"TAE, DO YOU WANT TO BE IN MY POETRY CLUB?"

An email with the subject line above was both my invitation and introduction to Thomas Miller's poetry club. 

It arrived in May of 2010, with the body of the email simply containing that week's poem, along with the name of its author and what years they lived. After giving it a read, I responded with an excited yes, saying I'd love to. But I wasn't sure what joining entailed, and if it took place at some sort of gathering or if I'd need to be buying books to prepare. So when I asked Thomas about how to join, my second installment of Thomas Miller's poetry club came with this email subject line: "You don't have to do anything...you just get a poem every week...like this one." 

And until this year, those poems have continued to come. 

I first met Thomas because he worked with my best friend Judy. Thomas and Judy weren't just coworkers who became close friends after years of working together, but they had a genuine friendship and connection. I mean, let's not even talk about them being birthday twins. But because he and Judy were close, I was able to get to know Thomas pretty well throughout the years. 

Thomas was genuinely one of the sweetest people I know. He was kind, and a definite one of a kind. He was loved for his big heart and also known for his unique style. And on top of all that, he was really interesting with tons of knowledge about art and whatever fine cultural events were happening in the city. On almost every day of the week, you could find Thomas out at an exhibit or sitting in the audience of some gorgeous production. Even the last time we hung out one-on-one was to watch ballet at Lincoln Center last year, which was my first time ever doing so. He loved anything that celebrated both the visual and performing arts and once told me he's "obsessed with looking at beautiful things." And this wasn't just for when he was outside his house.

Some years ago, a tough transitional phase of mine had me going through a long period of couch crashing. When Thomas heard about this through Judy, he generously offered to let me stay in his spare bedroom for a few months as I got back on my feet. Thomas had been living in his place since the 80s, so stepping inside his home was a deep immersion in who he was. Practically every inch and corner was decorated with some item. The spare bedroom I slept in was filled with things as well, from eccentricities I couldn't stop staring at to shelves of books and delicate figurines. And because there was no Internet connection in that room, a small analog tv near the bed was what I usually used to break the silence as I admired my surroundings. Being there in his home with all of the things he loved comforted me in a way. I was so used to living out of a suitcase with minimal belongings, and that's why Thomas' place was a great reminder in the serenity that can come from a home with stuff that brings you joy.

Sadly, Thomas passed away last weekend. His funeral was yesterday, and I was grateful to be able to go and say my goodbyes. You can read his obituary here, and also a recent article about him here. And as for Thomas' poetry club, while they became less frequent in the past few years, he had kept up sending out his poems since he first signed me up a decade ago. The final poem Thomas ever sent was on January 5th of this year.

While going through old photos to look for ones with Thomas, I found the following ones below I took at a work dinner of his, Judy's and their colleagues. This night is from exactly ten years ago in February of 2010.

Rest in peace, Thomas. You were a light to many.

Thomas Miller (1958-2020)

"I'm a singer and a songwriter. And a bartender. And a babysitter. On weekends I host four course dinner parties for $65 a plate. And I make soap to sell online. And candles. And tea baths. And hair conditioner. And shampoo. Basically I'm broke. And I need a vacation. But I'm on the move. And I'm not stopping until somebody writes me a check for some of my music."

From the December 8, 2018 post of the Humans of NY Instagram account.

My retail therapy is buying cookbooks on sale through the Apple Books store.

There's always an ever-changing selection of them in the $5 and under section, providing access to recipes and stories of some of the industry's best for just a few bucks. This is also definitely what I scroll though the most throughout my day, because I've noticed that sometimes a cookbook will pop-up and disappear from the sale section in what seems like a short time. There have been instances where I saw a cookbook on sale but didn't buy it at that moment. Then I would go back a little later and search for it directly and press Buy Book without thinking, just to realize it was listed back to its full price.

I'm not a huge shopper, so buying cookbooks this way gives me that instant gratification I'm looking for. It's healthier than buying food, and definitely better than blowing my money on other stuff I'll eventually regret and toss. Because I've moved so many times as an adult, I've come to prefer owning as little physical possessions as possible. So this digital cookbook addiction of mine satisfies without all the guilt. And each one is so cheap that I convince myself it's not a big deal. Plus, I tell myself that at least it feels like I'm building something. I've amassed this huge library of culinary knowledge I can refer to anytime I like. The depth of information in the form of gorgeous photos and quality writing available at the swipe of my fingertips feels priceless to me. I think it's pretty cool in a way because scrolling through food content is my favorite pastime after actually eating, so what better way is there to dick around and waste time on.

