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good morning x forever.

i hope that every one of my

“good morning!”s steeps you

in my care—

that you feel submerged

often enough

to start each day

with the daily reminder

that you are worthy

of consistent love.

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receive.

your care makes me feel

beautiful

profound

divine

worthy

full

whole

abundant

free

liberated

boundless

endless

infinite

seen

heard

valued

celebrated

nurtured

loved

like I could fall into

an ocean of your love

and never drown

but rather

come up with even more

breath in my lungs

who knew that was even possible?

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blessing.

May the sunshine follow you

Warmth embrace you

And Light keep you

May fear disband in your presence

Courage rise once again

And Resilience name you

May Hope find you

just as you need it

right when you need it

And above all else

May Love hold you

Tenderly

Deeply

And always.

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11:11

we’re talking

after days of distance

it’s 11:11

and I can’t help

but let my mind wander

dream

about what could be

what we could be

someday maybe

it’s 11:11

and somehow

“make a wish”

doesn’t seem so silly

of a phrase.

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7.2 / not meant to be.

i miss you

but that’s not enough,

just because we miss people

just because we want something

doesn’t mean it’s right

“i miss you”

is not a valid justification

for unwise action

and yet

all i want to do

is exchange loving embraces

you in mine

me in yours

so long

that i forget

how to count seconds—

what day is it?

i want to close my eyes

and breathe you in

feel your breath

your heartbeat too

the warmth of life

coursing through your arms

but every hello

must also be a goodbye

and every “i love you”

must stop itself just before—

shit

full and whole

and yet somehow

limited

how to love someone

within bounds?

one day

i’ll fall in love

and i won’t have to

hold my breath.

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prayer of wholeness.

each day i pray

for something to convict me

and something to encourage me

for something to break my heart

and move me towards action

and for something to line the shattering

with Hope and Love

i pray for all that is necessary

to get me to the next point

in my journey

i pray for moments of weakness—

that i may be humbled

just as i pray for Strength—

that i may recognize God’s own Power

and my own Resilience,

with this i pray also

for spaces to be held

for hands that hold

for hearts that love

for people to walk alongside,

El Roi

may i see with eyes that acknowledge purpose and necessity in every gaze

i pray for Wholeness

for Fullness

and everything in between.

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how can my heart

be numb

when my mouth

is on fire?

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how to begin again—

every day that i wake up

and decide to try again

is a sacred moment

may God remind me

every time I transition into consciousness,

that the small moments

are not small at all

that every time

i choose to try

is Strength embroidered with Grace

a space for God to show me

how God will show up with me

time and time again

and each time

is an act of Resilience

an embodiment of Faith—

and nothing less.

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2016.

“get up”

she says

“you don’t even do _____”

when did she

get so bitter?

when did her words

become so accusatory?

“you know you’ll pick up

even m o r e weight

from eating late, right?”

i knew what i was doing

how could she think

i didn’t know

what i was doing?

i already felt badly

about my body—

about the stress eating

does she know

how much it sucks

to slowly hate

the way you look?

every glance in the mirror

accompanied by a wince

but no strength to make a change

“you’re sure doing a good job

of showing how much you love them”

he mutters

doesn’t he know

how much it hurts?

how difficult it is

to love someone so much

and somehow

have no love to give?

do they know

how much it hurts to lose

the ONE person in your family

who really SAW you

who loved you tenderly

do they know

how it feels to know someone

who took their own life

at the same time

you almost contemplated

taking yours?

they will never know

what 2016 did to me

or how it broke me

simply because

they

will

never

ask.

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the weight of trauma.

some days my heart feels like lead

and my spirit like bricks

cut the cord

take a knife

to

the

chains—

don’t you know

that this dull blade

can’t cut through steel?

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reflection 1/3.

