january
i ring in the new year in austin, texas but barely recognize the clock striking midnight. after being around childhood friends for two weeks, returning back to an empty apartment in los angeles was startlingly painful.
february
long walks in empty places is the only thing saving me from the depths of self-isolation. a construction worker yells to me, “you’re doing great!” and i feel an uncanny warmth that resembles something like a cheap, feel-good movie.
march
sleep escapes me. i relish in the pink blossoms lining the city streets.
april
henry, a friend i met during the pandemic, and i wake up at 5am to drive to bakersfield to get vaccinated. most of my time on interstate 5 was spent thinking about how we’ll likely never forget each other because of this. a twinge of sadness emerges, but i don’t allow it to simmer for too long.
the vaccination lifts much of the weight from my shoulders, and everything feels okay for a brief moment. the world opens up, and i find myself talking and hugging and laughing with other people again, just in time for summer to unveil itself to los angeles.
may
i turn 30 and fall deeply in love with new mexico.
june
my time in los angeles is quickly coming to an end - much faster than i had anticipated. what was meant to be a temporary stop in my hometown extended out to more than a year, and it is time say farewell once again.
as usual, preemptive nostalgia settles into my bones and i start missing things that have become regular facets of my daily life: merlin’s little face squished under the pillow every afternoon, solo dance parties in my living room in between work calls, the baby blue car i’ve watched park every day beneath the same lamp post outside my window.
july
i spend a long weekend in joshua tree with friends i haven’t seen in over a year. we sit around drinking whiskey, playing board games, and watching movies underneath the starry desert sky. it feels magical to be reunited with my chosen familia. i went to sleep every night resting with the knowledge that they’ll always be a part of my life, no matter how much time and distance separates us.
in the latter half of july, i fly out to atlanta to visit henry. we glide around in the sweltering, humid air in between thunderstorms, buying and naming plants, taking swigs of wine by a moonlit lake, and hoping that any of this will mean something.
august
my goal at the beginning of the year was to put on a solo art show to honor my mum’s 10 year death anniversary before leaving los angeles, the city where she raised me. the show finally happens on august 28th. it feels like the night came and went in a flurry of stress; i meet incredible people and have life-giving conversations, but i simultaneously have a difficult time celebrating how momentous it all is.
all my belongings gets packed into a few boxes, and i trade in my apartment keys for the open road. august brought chicago, new orleans, and seattle.
september
i return from a series of flights & vibrant musical experiences and head north towards san francisco where i’m reunited with people who have shaped me at vastly different stages of my life. it’s odd, to be confronted with so much change and familiarity all at once.
i think about how lucky it all is, to have so many lessons to learn and relearn as i get lost in the upheaval of routine.
october
i spend a lot of time driving through utah, colorado, and texas… feeling lonely but very much like i am moving in a direction i am meant to, whatever that means. something ushers me forth despite my hesitance. the few moments i have with friends along the road are savored bittersweetly. i recognize all of this marks the end of something, but i can’t quite put my finger on what exactly that is.
the world is far colder than i anticipate. i wake up to snow often as the plants i brought steadily shrivel up in my car.
november
the road tires me. i fly back and forth between san francisco for work, making me realize being in the air tires me even more. i honor my mum’s 1o year death day with a small celebration in austin, texas with her best friend. we attempt to make bánh tiêu together but instead gather around our deflated pastries wondering how on earth my mom managed to make them so effortlessly.
henry flies out to austin to join me for my drive through the south. my favorite holiday, thanksgiving, lands us in hiawassee, georgia where i’m surrounded by a lot of warmth. what a welcome change from the cold.
december
i find myself in london at the end of the year. we wake up close to sunset every day and bundle up to waddle through the cold evenings, going park to park, museum to museum, bridge to bridge.
somewhere in between sips of cabernet on a sleepless night, we agree to be each other’s and i cry because nothing seems more frightening than choosing to love and be loved.
