These words have appeared as subject lines in emails I have received from 3 a.m. The words are like bats flying out of a cave. Or on the flip side, the butterflies that are captured in a net.
The sender motivated by the time when she woke up with 3 things she told herself that she had to remember. Just 3 random things! But the next day, could only remember 2.
That third thing haunted. Its significance completely outweighing the most likely explanation, “Get more dishwasher detergent” which she realized the next time the container let out an empty flatulence when squeezed into the soap chamber. Still not realizing that this was the ONE thing that had vanished between 3 a.m. and 5 a.m.
As a result, I now email myself a one word, code names-like clue (a game in which only one word clues are permitted) in an attempt literally to collect my thoughts. Why not the Notes App? Because email forces me to look as part of my morning routine.
A risk is that I type without putting my glasses on, so I’m terrified that I will email a random person with an inscrutable one word email. If I received a weird thumb typo from a friend or worse yet a co-worker, I would be freaked out. Like I had accidentally opened an occupied bathroom stall. But recently, one of my phone OS updates, color coded my name and profile picture so it’s easier to identify in a list, in the dark, without glasses.
Another hurdle is autocorrect. I often puzzle over the words I receive from myself. After some time, I decode their meaning. Most of them mismatched thoughts.
Raven: This resembled the name of a care facility where a church member was interested in having someone investigate for another parishioner. I had agreed to do this, but had forgotten until the silence and darkness of 3 a.m. allowed it to resurface.
Hitch: Several days passed before I realized, autocorrect did not know the word “Hi-Chew.” This is a fruity gummy candy that I like to keep stocked. Again, 3 a.m. alerted me to add this to my to do list. They are not difficult to find, but I like the less common flavors, so those take a bit more effort to replenish.
PLO: I was surprised that I made the effort to all caps this, but maybe this was an autocorrect win. This was a prompt for a writing piece that I recognized without much effort.
In high school, I participated in the Model UN (United Nations) in which I was assigned the PLO (Palestine Liberation Organization). In the late 80s, years before the horrific tragedy that is unfolding today, I learned about the Golan Heights, the West Bank and the Gaza Strip. Acting as the representative of the rights of the Palestinians to live in these settlements, my coalition and the Israelis agreed to “share” the land that both sides fully believed was their birthright. At some level, we understood that we were meant to present this “impossible peace” to our teachers as a result of our “talks.” While we also inferred that our 17 years on earth, living far from the conflict or any real strife, meant that the most I dutifully learned from this experience was the list of names of the territories assigned to the Palestinian people in Israel.
Daily, I witness the human suffering in Gaza on the news and wonder about the power of the Model UN.
One of my students breathlessly asked, “What do you think of it so far?”
At first, I wondered if this was the tragic story of a cat discovered in an abandoned bus. It’s not.
A student and a colleague had both implored me to read The Warriors by Erin Hunter. The student had been recommending books for awhile which I had not yet read (Many of them were animal fantasy which are not my favorite–Charlotte’s Web is not in the same category 😆). My young colleague spoke passionately of how this series introduced her to the magic of reading. I decided to give it a try.
If you haven’t read this book yet, it is a story of a house cat that dreams of being its true self, a fierce hunter in constant danger of starvation and attack from other tribes.
I am about a quarter of the way through the book and have not yet finish (and my never finish 🤔), but I read enough to be able to identify what I found most charming.
“I love how the author made up words that were in cat language.”
My student agreed, “Like how the cat called people, ‘two-legged.'” A pause. Then she added, “That kind of hurt my feelings, actually.”
Her raw admission is the beating heart behind the recent movement to ban books which center the stories of people who are outside the mainstream. Warrior cats disdain the pampered life of house cats so their names for humans will reflect their perspective.
“We’re not used to being called that,” I chuckled.
Whenever my brother calls, I pick up right away if I can. He and I are adopted and our sisters were not. He is Black. I am Asian. He lives with Fetal Alcohol Syndrome. He lives in a group home.
“What’re you doing, girl? Tell your brother!”
His greeting was full of cheer as usual. But quickly, the reason for his call became clear.
“I’m not doing so good, sis,”
“Why? Because of Dad?”
“Did you hear? He asked me if I ever thought about what would happen after he is gone. I know he is not feeling well, but I wasn’t ready to answer him.”
Our dad is experiencing the effects of long Covid and recently the pain has become extremely debilitating.
“You know that so many people love and care about you.”
“I know my 3 sisters have my back. I know that I have 6 nieces and nephews and 2 brothers-in-law who care about me.”
“That’s right!”
“Are you scared?”
“It is scary. But it makes me feel better when you call! We are taking care of each other.”
In Michigan, a left turn has its own twist called a Michigan Left. I have spent a good portion of my life driving forward only to double-back in a U-turn as well as waiting at left U-turn lanes for an opportune time to enter traffic. As a conservative driver, I rarely pull forward until the road is almost 100% clear.
This is not the case for others.
