I was going to attempt to write a witty introduction to this post, but it’s the Devil’s asscrack degrees outside and I don’t have the brain capacity. Have you Googled an online recipe lately? It legit takes at least one minute to read past all the mumbo-jumbo to find the ingredients alone. It’s nice that this peach cobbler reminds you of your Great-Gamma Emma back in Georgia, but I do not care for a detailed description of your the first time you picked a peach in her backyar

I have amazing friends. They’re beautiful, and talented. Thoughtful and funny. Smart, and cultured. Every now and then we’ll summon our 25-year old selves and do something crazy like put heels on, drink all the drinks, and stay out past midnight. We laugh until our tummies hurt, and cry unfamiliar-but-becoming-more-of-a-thing happy tears when we see one of us walk down the aisle towards the love of her life. But when those familiar-not-as-frequent-but-wish-they’d-be-non-exist

In case you haven’t figured it out by now, I’m Asian. This means people automatically assume I’m good at math, bad at driving, and eat dog. It also means I’ll always look younger than I actually am. While I have colleagues older than me, I work with a good amount of people who are fresh out of college. Most of who think I am still in my twenties. My favorite was “Holy shit I thought you were 22” (God bless you my child). Obviously, I’m flattered. Unfortunately, it’s also a ti

I miss you. Obviously. I miss you when I see your friends, and when your brother posts a picture on social media. You two have the same mouth, it’s crazy. I miss you whenever I wear your 49ers shirt. Or white Giants jacket. Or knit sweater. It no longer smells like you and it drives me crazy. I miss you when I hear island music, and especially when I see anything related to Allen Iverson. I remember when you would text me pictures of AI and Eligh – you so crazy. I think about

The worst years sometimes teach the best lessons, and I’ve learned a lot in the past 12 months. Some things new, and some things harsh reminders of mistakes I’ve already made. I’ve learned that some friendships only exist to serve a specific purpose. Whether they’re intentional or not, some people are put in your life for reasons other than a long-lasting bond. Either they teach you a lesson, or fill a temporary void until something or someone better comes along. Some people

Sometimes I talk to the dead. I lay in her bed, and get my shoes dirty from playing with her sheets. I bring her trinkets, hoping they will amount to more than forgotten trash weathered by the morning mist. I water her flowers just in case she can actually smell them. You know, just in case. When I’m feeling optimistic, I hear her in the wind that sends the pinwheels spinning. I see her smiling in the sun that brings color to my face. And I feel her in the rain that tickles m

Usually, I spend my birthday throwing back Hennessy shots, or wading in aquamarine waters. This year I attended a funeral viewing, and then watched the sun set amongst tombstones and mausoleums. In less than two months, I lost two good friends of mine. Their services were in the same mortuary – in the same room mind you, and they were buried not too far from each other in the same cemetery. I mean, how fucked up is that? Have you ever heard a mother cry over the death of her

::From as far back as I can remember, I lived to write. On September 18, 2012 I moved from San Francisco to New York in hopes that I could write to LIVE. Please join me in my mis/adventures as I digest life in the Big Apple:: Written 01.25.13 I knew I had officially transitioned into living in New York the day it was 32°, and I was ecstatic that I didn’t have to wear a jacket to grab my morning coffee. Now, it’s 16° and while I know it’s colder elsewhere and shouldn’t complai

Oh Instagram, my how you’ve changed everyone’s lives. I remember creating the account in 2010, and all but forgetting about it for the next eight months after that. Now? Now I’ll run outside onto a freezing NY rooftop in 27° weather just to make sure my picture of my Henn and Coke in X-Pro II loads. Apparently, Instagram brings out everyone’s inner photographer, narcissist, philosopher, chef, and gym rat. All in hopes for that coveted spot on the popular page, or self-validat

::From as far back as I can remember, I lived to write. On September 18, 2012 I moved from San Francisco to New York in hopes that I could write to LIVE. Please join me in my mis/adventures as I digest life in the Big Apple:: “Thank God for granting me this moment of clarity …” It has now been roughly three months since I’ve moved to New York, although I feel like I’ve been back home more than I’ve actually been here. And while I obviously love the time I spend in SF, it has