Last May, I spent some time in Berlin for a study abroad program. As part of it, we were asked to explore our creative “practice.” Slightly embarrassing to admit now, but at the time, I had no idea what that really meant. I sat with the question for a while and realized something: my work — intentionally or not — has always revolved around people.

The semester before, I’d completed a thesis project researching a fashion subculture and its ties to radicalism and individuality. Maybe that’s why fashion was on my mind in Berlin — I was still thinking about what people wear and what it says about them.

I told my peers I wanted to focus on what Berliners were wearing. Basically just people watching, but with extra steps. And Berlin did not disappoint. From people in sparkly mesh tops walking home at 7 AM from the club, to a young woman with “SEX SYMBOL” blazoned across her shirt, there was something irreverent, even fearless, in the way Berliners dressed. I often felt too plain by comparison.

Artist's rendition of the young woman/sex symbol in question.

I kept a journal while I was there, and looking back, I kept writing about a certain absence. Something was missing. I was observing people, sure. but I wasn’t interacting with them.

My weekends were mostly spent at flea markets, where I spent too much time (and money) rummaging through vintage clothes. What’s stuck with me most isn’t what I bought, but the way vendors engaged with me. Not only did they let me try things on, they helped me. More than once, someone physically helped me into a garment. An older man selling surplus jackets held one open, gesturing for me to slip my arms in. A woman helped me pull a crochet top over my head, gently squeezing my arms through the sleeves. She said just one word during the entire exchange: “Schön.”

There was an unexpected intimacy in these moments. It’s such a small gesture – helping someone into clothes — but I can’t remember the last time a person, let alone a completete stranger, did that for me.

A TikTok that showed up for me the night of a flea market visit. I also purchased unwearable things.

Eventually, I realized what I had been neglecting: the people right in front of me: my peers, and their relationship to clothes. One torrentially rainy day, two friends and I were determined to go skirt shopping. What I didn’t tell them was that I hadn’t worn a skirt in years. But seeing them wear ones they had picked up from the same shop a few days earlier gave me the quiet encouragement I needed.

In Berlin, it’s common for people to leave unwanted items on their stoops for others to take. One day, my friend and I picked up two hideous, 100% polyester, matching fish hoodies — quite possibly the ugliest thing I’ve ever worn... But something about putting them on together, laughing at how absurd we looked, filled something in me that I had been missing the rest of the trip.

It’s your peers showing up on the last day of class all wearing the same shades of blue, unintentionally coordinated like a moody early-2000s Rolling Stone “Artists of the Year” spread. It’s your friend drunkenly spilling curry ketchup on your absolute favorite pair of pants, and you both burst into laughter because what else can you do?

Fashion in Berlin became more than something I observed from the outside. I became part of it, organically, intimately. I connected with people, just as I’ve always aimed to do through my art.

That’s what I’ve been thinking about, a year later.

Photo from fashion photographer Helmut Newton's estate. His subjects are quite fashionable.

Lately, I’ve been wondering if I might be aromantic. It’s weird I didn’t seriously consider it before, because looking back, the signs have always been there — I don’t enjoy typical couple-y things, I rarely notice when someone’s flirting with me, and on the rare occasion I do, it just makes me uneasy. According to the internet, those seem like some pretty classic aromantic traits.

I took a few “Am I aromantic?” quizzes (the kind that were probably made by a preteen in 2012) and each one told me, “Congrats! You are likely aromantic :)” Thanks, I guess?

What’s been most eye-opening is remembering that aromanticism exists on a spectrum. I knew that before, I just never thought about where I might fall on it. What I do know is that I’ve always thought of dating as super super best friends, but with extra steps. Romance never really factors into it for me — I’m already fulfilled by the platonic side of relationships. If I did have a partner, I’d probably treat them the same way I do my dearest friends. And maybe that’s just how I understand love — through closeness, comfort, and care, without the romance part.

Anyway, I’m gonna stop before I get too philosophical about it all…

It’s my motherFUCKING BIRTHDAY!!!

I’m officially 23. 23 is kind of a lame number. I blame blink-182 and their famous “What’s My Age Again?” for setting the tone. Great song, but we need justice for 23-year-olds everywhere.

22 was great. It was the year I really started to feel like an adult — and I’ve got the gray hairs to prove it. I traveled, I laughed, I cried, I lived. Fully. Maybe that’s the big takeaway from the year: to live and to be, whatever that means.

I don’t have anything super profound to say right now because I’m full of mussels and sleepy off birthday cupcakes. But cheers to 23. Let’s see what happens next.

Last night I learned what grind fiction is — and turns out, a bunch of my favorite series (Scott Pilgrim, Persona, FLCL, etc.) fall under that label. Aside from being a kickass name, what does it actually mean?

A poster on an obscure forum summed it up perfectly in five words: Youths Having Fun Being Fantastic. That’s what it’s all about, isn’t it? Grind fiction is everything from aliens, street punks, goths, emos, good old-fashioned hand-to-hand combat, and mega corporations, to cel-shaded art styles, sprawling cities, and, most of all, being young and having fun.

