a little bit on grief, because what more can you do!

In my recent journey of grief, a memory that I keep coming back to is actually one of the grief itself. For my friend Eva's first birthday after she passed away, I went to the beach with a cupcake and a small joint. On a sunny but slightly wind-chilled Friday morning, I set off for a beach I hadn't been to before in the Cape. I stopped by a local cupcake store that I had never noticed, and promptly ordered the strawberry shortcake cupcake. It was in the early afternoon and the older gentleman at the counter, whom I assume was the owner of the store, greeted me kindly, and I ordered my one singular cupcake and he seemed a little taken aback by the randomness of it all so-- "Here, no need for a beautiful girl like you to pay!" I was delighted and smiling in an instant. What a way to feel Eva's energy around me. 

I got to the small beach in Onset, right on a warm(er), shallow cove, and headed straight down to the water with my gifts, my journal, and some of Eva's letters that she had written me. The beach was almost completely deserted, except for a couple walking a dog in the distance, and the light wind muffled their voices so I hoped it would quiet mine. I began to speak! I spoke out loud to Eva, and it felt a little crazy to be talking to myself so emotively in public, but I looked out onto the water, even walking into the water up to my shins until my legs went completely numb, and decided that it didn't really matter what I looked like because it felt so right. I don't even really remember what I talked about, but I do remember going through almost every emotion. Anger, sadness, joy, fear, confusion, bittersweetness, longing, peace, chaos, big, soft, love, tenderness, soreness, anguish, loud, and quiet. The second part that also probably made me look a little crazy is that I walked around in elaborate spiral patterns dragging my feet through the sand to make vining curves across a 100 ft beachy canvas. Slowly and methodically, as I was talking to myself, I walked in these large circles, while feeling the sharpness of the sand on my bare feet but not really caring enough to stop. And also in pursuit of a cool looking pattern in the sand lol. I was there for over an hour and eventually, I quieted down. I watched a group of four girls, who seemed like young college friends try to set up a picnic some ways away from me on the beach. They gave up quickly due to the wind and started taking a walk down the beach They were frolicking by the water not too far from me, so I got up and went up to them and offered to take a picture. They seemed surprised but happy to receive my offer and handed me a digital camera. I had gone back and forth for a while on if it would be really weird for me to get up from where I was sitting, walk up to them, and offer the photo, and especially if they had just seen me walking in circles for like 30 minutes in the distance. But I concluded with "Whatever, fuck it" and thought, hey! they get a (hopefully) cute photo of the 4 of them at the beach! A memory made slightly more permanent by a random stranger. (Ramble side note: I honestly love offering to take pictures of people, especially when they are with family and friends because 1. we so often forget to capture those moments and 2. it's so nice to have them later on, plus 3. I think it's kind of cosmically cool to be a part of random people's universes by being the person behind the camera. Like the only reason that photo exists in that person's life is because of me, a random stranger!! Is that kind of crazy of me...?)

Soon after, I got cold and thought the feeling of sunshine in the car would be nice. I was gathering Eva's letters to leave when all of a sudden a burst of wind stole the pages and blew them hurriedly towards the street. I literally just took off in a run, chasing down these large loose pages. (I was also internally thanking the universe for not blowing them towards the ocean, but I knew deep down Eva was just playing, so I didn't have to be too worried). I felt and probably looked ridiculous, clumsily attempting to grab the pieces of the letter as they got caught on bits of rock and dirt, but the sudden adrenaline rush just made me laugh. Hi Eva. 

So, the birthday celebration was a success. I experienced an outpouring of emotion, moved through the grief in a new way, and felt Eva's presence all around me. I ate a yummy and free cupcake which was the sweetest sign from the universe, and got to play a surprise game of tag with Eva through the wind. This is what I remember. The slightest sense of relief, even if only temporary. It had felt nice to cry without wiping my tears, to go numb in the water, to feel the sand between my toes, and to just feel alive. Because someone else doesn't get to. I feel like it's our responsibility to live our lives just a bit fuller for those who can't, and to live it in the ways that honor them, and keep their joy and spirit alive. Because they are here with us too, in ways we can't see or understand, but sometimes can feel when the veil is thin, when the emotions are pure and the heart is open and vulnerable and raw. Maybe all of this is because of you. I wish both that you could read my blog, Eva, and that also you didn't, because you were the finest writer I knew, and I would be slightly terrified of your judgement, oops. 

