Korean food just really hits the spot for me.

Sometimes, a simple meal of rice with banchan can be the most satisfying thing ever. And there are many days when I will gladly eat that over anything else.

While New York's Koreatown is filled with lots of great options to eat, my favorite go-to restaurant for authentic Korean food is The Kunjip. No matter what I order, their food is always well made and just tastes really good. I also appreciate that their menu is sensibly priced, especially considering the quality of food that you get. I've always thought their lunch specials are a superb deal too, with the majority of options hovering around $10. Since my office is not too far from 32nd Street, I love being able to pick up stuff from there to-go on a regular basis.

The Kunjip is open 24 hours and has always been popular for its food amongst both hungry families and drunken partiers during late-night hours. For me personally though, it wasn't until they moved this year to a new and larger space across the street onto the other side of 32nd when I became a true regular. This bigger location is two floors and is usually always busy like it was at the original one. But the experience is a lot less claustrophobic, which makes a huge difference to me. 

However, some things still haven't changed though. In general, The Kunjip has never been the type of restaurant where you go and have a leisurely dinner with friends for hours. If you are looking to catch up with long lost buddies over Korean food, this is not the place for you. Instead, it's a place where you're given menus while waiting to be seated so you already know what you're ordering before you sit down. It's a place where you might have some beer and soju to enhance the food but not where you're going to get shitfaced. It's a place where you get your food quickly, and can have your check dropped at your table before you've even asked.  It's a place where you gather your coats and belongings to leave after you've finished eating instead of lingering about. Basically, the main point of The Kunjip is their good food. 

With all that being said, the dining room's speedy pace does not at all equate to bad service. I actually think it's the complete opposite because whatever your need or request is, the staff will always provide it an efficient yet professional manner. And all the workers are friendly with good energy. I mean sure, they will try and get you out the door if you're done, but will never rush you while you're actually eating. That's just the way the restaurant runs.

One thing I've always thought The Kunjip would be particularly nice for is a date or dinner obligation you really want to be over as quickly as possible. So the next time you have to go eat with someone you'd prefer to spend minimum time with, look no further.

Below are a couple of pictures from my dinner there earlier tonight at the peak of dinner service on a Saturday.

"You take my love for granted.
I just don't understand it."

From the song Too Good by Drake featuring Rihanna.

Why is there always a police officer posted at the entrance of the Union Square Barnes & Noble? In all my life, I have never not seen the NYPD standing guard there. I guess book theft is an ongoing serious problem?

"And yet---as with so much else---he couldn't help himself."

From the book A Little Life by Hanya Yanagihara. Page 100.

Lose yourself.
Lose interest.
Loser.

The first four sentences of one of my non-existent short stories:

Ben's weekly phone call to his mom eventually became a source of comfort during his first semester of college. Since he was yet to make any friends, he cured his homesickness by spending most of his time on his phone in the largest cafeteria on campus. "'Sheila From the Cafeteria' is the name I've given her, mom," he explained after week three. Ben didn't understand why he was so drawn to this unassuming woman who cleaned up after thankless students, but ached to know everything about her.

The first four sentences of one of my non-existent short stories:

He couldn't help but caress the bump on the back of his lover's head. A fresh haircut made it impossible to resist. Some cultures considered this physical feature as a sign of beauty and masculinity in men, like a Roman Nose. But for him, its strength came from its soft touch.

Pier 46 is one of my favorite spots to lay out at. Even its fake grass/astroturf is a feeling I enjoy against my bare feet.

And when the sun is brightly shining, whatever book I'm reading not only provides a good escape, but also the perfect way to shield my face from a sunburn.

The much anticipated redesign of the $5, $10 and $20 paper notes is so exciting. It's about time we honored and recognized more Americans who have contributed to this country's history.

Don't dread. Feel excited.

All of the anxiety that comes in the unknown should instead be anticipated as wonder.

"Tally: And you've lived all this truth.
Hannah: It didn't feel like very much while it was happening.
Tally: But it is much. And you have so much to say."