I think the Tieren situation frustrated me so much because it brings up the fact that I felt like my power was surrendered and I hate that. Like the whole sexual liberation thing was MY quest to allow MYSELF to claim MY sexual FREEDOM and get better and not feeling shame for it—to gain POWER in my BODY. And then it’s like some dude takes advantage of me during a time where I am vulnerable and it feels like he took that power away...like he tainted MY journey, tainted MY quest. What was supposed to feel like a BIG celebration and LIBERATING journey made me feel SMALL.

It reminded me of how I was set to start my journey of reclaiming my time at the beginning of junior year—of doing all the things I was too afraid to do, to love myself, and to more fully lean into what God and the world has in store for me.

How my junior year felt like brokenness but in all the right ways because I truly encountered my brokenness with authentic, deep healing and how senior year felt like all the engagement with brokenness without the healing.

My senior year I struggled with feeling like my journey of reclaiming was robbed from me. When that situation happened with me and my fam where I exploded it made me realize that I felt like my childhood was robbed from me.

When that situation happened with Tieren it felt like the third time in a year where I felt like I had been robbed of something that was rightfully mine. That someone/other people/some outside force took from me the right to health and wholeness. That someone/other people/some outside force tainted something that was set to be liberating but instead felt like being smothered.

I think that’s why as I moved through 2019 my childhood feelings of pain and sadness turned to pain and anger. I was mad. I was mad that I had felt taken from. And in some ways maybe that comes from a place of privilege for believing that such grand ventures were mine to claim or being too optimistic that I could ever have a journey that was much more beautiful in my head than it had played out. Whatever the case is, I think I thought that what I needed was the freedom to do whatever when what I needed was the freedom of validation.

That yes my validation should be rooted in God and myself. But I also reject the gross individualistic idea of brokenness just as I do things that are closer to the other end of the spectrum—love and community. If I truly believe that brokenness and pain should be a collective thing, that we are binded by this thing called pain. What is so damn wrong about believing that we are all binded by needing each other for validation, kindness, tenderness, empathy, and love? What is so freaking wrong about being just as hopefully expectant of the solidarity that comes with brokenness as I am with the solidarity that comes with love?

But yeah in addition to the “robbing” feeling I have also felt like I have been “externally halted.” As in, I felt like here I was embarking on my journey—whether that was reclaiming my time, leaning into my sexual freedom, etc., And then some people, some external actors, came in with behavior that threw me off track. And it made me upset because it seems like people aren’t aware of/don’t care how their actions can impinge on/affect other people’s journeys—which then again feels like I’m being robbed of a portion of my story and journey.

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thank you/감사합니다

and I know how weird this sounds...

but when I get nostalgic it isn’t always about the big and momentous of memories, but more often than not it is the little things—the things that perhaps I did not even feel was particularly special as I experienced them in real time. it is with this context that I say these words:

I miss the smell of wet dirt from clean rain, pitter pattering on the tree right outside my window and the now, mud below—there’s dirt here in Seattle and it rains a ton, but when it rains in Maui it doesn’t feel quite the same—rain sounds different when it falls on a bed of earth instead of concrete (smells different too). I miss those cotton candy clouds and those skies of fire, somehow they never seemed ordinary even though that’s exactly what they are back home. I miss the warmth on my skin and the thrice too beautiful golden hour—that was my favorite part of day (still is). there’s something about the way that gold feels in your lungs *deep inhale*—it was my favorite time to walk Lucky. *sigh* I miss that dang doodle dog. I miss the sand beneath my toes (sometimes too hot to touch!) and the cooling essence of bright, bright blue ocean water—the salty sea softly kissing the shore. I miss the homemade Korean soups left lingering on the stove top—김치찌개? I miss the daily dog snuggles and laughing at Snapchat filters with Makeila and Kupono—omg we looked at this one yesterday how is it t h a t funny again? (did I mention that kids kinda make my head do swirls but that I still love em anyways?). I miss the good conversations with 엄마 and 아빠, especially the days where the good ones outweighed the bad—when jokes made the jury stand, and yelling and slammed doors did not. I miss closing out a conversation with Solana saying, “I’ll see you in 15 mins!” because long distance friendship was temporarily a concept unknown. I miss all of the fresh vegetables from the farmers markets (we are a sprouts and radishes stan account, I don’t make the rules!), the fresh kombucha, Hawaiian/local food (real poké!), sushi (with fresh Ahi/tuna,,,,,oof), açaí bowls (with lilikoi butter!), hurricane fries (and popcorn), rainbow shave ice (with vanilla ice cream and a snow cap), turkey/avo panini with a side caesar from Kula Bistro, crepes and a Mediterranean platter from Café Des Ami, eggs beni and freshly baked pastries from La Provence, and anything Solana’s mom is making......mmm...........To be home for a day, a good day, where there is relational peace, sun shining, laughter cascading in the ripples of the warmth, gas in the car, a towel in my tote, and lots of lots of tasty food otw—what I wouldn’t give. longing for home brings on a certain sense of guilt for me. to long for a space that presents such a mixed bag. but today...today I do not want to think about the brokenness and the strain, the tears and the pain, the battles and the scars, and everything that made me want to leave. today, I pay homage to the good. 신 이시여 감사합니다.