I had been buying cookbooks this way on the daily for a while, and never really thought about the total number I had in my collection. Then I looked at the number this week and saw that I had accumulated 300+, which really blew my mind. That means this little shopping hobby of mine, with a few dollars here and a few bucks there, has definitely built up to costing over a grand at this point. I mean, considering the retail value of them all and the hard work that was put into producing each book, it's well worth it. But I'll be damned, that's still a significant total amount of money for purchases that felt so little at the time.

Please hire me to go write about something.

So many people who've reached a certain level of success and prominence have repeatedly expressed the same learning lesson: Nothing is ever as perfect as it seems, and no amount of money or fame is going to magically fix everything.

Yes, but why is it so hard to digest this information? To actually take it to heart. To stop romanticizing things that are simply figments of fiction created from our own imagination. To know there's a truth to every situation beyond what is seen by the eye is the first thing to disappear in the mind. But that old adage saying the best things in life are free is so true. And maybe that's what scares people the most into thinking otherwise.

I've been reading up on all of the amazing essays, think pieces, and social media posts dedicated to Anthony Bourdain this past weekend. I've never had the pleasure of working with him or ever being in the same room as him through some industry function. I've known nothing beyond my experiences of watching his tv shows or interviews, so learning more about him through all of the deeply personal messages dedicated to him has been really moving. It just makes me so sad to think that he saw suicide as the only way out, and seeking a solution through any other resource was futile. I think just like how our physical bodies break down and get hurt, the same thing happens to the brain. And mental health is a real issue that needs to be taken seriously. 

I used to write a lot more on this blog about being depressed and feeling down, but it's something that's gotten better for me with time. However, for the periods when I do still feel it, I don't want to bring it anymore thought or attention to it, so I push it away and definitely don't write about it. But I can't lie and say it never happens, because it still does on a regular basis. I try to deal with it all in more positive ways now, and small things like taking deep breaths and pausing the racing hamster wheel of thoughts in my head has been helpful. But what I've realized most in all these years is that it's during the cloud of depression when the instinct to hide away from the world is strongest, when in actuality, that's the time when friends and support are needed the most.

I've been cooking a lot more since I moved to my new place. My apartment in general is on the smaller side, but thankfully the kitchen is renovated with new appliances. It even has a window, which makes such a big difference when actually using the space. The last time I lived in New York with a kitchen window was in 2010, so things like natural sunlight and fresh air for ventilation charm me into staying in the room. It's like cooking and being in a kitchen feels pleasant again. 

My cupboards right now are really stocked with lots of different types of sauces. With my schedule being a bit open nowadays, I've taken to shopping for sauces as a new hobby. It feels like the most inexpensive way to get me out of the house sometimes, where I can feel productive while on a budget. I especially like finding things that are on sale, and it gives me a reason to peruse the aisles of far away (but uncharted) grocery stores. In a way, I think of each new sauce discovery as an investment. And it challenges me to create something with it later on. But as of late, pasta has been what I've been eating the most. The Eataly in Flatiron had a big promotion on pasta last month with some brands on sale for only $1, so I stocked up big time. I've gone through a good amount of my supply already, but I still have a shelf bursting with capellini, tortiglioni and chiocciole. 

Besides pasta, I've been cooking a lot of things that are easy to make. Things like roasted vegetables or other simple dishes are usually my go-to. And while it's been great eating like this so far, I woke up today with a real big craving for Korean food. And not anything that'd be served in a restaurant, but the simpler type I would've eaten on the fly at home when younger.

All I wanted was a big bowl of steaming rice to mix with a whole bunch of other Korean ingredients. I guess you can call it a version of bibimbap, but with whatever you want instead. There's nothing saying you need this or that. I was really in the mood for some fried eggs over easy mixed with gochujang, sesame oil, soy sauce, perilla, butter, and kimchi. 