From the show Girls. Season 5, Episode 9.

"And what have I done? You know? What have I done with with my life besides get not one but two strains of HPV and gain and lose a total of 33 pounds?"

Said by the character Hannah Horvath in the show Girls. Season 5, Episode 9.

"Add them up, all the pet dogs on the planet, and you get about 250 million.

But there are about a billion dogs on Earth, according to some estimates. The other 750 million don't have flea collars. And they certainly don't have humans who take them for walks and pick up their feces. They are called village dogs, street dogs and free-breeding dogs, among other things, and they haunt the garbage dumps and neighborhoods of most of the world."

From the April 18, 2016, New York Times story: The World Is Full of Dogs Without Collars. Written by James Gorman.

When I first moved to Thailand five years ago, all of the stray dogs that roamed the streets of Bangkok had an instant impact on me. There were just so many of them on almost every street I walked.

While it was heartbreaking to see, thankfully, because Thailand is predominantly a Buddhist culture, these street dogs of Bangkok were not only left alone, but for the most part treated with kindness and compassion.

If you'd like to see some of the street dogs of Bangkok I captured in my years of living there, please check out the following: STREET DOGS OF BANGKOK.

Sloppy.

"Thank you for the privilege of your time."

Said by Jose Diaz in the April 16, 2016, NBC Nightly News.

Dear friends,

Please check out my latest write-up for VICE's food channel, MUNCHIES: Working at an All-You-Can-Eat Buffet Comes with Unlimited Craziness.

Thanks.

"Tomorrow's just an excuse away."

From the song Thirty-Three by The Smashing Pumpkins.

Uh-mazing.

"The reason is obvious: We no longer go out. And why would we, when the allure of staying in has reached irresistible proportions?"

From the April 12, 2016, New York Times article: Is Staying In the New Going Out? Written by Molly Young.

Long live staying home in stretchy pants!

"In one of the lively arteries off the Charminar, Laad Bazaar is famed for its glittery glass bangles in every conceivable color and pattern; don't leave the city without at least an armful, either for yourself or as an inexpensive gift."

From the April 7, 2016, New York Times travel story: 36 Hours in Hyderabad, India. Written by Sarah Khan.

Convenient,
but boring.
Mundane,
not absorbing.
Everyday inanity,
is conforming.
To a life,
never agreed on.
For an existence,
mass-producing peons.
That requires,
nothing to cheer on.
Because it's simply known,
you don't have to be on.
Just go about your day,
listening to others.
The world says go,
which leads to popping uppers.
Then late at night,
you utter.
What happened to my dreams?
I thought I had a plan?
Does society see me,
for the man that I am?
Or does it define me now,
as the person I can't stand?
Who struggles with battles,
that take so much to tackle.
But I know I will overcome this sorrow.
Not today though,
perhaps maybe tomorrow.
Or the day after,
when I open my eyes to again start a new chapter.
Because everyday,
when the new page is turned.
The blank slate is waiting,
for the lessons to be learned.
All of the mistakes though,
why do they seem on repeat?
Where consequences disappear,
by pressing down on delete.
It can't be expected,
that a fresh start will always come with the sunrise.
When the commitment to say no,
flunked with the second order of fries.
Help me be strong,
to makes the better choices.
That will uplift my heart,
making the voices.
Not be so mean,
existing only to tear down.
The things that I think make me happy,
this false playground.
Always giving me the instinct,
to bolt and leave town.
And start brand new,
to finally find you.

Empathy.

"I rock rough and stuff with my Afro Puffs."

From the song Afro Puffs by The Lady of Rage.

If it's on sale at the supermarket at two for $5, I just can't resist.

Dear Focaccia Section of Eataly,

Why you so good to me?

The older I get, single life is starting to resemble the nineties Mad TV skit "Lowered Expectations" more and more.

"He does have an excellent contender in the city's roast-chicken sweepstakes, a bird that once pecked and strutted in Pennsylvania. To show off its barnyard bona fides, it is initially presented in its entirety, head tucked in and feet stretched out on top of a smoldering nest of a hay. The first time one of these platters went by, one of my guests looked up and said, 'Do you smell pot?'"

