Quick snippet; looking for my feelings

I think the reason I don’t write like I used to is because I’m afraid to be vulnerable again.  Bravery was such a strong trait I possessed when I was younger… The courage to dream of the unknown of where I could be in my life and to be resilient when others thought what I wanted out of life was unattainable.

To relive certain emotions and memories can be a bit draining.  What’s worse of all is to re-read all that was felt and the images replay as though it was a traumatizing movie that you never wanted to see or know the words that were exchanged.  But yet, it was also a therapeutic remedy for those who cannot verbally express themselves.

All things in time.  Hope yall had a beautiful and productive Sunday.

– K

Back Like I Never Left

It’s been quite the journey.

I find myself to be the most motivated when I am in the lowest point in my life and/or when I hear enough stories of people who came from a similar scenario/background.  Actually, Black Panther really pushed me to get back into writing again.  Ryan Coogler is so dope! (He deserves a separate post.)

Anywho, I’ve always been one to apply myself to things that I wanted and believed was my calling.  Somehow I lost track of that as I took on this new role of “adulting.”  It took some time for me to realize what I felt I was good at or enjoyed doing.  (It literally was staring at me right in the face, but everything is timed the way it should be.)

WRITING IS MY SHIT! I used to write every day; poems, short stories, summary of my day; crush’s name, etc.  I somehow lost that as time went on and I got “busy” – whatever that means.  I have no idea why I never made time to write more when my sanity depended on it.

“What would you do for the rest of your life if you didn’t need to worry about money?” Okay, honestly I would just travel the world; who wouldn’t?! However, writing has always been therapeutic and the closest thing to weekly trips to paradise.  (Sorta.)  I think it’s time I really invest in this hobby that relieves stress and makes me a bit more sane.  Plus, I have yet to win the lottery… Maybe in the next lifetime.

So not saying I’ll be posting an entry every day, but I definitely will make more of an effort to share thoughts ideas.

Also, I just got the new MacBook Pro so I will be making use of it 🙂

– K

27 (better late than never)

September 11, 2017
Tao Los Angeles

A few photos to recap my birthday dinner spent with some of my beautiful girlfriends 🙂

MIA: Monica, Megan, Liwelee, and Shelly!

P.S. sad that I didn’t get a chance to take an entire group photo! Lol.

Appreciative of those that wished me a happy birthday, showed up (late and on time), came right after work, took time to get ready, came the next day… Just everyone who showed me love.  Ya efforts don’t go unnoticed, baby. Hahaha.

– K

Daddy (excerpt 01)

Dear Daddy,

There are endless questions that fill my head about everything that you are.  You can be a man of few words or a man with an endless monologue.

Growing up in a “poor” household, I can fortunately say I’ve had everything I needed and you made sure that I also received everything I wanted.  The love you have for me is limitless, but so is your rage…

You’ve always been amazing.  I think I was daddy’s little girl once upon a time, but time changes and things change.  I grew up and you grow older.

I appreciate all the sacrifices you’ve made to come to America; where you and Mom struggled with learning the language, discrimination, and low finances.  Somehow, someway, you did it.  We were able to get out of the poverty phase and you put in an offer for the house by Bransford Elementary, where I attended K – 6th grade.

Did I ever tell you that I’m so proud of you? I am.

Another thing –

You’re a man’s man.  You could fix anything under the freakin’ sun, but what you couldn’t fix is the relationship you have with Mom.  You would think that with being a great father would mean you’re an equally great husband.  But you are not.

Yes, you take care of us financially, but you are emotionally detached and I don’t know how to relate to you.  I’ve seen you cry twice in my life… One at grandpa’s funeral and once when I went away for college.

I try to go back to your past to uncover stories that will let me understand your ways, but I’m learning that it’s not my place to be.  I love you for who you are, but at times I do not like you… And rage then clouds my mind and I could only imagine what it does to you.

How can I love a man that loves me, but treats my mother like nothing?

I’ll never know.

– K


My solidarity and freedom are my sanity.

I’m selfish in a sense that I am too into myself to want to think about another’s happiness, in order to have mine.  This year, I told myself I wanted to travel more!  Which, I am making small strides to accomplish with my current work schedule and proper budgeting.

Sometimes I move too quick before my brain can process what I even did… And here my blurb begins.

The realization of this state of mind came when I adopted my adorable 10-month Labrador-German Shepherd puppy, Idris!  (Yes, like Idris Elba yall!)  He was everything I could ask for in a first dog – sweet, loyal, high energy, impressionable, good temperament, and CUTE!

Fast forward.  It was about 8PM on a Tuesday night and here I was, cleaning up his shit with a bottle of 409 and disinfecting wipes.  My immediate thoughts were:

“Gahdamn, his shit is huge.”

“How long am I going to do this for… Will this be my life??”

“I can’t imagine being responsible for an actual human being.”

DING DING DING.  A light went off in my head!  I do not want kids.  The thought of having a little person rely on me for their survival is too much for me to fathom.

The other day I needed to get gas and grab some groceries on the way home from work, but DUTIES CALL.  I couldn’t get to that because I had to tend to my poor puppy who had been holding his pee for eight hours.  Idris had been confined to our bathroom to avoid chewed up shoes and furniture.

Unfortunately, today I surrendered Idris at the animal shelter that I rescued him from.  I have no doubts in my mind that he will get adopted and be an amazing puppy for someone who is ready for a lifelong companion!  I honestly wanted to be the best dog mommy/owner and had so many plans for him to be trained, go to dog parks, hiking, and even Christmas card photos.  However, reality had hit me in a different way.  I was focusing on what my dog could do for me and along the way, I failed to realize what I would have to do for my dog.

