assorted thoughts, theories, and dreams

dear readers, 

    another short post today. i feel shrouded by many fragmented thoughts and interests. instead of one cohesive blog post, i thought i would share some of my recent musings, sorted into categories for easier navigation but kept messy and intact. 

    my blog feels like a message in a bottle to someone in the future, who stumbles upon my url and can explore my life and my brain through my writings. i want to cut through time and share my devotion with spirits, my future self, and strangers in the past or future. i hope you can imagine these thoughts as various pieces of paper and objects on my messy desk, and that you are in my home, sorting through and exploring. the photos are all from the san jose museum of quilts (highly recommend, might post more photos soon). i hope you enjoy.

moments and thoughts from my notes app:

1. the recent trend of people favoring and romanticizing “rot" over leisure. everyone wants time to "bed rot", to "brain rot”, whatever. No one wants time for leisure. No one seeks out of leisure as much as they just want to be left to their bed to “rot. I think it is indicative societies drive for productivity and the shame that comes from rest. with the ideas of “bed rot”, people maintain the negative connotation that’s associated with rest, instead of pursuing relaxed and peaceful leisure- that in many cases, makes us feel more healed and replenished.
2. thinking about how funny it is that we learn things like applause from our parents. like we’re not quite adults yet but we all know how and when to clap, the whole etiquette. we learn from experiencing it, from being told by teachers when to clap in the school auditoriums, and i just think it’s quite whimsical.
3. If I'm so committed to being a cool old person who does a lot of interesting creative things in old age, I have to be a lot less concerned about getting all of the cool things I want to do done while I'm still young
4. my spanish teacher explaining catholicscm better than i’ve ever heard it on april 27, 4:52pm. Someone had asked about the book we’re reading, where a child named panchito dreams that santo niño de atoche heals his sick baby brother. Our professor explained the idea of many saints or spirits, manifested through different people. To paraphrase, he said they’re “human expressions of the divine, the baby saint is a representation of the helping hand of god. At some point in time, a miracle happened around a certain baby and people believed god manifested through the baby. It’s not that it’s many different people, but communities see divine power through different images that make sense in their context.”
5. closing prayer from art in oceania class - "Our ancestors want to find us as much as we want to find them. Let us fly free of our restrictions, our knowledge baskets are stored safely away” (blog post on tattooing and oceanic cosmologies to come)

overheard

1. at the airport at 5am: "just the longest piece of super sticky tape early in the morning, what could go wrong?”
2. "it was weird how everything was predetermined”

future amateur research projects/things i want to learn more about

1. i would be interested to do a study of race indicators online. i’ve been thinking about how it seems very trendy a few years ago for everyone, particularly white people to put their ethnicities and flags in their instagram bios. i also wonder about the thumbs up and other hand emojis, as well as slang and use of aave and more. White people often use the yellow “default” skin tone while in my experience, most poc use whichever skin tone is most accurate to them. i think it is often considered normal for white people to use the “default” emoji color because of the way whiteness is normalized as the “default” on our society. but then some white people (usually older) use medium dark skin tones in their emojis either because they inaccurately estimate their skin tone, or are trying to show some weird solidarity? so perhaps emoji skin color use is based less on people wanting to represent themselves as individuals of a certain racial group, and more a “neutral” signal? there is a lot of race signaling happening and wondering what the consequences or results of race indicating are online because of anonymity or other factors?
2. study of how people sit on the bus (which seats are most frequented), and what this says about human nature
3. wanting to study the culture and sociological dynamics of erotica, fetish, kink, sexuality. also queer theory, grime and it’s connection to whiteness, leaky and “dysfunctional” bodies (pregnancy, birth, chronic illness and disability), theories around intersex, fatness, etc. want to continue my studies of DEVOTION, but also DESIRE
4. paraphrased from an instagram reel: "the public (space) is conceived of being complimentary to the private (space and ruling class)” —> study how this shows up in santa cruz/california with high rise condos, third spaces, spaces of unhoused community
5. want to understand Kairos better. described to me as referring to the immeasurable moments of experience and transformation—recorded as sentiments and narratives. measured by interactions, moments, intimacies, transitions, and transformations.
6. want to write and blog about Izumi Suzuki, Issy Wood, more about Jon
7. in addition to my WIP zine about religion, i want to understand how people rationalize their existence, regarding souls and spirits, linguistic understanding (how does our language shape the way we see ourselves and the world), the idea of internal monologues (perhaps an interview between me and axelle as we exemplify the two sides of the internal monologue spectrum), and the possibilities for connection between people

