A Writer's 21st Century Memoir.

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In Response To “Well Oregon… “

Oregon road trip adventureWell, Oregon…

Nearly a decade ago a group of my friends and I decided to take a trip to Oregon. We would go and solve the mystery of our lifetime, up to that point, and enjoy the trip in the process. However, due to a number of complications, the trip to Oregon became an impossible thing, and over the course of the planning, we had lost friends and lovers along the way.

My best friend and I eventually made it there together after a long road trip from Southern California and kept blogging about the journey along the way. I didn’t fully know it then, but the trip that came on the precipice of a new beginning for our futures would change both of our lives forever.

It’s only natural that now, three years after the trip, the first car that my best friend ever bought would have Oregon license plates. I have seen it as a reminder of the trip and what we have taken away from it. There’s no doubt in my mind that we have grown and closer and wiser since then, and I’m sure the reminder is to keep progressing as both individuals and as friends of more than twenty years.

As we approach the final months before my friend’s wedding and the series of projects that I am hoping to tackle around that time as well, I can only think back to the trip as encouragement to do my best, leave my comfort zone, and continue moving forward.

It was once an obsession, a drive, and a journey both physically and mentally. It became a story that spanned many blog posts and a memory that I never want to forget. For some reason, the state of Oregon was a white whale that in time just became a shared state of mind between two people. It became a place that my best friend and I would share forever, and I’m okay with that.

It Was Enough

alphabets-antique-black-and-white-952594I received a missed phone call while I was out in the garden. I try not to take my phone outside with me for fear of a cascading pile of rich dirt that would inevitably fall on top of the expensive device. And with drops of cool liquid from the watering canister sneakily trying to fall on to the dark dirt in a mission to make mud, I figured that I should keep my phone inside. The call was from a dear friend who had followed the missed call with a text message. It was the habit of my generation, in this day and age, to leave an intended message in the form of a text rather than one’s voice.

I picked up the smartphone and clicked the button on the side which would illuminate the screen and read the message, Hey, how is everything?  Read the rest of this page »

Time Flies When You’re Living Life

antique-classic-clock-1095601“God, I was just nineteen,” I said with a sigh of shock and a look of puzzlement. I couldn’t perceive how the years since undergrad had rolled by so quickly.

My younger sister, who was turning twenty-four soon, cut off my sigh to proclaim the truth with a bit of teasing tied into it. “No, you weren’t.”

It was true. Nearly nine years have passed since I was in my teens. And although I am constantly mistaken for a young college student, it has been years since I even stepped foot on a University campus. I had been hanging out with friends, that I didn’t know, but that I had been around for years now. I then thought back to all the people who I used to hang out with who have just become passing Instagram posts on my phone screen. Read the rest of this page »

The Breath of Summer

Writing about summer.I took a breath as I stepped out into the light. A familiar scent of dust covered asphalt gently baking like a sheet of homemade cookies in an oven brushed by me as I began to exhale. The subtle scent would sit on the tip of my nostrils as I walked to my car that was strategically parked under the eve of a nearby building’s roof. I felt a heaviness in the air as I sifted through the barely noticeable light summer breeze. It was undoubtedly warm outside, and the thermometer I saw, after I finally climbed into my car and turned on the engine, indicated that it was steadily growing warmer. Read the rest of this page »

Anonymity In Art: Novel House

art-brush-color-6368There’s an abandoned house tired with cracks that reveal its age. It is wearing thin of its drywall, and the structure seems to degrade and crumble right before the eyes of onlookers. It’s abandoned—but full. The white walls filled to the brim with large black letters, characters and shapes that have been strung together into a novel. The Chongqing Novel House in China draws hundreds of wanderers to the house that has itself become a story.

Scrawled on the walls by an anonymous hand is a tale of adventure and heroism. As you move within the house, you see diagrams and images which correlate along with the themes and the messages within the story, and by the house’s end, you’re left wondering, why? Read the rest of this page »

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