While going 55 miles per hour, I have been cut off by drivers pulling out into my lane in a miscalculation of how much time they have to enter traffic. It is especially irritating when I look in my rear view mirror and find there were NO on-coming cars. They could have waited!
Recently when I accelerated and passed the “offender” who cut into my lane, I pointedly shook my head in judgment just as I was parallel with the driver.
Did I feel better? Was that the right thing to do?
Today, I was the defendant in “road court.”
Here’s what happened. As I was pulling up to a red light a driver a few cars ahead had turned right into a driveway. Its blinker was still blinking right. As I neared the intersection my car stopped directly behind the driveway. The car began backing up into my car. I honked the horn to let the driver know that he was about to hit my vehicle.
He yelled, “Who blocks a driveway at a red light?!!!” There may have been some curse words as well as more opinions expressed, but the light turned green and I went forward since the intersection was busy.
I had no time to explain that I thought that he had reached his destination. I had not expected him to back up.
This reminded me of a recent exchange in a grocery store parking lot. I had accelerated forward out of my parking spot (I like “pull throughs” so my car is facing the road in a parking lot.) just as a car turned into the lane. I immediately stopped. But as the person drove by, he gave the finger.
The lingering stress from being the target of others’ rage, should temper my own. Assuming the best of others, extending grace should be my take-away.
Let’s anagram rage and add a C = grace.
It has also made me wish for a world in which a driver’s license was not a requirement of becoming an adult. Many young people are expressing anxiety about getting a license. Some are even refusing to begin the training.
As the oldest of 4 in my family living in New Jersey at the time, I would have been thrilled if not getting a driver’s license had even been a viable option! But my parents celebrated when I was able to drive our family’s GIANT station wagon, dropping off and picking up my siblings as I navigated traffic congestion on roads that had been former cow paths winding through the rocky hills of northern New Jersey.
Sketchnoting has found me. She is that girl in your class with enviable handwriting and uncluttered doodles. She is aspirational.
I, on the other hand, have a startlingly clear memory of my father consoling me because I was disheartened by my shaky and inconsistent cursive. (At my elementary school, we learned cursive before print. Print seemed so casual and fun.)
Even when I’m speaking, I swerve to collect an adjacent idea or, alternatively, to sharpen a thought. I am constantly editing. I am not precise. Even with lines or guided by dots or squares, my writing refuses to conform.
People with small, brisk, uniform writing inspire awe.
Meanwhile, I’m attempting to cultivate a relationship with Sketchnoting. Trying to become that friend who cool kids let into their circle because they’re sincere and non-threatening. An NPC (non-player character), but with an internal story arc.
NOTE: I left the mistake in the checklist to signal that mistakes do not disqualify a person from having a relationship with sketchnoting.
When you notice an open garage door with no car in it, you have the urge to dash inside, press the button to close the door and then mission impossible your way out beneath the sliding panels.
But you don’t. You keep walking.
When you lie awake at night, the blood in your heart coagulating from what it can’t have, you want to imagine spinning slowly or floating weightlessly as sleep arrives.
But you don’t. Your mind buzzes, returning to a single topic, like your tongue to that seed between your teeth.
When loss slams down onto the table, jostling the bowl filled to the brim with your liquid past, it soaks into the tablecloth and sloshes onto the floor. You want to scream.
But you don’t. You get a towel and begin soaking up the mess.
On a lazy Sunday morning in Busan, South Korea, I tapped open Naver Map to see how much time would be needed to visit Magnate Cafe. Totally doable! Less than an hour by subway, bus and walking. Perfect! (Also, any reason to use a T- Money card, still thrilling to this Korean tourist. 😆)
As a morning person, I decided to arrive “criminal undercover” style, punctually, a few minutes after the cafe opened. My hope was to avoid crowding with late risers on a weekend afternoon.
As it turned out, this did not work out as planned.
My excursion began seemingly without incident. I liberally applied spray sunscreen as soon as I was outside of the hotel lobby in an attempt to avoid getting excess spray on hotel guests and furniture. In addition, striving to follow sunscreen best practice, I decided “to let it sink in.”
Then, I headed to the metro station, I kept a close eye on the blue dot on Naver Map that indicates how closely I was observing the route. At the station, I located Line 2 and checked to make sure I was headed in the direction of Kyungsung University.
After riding for about 20 minutes, I disembarked and headed toward the Namgu bus stop. The route took me toward a modest bus shelter where I waited for the #1. When the bus arrived, I confidently boarded. At the top of the steps, I scanned my T-Money card and took a seat. As the bus pulled away, I may have failed to notice that there might have been a bus shelter on the other side of the street as well. After a few minutes, I checked my phone and noticed that my blue dot was moving AWAY from the destination! Yikes!
I decided to get off at the next stop. My plan was to locate the bus stop for the same line headed in the opposite direction. Wandering around for a bit, I could not seem to locate this hoped for bus stop. As it was “early” on a Sunday morning, the streets were quite empty except for some grandpas and grandmas taking a morning walk.