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in love and messy compiled thoughts,

- ek

a drunken poem about meeting strangers

my “girls carrying shit” offering: 

digicam, lighter, herbal j, world’s strongest jungle juice

dear readers,

    a short post tonight (i promise). i haven’t uploaded much this month, not that i worry myself about my posting frequency (as i truly see this diary blog as The Void), so i wanted to share this poem i wrote while i was drunk the other night and waiting for my bus. this night was the birthday party of an old class friend, who i connected with but never really spent time with outside of our allotted hour, monday wednesday and friday. i had run into her on the bus (everything in my life revolves around buses) a few days earlier and lovingly received the invite, despite our tentative friendliness. axelle couldn’t go, and the one mutual friend me and the birthday girl shared couldn’t go, so i dared to go alone. i couldn’t think of a party i went to alone since the age when i was single, over a year ago. i challenged myself to be talkative and try to maximize my “npc” interactions. 

    as a bit of a side note, i have mixed feelings about the perception of strangers as npcs, because i genuinely believe that everyone is complicated and immense, and i’m honestly a little obsessed with learning the details of these “npc’s” lives. what words they can’t pronounce, what their childhood toy was, their relationship with their mom, their dreams. this being said, i like labeling people as npcs because it challenges me to engage with them to shatter the illusion. it pushes me out of my petrifying shyness to learn these things about people. a party full of strangers is the absolute best place to do this. low stakes, high concentration of people who’s complexities i have yet to discover. the most fun place of social observation, analysis, and engagement. especially when everyone is a little tipsy, people tend to get deep and honest. weird questions aren’t as weird anymore. i mention this in the poem, about discovering clues to people’s destinies and dreams.

    i had a ton of fun at this party because i truly took advantage of the situation to maximize my interactions. in the words of some Internet people, i was seeking out little side quests, interacting with the npcs to learn more about them and my world. in hindsight i regret the moments i spent awkwardly against the wall- a powerful reminder that regret is omnipresent no matter the actions, but it was a vast improvement from my usual level of avoidance. i feel motivated and moved by this experience. it’s harder in situations where i know people and the social stakes feel higher, but i feel as though i have already started implementing more of this mindset and practice into my days since the party.

    for context i should specify that it was Rio themed, so everyone was dressed up as birds or characters from the movie. i had painted a little cardboard hat like a bottle cap, which i reference. i have cleared up a few lines for legibility but more or less kept everything the same. it’s unknown whether or not these people remember me, or the conversations we shared (or the game of truth or dare we played), but i hope you enjoy this poem.

[written approx. 11:45pm, april 17]

drunk and I feel like the bus I’m going to take home was divinely chosen for me between the sea of other buses. I feel spiritually connected to this bus and it’s inevitable driver.

drunk and alone had a party

Asking the girl McKenzie in the kitchen if she knows about divine machinery

Asking what her dreams are she says child psychology 

Then she answers that she wants to write a book

She needs time to think about it

I ask if it will be a novel

She says it will be sci-fi

I recommend her Set my heart on fire

The boy plays guitar to stim

And we dare him to confidently pretend he knows a stranger

Audrey and Amelia have been together for four and a half years

i talk with zoe and dhalia about dykehood while waiting for the bathroom 

daddy yankee is younger than i thought he was

so many lesbians at this party

and everyone loves the bottle cap hat, the paint still on my fingers

i ask people their names knowing i won’t remember, 

and that i probably won’t ever see their faces again

but because it’ll give me some drunk insight into the destinies assigned to them

and i pass them drinks

in love and drunken bliss,

- ek

unspeakable amounts of love

dear readers, 

    i come to you with a message from the archives. the following text was written sometime in the spring of 2025 and last edited on october 1, 2025. for the sake of this post, i have kept it as it was written. know that this excerpt is very old and dear to me. it’s a little out of context for now, but i’ll add some reflective thoughts at the end.