I hadn't been grocery shopping for Korean stuff since I moved to my place in Harlem, and since I had the time to spare, I decided to go to the H Mart in Woodside today for a few basics. The prices would be cheaper there compared to the one on 32nd Street, and it's usually less busier. That location of H Mart is small but runs 24 hours. When I lived in Woodside, I loved dropping by on the way home from the subway to pick up beers and already-made food. It's interestingly also the first H Mart from 1982 that would eventually turn into the global grocery chain it is now.

All this trying to cook more at home had me thinking about the food from when I was a kid. It's like, where did that strong hankering for Korean food come from this morning? And why did it taste so amazing when I finally did eat it? And that's when I realized that my diet as an adult right now is the total opposite from when I was growing up. As a kid, my parents' home cooking of traditional Korean food ranged in all types of proteins and fresh vegetables. Practically everything was bought from the grocery store and cooked at home. But all of the non-Korean food we ate was usually processed. If we didn't buy it from Costco, it was most likely fast food we were eating. And if it wasn't from the drive-thru, we were most likely at a restaurant or ordering some takeout. I mean, sure, we cooked spaghetti at the house every now and then, but that doesn't count. The point is, because it's not as if my family were eating hamburgers and french fries over at someone's else place, the American food we ate in my childhood was never home cooked. And somehow, that script has totally flipped in my life today. I only usually eat Korean food in restaurants now, and find the majority of my home cooked meals to be conventional American dishes.

When I got back to Harlem with my bounty from H Mart earlier today, the first thing I did was wash the rice in the tin of my roommate's rice cooker. It had been so long since I washed rice with my hands like that, feeling the grains as they swam between my fingers. It all felt so cathartic and soothing in a way. After it was cooked and ready, I mixed it with my other ingredients before wolfing down the entire bowl of food. Everything tasted so satisfying with the kimchi and gochujang, and totally hit the spot. It's funny because the large bowl of rice mixed with stuff hit me in such a different way than a large bowl of pasta mixed with stuff ever would, and I had missed the feeling so much.

From my days of living in Thailand, I still enjoy checking out free tv episodes that are offered every week on iTunes. I recently watched the first episode of Season 2 for Huang's World from VICE. And all I got to say is, mad respect to Eddie for the entire episode. I really liked it. Go check it out if you haven't already.

Whenever in need of retail therapy or some instant gratification, I look no further than the "Cookbooks Under $5" section on iBooks. It's updated throughout the week, and there are always cookbooks from major publishing companies and big time chefs/restaurateurs on sale!

Cool does not pay the bills.

"I've always believed in the power of broke: the less you have, the more creative you get. And (usually) as a result of this, you end up creating way cooler things than if you had millions of dollars and amazing connections to create your masterpiece."

From the May 30, 2016, MUNCHIES story: How I Threw a Party and Made It Into a Career. By Jeremy Fall.

I close my eyes, and imagine I'm on a tropical island with a cold beer.

Why does it feel so impossible to ever get ahead?

"Half of New York City residents say they are struggling economically, making ends meet just barely, if at all, and most feel sharp uncertainty about the future of the city's next generation, a new poll shows.

The poll, conducted by The New York Times and Siena College, shows great disparities in quality of life among the city's five boroughs. The stresses weighing on New Yorkers vary widely, from the Bronx, where residents feel acute concern about access to jobs and educational opportunity, to Staten Island, where one in five report recently experiencing vandalism or theft.

But an atmosphere of economic anxiety pervades all areas of the city: 51 percent of New Yorkers said they were either just getting by or finding it difficult to do so."

From the November 18, 2015, New York Times story: Half of New Yorkers Say They Are Barely or Not Getting By, Poll Shows. Written by Alexander Burns and Giovanni Russonello.

You know in the beginning of the movie, Rent, when everyone is standing on their New York fire escapes and burning their eviction notices because they refuse to pay rent?

Yeah, I like that scene.

Just because this doesn't happen often, there's something special about that moment when I'm freshly showered and in my hotel bathrobe to hear a knock at the door followed by, "ROOM SERVICE!"

Thank you, Trader Joe's, because you are the only place in New York City where people can get a bag of frozen brussels sprouts for 99 cents.

American passports are valid for a period of ten years before they need to be renewed. As I currently hold my now voided passport that was my only constant companion through my travels in the past decade, flipping through its stamps and visas bring back so many memories.