I encounter another kindly Busan 할아버지.
Since Naver Map is both in English and Hangul, I decided that I could ask a kindly 할아버지 (or grandpa) if he could direct me toward a bus stop with a bus heading in the direction shown on the map.
The halibogy took my phone and began attempting to zoom into sections of the map. Appearing to contemplate, he began sucking in air through his teeth. He then indicated that I could follow him.
After about 5 minutes of following him away from the main street, I begin to wonder why the bus station would be so far from where I had disembarked originally. He was on his phone and then suddenly, someone who appeared to be his wife, emerged from a side street with a cold drink for him.
At this point, I decided to attempt to “ghost away” and let him off the hook for locating the bus stop. He and his wife were both chuckling as I began repeatedly thanking him. “Kamsahamnida! 감사합니다!”
No way! He broke the seal on the bottle, took a long sip and began walking again! He kept checking to make sure that I was following.
After about 25 minutes of walking in the blazing sun, we arrived at the cafe! He had walked me all the way to my destination, not the bus stop! What? 진짜?
I asked if I could take his picture by pantomiming a camera. In response, he took off his mask. That inexplicable gratitude of an outsider treated with overwhelming warmth by an insider . . .
Why did this felt so familiar? Later, I would realize that coincidentally, this grandpa was wearing a sun hat and plaid shirt similar to that of my interpreter when I visited another section of Busan. The village where I had been found as a baby in a park. That halibogy (interpreter) and I had wandered around Busan, accompanied by a friendly police officer in search of more information connected to my origin story.
Wandering a village in Busan with two generous 아저씨.
Here are some pictures from the visit to the delightful cafe in Busan which was my destination this summer. One picture includes the moment before I realized that not all sunscreen “sinks in” without some assistance. My good-natured photographer was a very polished patron at the cafe, who never indicated any amusement at my appearance. Another kindness. 🌸
I’ve just finished reading Yellowface by R. F. Kuang and was intrigued by an Asian author writing in the first person voice of a white protagonist. As a reader, I felt like a reluctant travel companion. Although, I was looking forward to being on the journey, I felt like I was being co-opted into sharing responsibility for cringey choices. The cringe stemmed from the deep sense of shame associated with a proximity that at times felt like sympathy for an unreliable narrator.
This closeness resonated with my recent experience as a fellow traveler. Expectations, exhaustion and exasperation all must be managed with care. There is much grace to be offered and received.
With this in mind, I carefully share this travel story.
My friend and I arrived at our AirBnB in Quebec City after midnight because we were navigating the Google Maps from Montreal (almost 3 hours by car) in spotty Canadian data service (We’re from the USA). After punching in the code to the outside door (provided by the host), we found ourselves in a vestibule where we encountered this wall of locks.
We had a secondary code so we began hunting for our room number. We desperately wanted to gain access to the bed and bathroom after hours of anxious driving. When we discovered our room number was not among the key boxes, we began spinning the code into random boxes for several minutes.
With Amazing Race vibes, I finally turn to check if the inner door was unlocked. It opened easily. We needed only to pull this door and enter the elevator beyond it to go up to our room. Where, above the door handle, a keypad awaited the final code.
With the car still parked on the street below, we had yet to locate the free parking behind the airbnb! We didn’t find that until 2 days later–a day before our departure. We paid to park in an expensive lot since our host did not respond to our inquiries.
I wasn’t sure where to post bts related content from my recent trip to Korea.
Facebook? These pictures are for friends and family. Very few are members of Army.
Instagram? The limited space for captions does not seem adequate for the context and sheer volume of the bts connections.
Weverse? I truly don’t know the audience of this site except people who have left messages in Korean saying the post is unauthorized (when it isn’t but I’m guessing to troll western fans) or people who masquerade as the members (leaving an email address in the comments requesting contact). Or possibly the members themselves, but . . . never meet your heroes, right? Especially, when you’re fully aware that although visiting bts tourist spots is delightful, sharing the experience may seem . . . wild?
In an effort to catalogue the memories, this little known blog, bearing a cryptic title, will post the “everything everywhere all at once” recollections of a bts experience. Big Hit exclusive thanks to friend and K-Army all-star, Lucy, for making this possible.
BTS visited the Blue House | photo of the silk screen (I did not meet the new president)The Blue House is across the street from Gyeongbokgung PalaceGyeonghoeru Pavilion (on the grounds of the palace) is where bts performed for the tonight show | It was once used for entertainment when important foreign visitors visited the palace.BTS appeared at National Museum of Korea to promote their homeland | 10 story pagoda (100% my jam)
More about the exhibit for museum heads
Korean Folk Village represents life from as recent as 50 years ago | always one of my favorite places to visitBTS revisited a park where they first performed | on a rainy day we find a halimony (grandma) there who takes our photo
In the Soop
In the Soop filming location | stepping into this idyllic world
friends without id 