I came across this existential Tumblr essay about grind fiction, and it got me thinking — is that really all there is to it? To be young and to have fun? That’s what these characters seem to be doing, when they’re not fighting gods with their fists or winning battles through the sheer power of friendship. And honestly, sometimes… that’s all you can do.

All these stories — Persona, Scott Pilgrim, FLCL — have this core theme: every character is driven by a kind of quiet wonder that keeps them going. That spark, that thing that pushes them forward, paired with being surrounded by people who care about them, gives them momentum. Their journeys are emotional, stylish, chaotic — but they’re always moving, always growing.

When I played Persona 5 in 2020, it changed my life. And I mean that in the most melodramatic, but absolutely sincere way. It taught me (very stylishly) that to be radical is to:

1. say “fuck you” to authority, and
2. have fun — and take your time.

Those lessons sound so simple, it’s ridiculous I didn’t absorb them sooner. But there’s something brilliant about how Persona blends the surreal with the everyday. One minute you’re battling monsters and the next you’re debating whether to spend your day doing laundry or hang out with a friend. Grind fiction lives in that balance — the extraordinary sitting right next to the mundane.

What grind fiction has ultimately taught me is that radicalism isn’t always loud — sometimes it’s just choosing to live fully. To be young, to have fun, and to treat that as something worth fighting for.

I’ll end with a quote from the original grind fiction essay:

“It’s okay running off the beaten path, away from the sidewalks, in the middle of a city, just to find what’s around the corner. It’s okay to like the fact it’s okay. It’s okay to take pride in liking this fact. It’s okay that you like having fun, expressing yourself, and kickstarting a revolution. That, my friend, is what Grind Fiction is all about.”

The first recommendation I make here has to go to Richard Ayoade’s “Submarine.” It’s my favorite movie after all. I’m incredibly vulnerable to coming-of-age media because they always remind me of myself no matter how strange it may be.

By strange, I mean that the two protagonists are complete weirdos. In short, this movie is an artsy comedy about a 15-year-old boy named Oliver who is on a quest to lose his virginity, which he eventually does with a girl from school named Jordana.

Oliver and Jordana are wonderfully awkward. They don’t really know how to talk, kiss, or even get along with each other the way that two normal humans do and I think that’s what makes the two so easy to relate to. Especially at that age when you don’t have a clue what’s going on, and you’re susceptible to what the outside world is telling you. You’re just piecing together what you think you know about love and sex from your “more educated” peers or from self-help books because that’s as close as you can get to the real thing.

I cannot talk about Submarine without mentioning the cinematography. It reminds me a lot of French cinema which shows a lot in the various shots of the beach environments sprinkled tenderly throughout the film, mise-en-scène gloriousness all around (see, I did learn something from that French film class I took freshman year). Plus, the film was shot on 35mm, and there’s even a beautiful scene on Super8 that’s just. So. Good.

I don’t know how to end this so I’ll end off on one of the several lines from this film that I can quote by memory:

“Dear Jordana. Thank you for letting me explore your perfect body. I could drink your blood. You are the only person that I would allow to be shrunken down to a microscopic size and swim inside me in a tiny submersible machine. We have lost our virginity but it wasn't like losing anything. You're too good for me, you're too good for anyone. Sincerely, Oliver."

That other blog post has me thinking more about tastes in music, and I’m feeling bold enough to tell you that I stalk people’s Spotify accounts. Regularly.

I even tweeted once, “creeping through his spotify y’all how cooked am i” — and my friend replied, “VERY 😭😭😭” — like, okay, fair. I know it’s a little weird. But in my defense, it’s basically the same as scrolling to the bottom of someone’s Instagram feed to see what they were up to in 2015. So actually? Not weird at all.

Lately I’ve been getting a kick out of people’s 2024 Playlist in a Bottle, just snooping through what they were listening to that year. What about you — what were you listening to last year?

A friend and I have wildly different tastes in music which I think is pretty cool! They've got good taste but I wonder if they think the same of mine. Probably not.

However, we've discovered that we’re both fans of two of the same albums. Thing is, these albums are gut-wrenchingly sad. Like, "Top 10 Saddest Albums of All Time" levels of sad. It makes me feel a little heavy knowing this person has probably listened to them during some tough times.

I usually only find myself listening to them when it’s rainy and bleak outside — and playing them on vinyl just amplifies the moodiness tenfold. I’ve always wanted to host a vinyl listening party, so would it be too much to ask for a rainy day where we can listen to them and allow ourselves to be sad together?

Welcome to the blog. Here's a test entry for you to stare at. Tags don't work right now (update 5.4.25: yes they do), but will once there are enough posts to warrant having them!

Here's a breakdown of each "column:"

Random Thoughts: Self-explanatory, likely the bulk of content here...
Reflections: Hopefully more insightful reads about life, etc.
Reviews & Recommendations: I find myself accidentally recommending media to random people. It's probably a bad habit. These posts are a place for me to do that while being less annoying about it.
Newspaper Clippings: Quotes, lyrics, and pics that I find cool. (update 5.4.25: this has been moved to the separate "clippings" page)

Have a nice read!