breatheeasy808

[breatheeasy808]

Day 28- A picture of you last year and now, how have you changed since then?

The first photo of me was in Charlotte, North Carolina in August 2021. I was visiting two good friends and their baby daughter, who was about two months old at the time. On that day that photo was taken, my friends and I enjoyed a warm summer's day hanging out at an old red brick warehouse complex that had been converted into a hip, art collective-esque space with cafes, galleries, and a traveling Van Gough exhibit. I daydreamed, listened to A Tribe Called Quest that was reverberating from some nearby speakers, looked up at the clouds, and watched my friends interact with their baby daughter; it was probably the first moment I recall that I was viscerally inspired to become a parent myself one day in the future. Later, we drove around downtown Charlotte before finding a quiet community park tucked away in the city, where my friend and I walked around the baseball field and his wife nursed the baby in the car as a rainstorm was approaching. As my friend and I walked back to the car we ended up getting caught in the rain for a bit. I asked him to take a portrait of me in the parking lot to commemorate the moment once the rain let up. We had smoked turkey, beef brisket, baby back ribs, hushpuppies, and cold beers for dinner before returning back home for the night.

I often think about how my life might have turned out differently if I had decided to take shelter with these friends in North Carolina instead of going to Texas when I had to evacuate New Orleans from Hurricane Ida only a few weeks later. I probably would not have been living as recklessly and wildly as I had been in Austin or Dallas, since I would have been in a more stable, domestic household than couch surfing with my other bachelor friends. Even though a lot of the food options in both North Carolina and Texas are not too dissimilar, I would probably still have been eating more wholesome, nutritious home-cooked foods if I had been taking shelter in Charlotte. Realistically, I also would not have been exposed to as many people there compared to either Austin or Dallas too. But a lot of that type of thinking is just a never-ending rabbit hole of hypothetical "what-ifs." I have since made peace with the realization that I made a serious of poor, irrevocable decisions with my health and well-being during my "evacuation vacation" in Texas that proved to be my downfall. And that is a lesson I have to live with for the rest of my life going forward.

The second photo of me was taken at Scripps Pier in La Jolla, California, about three months after I had been discharged from the hospital in San Diego following my double lung transplant. In about the year since these two photos were taken, I was hospitalized in three different states, lost my father, survived 165 days on ECMO treatment, received my double lung transplant surgery, began playing more video games and watching more movies and television series, reconnected with formerly estranged friends and family, lost 45 pounds from being in the hospital, regained almost 30 pounds since getting out, released a full-length album with my folk rock band, began a lifelong medication regiment as a transplant recipient, and underwent a surgical procedure to remove a polyp from above my vocal cord and seal up the hole in my neck from my trach tube.

Life as I knew it before feels like a distant memory—finishing my first year of graduate school in New Orleans, playing music and performing at gigs with my band, bicycling around and exercising at Audubon Park, smoking a joint and enjoying a cold beer, hiking through the mountains and swimming at the beaches in Hawaii, beginning in person classes for my second year of graduate school, and working towards completing my master's thesis in musicology. Now, I have had to put my studies on hold to take a medical leave of absence and I am still in full-time recovery in San Diego, living with my mom and grandma. I have recently resumed writing tutoring and coaching UCSD's mock trial program in my spare time. I do miss regularly playing music with other musicians; playing my instruments by myself without going busking or collaborating with other creatives does not hold the same appeal anymore. I have been sober from any recreational drugs and alcohol for over a full year by now, and I intend to keep it that way until the one year anniversary of my transplant surgery, after which I will decide to what extent I want to reintroduce any substances back into my life. Maybe I will find that I am better off without any of them.

The one thing that has not necessarily changed but has substantially deepened has been my belief and faith in God and Jesus Christ. I do not know how an inveterate atheist or someone who denies the existence of a higher power could have survived the ordeal that I went through, both from a mental fortitude perspective and also the circumstances and timing surrounding the events that transpired throughout my extended hospitalization and leading up to my surgery, over which I had absolutely no control or influence over. I cannot simply dismiss the miracle of my survival as a random, chaotic coincidence that I could probably do all over again and yield the same favorable results based on another spin of the cosmic lottery wheel.

A good friend of mine told me that even though a lot of my life circumstances might have changed, he did not see me as any different than the Kyle that he knew before. I might have added new layers to who I currently am based on what I have been through, but at the end of the day, he still saw me as the same person who is constantly growing and evolving into who I am today. That was encouraging to hear for me when I was still in the hospital, since I felt like a helpless shell of a human being for so long, at the mercy of the medical staff and God at all times. But just to be alive today is a miracle in itself and the rest of the journey is still waiting to be continued.

[breatheeasy808]

Day 27- Why are you doing this 30 day challenge

Admittedly, I have allowed a considerable amount of time to elapse since my last post here. Since then, I got sick with a common cold, fully recovered, resumed weekly tutoring lessons, and most recently underwent a procedure to surgically remove a polyp that has been growing above my vocal chords for the past six months that I have been out of the hospital. I anticipated this procedure to be a fairly minor operation after all the trauma I have been through this past year, but I found out the day of at the hospital that it would be a bit more involved than I was expecting. The polyp itself, which initially was about the size of a pea, has since grown to about the size of a small-medium sized grape, and was beginning to considerably block my airway. Although benign in nature, its proximity to my vocal cords and airway constituted an inherent obstacle that needed to eventually be removed. The day of the surgery, I was informed that there were five different options available to proceed with the operation, and the inconvenient location of the polyp, coupled with the risk involved with damaging my new lungs with a conventional breathing tube, meant that the surgical and anesthesiological team had to carefully deliberate over the best course of action. A two and a half hour procedure soon turned into over a three and a hour wait at the hospital until I was finally able to enter the operating room. I woke up dazed and disoriented, barely remembering putting my shoes back on and walking out of the hospital as my mom drove me back home. Still a bit loopy coming down from the anesthesia, I watched television and ate pistachio ice cream for the rest of the night.

Since then, I have noticed that is has been considerably easier to breathe now that the polyp has been removed. I had not actually realized how much of an impediment it had become since it had gradually developed month by month, slowly growing in size. After four days of recovering from the surgery, my voice sounds "crisp" and "less muffled" according to friends and family, and I hardly cough while exhaling a large amount air at once when engaging in extensive conversation.

The bellybutton looking dimple-like hole in my neck that was the only remnant of my trach tube has also been glued shut, which was a cosmetic procedure called a "scar revision" that followed my polyp surgery (called a microlaryngoscopy). So far, this has proven to be the more inconvenient healing process as for restricting the full range of motion for my neck and external neck and throat pain from the visible scar tissue, which currently looks a bit Frankensteinesque but it is expected to heal up nicely in due time and hopefully be less noticeable.

Anyways, this is not related to the prompt, but I believe I have sufficiently addressed why I have been doing this challenge in previous posts. I intend to finish the remaining few days of this challenge and then begin the undertaking of penning my novel through blog posts about each chapter of this journey. Stay tuned.

[breatheeasy808]

Day 26- What you think about your friends

One recurring thing that have people have mentioned to me over the years is that my friends tend to be "interesting characters." As someone who never fit in with the dominant group wherever I went, I have typically gravitated towards outsiders and out-of-the-box personalities who stand out from the crowd. Life is only interesting if life is wide, right? Most of the people in my circle of friends from high school were all fairly straightforward people, almost all of them were the sons of first generation Asian immigrants and we shared the bond of growing up in Hawaii with more traditional Asian families. Once I went to university in California, however, my friend group became noticeably more eclectic and diverse—I befriended Indians, Mexicans, whites, Persians, and other ethnic groups from around the world. Everyone brought a fresh perspective to the table, and I prided myself on the diversity of my social circle.

Ever since I graduated college and began pursuing music in my gap years, I began to run with a rather different set of friends than either high school or college. Many of my bohemian and beatnik compatriots I befriended through playing music did not have a college education, but nonetheless they taught me more about the world at large by living alternative lifestyles outside of the confines of mainstream society. This period of my life dovetailed with both my spiritual reawakening and independent research into geopolitical conspiracies truths. I began a process of reconditioning myself after years of indoctrination from both the mainstream media and my higher education at a liberal public university in California, and began revisiting the traditional conservative values that had been instilled in me since childhood and I had since rejected after going to college.