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free.

rigid structure tethers chains to breath

what danger comes from suffocation—

that tasting liberty may cause for an eruption of the unruly and unhealthy

to finally allow the tip of my tongue

to taste sugar—

a frenzy of binging ensues

funny how

freedom gives wings

to much needed self-control

i am in need of a compromise—

one characterized by guided freedom

an acknowledgment of the both and—

a liberation that sets me free

but let’s me know where to return home.

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late night decisions.

if you ask why

it’s because

it was safer

to miss him

instead of you

because at least

i was sure

that he was longing

for me too.

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organic bloom.

i told God about you

(it was a meeting worth praying about)

i thanked Them for your existence—

you showing up in mine

have you ever felt deep gratitude

for the chance of intersection

how could this crossing of paths

be anything but a Divine gift?

have you ever seen a whole garden

thriving by accident?

it reminds me that you shouldn’t have to try so hard to love someone or something

we may not be romantic soulmates

but i cannot deny the beauty

of seeds that unintentionally

and effortlessly

find their way to the ground

and bloom there.

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self-compassion —> men

I’ve learned to stop being so hard on myself—to give myself more grace, more self-compassion—this doesn’t mean that I don’t get to have self-accountability, but it does mean that I get to acknowledge the crucial role of context.

What does this mean for me? A variety of things.

One of the areas of my life that I’ve learned to apply this to is my relationships with men. I fully recognize that trustworthy, kind, tender, loving, and respectful men exist—hell, I have come to gain extremely meaningful, platonic relationships with incredible men. With that being said I think I also owe it to myself to take the time and space to recognize the painful and undesirable experiences that I have had with men. I owe it to myself to pay respects to the parts of me that were/are impacted by the hurt that I felt/feel.

Do I get to acknowledge my own shortcomings in my experiences with men? Yes. Do I get to take the easy pass of blaming men for everything and anything? No. But I do get to have self-compassion for the ways in which I chose to move forward from and with my pain.

You cannot tell a womxn to simply have grace for a man mistreating her. You cannot tell a womxn that it was just a one time event—that his actions in that one moment do not communicate something bigger. You cannot blame a womxn for having trust issues when her previous partners have cheated on her. You cannot tell a womxn that she is “just jealous” when her previous partners coveted other womxn, compared her to other womxn, and made (passively) negative comments about her body.

How can you tell a womxn that she “just” has to trust a new man her life (platonic, romantic, and/or intimate) when her past experiences emerge from the shadows like a familiar and unwelcome predator?

