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My Melodramatic Dispatch (Pt. 2 of ?)
TLDR: Summers feel different now.
The older I getā¦ the more I remember:
Stinging hot pavement under bare feet as I raced around the block, hiding from and chasing others in hide-and-seek.
The feeling of grass and dirt squishing between my toes as I paused mid-run, gasping, hair tangled ā fully alive and present.
The smell of smoke in the evening light as I crossed the street to join in making sāmores.
I remember the rush of wind as I soared on the oak tree swing made of rope and wood, my stomach flipping the higher I climbed. It felt like flying.
I remember the musk of the playhouse ā getting it ready for an imaginary guest. And the day I jammed my left thumb in one of the window sills, sealed so tightly shut it popped when we finally wrenched it open.
I remember the taste of sweet popsicles from Costco ā the ones that cut the sides of your mouth if you werenāt careful with the plastic.
The fried chicken my grandma would make for dinner, and eating it outside on the front porch. Inside, the air was thick with grease, wafting through the window screens.
When they were ripe, weād go blackberry picking on the trails. And when we got home, weād pour them over bowls of vanilla ice cream - stinging & cut fingers be damned.Ā
When we flew out to Illinois for family reunions, my cousins, siblings and I would grab empty bottles and run through the park catching fireflies at dusk.
I remember the ice cream truckās lilting tune, coaxing us out of the shade for a sweet treat.
And the smell of pancakes in the morning at my friendās house ā her mom setting the backyard table for breakfast after a sleepover.
I remember walking home afterward ā full, tired - still in yesterdayās clothes.
The older I get, the more I cherish summer ā in a bittersweet, remembering kind of way.
Thereās a softer anticipation now for this yearās version of it ā and a small ache for the ones Iāve already lived.Ā
For the girl I was those past summers: unburdened, wilder, breath sharp in my lungs ā racing barefoot down Tolmie Avenue.
Jun 25, 2025
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hereās a poem i wrote while reminiscing on one of the most formative summers of my life š©·
Jun 27, 2025
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When I think about it, I think most of my nostalgia stems from being a child because I was unequivocally aware that I was filled with joy and trusting my present state. I was able to thrive in naivety because I was around people who had my best interest at heart. I didn't feel heartbreak simply because I was a child and had no purpose to date. I never felt true betrayal (even on the contrary of my second grade best friend randomly becoming my third grade bully...or attempted bully). My friends lived next door and on hot summer days we stayed outside from sun up til the street lights came on. Riding around the neighborhood on our bikes, buying candy from the corner store, then playing hopscotch with the bigger kids across the street. The nostalgia to truly feel free from the complexities that I face daily with interactions.
I look back and my sisters and brothers were always around. I think about the days where we danced and sang songs. Never aware that that day was the last day where we are under the same roof, laughing and mocking but with so much love in our hearts that we don't care. We just feel good.
Apr 24, 2024
Time flies when youāre actually living, I suppose. I miss the person I used to be, though Iām not sure Iād return to her.
Leaving behind the chaos of my parents in Taiwan during my teenage years
with no one waiting for me in Paris
was an act of quiet bravery I couldnāt yet name. The pain back then was too vast to carry, and somehow, starting from zero at nineteen felt lighter than staying in the wreckage of it all.
2d ago
Top Recs from @head_olive_cephalopod
Had a meeting with a client last week. Sheās moving to Korea and shared her version of āsoul foodā with myself and colleague. These were so sweet - natures mochi almostā¦ Loved the texture, and she served them on the sweetest china Iāve ever seen. She says the shipping cost was insane because they were imported from Korea - but well worth it, wow.
Jun 18, 2025
I hope you keep what resonates, and leave what doesnāt. I deleted IG for years. I got back on last August and have felt compelled to write - usually in moments where Iām broken open. My most recent piece I lay here for you:
My Melodramatic Dispatch š (pt 1 of ?)
TLDR: The girls are fighting but theyāre metaphors.Ā Enjoy :)
(ft. life lately)
I like to think that Quiet and Silence are like sisters.
And whatās the difference between them?
Quiet sighs sweetly with you in small and unnoticed moments--like pausing to admire spring blossoms, or the stillness after finishing a book you didnāt want to end.
She reaches for your hand and pulls you close--offering an embrace during lifeās painful moments.
In grief, she sits beside you, feeling your ache and holding space for precious memories.
She smiles wryly as two strangers catch eyes--feeling the world fade, and the pull of an invisible thread between them.
When words fall short in sacred moments, she holds the fragile stillness of a shared, knowing gaze.
Quiet is a gentle strength.
She is permission to savor, to soften,
to stay.
Quiet is a doe resting peacefully on a sunlit patch of earth, present & unafraid.
Silence looks at you sharply, unrelenting.Ā She sees past your facade and dares you to face the truth.
She sits--sovereign & accusing--in the breathless gap of a loverās quarrel.
Her presence--undeniable and weighty--strips you bare, leaving only your soul.
She leans against the doorway, arms crossed, as your lover walks through it, slamming the door behind them.
She doesnāt flinch.
She walks over, kneels beside you,
& calmly places a hand on your shoulder.
Silence is not cruel,
but a reckoning.
She rages.
She deafens & consumes.
She is a wave--denying you air as she pulls you under the weight of her.
As sisters, of course they argue.
They arrive at the door of your moment--an unanswered text, an awkward pause, a delayed response--& bicker about who the waiting belongs to.
Silence sneers, mocking your vulnerability.Ā She floods your head with panic, cringe, & regret.
Quiet protests gently, insisting thereās no need to spiral--nothing has been lost: not your dignity, not your strength, not your beauty or worth.Ā
Ironically during the purgatory of a message left unanswered, or the unnatural lull in connection,Ā
you have neither sister.
Only a cacophony of what-ifs & anxiety.
But as sisters, of course they reconcile.Ā (To be continuedā¦)
Jun 20, 2025
Felt like this lines up with that new TikTok trend (yes - before you raise your nose up at me - I do enjoy TikTokās). Itās a trend where women show the juxtaposition of them in casual/masculine leaning outfits, and then them in ultra feminine/glam looks. Itās fun.
Jun 18, 2025