There was a period of time during this process of awakening that I began to feel alienated from many of previous friendships that I had made throughout high school and college, with only a small handful being willing to engage in some more difficult and controversial discourses about life, politics, religion, and societal systems. I kept these friends close to me, as I felt like I could freely express myself around them without worrying about the social backlash that typically accompanied me oversharing some of my new perspectives with most people. This phenomena only intensified throughout the 2020 pandemic, and certain views that I refrained from talking about suddenly became cornerstones of how I saw the world. I grew more vocal about opposing government mandates, political corruption, and hypocrisy, using my social media platforms to broadcast divisive opinions that were backed up with an assortment of inconvenient facts. I was convinced that I was spreading the "Truth" to the masses, whom I viewed as sheep following a herd going nowhere during a critical time in human history. I lost friends and followers every time I shared these types of posts, but for every person that removed themself from my life, I connected with and befriended many others who were inspired by what I had to say and how I approached analyzing this type of information. Random acquaintances that I had not spoken with since high school suddenly became close confidants and companions overnight. Meanwhile, some of my best friends of over ten years suddenly wanted nothing to do with me based on my views and how I communicated them to people. Even extended family members disassociated themselves from me, as our political disagreements strained our relationships with each other.

All of this fundamentally changed, however, when I got extremely sick and hospitalized in September 2021. When I was fighting for my life on what I believed at the time to be my death bed, suddenly being right or wrong about the "Truth" did not matter anymore. All that was important was that I make it out of the hospital alive. I received an overwhelming outpouring of love and support from friends far and wide, including those who had previously cut ties with me, and they were all collectively rooting for me and wishing me nothing but the best for my recovery. It was a truly humbling experience to have people from all walks and stages of my life reach out to me with genuine words of encouragement. Relatives who had previously disavowed me based on my views were now steadfastly praying for my recovery and bringing me food while I was in the hospital. My friends throughout the map—from Texas to North Carolina to San Diego to Hawaii to India and beyond—were checking in with me on a regular basis to keep track of my progress leading up to my surgery. I had five different friends visit me while I was still hospitalized, and they brought my care packages, food, gifts and souvenirs, and an abundance of cherished memories we have shared together.

After everything I have been through this past year, I have experienced firsthand the true value of friendship and brotherhood. I know what it is like to have people grieve by your side and rejoice in your triumphs, to have a shoulder to lean on and to have a strong hand to pick you up. I keep my circle closer than ever before, and all of my best friends are aware of what I have endured and emerged from. Even though they may not truly comprehend or understand the extent of how my life has been impacted, they have been there for me every step of the way. Aside from the unconditional support of my family, especially my mother and middle sister, I highly doubt I would have made it this far on my own without the bonds of brotherhood that have kept me afloat and in high spirits even in the fiercest of storms. I have seen their loyalty to me in my life, and I strive to be just as loyal for my friends, from the crests to the valleys that we all travel through together in life.

[breatheeasy808]

Day 25- What I would find in your bag

One thing I learned from briefly being in the Boy Scouts of America when I was in early high school was to always be prepared. Of course, day to day circumstances can require a different set of items to be fully equipped and prepared to handle whatever might come your way, whether spontaneous or otherwise. I also sometimes find myself in situations where I wish I had brought a specific item that I own, regretting that I decided to forego it for the day—what is the point of owning the object if you did not bring it when you needed it the most? That being said, I find usually myself prepared for 80% of everyday situations given my routine and schedule when I am on the go. What I bring in my bags—shoulder bag, tote bag, small sling bag—also differs from my EDC (every day carry).

On any given day, my EDC and the contents of my bag are as follows:

Hydroflask—Always have to stay hydrated wherever I go.

Daily transplant medications—Since I have to take a small truckload of medications multiple times a day, both with and without food, I bring my daily supply with me whenever I leave the house to not miss a dose.

Film camera—Although I bring out the camera mostly to intentionally photograph more out of the ordinary occasions with friends in memorable, aesthetic, and unfamiliar parts of town, I still like having the camera on hand if something unusual catches my eye when I am randomly out in public, such as a beautiful vintage car, some exquisite architecture, or a sidewalk story that is just waiting to be photographed. I also carry an extra roll of film if I happen to be low on shots on the one that is currently loaded into the camera.

Pocket knife—My father gifted me a Ken Onion knife that he received from one of his tactical-minded dental patients, and there is a sense of security and utility I have whenever I carry it with me. I am fortunate that I have not had to resort to using it under any scenarios of imminent danger so far, so it is usually relegated to cutting open cardboard boxes, slicing fruit on a hike, or cutting stray threads from my clothes. Even if I do not need it for most daily errands, it is better to have it and not need it, than to somehow need it and not have it.

Music-listening device—Could be headphones, earbuds, or my portable speaker depending on the day. Music is essential when I am on the go, and it is never a bad idea to have the option of turning on some jams either in private or for a group of people at a moment's notice.

Hand sanitizer—Even before covid paranoia swept the world, I liked to carry a small container of hand sanitizer, especially useful prior to and after eating any messy foods.

Band-aid—I do not carry a full first aid kit but a bandage can be a multi-faceted object to cover the small hole in my neck from my trach-tube if I do not want to draw attention to it in public, or to bandage a small to medium sized emergency wound.

Beer coozie—These small, lightweight insulating beverage sleeves not only prevent your fingers from getting cold while drinking an icy beverage but also prevent your beverage from prematurely cooling down from the heat of your hand.

Face mask—I normally do not like to wear masks when I am out and about, but there are situations when I have no choice, usually for any type of hospital visit for labs, clinic appointments, or various medical procedures.

Watch—One essential for my EDC is an appropriate time piece. I wear a casual everyday watch with a canvas NATO strap that goes with most outfits, a sports-watch for any athletic and outdoor activities, and a brown leather dress watch when I really want to dress up. Watches are a more put-together way to check the time without always having to drag out your phone from your pocket, which could be deemed inefficient and unprofessional in some contexts. Plus it is one accessory or piece of masculine jewelry that can instantly upgrade any outfit when paired with the right apparel.

Sunglasses—I feel naked without a good pair of shades in my EDC rotation, especially while driving around during the day. Like my watches, I have a pair of everyday sunglasses and one that are more optimized for casual outfits and outdoor activities.

Wallet, Phone, Keys—Self-explanatory.

[breatheeasy808]

Day 24- A letter to your parents

Dear Mom and Dad (Mudge & Pudge),

I am both my mother's and my father's son. When I was growing up, I received endless remarks from friends, relatives, and people I did not particularly know too well about how I strikingly resembled you, Dad. Even though I always thought we had somewhat different facial features—your rounder eyes and slightly hooked nose, for example—I can still see why they might say that. I inherited your thick, wavy hair, defined eyebrows, and your compromised autoimmune genetics. Despite these perceptions, I considered myself a mama's boy for most of my life. Dad, you were mostly stoic, sour, or silly with not much in between. Mom, you were outgoing, compassionate, expressive, temperamental. Dad taught me the value of money, how to build a disciplined work ethic, how to persevere under pressure, how to challenge myself to reach my potential, and to never adopt a defeatist mentality. Mom taught me when to bend the rules, how to speak up for myself, how to build a relationship with God, and how to love others. When I think of some of my friends who grew up in single parent homes or with divorced parents, I grateful that I had an opportunity to have both a mother and father figure throughout my life.

But in honesty, part of the reason I have refrained from pursuing serious relationships or prioritizing marriage over the years has been because of the glimpses of your dysfunctional marriage that I witnessed as a child. Dad would not be open or communicative with Mom, Mom would berate and belittle Dad in front of me and the girls, Dad would prioritize his dental practice over being involved with the family, Mom would helicopter parent us to compensate, Dad would go silent after quarrels and arguments for days on end, Mom would rant and rave at Dad and the rest of us in response. This list can go on. It was not a healthy parental dynamic and my early childhood years, while still relatively stable, were not necessarily the fondest memories of mine.

And yet I know now how much both of you have sacrificed for me and the girls every week, month, and year that you raised us. Mom insisted on sending us all to private schools since she knew how subpar the Hawaii public education system truly is. Dad was just fine sending us to public school, having raised himself up by his bootstraps from Kaimuki High School and coming from a lower middle class background. So you both "compromised" by sending us to private school. By the time I graduated, you had invested 14 years into my education, even paying for me to repeat ninth grade when I transferred high schools. On top of that, you funded all my extracurricular pursuits, including piano and cello lessons, academic tutoring lessons, athletic endeavors (soccer, basketball, swimming, tennis, taekwondo), Boy Scouts, and Youth Symphony. Dad usually drove me there and picked me up and rarely ever complained about it, or really complained in general at all—aside from Democrat policies and high taxes, etc.. We did not always regularly go on vacations each year, but when we did, they were some of my most cherished memories together as a family—traveling to San Diego, Yosemite, Seattle, Vancouver, South Korea, Italy, Paris, Zion, Grand Canyon, and New Orleans.