I had agreed to sex, I wanted this, this was me taking control of my body and sexuality. When I was more sober we agreed to protected sex—I was adamant about this. I did not want the risk of STIs/STDs and pregnancy. I remember becoming very intoxicated, slowly fading off into unconsciousness. He asked if he could slip the condom off, I refused repeatedly. Did it not feel good enough for him? Was my earlier ask of protected sex not good enough? He continued to ask. After a while it felt like too much energy to resist, I caved in to stop the talking. We continued. It felt good right? “I wanted to have sex,” I reminded myself. It was over before I knew it. He pulled out before he finished, thank God.

I gathered myself from the bed and my clothes from the floor. “Driving back home is gonna be so long, I couldn’t even imagine doing that right now,” he said, half sorry, half seeming to want me out so he could go to sleep. “I’ll walk you upstairs.” We hugged. He kissed me goodnight, giving me a playful squeeze and a cheeky side grin. I smiled and walked back to my car. I drove home, still pretty fucked up—but this was more than just the alcohol and weed. I felt weird but I didn’t have the words for why.

A couple of days later he asked to see me again. I had already felt the chemistry fading days ago. I had gotten worse at texting back. I wasn’t even gonna go to his house the other night but I wanted to know if the physical spark was really leaving.

He hit me up 2-3 times in the same week that followed that night. He eventually grew tired of my flip flopping. Doesn’t he know that I am not horny at 4:30am? Doesn’t he know that I’m tired? Doesn’t he know that I feel weird about Friday? I tried to message back with a sorry for seeing his messages and not replying. He had already unfriended and deleted me. I did leave him on read three messages in a row—maybe I just dropped the ball.

Soon we were strangers. A week later I was visited by a wave of anxiety, an irrational fear of pregnancy. He did pull out before he came right? I just...can’t remember clearly. What if there was pre-cum when he went in again unprotected?

November was a month of me sitting on my hands as anxiety sat on my chest.

Thanksgiving weekend I got my period. I had never been so excited to be PMSing.

The processing came later in waves—right before I fell asleep, first thing in the morning, on the bus, at work, when I was walking around a building. I couldn’t have been taken advantage of...could I? He was a good guy. A man of color. Well-loved by the creative community. Full of smiles and talent. The internal dissonance was HELL.

My journey of sexual and body liberation had been interrupted and tainted by another outside of my body, a man. I had set out to take ownership of what was rightfully mine and instead felt that I had those things TAKEN from me. After a difficult year of pain and rising through the mud by work of intentional healing, all of my strife seemed negated. Lost. Discounted. Thrown away.

How can you tell a womxn that she “just” has to trust a new man her life (platonic, romantic, and/or intimate) when her past experiences emerge from the shadows like a familiar and unwelcome predator?

Trust me when I say that I am trying to learn how to trust men in my romantic and intimate life, that I hope to be able to depend on a man in the future. Trust that I am doing the work to move through my past pain and experiences. I am learning how to have self-compassion as I continue to carry my burdens. Please do not interfere with my journey by offering your “helpful advice” and “well-meaning words” if you are not willing to extend to me the same compassion that I have identified as necessary for my growth and journey. The word “just” does not make my burdens feel lighter, but rather invalidates the weight that it imposes upon me and other womxn who share this common narrative.

I do not choose hatred of men, but I do choose compassion—a lens that gives me the time and space to figure out how to “just” trust again.

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heart check-up.

does your breath feel light, heavy, or somewhere in between? do you feel safe? do you feel free? is your heart in the right place? does your spirit feel at rest? is your mind thinking, reflecting, creating—are you inspired? are you having fun? do you experience joy in its fullness? do you feel heard, valued, seen, and loved?

speaking these affirmations over you today: you deserve a life that makes you excited to get up in the morning. you deserve compassion. you deserve open and loving communication. you deserve healthy and whole relationships (with others, but also yourself). you deserve to laugh when you are grieving. you deserve self-patience as you journey. you deserve the agency to revisit and revise. you deserve feelings of fulfillment.

i say to you tenderly, firmly, and wholeheartedly: i.am.glad.that.you.are.here.