I don’t do well with friction in my life and when I start to feel crippled on a choice I made, I immediately find ways to fix it.  The downside is that the only way to fix this issue was to bring it back to how life originally was.

There’s a big difference between what I wanted for Idris and what I could actually do for Idris.

To the future owner of Idris, he’s going to love you and you are the luckiest dog owner ever <3<3<3

– K

Good on Paper.

Writing has always been therapeutic for me – that moment when the pen makes contact with the paper… It’s like an endless love story.  At a young age, I kept a diary where I would journal my dreams, outfits for the week, daily recap, and boys who I thought were cute.  Since those days, the times have changed and I now keep a bunch of notes on my iPhone with everything from imaginary dog names to list of goals I wish to accomplish for the year.  (I guess my content changed, too.)

I remember always making time to reflect my day on paper and that was my way to unwind.  However, I can type much faster than I can physically write, which is why I resort to typing out my thoughts, ideas, and feelings now.

Sometimes it isn’t the same.

I take my time with each word when my thoughts are slowly coming together, so each letter is precise and legible.  In other moments, my chicken-scratch penmanship comes alive on the college-ruled paper when I’m pouring every single thought out in front of me… To have my thoughts be physically present.  The rawness of crossed out marks throughout my paper because I found another way to express it… It’s a creation, really. They are masterpieces.  There’s so much emotion behind every mark on the paper.  Some little doodle of flowers on the side, where I drifted away and daydreamed or an area, where I wrote with a heavy hand to showcase my anger that day… Beautifully captured on paper.

Other times, I have found myself to have fallen in love with the sounds of crisp click-clacks of the keyboard.  The melody is soothing when I find myself typing far too much for my recipient to read. Sorry, boo.  It was a song that I didn’t want to stop listening to.

But this melodic alternative isn’t a full reason as to why I no longer write anymore.  Who wants to waste paper?  (More so, who wants to go out and buy paper?) Haha. Trying to lighten up the article here.  Anyway.

I’m trying to be better at picking up this hobby again.  It did wonders for my younger years when I needed to be heard by someone who I didn’t have in my life.

In any form, I long to leave my emotions on paper, so that it is no longer in me… Stuck in me.  It is now floating freely and the universe may do what it pleases with it, such as disappear in the wind that create these beautiful waves and ocean breezes.  All that is left is the ghost of my pain that the pen has witnessed and translated onto paper.

Sometimes I go back and allow the company of those feelings to enter again, but I remind myself not for long.  I remember those nights where I cried and felt lost because there was no one I could turn to.  The struggle of having immigrant parents and seeing their pain, but pride wouldn’t let them express it.  Those tears that were dried on those papers are exactly where they needed to be.  In a box to the left.


“Every Lost Girl I Know Is Over 26…”

Wise words from Mr. Aubrey “Drake” Graham and very relatable as I just turned 26 this past September.

I was a very expressive child growing up.  I have an archive of poems, songs, letters, journal entries about my “experiences” (what can 12-year-old in the suburbs really experience, though?!)  from as long as I can remember when I was living at home in the bay area.  When I moved away to southern California for college, those hobbies took a rest.  I wonder if I continued those habits, would I have become more in tune with my thoughts or would they be just as sporadic as they are now?

It’s now reaching the end of October and I’m two months past due of my intended release date of this blog.  For as long as I’ve been alive, I’ve never had to question what my dream or purpose was.  I’ve always known that I wanted to inspire others to get what they want out of life no matter how difficult their circumstances are.

Lately, as the wheel of life keeps turning, I’ve become more aware of myself and the life I’m choosing to live.  I don’t think I’ve ever had to figure out who I was, but I have thought about how I would like to contribute to the world and I always come back to the same space that held my purest idea of being able to help others.  That’s the end game for me – to be of service and make myself useful to the ones around me.  That’s where I find fulfillment.  Now the road to get there is another story…

…Which leads to my love for radio.

“Why did you choose to love a dying form of media?” Hell, if I know.

It all began from my earliest days of understanding the concept of radio and having music blast through the stereo at home and in the car.  You know, those days prior to commercial-free music on XM/Sirius radio.

My parents had me hella late in the game, so my brother and sister were in high school when I was barely walking in a diaper.  I remember how music moved people; the smiles and tears that were brought out of them.  It held no discrimination when it came to bringing people together.

The bay area legend, Chuy Gomez was on the airwaves of 106 KMEL when I was growing up.  I would hop in the car and he would be the first thing I heard up until I had to dreadfully jump out to start my school day, where I would fantasize about my future in Los Angeles.  When I got home from school, I would tune into CMC (California Music Channel) where I found myself singing and dancing to the music videos that played on the station.  If CMC never existed, I probably wouldn’t have known what Chuy looked like!  So come to find out that I was relating myself to “the guy I hear on the radio” and he is nothing like me, but yet I had to tune in every morning to see what Uncle Chuy was talking about this AM. “Wow” I thought.  How is it that I am able to relate to this man?  There are endless differences as to our culture, lifestyle, appearance, etc. and I’m in awe as to how we are one in the same.  Human.

Ever since then I realized that I would love to be a part of radio.  This platform was something that I could really take full advantage of to create who I wanted to be without prior judgement, especially with stripping away the appearance factor.  I wanted people to hear me and feel me on subjects that every man and woman have been through despite of our different walks of life.  There is something so wonderful about being on different paths, but still have so much in common.  Celebrating differences is something I am such an advocate for.  We make America what it is and we make the world what it is; even with the different perspectives, we can teach one another so much through having an open mind and allowing ourselves to understand how the other half lives.

This is why and where I am lost.  I am allowing myself to be lost and to enjoy this journey as I figure  out my voice in a world that is closing in on the medium of radio.

Thank you for reading.