Friday, November 2, 2018

dying well

I have been thinking about dying. About how death, when it comes, must be such an intimate thing. And depending on your relationship to intimacy, you must either want to be surrounded by people you love, or be alone.

I want to die seen and held by my loved ones.

Friday, October 26, 2018

Rope & Moon

Full moon in Taurus.
Some kind of Venus retrograde.
2 Scorpios covered in jute dust fly to the moon and stars.

Saturday, October 13, 2018

the trembling ocean within us

Sometimes finding connection with someone feels like turmoil.

Monday, September 19, 2016


Junhong flew away today to go on an adventure with his love, Emma.
I am a mix of joy, sadness, fear, excitement and pride.
I stare at Google maps wishing I could track their every move.
This is a rhythm I will learn to get used to - this clutching, this releasing, this clutching, this releasing and on and on.
I may not be able to sleep for the next month.

Sunday, July 31, 2016

spicy miso sauce

It's been a while since I have posted a recipe. I guess it's been a while since I have had the time and space to think about food creatively. But today, first time alone for dinner in a few weeks, I improvised a miso sauce that goes well with salmon, or can be a sauce to stir into cold soba noodles.

Mince 3 cloves of garlic, a 2-inch knob of ginger (about 2-3 Tablespoons of ginger chopped ginger). Sauté this in a few tablespoons of canola oil, over low heat for about 5 minutes, being careful not to let it brown. When soft and fragrant, add 1 Tablespoon of brown sugar and 2 Tablespoons of white miso paste. Stir till combined. Then, add a splash of water (1/4 cup or so). Let cook on medium heat till thick.

Finish with red pepper flakes and a dash of sesame oil to taste.

Next time I make this, I will stir this into cold soba noodles and serve it with cold smoked tofu and stir fried greens.

Monday, May 30, 2016


Today, I did my first Bagua practice in a few months.
Circling and spiralling between the earth and sky, I am reminded that Bagua is my mother and my father; and when I walk the circles, I feel less like an orphan.

Sunday, May 29, 2016

the voice

The voice.
The voice is the implement of rage.
Once you can let that rage from your hips hurtle out past your open throat in an inchoate roar into the universe, you can drop into the grief that inevitably comes after. I think grief is a music that shakes up the ribs, the abdomen. And when that is done, you can drop into the softness of your heart; find words to love with, words to fuck with, words to make peace with.