Sometimes the universe's signs feel like they make sense, but sometimes they don't make any sense at all. The part of this day that I try not to remember is the drive back. On my way to my boyfriend's house, I saw a horrible car accident on the side of the highway. It had just happened, there were no ambulances or police cars there. I tried not to look but I remember seeing a person in the car, not moving. I almost immediately started having a panic attack. I remember asking myself, why, why, why, why do you have to show me this today. Of all the days? I was driving so I knew I didn't have the luxury of completely losing it, so I somehow had to squish down all the feelings into something controllable and attempt to forget what I had seen altogether. But I remember how cruel it felt... A perfect celebration marred by a terrible scene-- and one that was too on the nose. But I'm glad I was received by the embrace of someone I loved, to be comforted in the aftermath of it all. While I do believe in spirits and energy, I also believe in entropy and randomness. Everything can be a sign, so sometimes nothing is. Yeah, I know it doesn't make a lot of sense, but it's the contradiction which makes it most true. 

And now my journey through grief continues. Every day it shapes me the way enduring waves and river flows shape rocks and canyons and coastlines. I miss her, and all the ones I have lost. Gabriel & Blizzard. I miss them too. And I go on with the living and the feeling because what more can you do. 

when i grow up, i want to be a narrator!

 Hi there. You've caught me in a thinking space! What were you thinking about when you read this? Right now, I'm thinking about what I want to do in my life. What sort of job or role could I have in this world (something real, something that exists, something tangible, something practical (pays some money)) that would let me be happy and content  at least 75% of the time. I want to wake up excited to go to work. I want the 40 hours of work that I do per week to feel integrated into my life. I really want to love my job, and I want it to be sustainable. 

So my mind wandered into a territory that has just recently been materializing in my brain for at least the last 6 months. In my head, I imagine it as a landmass rising out of the ocean or a map that's being sketched for the first time whilst exploring a new land (side note: isn't it absolutely crazy how maps were made historically? how do you even go about it with no point of reference?). These are the borders of the new territory: I keep being drawn to the word "narrator." I really like the concept of storytelling. I like identifying plants-- but more broadly, I like putting name to things, learning who they are and what their language is, and seeing patterns in nature. I love being outside and I love being around people. I love when people love being outside and are charmed by its beauty. But I especially like things with little pretense (which is why I might prefer plants and animals to some genres of people).  I really like working with kids. Like a lot. Writing and producing a children's play was one of the highlights of my life. I have rarely felt so fulfilled! I really like talking to people, especially young people and I probably would like talking to old people too if I meet the right kind. I don't really love smartphones. I like hearing about people's life experiences, especially the ones that are strange. It reminds me of what my high school history teacher used to say: always notice the strange things when reading a historical text. That will tell you what is really happening. The strange things are the real things.

Anyways, all that to say, I've just been drawn a lot to art (media?) and to journalism (?) and to... communication? Science communication? I looked up environmental journalist it but doesn't seem to really capture what I want to do. I don't really want to just write articles for an outlet... I kind of want to create something like the Wild Kratts except more contemporary and also for adults? I want to capture more of the social and political themes that are all relevant to adults today, but imbue it with child-like hope and whimsy. But who will pay me to do that?? And what would that job even be? I want to be outside! I want to be talking to people! I want other people to experience what that feels like, to feel curious, and to have curiosity be satiated. To feel excited about the world around them. Without that excitement, is life really worth living?

I'm reflecting on the fact that I really enjoyed my day at work last Friday. Most of the time , work has been kind of meh. Especially the lab work. It's also hard to work around people who sometimes feel like they don't really want to be there. On Friday my boss and I got to work on an exceptional project where we got to kayak around ponds in Plymouth identifying native and invasive aquatic plants. It made me miss biology deeply, and it was truly such a perfect day at work. How can I capture the essence of that day and find something that would embody that most of the time? The true answer, I know, is that it doesn't  exist. What I want to do is not a real job yet. But how can I make it be? Those are my thoughts on it for now. Till next time.