I recently just got a new passport, and my old one was returned to me through the mail today. It contains more pages than when I was originally issued it nine years ago because it ran out of available space while I was living in Thailand and I had to get some added. It was on one of my usual visa runs to Cambodia when I learned my passport had no more empty pages left. While living in Bangkok, I would often travel alone to Cambodia. This was one of the closest and cheapest ways to technically exit Thailand and acquire a new Thai visa outside of the country. Once I got my visa, I would cross back over in to Thailand to be able to legally live there for another extended amount of time.

It was during a visa run like this at the Cambodian border town of Poipet when to my surprise, I was notified about being denied entry to the country because my passport had run out of room.

For my passport to have no space for new stamps and visas was the last thing on my mind to ever anticipate would go wrong. I couldn't believe I was being refused admittance into Cambodia because of it. It was hard not to momentarily panic right then because I was traveling alone, was on an extremely tight budget, and hadn't had a bank account in years to pull out more non-existent money. I had no back-up plan at all, and absolutely needed to enter Cambodia to obtain that Thai visa. Going back to Bangkok empty handed just wasn't an option, because then I would be forced to leave Thailand, my studio apartment, and entire life there on terms that weren't mine.

Then magically, I was offered a solution to my problem by customs officials---but of course it would come at a price. I was told that the last few pages of passports were usually supposed to be left empty for administrative purposes. Cambodian border agents were not supposed to place visas on this part, however, for a private fee of ฿500 cash, they would be willing to make an exception for me. Thankfully, that was a sum that I could actually afford, and was more than happy to fork it over. Suffice it to say, I was subsequently allowed in to the country and got my Thai visa like I had planned.

After eventually returning to Bangkok, one of the first things I did was to make an appointment at the American Embassy to have more pages added to my passport. I eventually would've had to do so because I traveled a lot more after that trip, but I guess I found out the hard way.

Traveling alone for years like that was actually so much fun, now that I think about it. Sure, it was scary and stressful at times but definitely had an element of adventure. I never had an itinerary or any plans at all. I liked to just go somewhere and figure it out when I arrived. Not having a bank account or credit cards at the time didn't allow me the luxury of booking things in advance, so I would usually go somewhere and just find a hostel or other accommodations by asking around or word of mouth. And everything always worked out somehow. Doing this was never really hard because I prefer to wake up in a new city or country with an open day ahead of me instead of some rigid schedule. Walking around for hours to explore by foot and discover what I want to eat and do on my own never failed me.

Now, with my brand new passport that I will hopefully be using for the next ten years, I'm excited to eventually fill up its pages. I'll be breaking it in with a work trip to Berlin next week, which I'm pretty excited about. I would love to travel again soon to a foreign country for pleasure, but that probably won't be any time soon. But for now, Germany next week will be enough to satiate me until then.

"'Cause it's a bittersweet symphony, this life.
Try to make ends meet,
You're a slave to money then you die."

From the song Bittersweet Symphony by The Verve.

"I can't afford a vacation, so I'm just going to drink until I don't know where I am."

From an Aunty Acid cartoon by Ged Backland.

"We're all just a kid from somewhere."

From a Powerade commercial on television.

This commercial came on a week or two ago when I was at home channel surfing. It's nice that even in those dull moments where I'm mindlessly looking for something entertaining to watch, these nuggets of great inspiration can come.

But yes, the line from the Powerade commercial is so true. We are all just a kid from somewhere. Forever in my heart, I will always just be a kid from Flushing, Queens, who was raised by my Korean immigrant parents that always did the best that they could. And no one or nothing in life can ever take that away from me.

Stay grounded. Exercise patience. Listen to learn. Always be considerate of others, because you never know what battles they are struggling with. Let people finish what they're saying before chiming in. Realize that what you envy in others is never what it seems. Empathize because hatred disappears when you learn someone's true story. Manners matter. Know that our differences are not how we should be associating by. Respect yourself. Love yourself. What you consider as the small details of your life are things that other people dream of having. Be wary of interpreting miscommunication for something more disastrous. Perfection exists when the challenges in life are used as lessons. Beauty and wealth are fleeting, but integrity and goodness are forever. And when someone really pisses you off on the subway, know that 95% of the time they have no idea what they're even doing.

I know that these are all clichés... but why are they so easy for us to forget at times?

A long time ago, we were all just a kid who wanted ice cream.