I don't know how love becomes.
Or, what I would have to do when it found me.
Would I recognize its face? Would I retreat?
All I know, is when we did meet:
I. c r a c k e d. everywhere.
and the blooms...
they are still pushing through even the asphalt and concrete,
rooting themselves without feet.
Braille | Paris, France | 2015
“It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs, who comes short again and again, because there is no effort without error and shortcoming; but who does actually strive to do the deeds; who knows great enthusiasms, the great devotions; who spends himself in a worthy cause; who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement, and who at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who neither know victory nor defeat.” - Franklin Roosevelt
I am sitting in one of my favourite coffee shops growing up. Not so far from here is where I first began exploring with my first film camera at 7 years old. It's also where my hands were first held on a skateboard. While this sets the stage for a walk down nostalgia lane, moments like these are a way of connecting fleeting memories and making a little sense of what they have become in me.
I have been thinking a lot about vulnerability and self reflection lately. I have grown to appreciate and embrace how they make me feel raw and exposed. Tender and layered. And in embracing them, I have learned enough to know that I often land on my feet from the jump feeling more rooted in myself. The truth is I have had more moments in the past four years where those very feelings have left me feeling like jello and a cement block simultaneously, than any other period in my life. But, I can say that, without a doubt, although they've shaken and shattered me (without exaggeration), they also slowly put me together again.
I don't find it one bit surprising that the birthplace of creativity is vulnerability and self reflection (yes, I do think of them as two sides of the same coin in many respects). Neither one is easy and often I find myself fraught with feelings of fear, joy, melancholy and doubt when I am reflecting or feel particularly vulnerable. Still, no matter how you slice it, we live in a vulnerable world. A world that is interconnected. A world of actions and reactions- where someone's extension of love becomes another's education in its expression. Where one's anger and rage to those innocent likely spurred from anger and rage towards or around them. Where wars in countries we've never been to affect our lives thousands of miles away. Someone's gluttony is at the expense of another's hunger. Someone's knowledge can serve as a platform for someone else's education (just as it can their ignorance).
Whether it's through sharing a poem, a photograph or these thoughts out loud- I can unabashedly admit that as much as it's for my own satisfaction, I am conscious that it is also a call for connection to myself and to the world. It stems from a deep desire for someone to see me just as I yearn to see: myself, them and us both in one another. But, that to me is the crux of self-reflection and creative expression: connecting to a voice through which I can tell my own story with a fuller heart. The root of that heart, I am learning, is compassion towards my own self but also towards others. So, if we were to take the dictionary definition of 'compassion' as "co-suffering"- to go out of one's way in order help someone else physically, spiritually, or empathize with their emotional hurts or pains... creativity as a process begins to make a lot more sense, at least to me.
At some point each of us has and will ask for affirmation: "Was that O.K.?" (in other words "Am I good enough?") in infinite contexts. No one is immune to that- no matter how big or small. I truly believe that. We are wired to be imperfect and vulnerable creatures but we continue to be socialized to hack our lives by wrapping up everything in a box with a bow on top. We crave connection but we more often, in todays world, learn to master disconnection. Admittedly there is nothing more crippling than when you bare yourself to someone only to feel unseen or acknowledged. We also live in a world where doing that repeatedly becomes exhausting physically, mentally and emotionally. Where the math becomes more foreign/ tough to justify. But it's important to also recognize that the roads are closed off down that route. When we reflect and open up we are really stepping out of our bodies and reaching inward. We are befriending ourselves over and over again. Finding different beings that all coexist in the same vessel. Beings that contradict yet, so gorgeously, complement one another-giving this single vessel dimension. This vessel at it's core yearns to be held, carried, marveled at... so when we begin to court it in passion and suffering we inadvertently become (better) companions to each other in the process. We are all suffering, in different ways, but we're all hardwired for it. That's why we are capable of experiencing profound connection when we hear a song, bask in a painting, or immerse ourselves in poetry and prose... we are capable of being moved, in our own way, even if it is to a being we've never met before. But it requires a certain readiness and openness. That's why in suppressing this desire to connect to something deeper, we are weakened (not strengthened) and we end up sacrificing/neglecting the thing we desire the most: deep companionship - with ourselves and the world. Even more, alongside it, we begin to destroy the birthplace of spring, where we bloom...
It's not easy. It's nature but it also needs nurture. It's excruciating work and yet in the same vein it's not because of it's authenticity. It involves unlocking rusty cellar doors and looking into the mirror. It means not occupying up every minute of the day looking at a screen to avoid touch or contact with our surroundings. It means leaving space to relearn what it's like to be "bored" so that we can enjoy the company of ourselves enough before others can be asked to like it and seek it. But we more than often live vicariously through false productions that push us into a hamster wheel of perfecting the image of ourselves and our lives. We numb and bury our shame- our fear of admitting that all we crave is that deep sense of acceptance of who we are as we are. We move away from real belonging and alongside it end up losing our ability to live and love wholeheartedly. To feel. To create.