Love,

A

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originally published on june 21st, 2025 on hurricane-a.wixsite.com/hiccups

Have a terrible birthday, Mr. President

Today I am feeling so restless. It's June 14th and there are nationwide protests happening organized under the motto of "No Kings" to protest Trump and ICE and all the villainy, criminality, cruelty, and violence that's been ongoing in the U.S. My mom is getting her first tattoo today, and last week the tattoo artist pushed back our appointment time so that she can participate in the protests. My mom suggested we should go to the protests too, and I was excited for my mom to get engaged. So the plan was to attend a protest close to the tattoo studio, but come last night and this morning, it became more and more obvious that we would not be going. 

I'm still trying to decipher how much of that decision is based on fear vs inconvenience. The latter reasoning annoys me deeply for perhaps obvious reasons. Not attending a protest out of inconvenience is.... in my opinion, a sign of your privilege not being used for good. But I know there's also fear. My mom is a legal permanent resident with a green card who's been living and working in the US for over 25 years. But she's not a citizen, she's an immigrant, she's brown, and she's connected to me and my dad who have been vocal against the current administration and the genocide in Gaza, so yes, she's afraid of being targeted. She doesn't really talk about it-- the news depresses her greatly and she's always been a little shy of being outwardly political. A month or two ago, she declared that she refuses to be afraid and she won't let the current administration fear monger her, but unfortunately, I think that's exactly what's happening.

Last night when we were discussing going to the protest in more concrete terms, she was uncomfortable and hesitant and doubtful, quietly questioning whether it was safe to go. I tried to reassure her that these organized protests with mostly white people at the helm would be quite safe (a lot of these protest organizers actually coordinate with local police, which is ironic and I have complicated feelings about it, but it does mean that they won't be attacked...?), but I don't think my reassurances were convincing. I woke up this morning to a rainy Saturday which was another easy excuse not to go... but it's leaving me feeling so restless and powerless.

But what's new? That's the feeling I've been living with every day. I went to a similar protest a couple months ago and it was great that so many people were out there protesting, a helpful reminder that a lot of people do care, but things are not changing-- they are getting worse. Both within the country (the violent police attacks on protesters in LA, the illegal and cruel kidnappings, ICE deportations, the literally unconstitutional laws that are trying to be passed) and internationally (the worsening of the genocide and forced starvation in Gaza, the humanitarian crisis in Sudan, and oh yeah, Israel bombed Iran yesterday... for what? Because Iran supposedly was building nuclear weapons and Israel feels threatened. There's no evidence though! Even the US's own investigations deemed Iran not a nuclear threat. And the US STILL backs Israel. What the actual hell.)

As I was writing , I just remembered a dream I had last night. It was about Trump, which is crazy! I hate that he infiltrated my night time subconscious. But the dream was that it was 2028 and the next election was coming up and I guess I was in a room with Trump?? Or maybe I was watching him or something, but it was like a personal/intimate setting. He declared that he would be running again, and I (or someone else) calmly told him that he can't do that. And he seemed genuinely confused, like what do you mean I can't do that? And me/someone else explained to him that it's literally in the Constitution that a president can't run for more than two terms, and that it was designed by the Founding Fathers themselves to protect against dictatorship/monarchy etc. I just remember the dream trying to very rationally explain that the literal Founding Fathers prohibited this and that Americans can't get behind that and they would not support him. He just seemed confused and dazed.

In dream state, I thought my argument was convincing. Even if you supported Trump and were super patriotic, under that presumption, you would have some loyalty to the Founding Fathers of America, right?? But in my waking hours now, I fear that the many Americans who support him, do not care. That they would allow him to run a third term. I hope so very badly that it's not true and that people would draw the line there, but I don't trust anyone anymore. They elected someone who is a rapist and has actual criminal offenses (how is that even legal?). The line to draw is nowhere. And every day is a testament to it. So many children are dying because of the taxes we are paying. The line to draw is still nowhere. International conflict and the shadows of a World War are being instigated due to the US's complicity. If you cared about the economy! Oil prices! The line to draw is nowhere. Families and communities who wanted better for themselves, who are good people, who pay taxes, are being terrorized and ripped apart by violent and militant and FASCIST police forces, while a criminal sits in office. The line to draw is nowhere. Where is everyone's conscience? A sense of morality? Humanity? Nowhere. This existential sadness sinks deeper and deeper into the fibers of my being. I am both saddened and enraged that I feel it and that others do not. 

It's only been 5 and half months of this presidency, and it feels like an eternity. I want everything to crumble just so that I don't have to live in this cognitive dissonance. No more big houses on a hill, let the floodwaters rise until no one is spared. What a devastating and pessimistic emotion to feel... Is this what my hope looks like now?