From the April 5, 2016, New York Times Restaurant Review: At Le Turtle, a French New Wave You Can Eat.

Space out.

Fuck up.

"One hundred years ago, mountain water from the Catskills began flowing into the cupped hands of New York City.

Since those days, New Yorkers have come to take their water for granted, boasting that what comes out of the tap is 'the champagne of drinking water.'"

From the April 1, 2016, New York Times article, Why New York City's Waterworks Works. Written by Emily S. Reub.

Different people bring out different things in you, and that's totally okay.

"Take my hand... live while you can."

From the song Ordinary Day by Vanessa Carlton.

"I've got to use my imagination,
to change the situation."

From the song Hold Down the Block by Nas.

Loving the cover of this week's Food & Travel Issue of The New Yorker.

(I thoroughly enjoyed this week's cover and it took it upon myself to produce these images to post on my blog with my digital subscription to The New Yorker. All rights are reserved by The New Yorker and will be removed upon request)

Making everything seem fine from the outside fixes half the problem.

"But did that ever make you happy?"

From the song Pin by Grimes.

The following essay is in celebration of my blog's 10th anniversary this month.

Not Always Cooking On High Heat by Tae Yoon

The only thing I really knew how to cook as a kid was instant ramen. For Koreans, instant ramen is like our version of fast food in a way. It's convenient, unhealthy, and oh so crave-worthy---which is everything a youngster wants when they're hungry. And whether it was while sleepy-eyed during breakfast or as an afternoon snack, it never ceased to quickly assuage an appetite.

No one really taught me how to make instant ramen when I was younger, but it wasn't difficult to figure out. I would turn the flame on to high heat and then stand there, watching to ensure I'd know the exact moment the water was ready. Then I'd drop in the noodles and flavor packets without wasting even a second of time. After a few minutes when the ramen was cooked, of course the best way to eat it was straight from the pot as soon as the gas was turned off. I would blow furiously into the first heap of noodles dangling from the chopsticks to avoid burning my mouth. And when the last spoonful of soup was devoured, that feeling of satisfaction came not only from my full stomach, but in a way, also how promptly I'd gotten there.

And for much of my life, this wasn't just how I cooked ramen. But basically how I did anything that wasn't good for me.

Drinking until I black out. Eating to the point of feeling physically ill. Smoking weed incessantly to never not be stoned. These three activities have honestly been way too big a part of my life for the past decade. And it's been a long and earnest journey to have a better understanding of why.

Alcohol has always been a big part of my life. The combination of growing up in New York and being Korean-American resulted in the excess of two big drinking cultures ingrained into my everyday norm. Going out to get hammered wasn't just for fun, but a way of being. The first real experience I had with alcohol was with a cousin and his friends at an old club on 32nd Street called News. We were 16-year-old sophomores in high school back then, ordering bottle service of Johnny Walker with fake ids and money we had all carefully saved up. It goes without saying that drinking the whiskey was only done in shots. This fast pace of imbibing felt welcoming and natural. Whoever it was initiating the next round to toss another one back, it was never an issue with me. Even then, I knew what state I wanted to be in, and was determined to get there as fast as possible. And as we all got wasted throughout the night, the rest of the guys focused on scoring phone numbers from girls while I aimed to get more drunk and dance my feelings away.

When college came around, my drinking patterns had already pretty much been set. From that early age, I was proud of the fact that I could handle a lot more alcohol than my friends. But the problem was I didn't know when to stop. Even at my 18th birthday party at a Flushing bar that let in underage drinkers, forcing everyone to clink glasses with only short breaks in between was my right as the birthday boy. Naturally, I ended up getting smashed off beer and soju. And ultimately began barfing into the empty beer pitchers on our table that night while simultaneously farting loudly as my friends looked on with enjoyment.

