shaping my craft
what i’m thinking about in the next phase of my life.
I did it. In July, I wrapped up my yearlong travels across 21 countries and 40 cities, and it was beyond imaginable. I still spend my evenings scrolling through photo albums trying to recreate the endorphins of specific moments, closing my eyes and activating what I felt in that specific moment.
Those whom I’ve met and reconnected with in San Francisco have asked me where I’ve been in the past year, and it’s hard to put it into a couple of sentences without spiraling into tales of the red wine I had in Porto or the toro sushi in Osaka. I was spewing fumes by July of this year, tired of the blue backpack that pressed against my spine that I carried through cobblestone streets. But I still miss it so much.
Even as I try to recollect these stories here and to other people who I’ll meet, I’m not sure if I’ll ever be satisfied with my answer—but that’s perfectly okay. I’ve learned to internalize what I saw, and I now understand that the experience was curated by me, and only for me. We owe it to ourselves to occasionally experience life by our own terms without any explanation for why. More stories from around the world to come.
But after trying to explain the past year without downplaying the grandeur, I’m often met with another reminiscent question: What’s next?
Well, here’s what I think.
I moved up to the Dogpatch neighborhood with two of my closest friends to start a new job in July. For a month, we basically lived in a heap of cardboard boxes that were spread across the floor as we began a new chapter in our lives. Piece by piece, the space came together, and we now worry about what floral arrangements go on the countertop.
I’m proud of the room I designed, where I took visual inspiration from my Nordic excursions and time in Kyoto. It has touches of emerald green, sea blue, and dessert yellow embedded throughout the fabric, decor, and posters. At night, I can turn on an ember incandescent light that makes it perfect for the upcoming autumn season.
I designed my space with intricate intention because I’m ready to spend a lot of time in it. The beauty of college and my travels was getting to explore the buffet of possibilities. But now, I’m ready to hone in, sharpen my knife, and shape my craft.
First, it’s my ability to construct narratives with ease. I studied storytelling in college, but I have much more to learn about how to wield my words with vigor and intentionality. Writer’s block is my greatest enemy who I’m willing to fight. I want to understand the strategy behind these stories, to brandish my theses in life, and to sway the hearts and minds of others. The reason I have a complex history with writing is that my writing process has always begun with channeled frustration and crippling anxiety, followed near the end with a flow of words that leaves me beaming with pride. I want the process to become strategically easier, as I can certainly do without anxiety every time I open my laptop.
Second, it’s accelerating my skills in both art and design. I grew up as an art kid. I spent hours in my childhood drawing on the walls of my house, constructing worlds made out of pastels, watercolors, play-doh, printer paper, and Crayola. I spent hours at Saturday art schools trying to get the perfect outlines and sketches (I actually have a huge patience issue), taking home swathes of drawings for my mom to hang on the refrigerator. To me, incorporating more art and design into the fabric of my work is like healing a past self that gave up these interests too soon for my honors-level math seminars that I despised. It’s time for me to go back and pay respect to my younger self.
Finally, it’s to use my writing and design studies for a space that really matters to me: nature and climate change. When I used to take science courses, I was afraid to touch on these ideas for fear that I just wasn’t smart enough to comprehend the intricacies of the issue. But now, I realize that the craft I’m shaping is in fact my own superpower in doing the work that matters.
To me, helping to tell stories and design for the planet touches upon many aspects of my belief for a better world—but specifically spiritual. The summers spent at Buddhist temples taught me that nature will always be around and keep me grounded in the world. While traveling, I saw the magic of when human-centered spaces integrate nature as not an afterthought, but a priority. Just like art, I realize that I owe it to my past self to pursue what lights my soul. And it has me captivated.
I’ll be writing here more often, posting more essays on a weekly-ish basis, and traveling back to the past to reflect on specific pivotal moments. I have aspirations to write a memoir about my life one day, maybe inspired by these pieces. If anything, this newsletter will be the book of my life. I’m excited to embark on this new horizon.
Also, if you’re in San Francisco, don’t be a stranger. An inflatable mattress at my place is calling your name.
epilogue
In my future editions, I’ll share an epilogue to these essays with updates, what I’m reading and consuming, and what’s been on my mind. Maybe some iconic takes here and there.
I started a croissant Instagram account, where every croissant I encounter is reviewed. Criteria includes texture, doughiness, flakiness, shine, and of course, taste.
It’s the year 2000 all over again. I secured four tickets to the Olivia Rodrigo Guts tour in Dallas, and now my friends will be staying in my childhood bedroom in Texas. It’s a bad idea, right?
Speaking of music, my favorite Dutch singer-songwriter Dotan released “Diamonds in My Chest”, a song that sounds like you’re running through the woods on a starry night as you’re following the moon.
Back in July I attended the Identity Review fellowship retreat in in the Great Smoky Mountains of Knoxville! It was my favorite retreat yet, and we even saw a black bear with her adorable little cub. Here’s a picture of me white water rafting.
Personal finances. It brings out a new level of the heated mind. Would love some advice and recommendations.
Lorde’s newsletter never ceases to make me feel something. Her writing influences how I want to tell the story of my life with others.
I’m reading Crying in H Mart by Michelle Zauner on my bus commute to work, and this memoir might break me.
I bought a digital point and shoot camera for an upcoming housewarming. Pictures to come. :-)
I had a reunion with my college friends from freshman year in New York City and it felt like the good old days as they say. I’m so grateful to have them in my life and to still be touch with them after all these years. Shoutout to Miriam, Andy, and Leslie for letting me crash and experience the city like a local.
