Write this down

No insane revelations, just things on my mind today. 

Sometimes I miss the dining hall.

I don’t miss how overstimulating it can get or the way it seems to be intentionally designed to make sure you bump into all three of the people you specifically wanted to avoid that day. Other than the convenience of not having to cook or get groceries, I don’t miss the food much either (lukewarm take). But there’s a social element of it that distinctly shaped the way we kept each other company. I miss our Saturday morning debriefs over brunch and watery coffee. I miss the dinners in sweatpants when we’d procrastinate, lingering and getting multiple servings of soft serve. When we all lived on campus and were sustained on meal plans, seeing each other was so easy. There was a guarantee for spending time with my favorite people as regularly as we could and it was facilitated by the rock-hard wooden chairs of SDH. Now that most of my friends and I live off-campus, getting together for dinner is no longer as easy as spontaneously texting each other and strolling through South Quad. I went back using someone’s guest swipe the other day and I also have to say that I sure miss the bottomless supply of Diet Coke. 

We need to bring back arts and crafts.

Some of the best Friday nights I’ve had recently have involved ice cream (or moscato, interchangeably), a podcast interview and the coloring book I ordered off Amazon in the peak of a stress frenzy. When I was little, and we had to color all day in kindergarten, I distinctly remember not being a fan. I was constantly reminded to color inside the lines and to keep my strokes in one direction, and I constantly refused to do so. I’d get impatient and cover the whole page in one color. Now it’s an activity that I find to be a surprising repose, and it’s calming to apply myself creatively to a mindless activity that slows me down and makes me be intentional, all while being uncomplicated and unexamined. I’m not claiming to be an expert on the mental health benefits of owning glitter gel pens again, but I swear there’s therapy in creating something. I have a friend who started knitting sweaters one day and seemingly hasn’t stopped since. On FaceTime, he shows me his stitch patterns, and I show him my color schemes – and you can’t tell me that isn’t an invigorating exchange. So yeah, maybe let’s bring back show and tell too, while we’re at it. 

I feel like I need to talk more about where I’m from.

Not in a vain way. But I’ve realized that a lot of my acquaintances, and even friends, are surprised when they learn that I was born in Sweden or that Korean is my first language. That throws me off because it has always felt like it could be an elucidation of why I am the way I am in a lot of ways, the way growing up in five countries tends to make you see things in a particular way. I only learned English when I was six, yet it’s what I speak about 99% of my daily life while I’m here. I’m trying to keep all of my identities prevalent despite that. It’s odd when I try to explain that it feels nearly impossible to pick one city or country as where I feel “at home” the most. I’ll never complain about it, though, because home is five different cities in five different countries. And that’s given me everything – I’ve met and learned different people within myself, different languages and dispositions. Most importantly, despite and because of all the movement, I’ve learned how to stand still. Still like no one would believe. 

I’m not ashamed to drink the kool-aid of “basic”.

I’m referring to the word “basic” in the context in which it’s used in pop culture, maybe best explained by Googling the “basic b**** starter pack” memes. I don’t know when it first took off, but it’s used as a label to diminish someone’s taste for being too aligned with the “mainstream” to be unique or cultured – mostly it’s associated with very specific clothing or music preferences. It’s entirely valid to dislike popular things. There are books, shows and artists that get a lot of “mainstream” praise that I don’t like. In middle school, I thought I was super cool and alternative because I wore Doc Martens and watched Wes Anderson movies and listened to Arctic Monkeys. Two things to note: one, none of the three are even remotely underground, and are surely popular and well-loved, but it was perceived to be the substitute for the things that were deemed “basic” at the time; two, I still love all of these things, but I also love iced caramel macchiatos from Starbucks and mini Uggs. I also think that Taylor Swift is a brilliant lyricist who face a lot of unfounded antipathy for being “basic” and overrated due to her nearly inescapable celebrity – I don’t feel the need to defend this too much, other than to say that those who are quick to undermine her often solely base it on her chart-toppers that are overplayed at your local CVS, but if they were to read certain lines from the Evermore or Folklore album on paper, I’d bet they’d call it poetry. The point is that in sixth grade, I used to subscribe to the idea that “basic” meant boring or vacuous, but who actually cares? Condescending something that is popular doesn’t make you interesting. 

On a related note – some of today’s most powerful storytelling is in television and the White Lotus gets it right. 

I haven’t watched the season finale that came last weekend, because I’m drowning in deadlines and assessments right now but I’ve already allotted a night to watch it once I make it out the other end. Yesterday, I said out loud that I was trying to avoid any spoilers at all costs, and then the second I went on my phone, I immediately and unwittingly came across a spoiler. Don’t say things out loud. I think it’s the character studies that make the show so charming – if that’s the right word, which it probably isn’t – through the three seasons. As a passive observer to mundane yet telling interactions and relationships, you almost forget it’s meant to be a Whodunit plot line because the acting and writing gives so much life to these characters, insufferableness and all. Maybe it’s the inspection of human behavior outside of their natural habitats, the subtle discomfort in the satire, or maybe I’m thinking about it all too much. Maybe it’s about how we all manage to be both the villains and the victims in narratives told and untold.