Dad, everyone always told me how much you loved me by the way you talked about me when I was not around. There are only a small handful of occasions when we had genuine conversations about our love for each other despite some of our differences. I was your somewhat wayward first born and only son, who had inclinations towards drinking beer and smoking pot, who went off to college to major in Political Science at a liberal California university—even turning down your beloved alma mater UW to do so. I absorbed many of your socio-political beliefs like a sponge when I was younger, but began to challenge them as I grew into adolescence. I renounced almost all of your views by the time I had entered college, and my sharp debating skills coupled with your parental frustration at seeing your child ideologically turning against you led to our dinner table debates erupting into full on heated arguments. It was only after I experienced more of the real world beyond the university bubble that I began to understand where you were coming from, and my perspectives began to rapidly change. I am glad that for the last few years we were able to reach a respectful equilibrium between our views, with both of us sharing much more in common than before once I reexamined and embraced many of the conservative traditional values that I was brought up with.

Mom, you truly embody the Mama Duck who protects, attacks, and, mostly importantly, quacks. As the spiritual leader of our house, you raised us how to pray, how to cultivate our faith, and go before God for whatever challenges we were facing. Even though you often neglected to cook us a nutritious breakfast before we went to school—as we were resigned to eating 물밥 and spam or Vienna sausage that Dad served us instead since you were typically sleeping in—you are a phenomenal cook when you put your mind to it, and your motivation over the lockdowns to cook dinner every night proved it. Your creativity and artistic impulses run through me as your son, along with your keen ear for music and fluid skills with communication and linguistics. Despite being a petite Asian lady, your outspoken yet diplomatic disposition has taught me how to speak up for myself and advocate for what I need. We always remember the time when we were watching the Lion King broadway play and two errant audience members were fumbling around in the dark looking for their seats, blocking peoples' views, and much to our amusement you shouted out loud "Can't see!" I can approach you to talk about (almost) everything going on in my life, and you offer sound feedback and advice stemming from years of parental wisdom. We laugh and joke with each other and share a special mother-son bond that would make many of your Korean ajumma friends jealous. Mom and Dad, I am relieved that my later memories of your marriage were mostly neutral-positive. The constant arguments and quarreling gave way to peaceful indifference and more light-hearted banter. I could see your dynamic evolving once Mom began working at the dental office with Dad, where you two maintained a courteous and professional relationship while at work, and then often did your own things off hours—Mudge with her Korean Church activities and Dudge with his conservative talk radio, college sports broadcasts, Candy Crush computer game, and World War II related literature. For all these years, you both provided for and took care of the dogs—Benny, Fifi, and later Teddy—in your own capacities. Dad walked the dogs at least two to three times a day, Mom would take them to regular vet and grooming appointments, and you each rotated between who was going to hand feed the finicky Maltese. Even though most of our childhood was spent at the mall or movie theater, I am glad that our later family time was spent hiking around Hawaii on your off-days and enjoying more of the outdoors.

Everything that our family has been through this past year has completely redefined reality for all of us. Dad, I know you are able to receive this message through the ethers even though you're no longer with us in this earthly realm. Mom always brings up how she is saddened by how hard you worked your entire life without getting to truly enjoy your retirement years. I have been thinking recently about how your deathbed thoughts must have been ones of absolute uncertainty for me since I was still sedated in a coma in Louisiana and my condition was deteriorating each day. I would like to think that your final prayer to God was to spare my life, even if He was not going to spare your own. Arnou told me the day before you passed away, he had a dream that we were both sitting on a beach in Hawaii, dressed in all white, talking and laughing like nothing had happened. We might have even shared a joke or two at Arnou's expense, maybe teasing him for being Mexican. When he woke up, he was disturbed and distressed because he interpreted it to mean that we had both passed away and were in Heaven together. One of the most vivid moments of when I was in Shreveport was when I overheard a nurse at the front desk receive a phone call from an unknown number in Hawaii informing the hospital that you had passed away. The exact cause of death was not specified. The caller wanted the hospital to receive this information so they could accurately mark the date and time of your passing. Meanwhile, Mom was frantically trying to prevent me from hearing any of this information and she was reading the Bible out loud to me, hoping to distract me. Eventually a respiratory therapist was visibly annoyed by her behavior and told Mom to give it a rest and to let me be in peace for a moment. Even though I heard the news, I was not sure how to process it all exactly. I felt numb to anything at the time and I still was not sure where I was or how I had gotten to that point.

When I woke up from my coma and regained my consciousness again, one of the first things I asked Mom was "How is Dad?" as a trick question. I already knew the answer. She quietly conferred with Lauren momentarily and they agreed that it was time to tell me that you had gotten sick with covid, hospitalized, intubated, and passed away from multiple organ failures. On Lauren's birthday too. Turns out, though, there was never a phone call to the hospital. It never happened. All communications about your condition and progression were done outside of my presence, so there was no way that I could have potentially overheard any conversations about your passing and subconsciously listened it even while I was sedated. I do not how to logically or rationally explain this experience other than a vision that was granted to me from God to inform me of your passing in real time. I believe through the ethers, God allowed me to glimpse the reality that was unfolding so that I would be mentally prepared to process it when I woke up.

Everything Mom has been through since then—handling the logistical aftermath of your untimely passing, triaging the financial affairs, communicating with local friends and colleagues of yours about the next steps, scheduling funeral service arrangements, managing and discontinuing the myriad accounts connected to your name—is a pure testament to her mental fortitude, resilience, and strength, as well as the loving and magnanimous network of close friends that you have cultivated throughout your life. And she was responsible for scaling this seemingly impossible mountain of burdens and responsibilities all while she was spending day and night in the hospital to visit and take care of me in the ICU. Without Mom and Lauren by my side, I could not have survived the way I did. They supported me, fought for me, and advocated for my well-being even when some of the nurses and doctors did not. They provided spiritual encouragement and necessary diversions from the stress and trauma of an extended hospitalization. They cared for me in a way that only family can and ever will.

Mom and Dad, I was not always the greatest son. I got into my fair share of troubles and mischief throughout my life. There are things I probably will never share with you, Mom, and other things that Dad might already have known but never personally addressed with me. My reckless and rebellious tendencies finally caught up to me and landed me in the hospital, as if to teach me a lesson once and for all. But even when I crashed and burned and hit a rock bottom so cavernous I did not think I could ever emerge from, your steadfast love and support carried me through my most shameful and desperate days of being on this earth. Dad, I now live in your honor and memory, and I am committed to living an upright life for the rest of my years—a debt to not only the donor of my new pair of lungs but also to you, my earthly father, and my Almighty Creator as well. Dad, I miss you and I know that you are proud of me for making out alive and never accepting defeat when every odd was stacked against me. I owe this to you. Mom, I do not believe I will ever meet another woman who will love me as much as you do. You will forever be the only woman I ever love with all my heart. I am blessed and privileged to have been raised as your son. For everything I have and everything that I am, I am forever grateful to both of you.

Love your Son,

Kyle

[breatheeasy808]

Day 23- Something you crave for a lot

Hands down, my biggest craving and guiltiest pleasure would be eating carbs and fried food. Even though I grew up eating a lot of rice in an Asian household, I always gravitated more towards pasta as my preferred starch. Some of my all time favorite Korean foods are all noodle-based dishes—jajangmyun, naengmyun, bibimgooksu, kalgooksu, konggooksu, rabboki etc.

If I had to rate my preferred type of meats, red meat and seafood will always beat chicken, but nonetheless I frequently find myself specifically craving fried chicken. My go-to selections for fast food fried chicken would be Chick-Fil-A, Popeyes, and Rasin' Canes. While I was living in New Orleans for a year, I feasted like a king on as much Southern fried homestyle cooking I could find. The city's food culture is a gourmand's delight, and I never tired of consistently discovering some of the best cuisine I have ever tasted in all my travels not just in the country but in the world. Even the gas station fried chicken was spectacular.

Unfortunately, I can no longer be feasting like how I used be, as I need to monitor my triglyceride and cholesterol levels going forward. All the home cooking that helped me gained back over almost 30 pounds since I got discharged certainly did the trick. Psychologically, we crave what we cannot have that much more. And while I do believe in eating in moderation, the days of gorging myself on greasy, fried, high-carb foods seems to be on their way out.

[breatheeasy808]

Day 22- What makes you different from everyone else

I have often been called an "old soul," stemming from my outlook on life and my particular interest and hobbies. I gravitate towards older genres of music, oldies from the 60s, 70s, and 80s, as well as traditional folk music from America, Ireland, and around the world. My identity is a byproduct of a postmodern era, in which my musical pursuits as a Korean American banjo player hailing from Hawaii by way of San Diego and New Orleans is only possible through the digital realm of information and dissociative reconceptualization of the self. I built upon my formal musical training as a improvisational musician playing mostly by ear and feeling, learning my trade as a folk musician and singer by absorbing hours of YouTube videos and concert footage. I built my confidence as a performer playing on the streets throughout Hawaii, California, Texas, New York, and elsewhere, projecting my brand of revival folk music to the public. As a fourth generation Korean American and native English speaker, I cannot confined to any singular mold, and my background eschews neat classification.

