my mom started losing her hair undergoing chemo when i was in the 3rd grade. she had long sweeping black hair, it was coarse and dense, just like mine. it began to thin when clumps would fall out while she was brushing through it. i like to think she would hold them close before throwing them away, eventually buzzing the rest of it.

i tried to cut off mine with kitchen scissors to match her buzzed head. she found me in her bedroom with haphazard trimmings and i remember crying with her, confused as to why she was upset with me. she was holding my locks of long black hair no longer attached to my head and maybe she was crying because they weren’t mine.

when i was in middle school i dyed my hair to an ugly copper orange in a desperate attempt to lighten it. i used a cheap hot iron to flatten each tendril. i found non-prescription blue contacts and bleaching soap at an Asian market in White Center. do you think they named it that facetiously?

we’ve known hair holds power, we’ve shaved our heads and stacked it high and let it fall past our feet to sweep the ground behind us. we’ve seen endless Abromović-esque displays of affection and power and identity. maybe there’s a reason i get a haircut after every cornerstone in my life.

today, i let my hair fall as it is, tangled and unkempt. i wear it proudly and think about making some drastic change but probably never will. i try not to let it hold too much power, but in all honesty i have a lot of pride in it. it’s a reminder of my health, of my lola, of my roots.

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my friend told me that grief comes in waves and with every breaching moment you’ve granted yourself the tools and strength to handle the next crashing surge. but when those waves are too frequent or the last one disoriented you and you’re blindsided by the next… i’ve been working through what to do when i’m confronted with drowning.

it’s more than about that one specific thing, it’s about the multiple little things on top of a couple big things, built upon a historic foundation of other things. and it’s not like i haven’t witnessed them, acknowledged them, processed them. it’s that every wave crashes as heavily as a compounded snowball pummeling downhill.

one way to look at this is by worrying you won’t be able to take it, you’ll drown and suffocate all while seeing the light up above.

another way to understand it is that you’ve seen the water’s swell, you’ve bailed and crashed hundreds of times, and they’re all worth it to dive right back in.

my grief continues to be a reminder to myself that i contain an immense capacity to care, to make room within myself to cherish a life so thoroughly that when it twinkles away it takes some of my life with it. and that’s ok. and as the waves continue to crash and the prospect of drowning continues to loom overhead, i’ll say “good grief,” because my grief really can be a good thing.

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my friend once told me that my sentimentality might get the best of me. and he’s probably right and i’m ok with that. i guess i’d rather die on this hill built tall and maybe not so sturdy by all the sentiments and feelings i hold close to me about little trivial things. and if one day it collapses beneath my feet and all the sweet nothings i’ve uttered into impermanent things come spilling out and fluttering away, then at least i know i’ve given something good to the world. here’s a short ode to being sentimental and cherishing the silly sweet mundane things.

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An ode to reflection:

At some point in my life it became very apparent to me that I am a Mirror. Maybe that’s why I’ve been so obsessed with documenting myself / strong & beautiful women through reflection in film. I’ve realized that anyone convicted in their truths and character act as Mirrors, reflecting others’ truths to themselves. Previously I thought this only had two outcomes:

1. Upon witnessing their reflection, the viewer turns away unable to face what they’ve been shown.

2. The viewer sees their truth in totality and decides to use the reflection as a way to improve the Self.

After some time I’ve come to know the third outcome. After the Mirror has presented the Self, the viewer grows agitated and blames the Mirror for what they see. This third option becomes quite unhealthy, especially if that Mirror is not grounded so solidly in their Self.

What I’m saying is to be very careful with who you allow to see themselves through you. Be careful with whom you choose to share space with. Treat yourself with such care because precious things too are still capable to shattering.

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My dear friend took this photo of me when I felt like I had lost my light. I remember so desperately wanting to prove my worth to someone who now I only lend fleeting thoughts to. Every attempt I made to expand and grow in their eyes, resulted in me shrinking smaller and smaller into myself from which I’m still learning to recover from.

The truth is that these moments happen where we lose our way and our light and we’re left with feeling so so small. So little and helpless that I shrink and cower when I’m alone and I funnel this into words and paint and perfume and food and cleaning and tidying and compartmentalizing and productivity and being there for everyone beside myself and then I lay in my bed and think about how big of an impact I can have but still, I lay there and I feel small.

So here’s a little reminder and an ode to feeling small here and there, but remembering to let the pendulum swing and to lean into the moments when we feel big and vast and grand and monumental. Because really we are all these things, we just need to remember to stay away from the people who make us shrink.

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listen: it’s not worth your hurt or your time or your restless thoughts.

when you’re tethered to someone and finally, finally withdraw yourself the universe may manifest them as a test to yourself and in that bitter moment you might lose your breath and cry and curl your hands into fists and everything in you wants to turn around and hurt them back because they hurt you and you still can’t understand why they did what they did but you won’t now and you might not ever.

a kindred spirit reminded me that forgetting is not healing and that reminded me that it’s ok if healing takes time but one day you might come back and tell them how much you hurt and maybe they’ll come to know empathy.

this is my ode to letting go and swearing that that second glance would be my last.

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this is an ode to the slow burn kind of love. it was ushered into their hearts on a bus when your father makes your brother move to let that beautiful woman sit next to you. she’s older than you, but she’s lovely and wise. she’s funnier than anyone you’ve ever met and she has this lightness of being that bubbles up and bursts forth in small moments. you dance together, you sing together, you fill your home together with plants and and trinkets from the homeland.

in the final hours together he was patient with her mind as it devolved into frustration and pain and she lashed out in violence. the small moments of light bubbled through less and less as she withered away. in the times i came to visit i saw the slow burn burning as brightly as when it first was sparked on the bus. i feel it even now after she’s left this Earth. this is an ode to the slow burn kind of love.

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To you,

An ode to you dear golden-skinned

earth angels

with eyes like sunlight on fallen trees

tainted with petrichor and age-old amber

resin sticky like the culture woven into our fingers

weaving love and food and nurture and heart and soul into everything we touch

woven into the gold we adorn ourselves with,

like the sun when it kisses our skin,

have you ever seen anything more beautiful than brown skin in the sunlight?

in a world where I sometimes feel

too this

too that

too brown

too mixed

too ambiguous

too other

I am nothing but elated to find those,

of kindred spirit and soul.

So here’s an ode (continued forever) to those whose skin glows in the sunlight, whose eyes shine with golden secrets only the sunlight can bring to surface.

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