yeah, man. Really.
 
I’m hanging out in the Nothing Box. Chill.

Above: When deciding between A and B, why not choose both? Chocolate chip cookie + Oreos + Brownie + Frosting.

Below: Graham cracker crusts for a pumpkin cheesecake pie, not pictured. Reminder to self - be sure the cream cheese is actually at room temperature or else you end up with pathetic lumps in your cheesecake... patience. I need more patience...

There's so much snow in Tahoe. It's hard to imagine I was climbing here just three weeks ago.

I love being warm, but I admit-- I miss Korea's seasons. I miss those days when I waited so eagerly for that first day when I could stop wearing tights under my jeans and when I would try to spend as much time as I could outside before the torrential summer rains would come.

I don’t know how it’s possible for me to make so many words and yet, despite making so many words, there are still more words I have to make.
 
I feel like my every day is just about making up for lost time.
 
I feel like the overwhelming amount of energy and the suffocating desire I have come from this insatiable urge to take back all those lost minutes, days and years.
 
I feel like I spent a lot of time keeping quiet and keeping my head down.
 
I feel like I’m rather over it.

For the past 4 and then some years, every month I’ve posted an album up on Facebook with commentary and words.
 
At first, the pictures were really plain. I wasn’t interested in making them nice. They were only meant to trigger memories—so I didn’t care if they looked pretty or if the words I wrote were any good.
 
Somehow, over time, I took a little more care with the photos and the accompanying commentary. The albums became less of a photo dump and I began to curate what I posted a little more.
 
Today I still don’t try super hard with the photos themselves—my camera isn’t that fancy. But I do try when it comes to words. 
 
It’s like I think that if I vomit up enough words, some of them will accidentally land next to each other to create something clever or aesthetically pleasing.
 
Like monkeys creating Shakespeare.

Or finding meaning in your alphabet soup.

I’m really good at sleeping. The moment my head touches a pillow, I’m out for the count.
 
But this is a recent development.
 
Up until I was 22, it’d take me at least an hour before I could drift off to sleep. So in that time, I’d do nothing but flip through these Memories a million times over.
 
So now when I write, it’s easy. The stories are so familiar.
 
It’s a kind of catharsis, really, taking these files out of the Memory Box and seeing them in a physical form in front of me.

My eyes glazing over mid-conversation is nothing against you, though.
 
Please don’t feel offended.
 
It’s not you-- it’s me.
 
Any lull in conversation becomes an opportunity for me to sneak out to the Nothing Box. When I’m in the Nothing Box, moments turn into minutes, and minutes into hours.
 
Sometimes in mid-conversation, my brain trips over itself and I accidentally fall into the Nothing Box.
 
Sorry.
 
I didn’t mean to.
 
I was listening.

Yerba mate tea + gin + orange juice + sugar makes for a really wonderful cocktail that's light and delicious. Got the recipe for this from a wonderful Argentinian chef :) 

It's pretty wonderful. 

We went to Joshua tree.

I'd never been to the desert before.

We got really lost.

Night fell. Everything in the goddamn desert looks the goddamn same by moonlight.

REI, can I be the photographer for your next catalog yet?

Hemingway is concerned for his master.

Don't worry Hem.

Climbing is OK.