my greatest accomplishment is jumping over the largest dragonfly in the world.
i was in kindergarten. the dragonfly stretched across the sidewalk as if it had been pinned by its wings into the cement. it was muted and still at first glance. only when i was soaring over it, suspended in the sky like time stopped for everyone but me, did i see shimmers of purple and green flickering across its body. no one else saw.
summer is bones and yet my summer is—was?—certainly a bug. excessively buzzy and irritating, sometimes mindless, and at all times overbearing, overheating, over-booked. it made me think about that dragonfly again. of all the things i’ve seen and done and never shared.
well, texas didn’t know it was fall until this week so i had time. i’m in a love/hate relationship with writing so i had to make time. my summer is over (i’m still scarcely driving, rarely swimming) and only here is it finally wrapped.
tokyo / osaka / kyoto, fourteen hours ahead.
despite my previous claims that i would bring an extra empty suitcase the next time i visit japan, the only company i brought along was a brand new carry-on and handy travel backpack. our group made a preemptive decision to pack smartly in preparation for the travel restrictions our transition to the philippines would demand.
i typically check a bag. it used to bring a peace that only things out-of-mind could. feeling lighter, carrying nothing—just worrying about the immediate.
there were two direct flights set to leave at the same time, four delays shared by the both of them, and me without a seat. quite a lot to worry about, but i wasn’t perturbed. when the gate agent asked the long line of standby left behind what their back-up plans consisted of, many were left unsure. my contingency plan seemed like the most obvious answer, yet i was the lone traveler transferred.
i stayed overnight in vancouver before flying into japan the next morning. never have i been more pleased by having a carry-on than i did in this moment. my mom booked me a hotel by the time i landed. the air was sharp, brittle, and colder than summertime expected. i warmed up in the shower and went to bed cupping a hot foam cup of earl gray.
when i finally made it out of haneda airport, the air was smooth and gray and darkness covered the sky quickly. i left my carry-on in the care of our empty studio and ventured into the city as quietly as the rolling trains to meet fai and friends.
from there we took on eight days and three cities.
tokyo became the bow tax, temples and wishing good fortune, vintage shopping and restaurant hopping, whimsical and nerdy pop-ups, skyscrapers and brighter lights from morning to night, cloud bread and making the right trains.
osaka became the most cutieful apartment, walking around castles and laughing on stone, drawing a crowd with our taste in street food, sushi and drinks and not enough rice, cameras in our face for english tests in dotonbori, the soft click of fai’s disposable, people everywhere, cardboard in my mouth and a winding flight of stairs. i hope they remember the rest.
kyoto became just enough bus rides, blush and moss, gallivanting through the bamboo forest, hiking up to where monkeys roam freely and try to sneak snacks from nonchalant guides, pink flowers and sakura and lightly trimmed sunlight, suitcases in the park, people watching, bread and expresso and wanderlust consuming us.
el nido, thirteen hours ahead
after japan, we had to leave almost everything behind in the manila airport. the plane that would chart us away to another lush, humid island could only carry our body weight and 7kg’s worth of items per person. for those who need the conversion that is fifteen pounds.
our luggages were sprawled on the floor in a circle, split open as a gate agent oversaw the mess made to retrieve our essentials. swimsuits and light clothing had priority. it was a high stakes game of tetris to ensure that our backpacks had their fill and still didn’t go over the weight limit. we were successful in the end, but i’ll remember this (and never experience it again). one tiny plane front-flipping over clouds and 45 minutes of crash-inviting turbulence later, we finally made it.
time slowed down on this island. we lounged everywhere. in the pool, on the beach, sprawled on our beds. we lost control of our limbs in the best way possible—dozing off on massage beds and mani-pedi chairs. we drifted under the sun and under many stars. waves lapped up to the shore, licking at the sand and not quite reaching our towels or feet. low tide one day, high tide the next. i’m surprised my charm-adorned press ons survived the week.