Being the comically drunken mess was obviously not something I was embarrassed of, because it sort of became my thing. I just liked getting fucked up. Since I was pretty closeted and was never in a relationship, I wasn't ever the one in the group who was dating so-and-so or having romantic drama. I was the guy who liked to have a good time and get wasted instead, deeming me neutral and harmless to others. Sure, I partied fast and hard and blacked out all the time. But I still kept my life together for the most part. Yes, I drank excessively, but so what? It wasn't a big deal. I mean I wasn't bothering anyone with it... except for myself, that is.

When I started this blog ten years ago at the age of twenty-three, this style of drinking was the only thing I knew. While I also slowly came out during this period, I was still always the single guy. And being so made it easy to continue partying this way into my early thirties. But now at the age of thirty-three, it's only within the past year or so that I've become truly exhausted of this pernicious cycle.

This much needed change of perspective is long overdue and a buildup of so many things, especially from a few events that happened in the past couples of years. The first is I lost my iPhone on a night out, and didn't even notice it until the next day. If I factor in the $800+ I paid to replace it, my stupidity from that evening literally cost me over a grand. The next incident happened on a night some friends and I went to a club in Brooklyn to see this big DJ spin. I got really inebriated early before any of my friends did. The DJ's set hadn't started, but I had to leave the club first because I could barely function. As I stumbled out of the venue alone to go crash at my friends' place, I got lost and couldn't find the nearby subway station. After I did eventually get on the G train, I was so drunk that I knocked out on the subway and woke up at the last stop of the train. I'm not even sure how long I was passed out on the G, because my friends who left the club hours after me got back to their apartment long before I should have. I remember opening my eyes at the Church Avenue stop to missed calls and frantic texts from my friends asking where I was. It took all my energy to stay awake in my drunken stupor when the train started moving again so I wouldn't miss my friends' stop. But to think about being trashed and passed out by myself on a Saturday night close to 5am where I was completely incapacitated, I'm just really grateful nothing happened. Another thing I've become acutely aware of during booze-filled sessions are these reoccurring moments where I actually haven't blacked out yet, but know I've had too much to drink. My brain will seem functional, but when I attempt to talk, everything coming out of my mouth makes me sound like a drunken idiot. I'll try to have a conversation or engage with someone, but my sentences emerge slurred and nonsensical. It's like what's happening in my head doesn't match how I'm directing my body, as if I'm no longer in control. All I can think at those moments is, holy shit, I totally sound like that drunk guy who needs to go home. I essentially make bad decisions when I drink, with the worst being that I'll order another.

These episodes are just a few of many that have made me re-evaluate my behavior, and has me fully accepting, "Tae, the party's over."

At this age, my hangovers are unbearable as well. The day after a late night out renders me totally useless. Not remembering how I got home or what dumb shit I said the night before has became more of a mental liability too. The stakes seem be higher now, and I've become hyper conscious about all the wasted time, money, and energy I've dedicated to this hobby. How many more times can I go out and get shitfaced like this? How much longer can I tell myself that I'm still actually having fun?

And it's not just with alcohol that I've been going at full speed with for the last ten years, but my issues with food have never left me. This dysfunctional relationship I've had with food is something I constantly struggle with. Eating provides this mental relief where nothing else matters. It's a goal that's so easily achievable and that I'm good at. Sometimes I just feel like I have to keep eating and eating until there's nothing left, or I'm full to the point of feeling gross. Providing nourishment to my body is the least likely reason I ever eat. Instead, I eat because it keeps my obsessive thoughts preoccupied. I eat because it's fulfilling on so many messed up levels. I eat because I deserve it, god damn it. I eat because sometimes I really don't like myself. But I know this has got to stop, and is something I need to truly gain control of. If I add up all the time spent in the past ten years of me being self-critical about my weight, it would be enough write a self-help book about how to be happy in life.

