02.26.1999
In the forest, every least thing’s important. It’s all threaded together, so you can’t tell where one thing ends and another begins if you really look at it. The little insects you can’t even see, they play a role as vital as the river. The dead tree is as important as the living one. There… Continue reading thoughts since watching Train Dreams
There are aspects of my personality that I’m currently wrestling with. A lot. I scare myself often, and lately, I’ve been despising aspects of myself that I used to love. As I grow older, the rosy tint in my glasses is wearing off, and what I once viewed as strengths are starting to look more… Continue reading INFP growing pains: on momentary transports
There is a scene that has stayed with me long since watching it. It’s from a 2000 slice-of-life Taiwanese film called Yi Yi. Although the film runs just shy of 3 hours, I left the theater wishing that it was longer. Many of the scenes from this film have continued to linger in my mind.… Continue reading on the longing we carry
There is a fire burning before me. It is a good flame—sturdy and predictable. It undulates gently, crackling and popping in steady cadence. The crickets are joining in unison now, their song reverberating in the thin November air. As an immature and impulsive child, I would often make fires burn as big and bright as… Continue reading in some ways i have changed
I recently watched Manchester by the Sea. It’s a powerful film about grief and one man's inability to forgive himself for his past actions. I loved every minute of it. It’s viscerally raw and deeply human in a way that resonates with anyone who's struggled with feelings of guilt and loss before. Since watching it,… Continue reading reflections on grief, grace, and repentance
"He ate his breakfast with his back against the tree, reading the magazine while he ate. He had previously read but one story; he began now upon the second one, reading the magazine straight through as though it were a novel. Now and then he would look up from the page, chewing, into the sunshot… Continue reading perfect days
It is Valentine’s Eve at my mom’s flower shop. I enter through the rear entrance and head straight to the cramped, grimly lit back office to drop off my backpack. My dad—a typically easygoing, happy-go-lucky guy—is absorbed in his work, sipping black coffee while sternly mapping out flower delivery routes at his desk. Between him… Continue reading cleaning roses
marginalia 