It's like, things are getting better and progression during the pandemic is happening. 

But then, when thinking about the human toll of COVID-19, it's seriously beyond grasping.

Every meal is scallions with a side of something.

After nearly 15 years of updating this virtual diary of mine, I've come to realize that blogs aren't meant to be read—they're meant to be written in... or at least that's what I tell myself.

Back in March of 2006, I was still a college student living at home with my parents in Flushing, Queens. I was closeted, depressed, and about to hit the heaviest weight I've been in my life so far. I initially started this blog because I felt extremely isolated with no one to talk to. For many reasons, I had a hard time maintaining any social media accounts back then because something about it just didn't feel like a suitable fit for me. So, this became my exclusive outlet where I could feel like I was contributing to and participating in our world's rapidly growing virtual realm. In the beginning, I kept this blog anonymous in order to be as honest as I could with what I wanted to share. But then I did eventually start telling my friends about it and slowly started to write more personal things, to then start posting photos as well. 

Over time, this blog would remain my only online presence until I started an Instagram account in 2013. But even for Instagram, I've used it mostly as a place to stay in touch with people, and it's not my preferred way of genuinely showing who I truly am. Anything important I've ever had to say in the past decade and a half, this blog is where I shared it. All the struggles and good times I've gone through, this is where I documented it. Throughout the years, I often sought escape from everyday life by immersing myself here on this blog. Even today, from the moment I wake up to when I fall asleep, all I do is think about how and with what content I can post here. I mean, that doesn't mean I've updated as much as I wanted to, but still—it's remained my only constant during so many seasons of instability, uncertainty, and at times, downright fucking terror from not knowing how to process or tackle things. 

To count, this post will be my 3,923rd since I first began. With that sheer volume in mind, it's no surprise that I view this blog as the only place outside of my actual self that even comes close to portraying an accurate reflection of my character and who I am as a person. This blog is my heart, my soul, and the best way for anyone to get to know me. It's my proudest personal accomplishment to date. Reading back on all my entries, I can really see how my writing has evolved and matured over the years. From refusing to capitalize stuff in the beginning, to more recent posts where it feels easier to communicate via rhymes, I appreciate every phase, struggle, and lesson that helped shaped me into the writer I am today. I mean, the countless hours I spent writing and editing in it alone definitely taught me things I could've never learned anywhere else, or from anybody else for that matter. 

After starting this blog, I basically just kept at it because I loved doing it, and still do. Although no one reads this blog, I was always okay with that because I was doing it more for me and my own personal reasons. It's become my only means of expression that's absolutely necessary for my sanity and survival. I never really ever thought about stopping blogging until an unexpected thought hit me a few months ago: This March 3rd will mark its 15th anniversary, and suddenly, that feels like the right time to end it. Fifteen years is a long time to dedicate to one project, and I feel like it's time to move on and put my energy into something else that could possibly see me through for the next 15 years.

This might sound cheesy, but on my way to becoming a writer (or whatever I thought that meant), I actually sort of became one. To me, I always used to think that being a writer meant being a novelist. That's because the career of Haruki Murakami was the only thing I aspired to. But over the years, I've come to expand this definition and my professional goals. And while it took some time for me to sincerely accept it, I too have become a writer. Even to this day, I find it unbelievable that I've accomplished this. All of my close friends know that my dreams of becoming a writer first surfaced in the 5th grade after I read The Diary of Anne Frank. Anne's writing spoke to me and moved me to the core. For the first time ever, I just felt like the I completely understood someone, and this was simply from reading her diary entries. I couldn't get over how awesome it was that written words could do such a thing. Even at that young age, I felt different from everybody else but I didn't understand how or why. And after I read Anne's diary, the life-changing realization that transformed me was: "Holy shit, Anne felt alone and wrote in a diary to make herself feel better. Maybe I could write in a diary to make myself feel better!" And ever since, I've always maintained a diary or journal of some sorts. By high school, I knew the only thing I wanted to do was become a writer. But by the time I started this blog, I had no idea how to even start that journey. 

Back then, I didn't know of any straightforward paths for writers who looked like me. I wasn't aware of any gay Korean-American guys from Queens who had similar dreams like mine, and becoming a writer just seemed like some farfetched idea. However, by some stroke of luck and with the help of this blog, I stuck to my gut and aspirations. And now, after years of working so many random jobs that were unrelated to writing, I have a job where I get to work with words and write/edit all day. I feel like especially now, with so much anti-Asian racism that's become somewhat normalized since the onset of the pandemic, it's more important than ever that Asians continue to show up and do our thing. And I definitely don't plan to stop that anytime soon.