After my first big heartbreak, as broken and emptied as I felt, I also remember feeling incredibly flooded. At one moment, I wrote in my diary: "there is so much love inside of me to give and I don't know where to put it anymore". It makes me tear up reading those words even now. I didn't know it at the time but that's when I had to begin another journey of self-reflection and immerse myself in creative expression. I just moved towards the things that made me feel full again- runs at 4:30 am every morning to catch the sun's rise, painting, playing piano, countless hours writing, traveling and exploring with my camera... all of it alone. Rather than suppress my flood with noise, I let it explode. And seldom did I feel lonely. I quickly learned it is because that flood was (as it always is) yearning to return home- to me. That's how it finds a voice (or many!). That's how the heart finds heart. That's how it learns to feel safe again... to find space and sanctuary in itself, first, so it can than do that with and in others.
To sum up, not so long ago on a plane ride, I read an article on Stephen Colbert in GQ magazine. He was talking about his upcoming debut on The Late Show. He said something that hit a nerve with me when thinking about all of this: "the end product is jokes, but you could easily say the end product is intention. Having intentionality at all times... the process of process is process." I think it can be easy to forget that vulnerability and self reflection are not outcomes that we arrive at begrudgingly. They are not things that happen to us. That we can avoid or dread for too long without consequences. They are part and parcel of a vital and crucial process that is unique but necessary for each of us. The creative process is infinite but it is not automated or something that we can take for granted.
And today, in this light, I am reminded of some abc's in photography that can hold out to be true. Sometimes it’s necessary to choose to stand with my back to the sun in the arena of life. In order to be immersed in creative expression, there is just no way around vulnerability and self-reflection. It's how shadows can be ahead of us so they can no longer take us down from behind. Now, pardon me as I go with mine to dance the evening away...
it took 24 hours for Baghdad, Beirut, Kagoshima, Cuixmala and Paris to all fall in drought. and hundreds of places are still battered, neglected and in constant clout.
we've held space for few compared to the millions left outside doors slammed shut. the sad part is we all know what it's like to be cut.
but we make exceptions forgetting blood pooled within borders can't stay contained. it clots, seeps into crevices leaving stains and scars that remain.
under the microscope: the attacker and refugee, the culprit and victim are streaming down the same veins. running to and from the same chains.
tearing up the world with trivial definitions in dispute. a sick high on becoming humanity's loots.
move on by emptying one bag after another to dilute the drain. forget that we've been here too many times before accumulating pain.
and it won't stop until each 'man' remembers that Hu(e) and Kind are 'his' first and last name.
Hola friends, I have been slowing down gears in certain directions and going full speed in others. I am currently on my way to Boston for the first time. Excited to reunite with some close friends and explore that city. Top of my list of to do is a Herb Ritts exhibit at the MFA. So stoked. :)
If you had asked me four years ago where I would settle if I lived in the States, it would hands down be either NYC or somewhere in Southern California. But I think I fall more in love with D.C. each day that passes more than before. Living here still feels really fresh and exciting. There is so much to see and explore. So many subcultures. Art. History. Music! I thought I would share some sights and sounds from my phone from the past few weeks. I was lucky to catch some of my favourite musicians: Lianne La Havas, Mutemath and Haitus Kaiyote. I have a video of Nai Palm doing a cover of Chaka Khan's 'Ain't Nobody' impromptu. Will try to post it soon.
Until then, I hope you take time to shed some gratitude for mama earth. Be humbled by how stunning she is always in her bare skin no matter the season. Go check out art somewhere in your 'hood. Support small bands that make real music. Visit a farmer's market or two. Give strong hugs without reservation. Kisses on both cheeks because you don't want nobody jealous. Hold doors for strangers. Say thank you. And stay on the right lane if you are not passing by. I promise some verbose musings are coming soon. Until then, plein de bisous. xo
"In solitude we find ourselves; we prepare ourselves to come to conversation with something to say that is authentic, ours. If we can’t gather ourselves, we can’t recognize other people for who they are. If we are not content to be alone, we turn others into the people we need them to be. If we don’t know how to be alone, we’ll only know how to be lonely."
Read an article in The Times yesterday that resonated deeply with me. It also reminded me of a photo I had taken a short while ago while visiting the NGA with my dad. I hope it sparks something in you as it did in me.
I have been spending a lot of time on the road, rail and in the sky as of late. My journey has taken me from South Korea, to the Philippines and ending it here in southern France with family and friends. I have been reflecting a lot but find myself holding off on hitting the post button. Sometimes it's incredibly wonderful to hold near (at least for a minute) these special moments to myself especially in a world that seems to have become so much about the instantaneous (over) share. Don't get me wrong because I think there is beauty about openness as well, but I try and remind myself to do it for my reasons and not to bring noise in or block noise out. For the extroverted introvert that I mostly am, that leads me to find a place where my natural state is special too...