we had maybe ten piña coladas too many. we celebrated fai’s birthday twice. fai and i celebrated be with me always’ two year anniversary in quiet, together, offline. we were tanning like we’ve never tanned before. i got a sunburn for the first time in my life. right on the button of my nose and nowhere else. the same couldn’t be said for the rest of the group. and once again, i followed fai into the ocean.
we spent the last of our island days moving slowly and doing things that would satisfy most bucket lists. zipline between two islands. boat tour across the ocean. swimming under caves and waterfalls. massages nearly every night. who had we become? wanderlust left us infected.
not quite home, two to four hours away.
the first person in my childhood friend group got engaged and married this year. as a set of five, we’ve all known each other at differing intimacies throughout elementary, junior high, and high school. although it has been over ten years since the first time we all grouped together. the wedding plunged me into a deep pool of realization. we’re kinda grown ! i could only understand it suddenly and immediately.
twenty-something means something entirely different, entirely subjective. post-graduation, every milestone seems large—a bigger deal that holds more weight and stakes. we’re past the age where we all achieve the same life goals on the same beat.
however, i think where our experiences converge is the mental and emotional tax that change charges. eighteen is legal. twenty-one is legal, again. twenty-five is a fully developed frontal lobe. in between it all you are everything and it will continue to be everything when we turn thirty, forty, fifty, so on.
just a week after we celebrated aisha’s birthday, where she proved once again that she is indeed big shay mood maker booty shaker (for the 23rd time!).
one day before all the flights and drives, aisha asked me to send her articles i thought she would like. she had forgotten the book she was going to read during her lunch break and i was bored (already scrolling on substack). not only was my taste trusted, but so was my ability to curate.
i have that same trust in her in creating and making the most of an experience. she made a home out of austin for the weekend, just as alyssa made a home out of marriage, and i made a home out of every place i have and haven’t been.
denver, one hour behind
i’m no stranger to uprooting my life and moving on. new houses, new schools, new friends—remaking social and physical connections from scratch as a child ‘till i was no longer scared of the inevitable (change).
the first time fai came over to my house, i was frantic. we were supposed to move ages ago (happy to update that we recently, finally did) and multiple things were broken or breaking. someone was using my room while i was at school. i had the worst mattress, no decorations in my room (no indication that it was mine), and no clue what state everything would be in when i returned. but our flight to japan (2023) was delayed and we had to fly the next morning, so in my bed fai stayed.
the first time i visited fai in denver, i had to redefine what it means for something to be yours. my eyes flickered everywhere. she gave me a tour and i was endeared. fai brought me to her family home. her dad and sisters lived there, just like my mom and siblings lived at mine. but unlike my house, fai was living in a home.
it was full of sentimental things like old family photos framed on the wall and the stalk of a plant passed down in generations and a childhood room that actually grew up with her. journals from when her handwriting was younger, entries where each letter looked like a unique doodle of its own. r’s that looked like stars and t’s curving like 5’s. baby shoes. elementary art projects. picture day photos printed and tacked onto the fridge with magnets.
fai moved into her first apartment this year. the search was rewarding and new. the building fits her tastes—an art deco’d piece of architecture that she accented with a blue couch and pink things and the hunger games and fish lamps. throughout the process, i excitedly kept my mom updated about the move from afar. she raised a brow and tried to correct me that the hue was fai’s (our) first apartment. i was completely offended and reminded her that it didn’t count.
the hue was a fully furnished, amnesia inducing temporary solution. we somehow made it our own, sure, but it was really just the place we slept. we held no love or loss for its walls (though we did appreciate its corner of windows). we brought a piece of us into the hue and left it (and college) becoming who we are now, changed.
that fai is who has moved into a new apartment. the first of its design to suit her today. her now, not then. any place can become a home once your heart enters it. when i finally got to see her home with my own eyes, i was endeared, again. fai fashioned it with furniture she found on facebook marketplace (there’s a touch of her roommate around too). she covered her bed with a beautiful quilt her aunt made for her, set up her own family photos, displayed her shoe collection and art and trinkets, and taped up a drawing she made with her brother of a bird peeing and pooping simultaneously in the bathroom (fitting setting).
finally lived in and wholly fai-core.