Others have also remarked on my keen attention to my surroundings and despite not having photographic memory, I am able to perceive minute details that most people typically do not recall or at least struggle to remember. This ability has aided me as both an analytical and creative writer, and was also responsible for my success in competing in mock trial tournaments and geographic bees.

And of course, as a double lung transplant recipient, I possess a unique perspective with a second lease on life that very few people can truly fathom. I often hear people tell me how "strong" I must be to have gone through everything that I have. Truth be told, I did not have much of a choice other than to keep on fighting every day I was in the hospital, and I had no idea how strong I had to be until I had no other option. Because I have been granted a once in a lifetime chance, I am a walking testament to the miracle of God's grace.

[breatheeasy808]

Day 21- A picture of something that makes you happy

This photo of my immediate family was taken on April 30, 2022 at my youngest sister Lianne's college graduation from Pepperdine University. This date was almost exactly one month after getting discharged from the ICU after being hospitalized for 200 days, and was the first family trip outside of San Diego that I got to be a part of during my recovery. I was initially predicted to take an additional three weeks to recuperate in the hospital after my lung transplant surgery, so the fact that I was discharged early came as a jubilant surprise to our entire family. For the next three weeks until Lianne's graduation, I incrementally built up my stamina and endurance to walk around my grandma's neighborhood where I was living with my mom and middle sister Lauren. First I started off with several five minute walks around the block for the first few days before eventually increasing my walks to ten, fifteen, thirty, and forty minute intervals, both on uphill and downhill loops.

Naturally, my transplant physicians were wary of me attending my sister's college graduation, given the risks of being surrounded by a multitude of people so early in my recovery. Although one doctor tentatively approved my being able to go—assuming I would follow proper precautions—two others emphatically advised against it, citing the dangers of infectious complications of being around crowds of college-aged demographics, many of whom that age are not known for being particularly cautious with their health-related decisions. Any chance of me getting sick, whether from covid or any other viral or bacterial infection, could jeopardize my health and even land me back in the ICU all over again.

Yet fully aware of these risks, my family and I made the leap of faith and trusted that God would divinely protect me and the rest of our family from getting exposed to any sickness or disease that weekend. Lauren drove our mom and me in her car from San Diego to Los Angeles, where we rented an AirBnB in Inglewood for a few days and enjoyed a little getaway to celebrate Lianne's graduation weekend. There was hardly any sight seeing around Los Angeles on our end, and the majority of our down time when we were not on the road was spent in our Air BnB. We picked up some Thai food for our first dinner in, dined at an Italian restaurant called Elephante in downtown Santa Monica after the graduation ceremony, and went to Urth Cafe in Beverly Hills on the last day for our final brunch in L.A..

The graduation ceremony itself was incredibly surreal for me to see so many people assembled in one place after I had spent 200 days in a sterile hospital universe with limited human interaction, and just at my grandma's house with my mom and Lauren for a month prior to that moment. The last time I had been at this particular location in Malibu was for Lauren's own college graduation from Pepperdine three years ago back in 2019. I had visited the campus twice before that, both times for Dance in Flight, a dance production that Lauren had been involved with her first and third year of college. This time, though, was the most personally meaningful experience, since I had survived unfathomable levels of physical and psychological adversity to make it out of the hospital alive, and had progressed far enough in my recovery that I felt comfortable, going in faith, to attend Lianne's graduation.

Since this was the first family reunion since our father passed away back in October 2021, his presence was particularly missed by all of us, and we are absolutely certain he would have been over the moon to witness Lianne, the baby of our family, graduate from Pepperdine—Summa Cuum Laude—with a 3.9 GPA. All of us were immensely proud of what she was still able to achieve after witnessing both the untimely passing of our first family dog being mauled to death in 2020, and around one year later having to witness our father passing away in the hospital from the same viral infection that almost killed me. Her resilience and strength to persevere with her online coursework and internship during an unprecedented societal shift during covid are a testament to her mental fortitude that refused to accept a defeatist mentality, even amidst tremendous hardships and emotional traumas that few people will ever have to reckon with in this lifetime.

Being there in person to witness this moment with my family is one of the crowning achievements of my recovery and one that I truly cherish forever.

[breatheeasy808]

Day 20- Someone you see yourself marrying/being with in the future

Throughout my life, the concept of marriage has carried a certain type of freight with it that has not necessarily always appealed to me. My parents did not have a particularly healthy marriage; I remember them fighting and quarreling with each other often throughout my childhood and early adolescence. Their arguments occasionally erupted to the point where my mother would threaten to leave my father and take my sisters and me away from Hawaii to live with her side of the family in San Diego. My parents occasionally floated the idea of a divorce around, but they never followed through with the idea, usually citing the welfare of the children as their reason. Part of me wonders how my sisters and I would have turned out, though, if they actually decided to permanently separate.

These tumultuous domestic memories that were imprinted upon me did nothing to incentive me to prioritize the idea of marriage, lest I end up married to a nagging wife that would mean the downfall of my independence and, thus, joy in life. Nonetheless, I have always considered myself somewhat of a hopeless romantic at heart, and despite how I felt about marriage, I still yearned for the female companionship that seemed to mostly evade me over the years. I very briefly dated three girls in high school, nothing to write home about, and I had a girlfriend for three or four months in my first year of college. But nothing substantial or long-term ever came to fruition.

It is difficult to pinpoint exactly why I have not been involved seriously with any girls since that freshman year of college. Part of it stems from a seasonal fling I had with a girl that turned sour, after which I vowed to never let a girl have that much control over my emotions ever again. Another reason is that it is rare for me to meet women my age who share my passions and hobbies and connect with them on a deeper level. More times often than not, their taste in music repels me (and I am sure some of them would say the same about my own). I also have to censor most of my sociopolitical views around a lot of women I meet, which prevents me from having more open communication about my bolder convictions. I also highly prioritize and invest in my male friendships, preferring to spend time in fellowship with my close brothers instead of frivolously pursuing women.

And yet, after two of my close male friends each got married within the past year, with one of them already having a daughter, I have been reflecting more on the future I want, in which marriage and children are most definitely desirable to me. The type of woman I envision myself with would be someone who is down to earth, with a deep appreciation for the natural world, and builds her lifestyle around holistic health and wellness. A great sense of humor is essential, as is punctuality, cleanliness, orderliness, and hygiene. Some people might assume that as a musician, I am looking for someone who is also a musician, but that is not necessarily a make-or-break factor, and if anything would just be a cherry on top. But I do see myself with someone who possesses an innate artistic and creative drive—whether through visual art, photography, poetry, artisanal craftsmanship—and someone who can appreciate the timeless aesthetics of beauty. I want to be with someone who is an avid lifelong learner, who introduces me to new musical artists, pieces of literature, cinema, and facts about the world (and vice versa). I see my future partner and I pursuing a more minimal, sustainable life, adopting a thrifty state of mind when we need to, while still knowing when to enjoy the finer experiences of being alive like traveling, fine dining, and investing in well-made products. While I tend to believe that intellectual discourse is best reserved for the men in my life, I would still appreciate having a partner who is capable of engaging in sophisticated dialogues with me, while also being someone that I can share emotionally vulnerable and sentimental sides of myself with. I consider myself a loyal and affectionate person and I would expect similar qualities within my life partner. As an adventurous spirit, I wish to be with someone that enhances my zest for life but also knows when to temper my restless energy. As a lung transplant recipient, I also have to keep in mind that my health condition is also extra freight that I carry into any future relationship, and my partner has to understand the new parameters that I must abide by to live in optimal health going forward. Going out drinking or indulging in substances with my partner might have appealed to me before, but they no longer hold relevance to my life. I seek out a partner who is nurturing and caring not only for myself but for our future children, and I prioritize motherly traits and instincts in a partner that will be conducive to raising a family.

And last but not least, I cannot see myself getting married to a woman that does not know and have a personal relationship with God. I need a woman who knows who she is as a child of the Most High and walks with Jesus Christ. Without this, any foundation we establish will just be sinking sand if left to our own devices. After everything I have been through this past year, I am only alive by the grace of God and I require companionship with someone who abides in this grace on a personal level and motivates me to be a better leader and follower of Christ in every aspect of my life.

As of now, though, dating is still a very low priority for me. My health, my family, and my friendships all hold more significance to me for the time being. And my goals and educational pursuits come next. Everything after that, I trust God to orchestrate and allow things to fall into place in just the right timing.