Smoking weed goes hand-in-hand with my immoderate drinking and eating. I'm the type of person who would rather be stoned all day everyday if possible. Life is straight up more interesting that way. And whether it's walking down the street or grocery shopping, even the most mundane activity transforms into something with layers and dimension. Marijuana has always relaxed me in a way where I stop overthinking everything, and I can just simply be. That feeling of liberation allows me to go about my day and not focus on things that can be emotionally draining. And that fuzzy warmth, I just love it so much. I get out of my head and become social. Why wouldn't I want to feel like that all the time? And that's where the problem lies. I've been toking up regularly since college, and have gone through years of doing it almost daily. But I can't just smoke one bowl. Like Ariel sang in the Little Mermaid, "I want more." And rolling joints nonstop or continuously packing another bowl to keep the party going became my routine.

The consequences of always getting stoned like this didn't hit me until about a year-and-a-half ago. I began to notice that whenever I ate, my food would taste really muted. I would be eating something I love, such as instant ramen, but its flavors I was expecting just weren't there. Then a week later, I would be having the same thing and everything would be fine again. My taste buds hovered on and off like this for some time, until one day they just seemed to disappear altogether. Yes, I could still tell the difference between things like ketchup and mustard, but there would be no discernible characteristics for either. Food literally lost its flavor, and I started eating more off texture, temperature, and appearance. When I finally went to go see an ear, nose and throat doctor, I was truthful about how much weed I smoked. My doctor advised me to stop my habit to see what changes. And lo and behold, my sense of taste fully returned months later.

The past ten years haven't just involved this trinity of bad habits though. There's definitely been way more of an abundance of good. I've been fortunate to have matured and grown into my true self. I've proved to myself who I really am and what I'm capable of. It's been an adventurous trip filled with humbling lessons that have allowed me to make a million mistakes at the same time. But I'm glad to have gotten a lot of them out of my system, and have no regrets about anything.

So much of the unhappiness I used to have back in 2006 dissolved with every subsequent failure I went through, struggle I overcame, and accomplishment I achieved, many of which are chronicled here. The ups and downs of this past decade have always existed over a foundation of growth, and that's what I'm most grateful for. Discovering something new everyday and keeping that nugget of knowledge to use during another high or low in life, that's what it's all about. And one important tip I'll always have at hand for myself is to simply chill out. Life doesn't always have to be lived like I'm cooking on high heat. A drink or two is enough for a fun time. A satisfying meal doesn't have to involve feeling stuffed with regret. A singular joint is plenty in providing the pleasure I'm seeking. And instant ramen can be cooked with patience at a boil and still taste great.

Looking back on the past decade of this blog, I now truly believe that everything in life will always be okay. Because I am the author of my own story, and I choose to write a happy one.

Hot sauce is life.

Happy Easter to everyone.

"I'll make the effort,
love can last forever.

From the song Thirty-Three by the Smashing Pumpkins.

"So I pull my collar up and face the cold,
on my own."

From the song Thirty-Three by the Smashing Pumpkins.

It's been a pretty mild winter in New York City this season. While we did have Winter Storm Jonas, the rest of the time has been tolerable compared to recent years. The past few weeks have been similar to recent months, with the temperature requiring a denim jacket on one day and then a winter coat on the next.

Today was maybe even just a t-shirt kind of day. That's why when I got on subway home after work, stepping into the car's air conditioning for the first time this year was a welcomed surprise. It was a good reminder of the upcoming summer, and all the sunny times to come.

"이름부터 예사롭지 않은 '귀부인'이 드디오 오픈했다."

From the March 15, 2016, Vogue Korea online story: "요즘 화제의, 한남동 귀부인." Written by 윤수현. (LINK)

If you're ever in Seoul, please go check out my friend's new bar in Hannam Dong called Gwibuin!

We hit it off in Thailand...

"Three suicide bombers---including two brothers---carried out the attacks on Brussels on Tuesday, the Belgian authorities announced on Wednesday, as they continued to hunt for at least one more assailant. The toll from the assaults stood at 31 dead and 300 injured."

From the March 23, 2016, New York Times article: Brothers Among 3 Brussels Suicide Attackers; Another Assailant is Sought. Written by Alissa J. Rubin, Kimiko De Freytas-Tamura and Aurelien Breeden.