switaly, seven hours ahead
before the global pandemic, i used to visit italy every summer. my dad has been living there since i was twelve—working whatever job he works from a villa overlooking lake como then to a rustic apartment in the heart of a pebble-stone neighborhood now. he’s the reason why i always try to locate a museum wherever i travel. but where he favors history and science, i gravitate towards culture and arts.
visiting my dad meant discovering my favorite flower (hydrangea) and being spoiled (he’s bald). together with my siblings, we ran through french fields and private beaches and stepped on grapes to make someone else’s wine. my dad had a blackberry passport and it was the first time i had my own smartphone with unlimited data.
when i didn’t sleep in the car as he raced his own fastest speed on curved roads (and bragged about getting an italian drivers license on his first try), i downloaded songs and texted my mom. he once spun a bordering roundabout three times just so we could go back home and say we’ve been to switzerland.
seven years later and together me, fai, and reem blurred the borders of italy and switzerland, making it our own.
you would think we were stranded. the picture captures golden blush-blown skies and clouds, bleeding blue losing its color from the edge of the lake and outline of the mountains. bopping upright in the middle of the land’s rippling lake was me in my floatie and fai and reem clinging to its every side. we kept returning to that lake, and made an appearance at many more, multiple days that week. floating, skipping rocks, and pressing cold hands to our heated cheeks. staring at ducks.
we made our own pocket of normalcy in the place that made us scorn our jobs, our responsibilities. starting with the lake, of course. gelato after dinner. picking the best dishes on every menu and and twisting forks toward each other so that we all have the best bites of everything. referencing now you see me since i finally watched it on the plane.
sleep (hypnotism) and sleeping for real. wake. slow and early mornings, eating fruit and overlooking the balcony. silk scarves and sunglasses. crocs and tabis. a tall human-sized croissant and lots of driving and sightseeing. the mountains and lakes and rivers were never without each other, much like the three of us.
when the girls finally left and returned to their respective current homes, i stayed behind. my little brother, noah, flew in to meet me and we swung back and forth between switaly, blurring its borders even more.
the last time noah was in italy, i was taller than him. i never let him forget it. our dad moved since the last time we visited. he had more to share about himself and his lore and what he’s been thinking about ever since he flew in to savannah to watch my graduation. we let him ramble. he’s usually such a quiet man.
we walked through como again as we once did, a humongous outlet mall, and a city with two names (torino or turin) that was nowhere near a lake or mountains (two things that i explicitly told him noah wanted to see… they had good bread though). well, i’ll be planning family city strolls going forward after all.
home, finally, until the next party
in the same way a sugar crash succeeds a sugar rush, returning home came with all the feelings of unease crashing down.
i spent the first day back in bed to finish a book that maddened me. i played nanny and mover and writer. i made tea in the morning and then checked mail in the afternoon. i cooked dinner in the evening and caught up on new episodes i hadn’t seen while abroad. mundane tasks. a glimpse that says this is how i live. a routine that says this may be uneventful, but it is mine. the day to day to day until it is monday again and back to work i go.
all those cars, planes, boats and the question that kept coming back after the trips ended: when is too early to quit your job?
five out of seven days of the week working. five out of seven days of the week relaxing. five out of seven days of the week talking and sleeping and eating (and more!) and roll it over into the weekend too.
life’s a bit ferocious, no? but it’s also trying/rewarding/demanding/fulfilling and made out of us. life bleeds all over. by the time i shut my laptop and tune out outlook notifs, everything plays out like i’m severance-ing myself.
i haven’t quite got the answer, but i’m sure it lies in searching for sweet fruit elsewhere. the travel bug persists.
this piece is my hashtag ad hashtag spon for working remotely. the true question is how many new years resolutions did i achieve from these trips alone? here’s an estimate (the body keeps score):
more things to try | three thousand
more things to talk about | seven thousand
more things to see | four thousand
plus a piece of new york from when i actually went to work (& instead had a lot of fun):
+ slice of nashville where i worked for some reason (& aisha’s itinerary made up for it):
