2023, november 28

inside my novel.

‘the process of falling asleep is so weird, her friend said. ‘first we pretend to be asleep and that makes us fall asleep eventually.’ 

that’s when mia realized, ah that’s how normal people go to sleep! fake it till you make it. this made her remember that she used the same approach when she was a child and nap time was forced on her in kindergarten. first she would close her eyes, then she would pretend to be sleep-breathing while her mind was wide awake. she hated it. eventually she would fall asleep, yes, but the sleep felt like a light-weighted blanket that was too light to soothe her but instead grazed her skin annoyingly. 

she couldn’t believe people still do the fake-sleeping method even when they are grown-ups! to mia, the core of being grown-up meant that no one could force you to sleep (and that she could pile as many salami slices on her sandwich as she liked). 

her going to sleep was totally different. she would let sleep come to her while she was busy doing other things like reading, watching, scrolling, writing, playing tetris, eating chips. oh, how delicious it felt when the sleep was overwhelming her. when she could feel it kicking in, when she could hear the distant bump of her book crashing to the ground, because the sleep just took over her hands, weakened her muscles, loosened her grip. when she could feel the sleep clouding her mind, while she was trying to hold onto the words she had just read. the sleep would suck all logic out of the words, spit the logic out and leave it to the real world. without the burden of logic, the words would enter her dreams and her jaw loosened and her toe twitched and a shy, rainbow-furred fox was handing her sun ripe avocados.

the other day, mia learned that in korean, instead of saying ‘i’m tired’, you can say ‘sleep is coming’, and that’s exactly how it feels. 잠 와.

2023, october 18

talking with t. and k., we often get into how society usually doesn’t see children as beings, but rather as becomings. when something awful happens to a child, the concern leans less towards their current being and more towards the grown-up they will become. will they be permanently damaged? or will this experience forge them into a stronger, more resilient person? these are the kinds of questions that frame children as becomings, not beings. this was a major mindblow for me a few years back in our discussions about concepts of childhood and such. there is this incredible shift that happens when we start seeing children as beings from the very start. or as both beings and becomings, just like we can view ourselves as both. more on this some other time.

right now, i want to capture another thought. i’ve just finished liane moriarty’s ‘nine perfect strangers’ and something struck me about the middle-aged characters. they’re so wrapped up in what they used to be. this past self is a constant theme, both in their minds and in how others see them. after becoming and being, they’ve now entered the stage of what I’d call once-been. (actually, i would like to call it has-been, but that is already a standing term for people who were once successful and glamorous and are now dusty and bloated) anyway, it seems to me that upper-middle-aged people both in moriarty’s novel and in real life are depicted as if their original persona is obscured by age. as if their core appearance is buried under layers of age-chubbiness and sagging skin. they define themselves by what they once used to be, not by their current being. when they assess each other’s attractiveness, they’re not looking at the present face, but trying to see behind it: was this an attractive person back in the day?

in societies that value age, it seems different. at mamas birthday party, her seventieth year was celebrated in a big way. her korean friends hung up banners: ‘life begins at seventy!’ from this perspective, it appears that older people are seen as embodying the richness of their lived life. it’s the abundant life that’s living inside the seventy-year-old and not a buried statue from their heyday.

2023, september 23, cammeraygal (sydney)

chinese place in chatswood. we're sitting in semi-private dining booths. the tables have these built-in hot pot baisins, ours is bubling with extra spicy broth. i'm dipping in beef, tofu and massive glass noodles. the server hands us hair ties and red aprons – a shield against splatters. every corner has someone celebrating their birthday – with birthday banners and sparkling balloons decorating the table. a robot glides around serving dishes to tables, dropping off dumplings and enoki mushrooms for us. another robot parades around with a shockingly pink birthday cake. two servers carry a massive blinking sign, going from one birthday group to another. the sign is flashing with birthday wishes, hearts, what have you. they swing it around, performing songs for every birthday table. they are wearing these headbands with tiny ears — maybe mouse ears or rabbit ears. makes sense, it's the year of the rabbit after all. 

it strikes me that asian spots here, unlike berlin or new york, don‘t seem to be part of a hipster foodie culture but instead inhabit their own self-immersive parallel universe. a world seemingly hidden from many white sydneysiders. for moments, i forget i'm in sydney. and the sichuan pepper leaves a numbing tingle on my tongue and a delightful dizziness in my head.

2023, july 27, saigon/ho chi minh city

still in transit. here at the airport, i‘ve spotted signs saying “well-wishers gallery”. i guess, they mark the spots where people say their heartfelt goodbyes before boarding their flights. in the u.s., i‘ve come across similar signs, mostly in parking areas, dubbed “kiss and ride”. spots designated for quick stops to pick up or wish farewell. i wish we had signs like that in germany. signs that spread more wonderland vibes.