So It Goes.

I've been tempted to write many, many times but it's been difficult. Lack of time, for one, but the caution, too, that comes with writing for an audience. I've started praying again, which I haven't done since my days of marching around the mountains of Korea with a straw hat, bugcatcher net, and five to six wristwatches. I address the Man above, who, upon pondering His existence, must have figured that the possibility of life could be a good thing, as God. God is probably right about that, though life can also be incredibly weary like bumbling through a slightly overheated shower before a 9 a.m. Spanish class. And when we are forced to observe this fact, it's probably best if we vehemently avoid it and forget we ever thought of it. Try to do something nice for yourself, folks. And thus the Madlib instrumental provided above.

I might not update again for quite some time but I hope we stay in touch. Keep your steez, my friends.

21st Birthday

No photo needed for this one, boys and girls.

Long before I picked up my first Vonnegut novel, I had become accustomed to appreciating the simple things in life. The way streetlamps illuminate billowing swaths of raindrops on a windy night, the way your tongue's first contact with Sriracha sends waves of excitement down the taste buds like the first inkling of a wonderful idea, the way a newly washed pillowcase feels so soft under your touch that it instantly triggers associations of other things soft and gentle. These are among the many pleasures in my life, and this blog, in part, is an ode to those moments and the maker who made them possible. I tend to think my penchant for seeing beauty in a lot of things has really defined who I am today, in largely positive ways. It has bestowed me with the kind of leisure and peace that make it easier to care about others before worrying about my well-being. Yet I've always thought I've had to pay a price for this equilibrium state where much of my existence lies. Because accompanying my contentment has been the complacent expectation of the unexpected, a compromise in my ability to distinguish between smaller and greater pleasures. And thus my self-proclaimed label of old. I thought there were few remaining things in life that could truly surprise me, truly shake me to the core.

Then two days ago, for lack of a better expression, my mind was blown. I've been trying to conjure a scenario of equivalent awesomeness and impressiveness to describe what transpired on my 21st birthday, but the only one that comes close is witnessing the delivery of baby Jesus live. And only if it's above 50 degrees in the barn and baby Jesus utters each of his first ten words in a different language.

Without further delay, here's a succinct AP News summary of the Hadouken of Love that was served to me:

Knowing that it was one of my favorite foods, my friend, of no ostensible Asian heritage, prepared for me a cauldron of jjambbong, a Korean seafood soup, with assistance from her friends. The ingredients included noodles, green onion, Shiitake mushrooms, zucchini, mussels, squid, shrimp, carrots, and cabbage. Flavoring was achieved with chicken broth, crushed red pepper, soy sauce, salt, olive oil, hot chili oil, and garlic.

I'm not going to elaborate on how it tasted because aside from recognizing it was really good, I was absolutely stunned. Stunned by the magnitude of ridiculous fantasticosity that is delicious jjambbong containing 50% of the world's flora and fauna. But mindblown by the dawning realization that I had the privilege of calling this possesser of culinary virtuosity and heart of gold, my friend. Think about the sheer amount of effort and time needed to make this meal happen: watch videos of annoying Korean midwives tell you which obscure herbs and spices to add first and why their version of jjambbong is "bettuh", compile a feasible yet comprehensive ingredient list, go to a market in Chinatown to find these ingredients, which is equivalent to looking for a fugitive in China, purchase enough ingredients to fill up a cauldron the size of Earl Boykins, come back and prepare each separate ingredient for insertion into the soup, and oh yeah, make it taste good. My mom is a fine cook but even she hasn't embarked on a project this grand, this intensive. And for someone of no ostensible Asian heritage to pull this off de novo as a present for a friend? Hasn't been done, folks. No way.

If it is indeed true as they say that our lives flash before our eyes during our final seconds on Earth, the jjambbong will make the slideshow. As will my friend, because so many people in this world go through their entire lives without having met anyone like her.