[breatheeasy808]

Day 19- Nicknames you have; why do you have them

For as long as I had known my dad, he had a particular tendency to give people nicknames. He nicknamed his two younger brothers, his high school friends, his college companions, his professional colleagues, me and my two sisters, some of my own high school friends, and even our two family dogs. Although he gave me a few nicknames growing up, the one that endured over the years was "Lewis," which is the name of the main character from the book "Trumpet of the Swan" by E.B. White that I read in first or second grade. Ever since then, my dad almost always addressed me as Lewis, whether around family, friends, or strangers. In the atypical circumstances when he was obligated to state my real name for formal or legal purposes, hearing him call me "Kyle" always felt a bit uncanny.

Now that my dad is no longer around, I do not go by any nicknames at the moment but nonetheless I have adopted a few nicknames of my own that function more as alter egos. Paying homage to my dad's preferred name for me, mi nombre en Español es "Luís" whenever I am chatting with my Spanish speaking companions. And one of my friends, who just happens to fall in that last category, has dubbed me "Dale Park Jr." as a tongue-in-cheek reference to my proclivity for real tree camouflage apparel and the Americana, country western, cowboy aesthetic.

On this note, I am reminded of a great line from the Tarantino film Inglorious Basterds, where a soldier discovers that he has been demeaningly nicknamed "Little Man" by his opponents, but recognizes that you cannot "control the nicknames your enemies bestow on you." In my case, I am certainly glad that none of my nicknames have been bestowed upon me by my enemies, and though my own nickname might have since been retired, it still holds a whimsical and special place in my heart.

[breatheeasy808]

Day 18- Plans/dreams/goals you have 

While I was existing in a state of suspended animation, confined to the purgatory of the ICU for 200 days, I momentarily had to suppress any of my previous plans, dreams, and goals. For example, in Shreveport I had a sinking realization how despondent my condition had become when I unable to even pick up a ballpoint pen. Sitting up in bed and dangling my legs off the side was considered a huge milestone. Then it was relearning how to stand up on my own two feet again. Then taking my first steps out of my hospital room and shuffling through the hallway. At the time, the only mission was to get stronger every day in the hopes of surviving long enough to receive my double lung transplant. After my surgery, the next goal was relearning how to breathe on my own all over again. And after being discharged, I had to rediscover what it meant to be more independent and transition back to everyday life with my own faculties once more.

Going forward, I plan to write a book that chronicles the entire saga of this past year and how it has changed my life forever. Additionally, I strive to regain my full strength and stamina, and maintain my overall health to prevent nothing disastrous from occurring to my body ever again. Once it is safe for me to travel outside of Southern California, I also plan to return to New Orleans, resume my graduate studies, and complete my Master's in Musicology. I eventually aim to pursue my career as a college professor of history. I dream of hitting the road again, seeing all 50 U.S. states, visiting Europe (a pilgrimage to Ireland specifically), going on a cruise with my family, and playing shows again with my bandmates. My two goals since I graduated college have been to record a full-length album of original material and to publish a book that I have written. And of course finding myself a life partner for the long haul.

God has granted me with a second chance at life and spared me from certain death, a fate that I fully deserved at the time (more on this to come). Not too many people can claim they have been reborn again in this earthly existence, so to live anything less than an upright, vivacious, and impactful life would be the ultimate disgrace to this sacred opportunity afforded to me. But I know that as long as there is the breath of life in my lungs, so too will my soul proclaim the divine miracle of another day I am alive.

[breatheeasy808]

Day 17- Someone you would want to switch lives with for one day and why

I recently purchased a coffee table film photography book entitled "Nothing Has Changed" by Larry Niehues, a photographer from France who traveled to all 50 U.S. states documenting both the mundane and mythic visions of America as seen through the eyes of an outsider. As an avid traveler and Americana enthusiast myself, this project deeply resonated with me. Although I had grown up most of my life in Hawaii—with only a handful of visits to San Diego, Seattle, and Washington D.C. throughout my early to late childhood—I still culturally identified with being American more than anything else. I understood the zeitgeist of America throughout the ages, and recognized the vast majority of its traditions, motifs, icons, and cultural representations. Perhaps this was due to Hawaii's colonial annexation into the United States and post-WWII statehood, both of witnessed the influx of a dominant military presence throughout the archipelago, and by extension mainland American culture. And yet Hawaii is patently distinct from the 49 other states, and for this reason I was never viscerally immersed within what one might consider American culture until I went to university in California.

Traveling extensively throughout California, I explored everywhere from small farm towns to sprawling urban metropolises, from Skid Row to the Sierra Nevadas, the edge of Oregon to the Mexican border, Disneyland to the redwood forests. And with each trip I took, I was able to wear different hats, whether it was as a wandering banjo minstrel touring with a band or as a college mock trial coach commanding a team of student competitors. My travels were not just limited to the Golden State, either, and every opportunity I had, I dipped my feet in almost every major region of the U.S.—the Pacific Northwest, the East Coast, the Southwest, the North Midwest, and the American South (with Texas as its own entity, of course). As an Asian-American, I traveled within a liminal space as not white, black, or even brown. As a result, I slipped through the cultural cracks of the subconscious American identity and existed within my own skin wherever I went; regarded with neither hostility nor celebration. I was not necessarily seen as invisible, a la Ralph Ellison's "unseen" protagonist, but I was mostly viewed with neutral indifference.

Traveling has been one of the most directly impactful learning experiences that physically and symbolically brought me to the edge of—and well past—my comfort zone, yielding new insights from real life encounters and volumes of knowledge that classroom instruction alone could never comparatively achieve. It was only by stepping foot into new cultural terrains, which were vast as the American continent itself, that I was able to develop an appreciation for imagery and iconography that reflected an imagined American past and historical heritage.

This is why I am so particularly drawn to Larry Niehue's photography project "Nothing Has Changed." Being able to visit every single state in the union has become a life goal of mine, and Niehue preserves the sentiments of a fading past way of life in America—the lonely diners, the vintage motels, the classic cars, the cowboys and farmers, the truckers and the transients. Niehue's work also inspired me to craft my own photographic style of candid storytelling behind the lens, specifically through the nostalgic imperfection of 35mm film. I would want to trade lives with Mr. Niehues purely for the sheer wealth of experiences his travels has led him down behind the camera and beyond. When he is not photographing the sights and sensations of yesteryear's America, he collaborates with up-and-coming and established musical artists throughout Nashville, Los Angeles, and elsewhere, and also photographs motorcycle races and events. He has lately been traveling with the band The Black Keyes as their official concert photographer, revisiting a circuit of the major American cities to immortalize snapshots of these musical performances for publicity and posterity purposes. Just like Larry Niehues, it is my hope to capture the world around me as it comes through my camera's lens, one snapshot, sojourn, and story at a time.

[breatheeasy808]

Day 16- Another picture of yourself 

This is a recent photo of myself taken at my friend Keshav's three-day wedding weekend back in June 2022. On the third day, Keshav and his wife Saloni hosted their wedding reception at the historic Rancho Las Lomas botanical garden estate tucked away in the foothills of Irvine, California. The wedding reception was the one event that weekend that called for traditional Western formal attire, and I had just obtained this suit and tie the week leading up to the wedding.

After wearing nothing but pallid, tarp-like hospital gowns for seven months, it was a delight to get cleaned up and wear a new suit for the first time. I am no stranger to having to dress up in formal wear, since I would regularly don a suit to attend pre-law networking and professional events in college as well as to compete in mock trial tournaments. Even while I was coaching college mock trial after I graduated, I made a conscious effort to show up to competitions dressed in my sharpest outfits. While there was little to no pressure on me to dress professionally, I like to think that appearances speak volumes and will set the tone for how serious a leader wants to be perceived in order to inspire others to present their best foot forward.

Attending the wedding itself was a momentous occasion, as it was in essence a family reunion with friends, acquaintances, and loved ones I had not seen since my college days. It was also the first time I had been away from the confines of my grandmother's house for a few days without the supervision of other family members since being discharged. I had a whole hotel suite to myself and got to take advantage of the hotel's swimming pool. I also got the chance to feast on some gourmet Indian catering and explore some local cuisine in the area. Although the wedding weekend was nothing too wild or adventurous compared to a multi-state road trip or a trekking journey into the wild, it was nonetheless infinitely fulfilling on an interpersonal level and, more importantly, gave me a taste of normalcy, jubilation, and confidence in returning to everyday life that I have seldom experienced since being hospitalized. This photo celebrates the feeling of being fully present and connected to every moment of that weekend and was truly an experience I count my blessings to have survived to be a part of.

