It’s different here at night, with walkways relieved of their daily burden; their stained tiles catching fresh breath. I wonder where they’re all going, wandering closed stalls in the after-hours. The warm breeze brings muted wafts of seafood and produce. They saunter the hollowed market; a befitting Seattle summer evening.
What a journey it has been to fit into my own body, learning to navigate the world not as a man, but as a gay man; not as a Chinese man, but as a gay Chinese man. I feared to associate with those words, as if they admitted defeat; How I detested that wounding intersection.
If home is where the heart is, how does the heart know where home is? This past week, I interviewed some neighbors for a project about finding home—how they they define home, where they find home (and the more colloquial “home home”), and ways that they make a place, a neighborhood, or a city feel
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Reflections on travel, national identity, and politics “It’s kind of scary,” she told me. “Like, imagine Trump, but with a lot of political experience and connections.” We were walking across the Seine River in Paris. The weather was unexpectedly pleasant, and the warm sun filled the river banks with Parisians and tourists alike. The mechanic
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Sitting here at the airport is making me reflect a lot on work and on recent immigration and travel policies. Traveling is often a transformative experience for people; a way to push past comfort zones, understand how other people around the world carry their daily routines, witness grand historic remnants that moved the world, and
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