Absolutely terrible.

Sometimes, after I write something, it doesn't matter that I might hate everything about it the next day.

Crazy.

The past few weeks or so.

YES to the weekends!

Dear friends,

Please check out my latest story for VICE's food channel, MUNCHIES: The First Soju Made from Grapes Could Spare You a Killer Hangover.

Thanks.

I just want to stay in bed with a pie of Sicilian pizza and a good book.

"She leads a lonely life."

From the song All That She Wants by Ace of Base.

Every recipe is a story.

Carbs on carbs on carbs.

Someone I once interviewed for a story said never talk about your problems to others, because most people don't care, and a small percentage are happy you have them.

Therefore, I will just write about my problems through fiction instead.

"With heroin cheap and widely available on city streets throughout the country, users are making their buys and shooting up as soon as they can, often in public places. Police officers are routinely finding drug users---unconscious or dead---in cars, in the bathrooms of fast-food restaurants, on mass transit and in parks, hospitals and libraries."

From the March, 6, 2016, New York Times article: Heroin Epidemic Increasingly Seeps Into Public View. Written by Katherine Q. Seelye.

When your Saturday morning bikram yoga class isn't super packed and only has three other students in it, you know it's an auspicious start to a nice weekend.

Unreleased creativity mutates, materializing in so many toxic forms.

You are not the negatives thoughts in your head.

Today's a very special day. HAPPY 10th BIRTHDAY TO MY BLOG!

An essay to commemorate will be coming soon.

Dear friends,

Please check out my latest write-up for VICE's food channel, MUNCHIES: Being a Sober Bartender Helps Me Remember You Being an Asshole.

Thanks.

Failure is still the outcome of trying, and that's the most important part.

The weather in New York City today is like a glorious spring day in May.

I hope everyone is enjoying their Sunday as much as I am.

A little bit of a pot belly never hurt anybody.

"We met at a bookstore!" said no couple ever in all the history of bookstores.

When I was in elementary school, my parents moved my family up to Alaska for a few years to work for my aunt and uncle. Even though I was born in Queens and most of my relatives live here in New York, my father's family has deep roots in America's 49th state. It was where they first immigrated to in the U.S. from Korea, and I still have relatives there to this day.

After some years of living in Anchorage, my family decided to make it on our own and ended up moving farther up north to Nome. It was 1995 and I was in the middle of sixth grade then, and I remember being thrilled about relocating to a place that was so isolated, the only way to get there was by plane. My parents, two older sisters, and myself started a new life as owners of the only Chinese restaurant in town named Twin Dragon. And not only was it the sole spot for any type of Asian food there, but we were also one of only three Asian families living in Nome at that time as well.

After we arrived, my parents completely redid the space, breathing new life and lightness into the restaurant. The dining room's interior was totally renovated by my mom after a trip to California to purchase new mirrors, wallpaper, decorations, and furniture. My dad worked on the exterior by repainting the outside of the restaurant red and adorning the windows with new decals. The most dramatic change of the restaurant's facade were large gold letters above the front door spelling out Twin Dragon, which my mom had brought back from her trip as well. We were overjoyed at the before and after transformation, and felt extreme pride in our small family business. The moment I knew that other townsfolk had also noticed was not long after while I was at school. That's when I overheard my science teacher, who I recall was named Mr. Brannen, talking to another teacher about how great the restaurant's new look was. Words couldn't express how happy I was for the rest that school day (more HERE).

Running the restaurant was tough though, and required long hours---but it was great because my family did it all together as a team. My mom and sisters would wait tables, and my dad would cook all the food and run things in the kitchen with a few employees. I myself was the designated dishwasher, busboy, and overall gofer. If my dad ran out of produce, I would hop on my bike and pedal for my life to Hanson's Trading Company for a store run. If the phone was ringing off the hook, I would take down orders and then go back to washing the pile of dishes that were always waiting for me. In due time, my parents and family settled into our new lives and business. Thanks to my dad's great cooking and my mom's sweet demeanor, we became friendly with regulars and even started delivering our food, which I don't think was at all common for Nome at that time. I remember my dad driving around with a foldout map, trying to make sense of all the streets and addresses of the town. With Nome having such a long history connected to the Alaska Gold Rush and also being the last stop of the Iditarod, our customers were always a mix of both locals and tourists.

