Rebuilding London Bridge

London Bridge is falling down, falling down…

London, like 2018, is complex for me.

Two years ago, I came to London on a 3 day trip with my once-friend. It was a rich cultural excursion filled with lots of fun activities and sites, but it was also a lesson. I lost someone whom I once considered close and started doubting myself on that trip.

2018 was similar in that sense. It was an emotionally turbulent year, but filled with unique, unparalleled experiences. I did not doubt my choices – on the contrary, I built my confidence in them back up – but I started doubting other things. Dreams. Identity. Relationships.

It’s now 2019 and I am starting off the year in London.

Continue reading “Rebuilding London Bridge”

Advertisements

“You threaded your fingers through my hair”

You threaded your fingers through my hair, kissed my jaw, and said,

“It’s a shame time was too short, space too long.” I was hushed

By your butterfly lips that quivered on my neck, and shushed

By your weaving arms around my waist. I wanted instead

For you to say, “No matter the oceans between us to tread,

No matter what storms, crowds, chaos be spread, I’d rush

Through the cosmos to reach your side. I’d crush

The hourglasses to shards and sweep the sand, so I could dart ahead

Of time itself to the point where our lines once more converge

For when we are together, timing doesn’t matter.”

Yet when your hands tangled in mine I cared not about forever,

But rather if you thought that then was right and meant to be as well?

With a knotted kiss and coiled legs, the chance and urge

To ask fluttered away, and now, only time will tell.

Continue reading ““You threaded your fingers through my hair””

詩歌: 繋がらない

青い目が

鳥居の途中で

神社の外

散る葉を見る

「お祈りしようか?」

Approximate Translation:

Blue eyes, standing in the middle of the torii gates, watch the falling leaves outside the shrine. “Shall we pray?”

Continue reading “詩歌: 繋がらない”

“When we said goodbye on Beacon Street”

When we said goodbye on Beacon Street we hugged.

I smelled must on your jacket, lemon-mint in your hair.

I would have sighed, nested my chin in your shrug

In another universe, but all I dared

Was smile before walking away. In another universe

It may well be that we’d’ve kissed as lovers will,

Embraced, laced hands, awoken side by side, traversed

Deserts, mountains, planets, and shooting stars until

We’re at the moon river’s end, just to go back and return

Again. In another universe, maybe

We’d hug and not go, or we’d never have met and I’d not yearn.

But in this universe we said goodbye on Beacon Street

And though in another universe, I’d be a lover if I could,

Perhaps in this universe, “goodbye” is just as good.

Continue reading ““When we said goodbye on Beacon Street””

Racial identity in Mongolia as a foreigner

My final article at the UB Post, unedited version. My boss requested that I write an article detailing particular impressions I had of Mongolia as a foreigner, but this wound up being a piece on Asian-American identity and the ambiguous place of Asian adoptees in ethnic communities. Link to original is currently unavailable.

When I first arrived, I hopped in a taxi with a Mongolian cab driver who spoke no English. He was a cheery fellow, blasting and humming along to 1960s radio tunes.

While we were waiting in traffic, he asked me something in rapid Mongolian. I shook my head and said I didn’t understand. He said more slowly, “Bi, mongold. Chi?”

“Bi mongold bish,” I replied, the only sentence I knew at the time. He demanded, what was I, then – Japan? Korea? Mexico? I told him, “American.”

Continue reading “Racial identity in Mongolia as a foreigner”

Bayarlalaa & bayartai

I’m very sad, for today I’ll be leaving Ulaanbaatar.

At the UB Post, I wrote an article on my first impressions of Mongolia for my internship. For that article, I concentrated on my overall experience and addressed it from the a racial perspective. However, I didn’t address many other things that shaped my experience here, such as the people, the food, and outside trips/locations. There was a lot of good and admittedly there was some bad, but overall this has been such an empowering experience that has helped me grow and flourish in unimaginable ways. Thank you so much to everyone who helped make this happen again – you guys are amazing! Here are some highlights of my trip that I feel were key in making the experience what it was.

Continue reading “Bayarlalaa & bayartai”

Another face in the crowd

A brief contemplation on a naive young woman’s first sexual encounter and the meaning of intimacy – whether physical or romantic.

When they first met, to her, he was just another face in the crowd, standing at the top of the stairs, waiting, looking out at the mountains sprawling beyond the traffic of the city.

But the night he brought her home and kissed her, he whispered against her lips that he wanted her. It was only at that moment that she really saw his face for the first time.

Continue reading “Another face in the crowd”

Somewhere down this road

Already a month has passed, and I have only a month more to go. It took me forever, but on Thursday I finally took my first trip out of Ulaanbaatar to the countryside. I hopped in a white sedan with a Mongolian tour guide who spoke no English and a Japanese traveler for a two hour ride to Aglag Buteel. Founded by the monk G. Purevat, the monastery offers a sweeping view of the valley below and a peaceful environment for meditation. The problem was that it is couched in the heart of Daliin Khavtsal Mountain. I looked up at the rocky staircase winding to the temple, the snaking trails leading to the peak. I looked down at my battered sneakers. I was definitely not prepared to hike.

Continue reading “Somewhere down this road”

“Heureux qui, comme Ulysse…”

This was a creative nonfiction piece I wrote first year of college. It’s about homesickness and searching for a place of belonging, a theme still relevant to me today. It describes the narrator’s journey throughout the Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum in Boston, MA.

Sunlight dangled from the ceiling windows. The air smelled of earth and dust, and the voices of onlookers echoed through the room. I placed my hands on the stone parapet and leaned forward. Was this what they called a home?

Continue reading ““Heureux qui, comme Ulysse…””

Sain baina uu from Ulaanbaatar

IMG_5621

Approximately three weeks ago, I arrived in Ulaanbaatar for Wellesley’s Luce in Asia internship program. I am now working at The UB Post as a journalist intern, writing articles and exploring the city. While initially, I wanted nothing more than to come home, these past few weeks thus far have reminded me why I travel.

Continue reading “Sain baina uu from Ulaanbaatar”