january i ring in the new year with covid at our heels. it seems like everyone around us is falling sick, but it makes way for quiet contemplation for all the newness abound.
i move into an apartment with slanted floors and make a bed out of pallets i bought off facebook marketplace. my morning routine includes begrudgingly editing tiktoks for work in bed.
february back in san francisco: one week of munis, overabundantly hip coworking spaces, an airbnb above burma superstar, and endless negative tests. i have a distinct distaste for this old life of mine but am forced to realize that it very much still is my current.
in atlanta, a lot of scheming occurs next to what we call ‘the smoking window.’ many dreams are written down on paper.
march
i start working part time at bakeries and move into a shared art studio space that eventually is home to our film lab. we build and build and life becomes naturally rhythmic.
my dark, empty apartment makes me feel trapped.
april during a trip from denver to dc, i begin to understand that it is not my apartment but, rather, my career that is making me feel trapped. i solidify my decision to leave tech again... this time with more confidence that it will for good.
from there on out, my days are consumed by thoughts of the film lab, long walks underneath spring blooms, and connecting with family.
may the city warms up and ushers us into the outside world.
june sweet & sweat-drenched.
july thedays feel like they go on forever. we go to new york to soak in swelter + loved ones. in atlanta, i learn to pray.
august august is a gentle cool down from the height of summer. a lot of atlanta firsts, like the high museum and eddie's attic and looking at houses we can’t afford.
september there is so much excitement spilling over the edges of september that it falls right through my memory.
i am drunk off white wine & jaeger and chasing ducks along the dark coast. i say, i don’t think i’ll be able to remember all the things we’re talking about. and you say, it’s okay, it can be just for us for now.
later in the month, merlin the cat arrives from california.
october there is celebration after celebration, from birthday paella to autumn foliage, halloween costumes to new homes.
november an accident lands me in the ER with a left hand too cut up to use. elections happen, thanksgiving is full, opportunities unfurl, but uneasiness plants itself in the pit of my stomach and spurls into my dreams.
i lose my camera.
december the fast-moving year catches up to me and all i yearn for is home while being anywhere but. i cry a lot. it takes me until the last day of the year to finally recognize how good i have it.
i often think of this dewy patch of grass beneath the palm tree-lined sky. and i often think about how lying down on it feels the same as being somewhere you belong.
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.
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.
january this was my first full month living in san francisco. i acclimate quickly to the cold, dark mornings and the steady rhythm of routine. my cats merlin and gandalf move up from los angeles, and i feel the buds of excitement beginning to unfurl inside me. one morning before work, thomas and i sat by the massive window in front of le marais, quietly sipping coffee while watching the raindrops glide down in erratic patterns. we imagined all the things we would do with our new lives here.
february sarah visits from berlin and we spend time mesmerized by monterey chrysaora, mission murals, and an underwhelming super bowl. i start feeling the heaviness of work weigh on me. it feels like a gray cloud is following me everywhere, but that cloud is actually just the entirety of the san franciscan sky.
march full of frustration from injustice, self doubt from gaslighting, and fear of retaliation, i leave what i previously thought was a dream job. thoughts of antiestablishmentarianism take root. the buds inside me have bloomed into something i didn't anticipate, and it's so much more terrifying and freeing than i thought possible.
the structure of my life shifts suddenly: i get accepted into an art studio and immediately dive into preparing for an open studio show.
april the dust of march's battles settles and my mental wellbeing worsens. i walk away from a four year relationship as well as the life i convinced myself to want in the months prior. i try to create things but everything looks and feels like nothing. i spend the month drinking a little too much and getting angry every time i wake up.
may i turn twenty-eight with arms full of yellow roses, chocolate cake in my belly, and rosy faces all around me. i'm so, so lonely and filled with so, so much joy. i write up a storm to sort through the confusion. it is a beautiful mess.
june a lot of june was spent chasing a certain kind of feeling in the humid los angeles summer.
july i claim control over my life again and begin to shape it into something that feels worthwhile. after months of reading, reflecting, and reeling from the hypocrisy of this dystopian tech culture, my shifted worldview finally crystalizes into a solid foundation of values that determine how i want to to move through this world.
as i search for compassion in a seemingly morally bankrupt city, a rebellious spark begins snapping and popping inside me.
august work gets really busy and the hunger to paint grumbles in the back of my mind. i begin teaching art & architecture at local schools and it locks me even deeper into a claustrophobic cycle i can't break free from. i lose myself to the busyness but simultaneously feel hyperaware of and endlessly grateful for the fact that there even is work. this is temporary. i am lucky.
when it became too much, i found moments to step outside to take large gulps of air.
september time slips through my fingertips.
october boys are assholes and i try to do the best that i can. the spark catches fire and the flames within me grow. i fly around the country to see friends and realize how much i've changed this year.
november i retreat from the world and give myself time to focus on work that i love and to cuddle with my cats. the beautiful friendships i've forged throughout the year keep me warm as my body reluctantly adjusts to the cold once again.
december life kicked me around all year long and transformed that silly, hopeful bud from january into this wildfire of a creature in december. i hair toss my way through the whole damn month. i find strength in the quiet and slow down just enough to allow inhales to fully expand into every neglected nook and cranny of my aching body. i am full again.
january the year starts off with almost running out of gas in southern utah. i flew to vietnam for the first time and struggle with feelings of belonging. i met the unfamiliar faces of my step family, then cried at the airport when i had to say good bye.
february matthew and i went to british columbia, driving along slippery slopes, skiing in cotton candy snow, and basking in the sunset reflections in the white mountains. i discovered my paranoia of bear tracks in the snow and rattlesnakes hiding in dead logs while hiking by myself. i also discovered how amazing tim horton's is.
march the superbloom came to california and i've never been happier.
april i was on the road sporadically - a wedding in nashville, a poker tournament in reno. in between, i fell in love with the colors of spring and hated everything i created.
may i turned 26 alone in a tree house in argentina.
june it was summer, but my skin barely touched the sun. a sudden urge to go to zion overcame me, so matthew and i set out to utah... only to have the symptoms of a kidney infection overtake me during one of the most dangerous hikes we've been on. i cried all 9 hours home and curled up in bed for days.
i crossed "hike angels landing" off my bucket list.
july i spent a lot of time outdoors and equally as much time reading political books and articles. i felt hopeful and hopeless, but mostly uncertain about what my role was.
a four inch scar now runs along my right shin from drinking too much vodka, looking at the stars, and tripping over a cement block.
august my family released my mum's ashes into the sea and i am upset by how anti-cathartic it is. i filled my apartment with chrysanthemums because it helps.
later in the month, we saw a sliver of the solar eclipse and it was magical. i added "witness a total solar eclipse" to my bucket list.
september i cut my bangs just in time to head over to europe for two weeks. sarah, thomas, & i drove around the south of france, then ate our way up to milan, vienna, and prague. i saw gustav klimt's paintings at the belvedere and it helped add rich colors back into my work.
october i went back to vietnam to visit my dad who suddenly moved away in the summer. i explored more of the countryside, spent a wonderful few days with my ex-step family, then flew over to thailand to get my scuba diving license.
after a month of sleepless nights working, homesickness began to spread in my bones. i was exhausted.
november i worked a lot. i felt lonely. it felt like the world was on fire.
december the southern californian fires filled my lungs with a hint of smoke and ash. i thought about how i am not where i want to be, but i am probably exactly where i am supposed to be. i threw away my maps searching for happiness and surrender to the fluidity of existing.
