A Writer's 21st Century Memoir.


The Awkwardness of Modern Dating

Awkwardness of modern dating

The cold iPhone lying peacefully on the table gives a silent indication that someone somewhere in the world wants to reach out of the small bubble that defines the boundaries of their personal space to communicate with my friend. A subtle white light emanates from the small device and, like an anxious high school student staring at the classroom clock at the end of a class period, the energy that built up her anticipated waiting allows her to shoot forward and grab her phone. It’s a message from someone that she had been texting for a little while, but a mix of emotions has tricked her mind into thinking that she has known the person on the other end forever and that they have been texting each other their entire lives. However, it wasn’t always the case.

It took swipes, both left and right, on apps that organized and kept track of living people. Chance encounters out in the “real world” had grown scarce as technology brought those people directly to her. It was a convenient way to live her incredibly busy life and have time to meet new people, but it was also an inconvenient way to be bombarded with unsolicited messages from people she was actively trying to avoid. Read the rest of this page »

How Storytelling Will Save The World


I went to go sit down at the bar counter in between band sets to grab another half-priced beer from the advertised Taco Tuesday deal. I dug inside my black vegan leather jacket to stuff my phone in one of the tiny pockets and asked the bartender to add another beverage to my tab. I squeezed juice from the fresh wedge of lime that hung onto the rim of the of my glass into the chilled Corona and gazed around at the group of people loudly chatting away. I was there to get some photos for a couple of the bands that I covered in a few of the articles that I wrote for an online publication. It was late to be out here on a work night, and I was already exhausted from the long day of editing and scheduling content. However, my tune changed after hearing from the person who slid into the bar stool next to mine. Read the rest of this page »

Hot Tea On Cold Mornings

Hot tea on cold mornings

I wrap my dark blue pea coat tighter around my chilled skin. The sun is out and shining brilliantly, but the cold, yet soft brushes of wind that whip past my exposed cheek reminds me that I am still sitting outside in the dead of winter. We don’t get snow this close to sea level, but this body born on the warm islands of Hawaii and raised in the warm sunshine of the great San Joaquin Valley in California shivers when the readings on the thermometer fall below 60 degrees Fahrenheit. It doesn’t help that there is little fat or muscle covering the bones that have been wrapped with my thin soft skin. Read the rest of this page »

Into the Land of the Dead

into the land of the dead, cemetery

A chill gush of wind breathes through my open coat as I step out of the big black truck. I spent the past ten minutes sucking down an incredibly hot almond milk latte from the nearby Starbucks only a few hundred yards away. However, as I shut the squeaky metal door of the truck parked alongside an untouched path of concrete and entered the solemn silence of the eerie land of the dead, the Starbucks we were at a few minutes ago could have been lightyears away. Read the rest of this page »

The First Memory

Box of memories, the first memory

The memory fades away with every breath breathed in its direction. The very act of recalling the memory destroys it piece by piece as though my mind attempts to chisel itself away. However, instead of an uncovered work of art from polished marble, I’m left with the rough sections of jagged rock lying in ruins. The memory – or was it a dream? – is now left alone upon the realization of this fact of degradation. It’s kept haphazardly locked away in a mind constantly trying to shove more memories into the very limited space of matter. Read the rest of this page »

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