“ there are unspeakable amounts of love in the farm kitchen. this one-room building is where we gather during all hours, in the quiet mornings or frigid nights. here, the sink doesn’t drain unless you crank it with two hands, there is never a trash can, and only two outlets work. there is a scary hallway and the bathrooms have showers and posters pledging to conserve water. if you stand on the porch, what has become the designated smoke spot, you can hear everything said from the inside, but it’s near impossible to hear what is said outside. this thought scares us, so we try not to dwell on it. we only figured it out when the so-called 'agroecology gays' were making their pseudo kale salad in the porch sink, trying to barter with elsie for lemon juice by yelling through the closed windows.

in the mornings, fog hangs in the cool air, lingering over the crops and toying at the steps up to the kitchen building. ” 

    the first thing i want to address is the “pseudo kale salad”. i can’t remember what this meant, so i’ll leave it up to your interpretation. now, let me set the scene for this excerpt and this period of time. i wrote this in a phase of my life that i cannot adequately summarize here. it was characterized by intense comradeship, beauty, and community. there were countless instances of circumstances i described- late night or early mornings of food preparation or security briefings. it was always the same group of people who showed up- more or less, and although i wasn’t close with most of them, i began to notice their habits, their senses of humor, the dynamics between them. i was a first year, among mostly third or fourth years who were jaded from the encampment but seemingly revived by the energy of a new year.

    i remember the “exclusive” feeling smoke sessions with sonya or rigo, the community education we’d do in backyards or on public picnic benches. i remember those long working hours, the phone calls late into the hot summer evenings. taste testing each others cigs or carts after meetings, warm dark walks back from the library, waiting for the bus together. i would come home late and leave early the next day, boasting about my upperclassmen friends (even if everything i said was a little bit of a romanticized stretch). 

    i remember in april when we all drove out to watsonville to see leehi in court. afterwards, we all walked over to the japanese x mexican grocery store across the street. i remember the japanese tv show they were playing behind the counter, and the discussion about the trials of ebt. i don’t remember if i ever got anything, but i remember kaia buying pandan flavored ice cream and we all tried it. there weren’t enough spoons so we chiseled it out of the container with wooden chopsticks. frances had driven a group of four or five of us, playing saweetie and megan thee stallion. i remember we talked about music- jill scott and kendrick and such. we followed mira all the way home, recognizing her car from the Palestinian flag sticker on the back window. this is when i found out frances and sonya had dated. 

    (as a side note, this was also when i found out that they were all seniors, not third years like i had thought. this was devastating information to hear. i immediately went home and made a playlist called Green ice cream is turning me blue, to process the shock and grief. it wasn’t ever the end of the world, but i struggled with thinking- and acting as though i had more time than i did with them. in hindsight, i should’ve cherished my proximity to these people more than i did.)

    i remember elections. how late everyone was, how i brought a big bag of snacks and drinks across two bus rides, and how sonya and the others had to still make a grocery outlet run. i remember the jewelry making, the sign painting, the circle we sat in like we were gossiping around the fire at summer camp. there’s still a paint stain on my watch band from when jamie hit me with their paintbrush. i tried pacifico for the first time from either ivy or rigo- whoever let me siphon some from their can, and loved it.

   a long time ago, i wrote a sort of love letter for my dear friend rigo. in it, i recounted a few other memories that ill share here. i wrote about doing security together, "communicating in stupid hand signals while buried beneath our kuffiyas” and that moment on the beach after a vigil. the sun had set long ago and the moon was high, plumb with its reflection in the calm ocean. jamie, rigo, and i were sitting on the lifeguard dock, smoking rigo’s cigarettes and dangling our feet over the railing. jamie was talking, but i am certain rigo and i were communicating in silence. he’s one of the only people to not graduate last year. we’ve gotten closer this year and i’m so grateful. perhaps we were both wishing for that, or both processing the departure of the friends we had, and needed to lean on each other for support.