As a young kid, it didn't take long for me to adapt to my new surroundings. Alaska's beauty first captivated me while living in Anchorage, because all of my family and relatives were really into the outdoors. We would go camping, fishing and skiing all the time, often for long periods with my dad's huge Chevy Suburban or my uncle's RV packed to the brim with gear and Korean food. But when I arrived at Nome, its own natural grandeur and charm enraptured me in a whole new way. With tundra all around and the Bering Sea in our backyard, or looking up to discover the Northern Lights on a winter night, I relished in Nome's magnificence. Biking around by myself past midnight with the most beautiful hues of sunlight lighting my way in the summertime, or hopping on the backseat of my friends' snowmobiles to get around in the extreme winters always had life feeling like an adventure. Our restaurant was located on the town's main thoroughfare named Front Street, which was parallel and right next to the Bering Sea. During downtimes at the restaurant, I loved crossing over Front Street to the seawall of rocks so I could just sit and stare at the water. This was also around the time Disney's Pocohontas came out, so my young imagination loved jumping from rock to rock or peering between them for dried starfish or beach glass.

Back then, the outside world literally seemed so far away. With no Internet, computer, or cellphones, nor even the ability to drive anywhere far, the only connection to the rest of civilization outside of Nome was through cable television and the postal service. All mail had to be picked up and sent to a P.O. Box at the post office on Front Street, which was a short walk away from the restaurant. Since I was always helping out my parents and working, I usually had spending money. I used most of it by purchasing money orders at the post office to buy clothes from the J.Crew catalog, or seahorses and other peculiar items from the advertisements in back of Boy's Life magazine. Religiously watching MTV and my subscriptions to Disney Adventures and Nickelodeon Magazine also helped me stay in tuned with pop culture as well.

My family eventually ended up leaving Nome and returning back to the East Coast permanently after I finished the seventh grade. Thinking back on our time living there brings me a lot of happiness, but seems like another lifetime ago. I haven't been back in twenty years since I left, so a part of it almost feels like a dream that only lives in my memories. And that's how it remained, until I decided to Google "Nome, Alaska" today. 

To my absolute surprise, I not only found out that Twin Dragon is still there and serving food, but that the exterior of the restaurant is absolutely the same as we left it from two decades ago. The signage and window decals that my parents put up are still on the front of the building, while the large gold letters spelling out Twin Dragon and remnants of my dad's red coat of paint also continue to live on. When I stumbled onto a picture online dated from a few years ago showing this, I decided to call the restaurant today to verify that's how it all still looks. And I was told that it does.

Below is a picture of my dad standing in front of Twin Dragon on a snowy day in 1995. And the picture beneath that is the photo I found online, showing how the exterior currently still looks today.

Now, I hope to go visit Nome again sometime in the future. Hopefully, it won't take me another twenty years to do so.

(Photo Source: Nome Muckin' Around)

The future is fiction.

Homemade Adjectives in 2 Easy Steps
1. Choose a word
2. Add a "y" at the end

It's the ticking of the clock on the wall that makes the flashback complete when I close my eyes.

The familiar sound of the second hand moving takes me back to my old living room in Flushing. It was the heartbeat to my family's old house, always in the background on those late nights sneaking to the kitchen or countless hours in front of the tv. And now as I crash in the living room of my parents' place in New Jersey, the same wall clock hovers somewhere above my head. The comforting sound of life ticking forward comes with big aspirations once more. It's like I'm home in high school again, and everything about the future feels so promising.

It's been a night filled with moments that were years in the making. Being under the same roof with some family after what feels like a lifetime ago, it provides a feeling of being whole again.

"I just called to say I love you."

From the song I Just Called to Say I Love You by Stevie Wonder.