a year in photographs 2020
january
i prepare to leave san francisco while attempting to tie up this chapter of my life with a neat little bow. a lot of time is spent sinking into friendships that i am sad to put on pause, focusing on the small bits of joy around the city, and reveling in the beauty of a routine that is no longer.
february
the transition to living in los angeles is dimly lit but also shimmering with vibrancy. my life is suddenly overwhelmed by old friends, and i begin to build a home for myself in a small nook in koreatown.
march
my friend daniel gets married just before los angeles goes into lockdown. i stress out about emptying grocery stores, indulge in the loneliness of isolation, and count my blessings all at the same time.
april
every day feels the same. i fall into a numbing routine, rarely leaving my apartment, dialing into endless zoom calls, and keeping myself as busy as possible. i bake, set up fundraisers, start live-streaming on twitch, and work far too much – all to chase away a dangerously meandering mind. on the weekends, i plant flowers in animal crossing and sit around in my underwear. i go to bed before sunset.
may
i turn 29. the day came and went. sleep was a refuge.
june
the world feels like it's on fire. my heart begins to break.
july
an era ends and my world suddenly feels expansive. i begin to sell all of my paintings and make space in my life, physically and mentally, to bring in new inspirations.
i start to like a boy, and it is nice to know that i can. i even begin to daydream a little, of grass and fluffy clouds, of shady trees and sweaty summer nights. but it ends as quickly as it begins.
august
my life becomes inspired. i turn my insomnia into sunrise runs. i use my idle time to teach as many art classes as i can. i stream more, paint more, and look towards the skies.
the last few days of august saw mountains and rivers and hotpot in the middle of nowhere. i feel deeply connected once again.
september
the world is on fire. the red sun in our skies, the ash hanging heavily in our lungs. our poor state is burning. amongst many other things.
october
i return home from a work trip in san francisco and have trouble easing back into isolation. i pour my feelings out by tending to my plants and dancing in my living room.
november
everything around us rages madly on. we let out of a collective breath for a moment but immediately fill up our bellies, lungs, and heads with anxiousness to hold once again. i lose understanding of what it means to find balance, and the boundaries of where one thing ends and another begins are blurred into oblivion.
december
my heart breaks more and more as i find joy in the most unexpected of ways. i grapple with how these two things that seem to be at odds manage to run parallel in my life.
i end the year in austin, texas, surrounded by laughing faces from long, long ago. they call me by my vietnamese name and i couldn't be happier. for the first time in months, i feel loved.