[breatheeasy808]

Day 15- Put your iPod on shuffle: First 10 songs that play

Believe it or not, up until relatively recently I used to manually download all my songs from YouTube by converting these links into MP3 files from a third party website and individually upload them onto my iTunes library. Although I modernized my music listening experience by downloaded Spotify in my freshman year of college, for whatever reason, there was some internal software error that prevented me ever being able to open the application on my laptop ever again after my first semester. I resigned myself to going back to downloading bootleg MP3 files from YouTube until my previous laptop's battery died right around the time I was applying to graduate schools. Fortunately, my entire iTunes library was preserved and successfully transferred over to my iPhone. Even better, when I re-downloaded Spotify on my new laptop, I was able to access everything once more, five years later. Needless to say, I no longer resort to manually downloading each song I wish to listen to but I am glad that I still have all those songs stored on my iTunes library because it feels like a curated collection of all time favorite songs, compared to just an expansive music database like Spotify. Although I fully acknowledge that Spotify is the superior music listening experience, I still have a soft spot for my iTunes library for the nostalgia it represents whenever I listen to it every once in a blue moon. Plus, some of the bootlegged MP3 files I ripped from YouTube are not found on Spotify, so I still have access to these rare gems. Placing my iPod (or rather iTunes library) on shuffle, these are the first ten songs that play:

His Girl—The Budos Band. I discovered this instrumental track through the old stand-up bassist from Arnou's band Fossils & Flowers who played it while driving me around San Diego in his vintage station wagon. It's a funky Latin-tinged, minor-key homage to Smokey Robison's iconic anthem "My Girl."

Dig Your Grave—Yes Ma'am. When I first started street performing, I looked up YouTube videos of folk music buskers in the major music cities like New York City, Asheville, and New Orleans to find some inspiration. I discovered this street band Yes Ma'am from New Orleans whose infectious, rowdy, acoustic blend of country blues and rock 'n rock captivated me, especially the lead singer's multi-instrumental get up of a steel resonator guitar, suitcase drum, tambourine, and receptionist bell. This is one of the few songs in my library that I purchased from the band's BandCamp instead of ripping the file off YouTube.

Bottom of the Sea Blues—Johnny Flynn. My old housemate Keshav showed me this artist Johnny Flynn, who plays a similar type of resonator guitar that I do. What strikes me about his style of music is that its loosely based on British/Irish folk traditions, but the instrumentation and delivery keeps it rooted in a more modern sound without remaining in what one reviewer describes as "weirdy beardy" territory.

Panic—The Smiths. A classic Smiths jam. I started listening to this band in high school during my "indie music phase." This song's refrain of "hang the DJ" particularly spoke to me, considering I viewed most mainstream music with disdain (and still kind of do). The Smiths are one band that I never really grew out of.

Temptation—New Order. In a similar vein, New Order was another indie post-punk band I first listened to in high school that stuck with me after all these years. This song is pretty emblematic of New Order's post-punk sound, fundamentally rooted in the 80s soundscape—synthesizers, driving drum machine beats, edgy electric guitar riffs—without sounding overly tacky and cheesy with its sound.

Hyacinth House—The Doors. A lesser known Doors track from their album L.A. Woman. This song reminds me of my late middle school days, when I devoured volumes of Jim Morrison's poetry and played music almost every day in my school's band room with one of my best friends at the time who reminded me of a mini version of The Doors' keyboardist and organist Ray Manzarek.

Young Blood—The Naked and Famous. I first heard this song in high school, discovered during my indie music phase to no surprise. I was particularly drawn to the fact that the lead singer of this New Zealand-based band is a Taiwanese woman, which I found pretty out of the ordinary for this genre of music. I listened to this band all throughout my underclassmen years of college too and their bright synth-pop sound always remind me of being a freshman in college living in California for the first time.

Monday, Monday—The Mamas & The Papas. Like many, my first exposure to The Mamas & The Papas was with their iconic song "California Dreamin'." I immersed myself more in 60s and 70s music in my first year of college, which dovetailed with my increased use of recreational cannabis at the time, and this was one of the songs I listened to particularly on Mondays to start the new week, but really any calendar day, with a mellow mood as if waking up from a dreamy slumber and returning to reality after some weekend adventures and shenanigans. While I was living in New Orleans this past year, I bought this entire album If You Can Believe Your Eyes And Ears on vinyl to commemorate all the California daydreams of my youth.

Shed—Title Fight. Another musical genre that I never outgrew from high school was hardcore & punk rock. Title Fight is one of the bands from the mid 2010s that was one of the staples of my hardcore era. I appreciate this song's driving, gritty delivery that still retains some melodic structure.

Half Light II (No Celebration)—Arcade Fire. I was more of a fan of Arcade Fire when I was still in high school but I discovered this particular song in college. The opening lines "Now that San Francisco's gone//I guess I'll just pack it in//Wanna wash away my sins//In the presence of my friends" reminds me of my first spring break trip to San Francisco, when the city still represented this glowing halcyon beacon of Bay Area beauty before it rapidly deteriorated in the last half decade. The melodies of this song are uplifting, while the lyrical themes are bittersweet at best and melancholic at worst. Ever time I listen to it, I reminisce on lost connections and the demise of a once great city.

[breatheeasy808]

Day 14- A picture of you and your family 

This is one of the few photos of me and my immediate family that was taken on my film camera. This photo was taken at Yosemite National Park in Northern California in August 2020, during a road trip our family had taken right before traveling to New Orleans together to drop me off for grad school. This was our first day at Yosemite and we had just reached the lookout point above Vernal Falls, the highlight of this whole hike. It was a tremendous waterfall cutting through the granite face of the mountains, and misty spray of the falls refracted the sunlight into a breath-taking rainbow. It was one of the most surreal sights to behold in person, feeling all at once the tremendous power of the falls, the warmth of the midday sun, the iridescence of the pools of water, and the dramatic views of the valley below. When we had reached this particular lookout point in the photo, we had just climbed countless flights of stone stairs carved into the sloping mountain pass. Our cheery demeanors belie how fatigued we actually felt after trekking up the mountain, with the afternoon heat bearing down on us and our shirts soaked in perspiration. I asked one of two Latino looking hikers with large trekking bags to take a photo of our family. The one whom I asked to take a photo of us vaguely reminded me of my friend Arnou based on his facial features, height, and build. They told me they were both from the Bay Area and were planning on camping in Yosemite for the night, hence their large bags, and after our family parted ways from them, we both encountered each other again later on the trail.

We eventually made it to another landmark called Nevada Falls and leading up to the lookout point above this waterfall, my dad almost gave up and wanted to turn around, feeling too exhausted to continue. I had to lead the charge for everyone, rallying my family members to keep pressing forward. One thing I learned from my dad growing up was to never succumb to a defeatist attitude at the first sign of hardship. That day, I had to channel his own advice back to him to finish this hike. We all made it to the lookout at the very top of the mountain before descending back down the valley and I am confident that everyone in the family, my dad included, believed the view from the top was worth the struggle in the end. I made sure to tell my dad that his own advice was what motivated me to keep going forward, and as a result, I bore the responsibility to inspire everyone else even when my dad was that close to accepting defeat himself. As we descended into the valley, we somehow got lost from the main trail we were on, and we wandered through unfamiliar meandering forest paths. There was a brief collective moment of panic as we were lost our orientation and the sun was quickly setting. We had also ran out of water at this point and last thing we needed now was to get lost in the woods with no clear way out. Another hiker who got lost with us warned us that the valley can stretch on for miles if we took the wrong turn, and we had no idea how to get back to our car. But we had no option but to keep going forward and keep praying about it, and eventually we reconvened on the main path and made it back to where we had parked. We treated ourselves to a luxurious steak dinner at a wood cabin cafe & grill outside the park after our all-day adventure.

The rest of our Yosemite trip was brief but impactful. The first day's hike was by far the most strenuous, so the rest of our agenda was deliberately lighter paced and we enjoyed our second day surveying the sights of the Yosemite Valley tunnel view, Half Dome, and a relatively straightforward hike to Sentinel Dome. We even saw a black bear climbing through some trees in the near distance. That night we made a simple but hearty spaghetti dinner as a family at our AirBnB, shared a bottle of red wine, and enjoyed a cozy night in as we geared up for the drive back down to San Diego, where we would be staying at our maternal grandma's house for another night before flying off to New Orleans. This photo was the last time that all of us would be photographed on my camera while my father was still alive. It reminds me of the privilege and opportunity we had to travel as a family together, exploring the grandeur of the green earth and witnessing God's Creation of the natural world. When we were younger, we usually had consumer-oriented family vacations to Disneyland or Universal Studios, but I am glad that as my sisters and I grew up over the years, we were able to enjoy family trips to more National Parks and more places off the beaten trail. We used this photo in our Christmas card later that year, and that was the last Christmas we would all celebrate together as a family. This photo reminds of my dad's advice about never giving up and going through life with a defeatist attitude. I know that if he were still alive today, he would be proud of what I was able to accomplish by surviving my hospitalization and refusing to accept defeat throughout the traumatic hardships of my life in these past seven months. But I know that he already knows, and that is all that matters.