    i remember flying kites under a brilliant sunset, “security” night walks around the neighborhood to smoke and talk. trips to oakland with christine and sacramento with jonah and mercedes. somehow giving myself food poisoning the night before 4/20 by my own cinnamon pistachio rolls. i remember our pizza, kabobs, and persian love cake. i remember feeling so close to everyone- hattie complimenting my music taste, hitting jack’s bong (aka blowing the flower everywhere). 

    hints of the meaning these people and moments held for me are still buried in my life. the zines and flyers i have saved, screenshots of instagram and spotify accounts or funny texts. jamie’s balloon animals, frances’s lino stamps, our altars, canva downloads and spreadsheets. i wish i had documented more of my memories and lessons from this period- or even remembered more. looking back, it kind of feels like the peak of my experience in community organizing. maybe i’ve become too salty, but i regret taking these simple things for granted. 

    if you’ve ever smelled an old perfume scent and been viscerally brought back into a past period of your life, you know what i’m talking about. it’s that feeling of being awake early before everyone else, when the fog still hangs over the bay and the crops. when the birds and the cows haven’t woken up yet, when the city is still opening its sleepy eyes as the sun crests the rolling hills. it’s being squished in the back seat requesting songs, hearing stories about people you’ll never meet, trying to mentally photograph someones outfit to emulate later. it was phone flashlights, forgetting to season the beans, putting online usernames to faces, roleplaying ridiculous scenarios, assembly line burritos, zine cutting, meeting “new" people for the hundredth time. 

    i’d be remiss to leave out the other beautiful things that filled me life these days. this was largely in spring quarter when i had great classes and a beautiful budding relationship. excitement was tangible in the sweet air and warm sunlight, for everyone. they had all been talking about their plans- for graduation, for summer travel or work or moving. we discussed some big dreams, all of which have fallen to the wayside, but i felt held and included. frankly, a lot of my infatuation with this period might be as simple as me not having been disillusioned from organizing or college yet. i know i wasn’t really as immeshed as i felt, but i still recall these moments with such fondness.

    this is also, of course, not to say that there’s not beauty in my life a year later. today i had a beautiful day where i woke up next to my honey, did some class and org work in the sun, had an insanely good salad (ingredients listed at the end of this post), and smoked with friends. all the best parts of last year, with even more connection. i saw what may turn out to be my future house, fingers crossed. i made a new playlist, called Creator Creating, about the divine energy i’ve been feeling in my life, and the intentions i have for a beautiful and delicate future. 

    this future will be full of soft early mornings, where the fog still creeps through the streets and the birds are yet to wake. it will have more zine making days, now my own instead of mass-printed ones. it will have food prep for strikes and events, but also for people whose names i know. for birthday parties and sunday mornings, for visits to the farm, road trips, tenderly shared cigs and secrets. i can’t wait for my beautiful house, for my dance parties, for more art builds and cans of pacifico, for friends crashing on my couch after visiting from the bay. for drives by the courthouse and years of separation from it. i see tenderness through herbs, birthwork, community health. i see a future career that is healing to both myself and others. 

    i thank god or the universe for what i have now, and all that i know i will receive and create in the future. 

    it’s 1:15am, and i have to wake up to get a book and some varnish from downtown. really riveting stuff, but i’m going to (attempt to) wake up early so i can recreate the serene moments i’ve described. i suppose this post is a reminder to revisit your beloved memories, to send gratitude to the influential people no longer in your life, and to look forward to beautiful things in the future. i feel hopeful and truly blessed. i feel powerful in asserting that i am the creator of my own destiny, and i will continue to stay creating.

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in love and green ice cream gratitude,

- ek 

ps- the salad

arugula, pistachios, sliced dates, cubed strawberries, tarragon sprigs, date balsamic dressing. it was so dreamy