A few weeks ago, I got to visit one of the world's most beautiful places: Bohol. Made it to the top of the Chocolate Hills, hung out with some of the Philippines' most precious wildlife, terseirs, and saw some wondrous creatures underneath the sea. ♥
I am always aware of how much I connect and intensely come alive when I am present with and in nature. Much of my self-full journey has been returning to a place where I am kinder to myself, more patient and forgiving of my shortcomings as much as I try to be towards others' (something that always came a little more easily to me). Being in the skyline of greens against blues, I return to earth which makes it return to me.
So, that day, I was reminded again that as much I have always aspired to be of service to the world, as much as I dedicate myself to it, the greatest good has to start with finding the highest expression of myself. How beautiful it is to imagine a world of exploding ethers, stardust, comets and fiery lights in infinite forms? You and I are the source. And for the wilderness that resides in each of us, there is nothing but an endlessly evolving horizon, a new sun for each rise and set, one that says: I will give you all if your all is open to me. And sometimes that requires listening more than talking, being more than reacting, standing still than always moving...
often when it comes to new(s), it can only be "press next". search for key words, delete all evidence: from the spaces between lips to the tightness in chests. downsize hearts so they're not weighed down with different definitions of love and the rest. make room for now's supposed best. shed. organs and limbs cut and bent. reinvent how to stuff and hide under beds. rather than learning to be besotted in and out with stripped and undressed. we're struggling to reach the future's 'perfect' because we never learned how to gently hold past t e n s e. this is the grammar we're taught on repeat and never forget. how to feature writers of chapters that our world continues to repent.
Anyoung from Seoul!
I am relishing in corners of this beautiful city solo and spent my last moments of this 'lap' around the Sun surrounded by beautiful strangers. At dinner in Gwangjang Market, I was approached by a man - an American citizen who's lived in S.K. for 15 years. We had a wonderful conversation about the country's culture and lamented on how a huge cornerstone of relationships here in Korea, is the deep respect younger generations have for elders. He was curious what my views were about aging as a woman who's experienced both Eastern and Western cultures, and now lives in the States. I can't tell you how nourished I feel right now, it was truly food for my thoughts and a serendipitous gift from the universe.
On the way back, I remembered this quote from Simone de Beauvoir:
"It is old age, rather than death, that is to be contrasted with life. Old age is life's parody, whereas death transforms life into a destiny: in a way it preserves it by giving it the absolute dimension. Death does away with time."
There is a phantom that is out there, a belief, that with old age we are lessened and diminished in contrast to life- which is epitomized in youth. In this sense, less can be a worse nightmare than that of death (more metaphorically of course). But, we spend our life fearing this other- a supposedly weathered, deficient and inferior version of our former 'able' selves. As if looking in the mirror, we don't want to be reminded that we are inching our way closer to this DMYY.0 that we dreaded all along. However, as myopic as humans can be to the definitions of ability, when we've seen the exceptions to the supposed invented rules time and time again, we still judge ourselves and each other by this warped metric. So I ask, what if we greeted this stranger, whom we feared all along, with respect for breaking all the promises we made on their behalf in 'younger' days - promises to stick some ideal narrative. What if we commended this person for carving a story that didn't pop up on a ouija board. What if we smashed down all the walls and clichés we confined them to stick to inward and outward. What if we looked at this stranger in the mirror as friend, an ally- who is undoubtedly more equipped to carry life within and experience it so much more ably than we ever imagined. This multi-faceted animal who learned to evolve and shake the hands of time and still remain standing. A beautiful being whose thoughts, actions, movements and feelings have surpassed our fixed images and turned them into cinematic moving pictures. A creation that has touched on and spans genres, languages, cultures and colours.....
The truth is I often forget my age and I have to pause to recount others' ages as well. This is simultaneously hilarious and odd to my family and friends. My sense of time is pretty damn warped but I am aware now that it's likely because I was usually the youngest person in the room, and much of my experiences are anachronisms. And, I suspect they will continue to be. But even then, seldom does age measure or guarantee a person's character in my eyes. So this other is rarely something I fear or give much attention to, but one I try to say hello to in wonderment and admiration just as I do at any 'stage' of life. And why wouldn't I, if she's earned it?!
I am learning to tap 'her' on the shoulder for some advice. I am learning to listen to her gut more and explore all the meaning that her life stands for and continues to- far beyond the value she confined herself to when she could only see what she knew. Her and I continue to stand in more than one place watching the Sun. That's why finishing a year/trip/lap on this bound clock has a different vision and weight. It can't be measured in hours, minutes or seconds. There isn't a metric for a full life, especially not when the cadence of every one of those increments of time isn't equal but so deserving of it's own place.
Cheers to strength, agility and depth; to breaking down static definitions and gimmicks; to seeing this vessel grow deeper, richer, brighter and darker (you know, so you can see the stars can shine at night ;) ).
Cebu, here I come!