[breatheeasy808]

Day 13- A letter to someone who has hurt you recently 

I suppose I count it as a blessing that no one particularly comes to mind when I think of someone whom I have recently been hurt by. Without dredging up old flings from my early years of college, which are no longer relevant to my life, I will address this letter to someone from my recent past whom I have been more profoundly disappointed by, rather than hurt, to keep things more germane to my latest experiences.

To the Creature Made of Clay,

Twentieth century Irish poet Patrick Kavanagh once wrote a poem called "On Raglan Road" that was later turned into a ballad sung by the legendary Luke Kelly of The Dubliners. The poem details the story of a man who recalls a love affair he had with a young woman. Although the man is apprehensive of pursuing this woman, sensing that her beauty and charm would eventually ensnare him into sorrow and regret, he decides to initiate a relationship with her anyways, acknowledging the danger of him being hurt with the line, "I said let grief, be a falling leaf at the dawning of the day."

When I first met you in the summer of 2020, I had just moved to New Orleans from Hawaii for graduate school and we connected on Tinder out of all places. I saw in your profile that you worked as a high school teacher and we started a conversation about what subject you taught—Environmental Science. Based on the photos, I was immediately drawn to your aesthetic—your golden 70s fringe bangs, your vintage boutique clothes, your cerulean blue eyes peering behind circular wire framed glasses. I found out that when you were living in Kansas, you taught high school debate, just like I did for the last year while I was living in Hawaii. I also read on your profile that your pronouns were She/They, and you were a Sagittarius. I probably should have lost interest and stopped messaging you after I saw the "She/They" part, given the connotations of those types of pronouns nowadays, but against my better judgment, we continued talking and we planned to grab some beers together at the brewery down the street from my house. "I said let grief, be a falling leaf..."

After our first date, I came home visibly glowing according to my roommates. It is a rare thing to encounter someone who makes you feel immediately comfortable in their presence despite meeting for the first time. Over some pints of stouts, the dialogue between us flowed effortlessly, and there was a natural ebb and flow to our conversations—we asked each other plenty of questions and had just as much to share in return on each of our ends. You understood my obscure music and literature references and at one point I caught myself getting lost in your eyes. I had never been on a date before with a girl who had blonde hair and blue eyes. I thought to myself, so this is what it feels like. This is what people write songs about. When you told me you majored in Gender & Sexuality Studies in university, I nodded and completely changed the topic. I made sure to avoid any divisive issues like the 2020 election, covid, and vaccines. I was on a date with a beautiful girl, why ruin the moment with something we would probably not see eye to eye about and thus get into a potential argument over? After we finished our beers we grabbed some gourmet hot dogs and continued chatting for another hour before you dropped me off at home.

We had already discussed going to the art museum together based on a conversation we had about your tattoos of a toad, snake, and mushroom all clustered together. I thought they were a reference to Otto Marseus van Schrieck's painting Forest Floor with Mushrooms, Snakes, Toad and Lizard, which I had seen for the first time at the New Orleans Museum of Art.

Even though your tattoos were not a reference to this art piece, it was nonetheless a conversation point that inspired us to check out the museum together for our next meet up. Walking around the museum, however, masked up in silence for the first few exhibits, which were eerily quiet, was not the ideal atmosphere for a second date. Eventually the exhibits opened up more spaciously and we could talk to each other without having to resort to whispering behind our face coverings—dating in the age of coronavirus, I suppose. Later, we walked around the sculpture gardens outside and it was a metaphorical and literal breath of fresh air as we could take off our masks and finally see each others' faces. As we walked beneath the trees, side by side throughout the garden, the Spanish moss draped softly like your golden hair in Eden. I snapped a film picture of the moment. After the museum, we picked up some falafel sandwiches and took them back to my house. We sat at my dining table enjoying our food with some brown ales from the same brewery we went to for our first date. We were planning to smoke a bowl together but you decided against it after starting to get drowsy after the heavy lunch. I brewed us some cups of matcha tea to perk us up. If I had had a coffee table in my house at this point, I would have suggested we migrate from the dining table to the couch, but I was not sure how that would fare with nowhere to place our piping hot mugs; I had just moved into the house and furniture was still sparse. Maybe the situation could have veered into a more intimate direction if we had cuddled up on the couch together, but instead we sat stiffly at the dining chairs in the same spot as before. Eventually, you told me it was time for you to head out—you had a lot of work to catch up on for school the next day. As I walked you out to your car, I placed my hand around your waist and told you I enjoyed spending time with you that day. You smiled and told me you did as well. We talked about meeting up again soon to hang out in your part of town, maybe we could grab some Indian food and picnic along Bayou St. John. As we hugged goodbye outside your light blue Subaru, I instinctively reached in for a kiss. Our lips were not quite aligned, though, resulting in an awkwardly placed smooch. We both stifled a smile. Recognizing the faux pas that just happened, I reached in again to make up for the last one and we kissed properly this time.

When I told my friends about how I went on two dates with a blonde girl with bangs, glasses, tattoos, and She/They pronouns, they were in utter disbelief, considering how strong and opinionated they knew me to be these last few years with my conservative views. I personally struggled to reconcile how I was starting to develop feelings for you, or rather, attraction to the idea of what you represented to me at the time—a polar opposite of almost everything I stood for. And yet despite the raft of differences between us, we shared a remarkable amount of common interests. It reminds me of what my friend's wife said to me after I told her this saga: "It's frustrating to know that you would otherwise be so compatible with each other if it weren't for an agenda to keep us divided." Another friend suggested that even though our sociopolitical differences would eventually render a serious relationship unsustainable, I should "just have fun with her until I couldn't have fun anymore."

We planned to meet up a third time. The day of, you rain-checked because you became unexpectedly busy. I understood and told you it was fine. We rescheduled for another day and I suggested getting take out food, having a beer, and smoking a bowl at my place for another afternoon. Just keeping it casual. You expressed interest in the plan but close to the time we agreed to meet on that later day, you told me you were attending a work event and you would let me know when it was finished—maybe around 6 in the evening. I told you that was fine and to just let me know. Close to 6, however, no update. I paced around my house, unsure of what to do as the hours passed by. Pretty soon it was 7, 8, 9, and then 10 at night. Still no word. I had already given up on plans to meet up and was resigned to just get ready for bed after a wasted day. At 10:50pm I finally get a text from you saying you had just finished up with the event. No apology, no offer to reschedule, no indication you even wanted to hang out that night. I assumed not since it was a school night for both of us. I was incredulous. Was my time just not worth it to you? I could have at least gotten a courtesy text a few hours earlier. I just went to sleep without replying. I texted you the next day that it was fine, feigning carefree, and asked when you would be available next. I never got a response. Just got completely ignored. Refusing to double text you after that, we ended up falling out of touch with each other.

Winter season passed and I went on a handful of dates with other girls, hoping to distract myself from the disappointment of you. But none of these girls could hold a candle to the interpersonal chemistry I perceived us to share with each other. I would like to think that in those fleeting moments we were together, there was a genuine spark between us, but maybe that is just me projecting my own desires onto the situation. The other girls I went on dates with were nothing to write home about and nothing ever developed between me and them after the first dates. You, on the other hand, occupied the majority of my waking thoughts, even after you ghosted me. I wondered where did things suddenly fall apart. Was it something I did or said that turned you off? Could you intuitively sense that I was harboring closeted conservative views? Did I come across as too clingy, desiring more of your attention that was not yet warranted? Why did I not have a coffee table that day? The thoughts kept me up at night. Sometimes you appeared in my dreams. And upon waking I found no discernible answers beneath the sun. "Oh, I loved too much and by such, by such is happiness thrown away."

I eventually developed and printed the film pictures I had taken during my first season of living in New Orleans. And sure enough, there was the photo I had taken of you on our art museum date walking through the sculpture garden. It was an aesthetic photo in an unintentional way—the vivid textures of the drooping moss complemented the translucent glow of your blonde hair, and the framing and scale of the garden engulfed you between a clearing of green leaves as if you were a diminutive subject in a Romantic Era painting, just happening to serendipitously wander into my line of sight as I snapped the photo. Holding the physical copy in my hand, I thought of you. Even though months at passed since then, I decided to reach out and see if you were interested in catching up sometime and I could give you a physical print of the photo, which I included as a digital attachment in my message. I mentally prepared myself for you to ignore me, though. It was a long shot, after all, and you most likely moved on and maybe even forgot about me by now. To my surprise, you responded and told me that you loved the photo and felt bad that you had "dropped off the face of the earth." Covid aside, 2020 was not your year and you offered a fresh start for us to meet up again.