If there's one major lesson blogging for 15 years has taught me, it's that all the good things in life worth striving for are truly a long game. So for anyone out there who is working towards a goal, stick with it and enjoy the ride because that's when all the interesting stuff happens.

On this day that is my 38th birthday and the start of Lunar New Year, I wish everyone a safe and healthy new year, Valentine's Day, and long Presidents Day weekend. And please continue to check out my blog as it will still be updated until March 3rd.

This blog is my first draft. It's my mix tape. I'm just getting started, and I hope to see you along the way.

While you're still hungry.

Life can be so stressful nowadays that flicking my thumb on my phone is the most I can handle doing, especially this late at night when I just finished working my ass off.

My bed is truly my world.

I do almost everything from it. It's the most used piece of furniture in my room, especially since the pandemic. It's my couch, where I do work from, watch tv, and even where I had my last terrifying nightmare.

Podcast playing.
These keyboard taps.
Night sky outside the window.
Keeping an eye on all three.

Afrin is addictive.

While eating something just now, it was the first time the ends of my bangs crept into my mouth. My hair is so long at this point that I can tie a short ponytail. I haven't cut it since last March.

On my mind all night,

woke up with a dish in sight.

Now,

as it sits here on my desk.

I can't help wonder,

I don't even need it.

Like,

should I even eat it?

Or is there something deeper inside,

crying out to feed it?

I’m so disoriented on what day and time it is right now.

How is it past 3am already? Well, at least it’s still the weekend.

The strangers I like most I know nothing about.

When my mind goes there,

why am I still even staying here?

Good morning, and happy New Year’s Eve!

I just woke up from a weird dream and since it’s the last day of the year, rather than go back to bed to grab a bit more sleep before I start work, I thought I’d stay up.

I dreamt this good friend of mine who I care deeply about was in town and over my place. It wasn’t in the apartment I’m living in now, though, but his visit was such a pleasant surprise that when he spontaneously suggested we go party somewhere (although we knew we shouldn’t because of the pandemic), I immediately said yes. As we were getting ready, my middle sister came home and began venting about her rough day so we invited her out as well. The three of us weren’t sure where to go, but we walked around some industrial area while helicopters flew about above the Manhattan sky. The next thing I know, we’re in some secret warehouse party where everyone is dancing and having fun. At one point I find myself staring at this tv monitor of the dance floor and I watch my friend spot a guy he thinks is cute before making a direct b-line for this dude to hit on him. This sort of upsets me because I have a crush on my friend and I decide to leave the party to get some air. While I’m outside, I see the cops about to swarm the party and I try to text my sister and friend to warn them. That’s when all of the partygoers slowly start exiting the huge building and I eventually spot my sister. I ask where the friend is and she said he ditched us to hang with that new guy he had just met. The cops are trying to herd everyone in to these tents while making everyone change into hazmat suits but I grab my sister and say we still have to go party somewhere. I double check with her to make sure she hadn’t taken off her mask inside the warehouse at any point and she confirms she didn’t, so we slip away from the side and escape. We end up wandering these small houses and shops that remind me of the side streets of Khao San in Bangkok. The two of us are linked arm-in-arm with our masks on and trying to find someplace to grab a drink or some food but since it’s a few minutes past the NYC 10pm curfew, everything is about to close or is closed.We eventually stumble onto this small spot selling Jamaican oxtail about to close up shop but still has some customers dining inside. The storefront isn’t like one in NYC, it’s like an old school spot in Thailand where all of the large windows are open and circulating fresh air. When my sister gets in line to order and I go to grab us seats, that’s when I woke up.

I always wake up really happy when I have dreams about this friend of mine.

A bullshit thing I always ask myself is, why don't you just go let it all out by writing some fiction or some shit?

But it's like, who wants to do that when I can just be lazy and beached on my bed with a McRib dangling from my mouth.

The urge to party comes from the desire to be me.

I'm very in my thoughts and feelings today. Actually, I'm not sure how to feel... so I ate a whole bunch of crap food and overthought about everything of course. This perpetual state of being stuck lingers. I want to step over to the other side, but like where and how the fuck do I do that.

My Internet has been spotty all damn day.

I guess it's perfect for the longest night of the year.

Laundry day always feels like a reset in life.