I suggested that we go to a free jazz concert in the park that I was planning to go to that weekend with my friends. I offered to bring a blanket for ourselves and a cooler with some stouts and hard kombuchas. Something low pressure after not seeing or talking to each other for half a year, but something still conducive to both socializing and enjoying the entertainment. Besides, who doesn't love live jazz in New Orleans? But on the day of, you had a change of plans. Instead, you invited me to accompany you to an instrument shop as you picked out a cello. This was an unexpected twist; it no longer felt like a date, but rather a musical side quest for an instrument. Staying adaptable to the evolving circumstances, I agreed. When you picked me up, it was uncanny how it felt like we picked up right where we left off last. You were able to recall specific details that I had mentioned to you before in conversation. We both shared about the loss of loved ones in our lives since the last time we had seen each other—you with the passing of your grandfather and me with the untimely death of our first family dog. We shared a unique but separate type of grief that we were able to connect over. I appreciated hearing Deep Purple, Van Halen, Rush, and Judas Priest on your speakers as you drove. You took me to a new part of town and showed me an antique, rare instrument shop. We inspected your prospective cello and it seemed like a good deal for what it was worth. As I browsed the rest of the shop, I was magnetically drawn towards a vintage Dutch-made resonator guitar hanging on the wall. I took it down and picked a few tunes, admiring the depth and shine of the instrument projecting through the shop. This was exactly the type of guitar I had been looking for for years—this one was a plug in and even had a built-in pickup. You were able to witness me immersed in my element that day, strumming some country blues on the resonator, trying out different banjos and mandolins off the wall, inquiring about portable amps, and chatting with the shop owner about Irish music and vinyl records.

Although we did not purchase any instruments that day, we agreed to come back later that week to buy your cello and my resonator guitar. We walked around the neighborhood afterwards, passing vintage clothing shops, music stores, painted Bywater houses, and a homeless guy in the gutter. Since situationally it felt more like a hangout than a traditional date, I felt more comfortable to talk freely without having to focus as much on censoring myself around you. I opened up to you about my dissatisfaction with some of the archetypes I had to deal with in my grad program—queer self-hating white people—and their hypocrisy of trying to "burn down the institution" while also hoping to advance their career and benefit from what they contended to be a horrible "colonialist, white supremacist, patriarchal, capitalist system." You were surprisingly open to what I had to say and agreed that these people could either have their cake or eat it, but not both. As you drove me back home, we talked about Lawrence, Kansas, film photography, the option of seeing some live jazz in the park in the future, and how excited we both were to get our instruments next time. You even mentioned that when I was playing the resonator guitar, it sounded like I already owned it. When we got to my house, I asked if you wanted to smoke a bowl but you said you felt too fatigued, blaming it on your recent second dose of the vaccine. I invited you in anyways so I could give you your copy of the film photo, which you obliged. I took you to my room for the first time and showed you my record player and vinyl collection and you admired the Indian print tapestry hanging on my wall. I gave you the photo and walked you back to your car. Before we crossed the street, you told me that you had something to tell me. You admitted that although we originally met through Tinder, you were no longer looking for anything romantic, but you thought I was cool a guy and that you would still enjoy spending time with me as long as that was not weird with me. I forget exactly how I responded in the moment, but I acknowledged what you said in a neutral positive light and hugged you goodbye. You told me we should hangout more often rather than once every half a year, and then you drove off. I went back to my room and just sat with my thoughts for the rest of the night.

You never contacted me after that. I wondered when we were planning on meeting up again to buy our instruments. I still wanted to get my resonator guitar. A week passed and I eventually took my friends to that same instrument shop to show them the resonator I had been eying. Before I went, though, I decided to give you a call out of the blue and see if you had already gotten your cello. When you answered my call, you were in the middle of some lesson prep for the week at a nearby cafe. I probably caught you off guard. When asked about your cello, you told me you had bought it earlier that week. I told you I was planning to return to the shop today with some friends to buy my guitar and I wanted to check in with you to see how things were going and find out if you had already purchased your instrument. If not, I would have invited you to come along. You said that the resonator guitar was still available when you went there last. I wished you a good Sunday and said bye.

I ended up buying my guitar, which serves as the only tangible reminder of having met you. The last time we were in contact, I invited you to my band's performance at the neighborhood outdoor Cajun BBQ joint and suggested you bring a friend or two. Once more, you expressed initial interest but never showed up, blaming it on the likelihood of a rainstorm that day. At some later time, I happened to come across your Instagram and was floored with the realization that you were actually in a relationship with another girl. That explained so much in hindsight. Reflecting more on this saga, I regretted how infatuated had grown with the idea of you when in reality, you were probably not even interested in men and I questioned your intentions of being on Tinder in the first place when we matched and agreed to meet up. Was I just a potential friend for you in a new city? A prospective casual hookup? Something else to occupy your time as you experimented with your sexuality? Did I mean anything to you at all? If not, could you look me in the eye and tell me that throughout our interactions you never felt even the slightest spark between us? Maybe you had just invited me to come along to the instrument store to give you a second opinion since I used to play the cello and was a Musicology Masters student. Maybe that is why even though we agreed to meet up again and buy our instruments together, you went back on your own, not planning to tell me about it either. Maybe there was never any intention or commitment to link up again in the future to begin with. Even though I had no compelling reason to at this point, I decided to follow your Instagram account out of sheer curiosity, and you also followed me back and even liked a few of my photos as I posted them. I found myself looking at your posts throughout the day and yearning to be in your company, even though most of the time you just uploaded photos of you and your girlfriend, which made me resentful towards the situation. The more time that passed, the more I grew cynical of your social media content, especially when it only reminded me of the deep ideological divide that existed between our two world-views, and I eventually unfollowed you to prevent myself from spiraling back into infatuation with this mirage of who I thought you were or could be. That last phone call when you told me you had already purchased your cello without me was the last time we had spoken with each other, and after you bailed on coming to my band's show via text, I declined to reach out again. Unfollowing you from my Instagram feed was the metaphorical nail in the coffin of a bittersweet tale.

I think of Patrick Kavanagh's narrator on Raglan Road and cannot help but sympathize with him, as he falls for a girl whom he knew would be his demise, and yet decides to pursue her anyways. Upon meeting you, I noticed multiple red flags that would eventually trap me in a snare but I, like the narrator, "saw the danger yet I passed, along the enchanted way." I look back and do not regret how things turned out between us and why it is obvious in hindsight why we are not meant to be together. Whether I like it or not, I think of you every time I pick up my resonator guitar. I have even written a ballad that immortalizes through song the story of my encounters with you. "On Raglan Road" concludes its final verse with the narrator one day observing his former lover hurrying away from him when they cross paths down a quiet street as if she were a ghost. He reasons with forlorn that "I had loved not has I should a creature made of clay." For "when the angel woos the clay, he'll lose his wings at the dawn of day."

I write this letter to the creature made of clay that you represent to me and though I may lose my wings in the process, like Kavanagh's narrator, I would still do it all over again.

[breatheeasy808]

Day 12- How you found out about Tumblr and why you made one 

As I have mentioned before in several previous posts, I used to have a Tumblr back when I was in high school. I first recalled seeing some people on Facebook posting about their Tumblr so I got curious enough to make one for myself during my English class one day.

I maintained my Tumblr pretty religiously from my freshman year of high school until about my sophomore year of college. Looking back, it served as a digital commonplace book for me to catalogue my interests (fixed gear bicycles, hardcore and indie music, social politics, art and poetry, Korean girls, etc.), document streams of consciousness, reblog aesthetic photographs as travel inspiration, and share any links that I found fascinating for the week.

One aspect I appreciated specifically about writing on Tumblr was that there was no one intended audience for whom I was writing—it was partially for whomever was following me at the time but primarily for myself. Most of my original posts were not considered "trendy," for instance, nor did they fall into the "inspirational clichés" category that was a cornerstone of 2010 era Tumblr and as a result they typically did not receive many likes or reblogs. I was more concerned with expressing myself in a way I deemed to be authentic at the end of the day. There was also a considerable amount of cringe-worthy material I posted that I would not dare to associate myself with in the present day, but that just serves as a testament to my personal growth over the years.

The reason I have decided to restart a Tumblr is to get me in the habit of writing on a regular basis once more, even if it is just for simple 30 day challenges for now. Eventually, I will be documenting the saga of my life during my first year of graduate school in New Orleans, my hurricane evacuation in Texas, the three part saga of my hospitalization in three different states, and the journey of my recovery following my surgery. It is admittedly a daunting task and one that I have still been processing for the past several months but the time has come to begin chronicling these experiences and memories before they are rendered opaque by the fog of time. Striking while the iron is still somewhat hot, I am just laying the groundwork now. The rest of the story is yet to be written.