Anyways, I realize where this blog post started and ended seems a bit crazy, but I think you're just witnessing the layers of the onion get peeled back further and further. I know I still have hope because I still care. Because I'm still determined to do something to make it a bit better. Till next time.

Love,

A 

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originally published june 14th at hurricane-a.wixsite.com/hiccups

return to form

Hello my online diary. It's been many many many years.

Starting has always been the hardest part for me, and after all this time, there's really no good place to start, so how about we start with today? 

(Proceeds to start with last night.)

The words "return to form" have been echoing in my brain chambers since last night, when my best friend and I watched one of the recent episodes of RuPaul's Drag Race. Suzie Toots, one of the drag queens in the top 5 of season 17, centered "a return to form" in her execution of the week's drag challenge, which disappointed the judges and led to her loss. For perhaps unnecessary but interesting context, the issue the judges had was that she never left her form, so a return to it was obsolete and boring. And I really do think this is the most interesting part of it all: what is leaving and what is returning?

Today at work, my supervisor, who is just one of the sweetest human beings I have ever met, shared with us a horror story that transpired very recently as a part of the adventures in parenting an 11 year old kid. The story involved a silly little 5th grader, sending out a silly little survey using a school email address, and including some not-so-5th grader language (these were the options under one of the questions, and I quote: f*ck yes! f*ck no! motherf*cking yes!) (side note: am I allowed to swear on this thing?). Anyways, my supervisor calls her stories a daily dose of birth control for everyone else, whereas I think of it more as free entertainment, and isn't this what it's like parenting any kid? I went up to my 5th grade teacher during quiet reading time and loudly ask her what an orgasm was. Definitely mortifying, but don't worry, this 11 year old is also embarrassed! More embarrassed to be caught by their parents and school principal (and in retrospect, thank god Mrs. Mallon didn't tell my parents).  

The conversation moves forth and now everyone's talking about how crazy social media is, and how does a 5th grader know all these swear words, and yes, children know too much now, their innocence ruined, healthy development rudely interrupted by having phones way too young. And I agree with it all. The idea of raising kids in the age of iPads and the internet terrifies me. It's unprecedented, uncontrollable, and susceptible to many things going very very wrong. And then I'm there, as a 22 year old, with my coworkers who are ages 30 and 23, strolling down memory lane to recollect whatever form was mine in the 5th grade.

"Well, I had completely unrestricted internet access growing up. My parents barely knew what the internet was, I mean, the world barely knew. And my parents had no idea what I was doing on the internet. I got Instagram in like 5th grade! I mean, I hate social media now, but I figured that out along the way. And yeah, I guess not everyone turns out like me, but I think I turned out okay?" My coworkers didn't really know what to say to that. 

Yes, I just fact checked. I joined Instagram in December 2012, 2 years after it launched. I was 10 years old, and I had definitely lied about my birthday. I joined every social media under the sun (except for MySpace, that one had kind of gone extinct by the time I was on the internet), and I started my very first blog a month after I turned 8, in January of 2011. I went through my phases of being somewhat addicted to the internet: binging Youtube videos, not getting off my email account (wild!), then my obsession with Snapchat streaks, Instagram likes and followers, and then it was messaging friends non-stop on Google Hangouts (RIP), and then the myriad of phone game addictions that peppered my childhood, and it goes on and on. The things that "ruined my innocence" were for sure Wattpad, Omegle, and Youtube, but I sought all those things out. Yes, I was probably too young, and yes, my parents had no idea (they probably still don't!), but I had to prepare myself somehow for this very much not-so-innocent world I found myself living in. I think I am in the minority of people who really despise social media and actively avoid using it now after being such an avid partaker for most of my life. High school was a rough time for my relationship with social media. But you know what never hurt me? My blog :) So, yes, let's return to form. 

I like this form! I don't think I'm a great writer, but I do write, and I have always written. In fact, I've been writing since before I could write. I would dictate poems to my dad. This blog was interrupted by my endlessly hungry life, eating up all my free time and forcing my priorities to shift away from the things I enjoyed the most. I have never stopped writing though, even if you can't tell that by looking at this blog. But why blog? My dad was a little perplexed when I told him I was thinking of starting it back up again. He said, hmm, what about a podcast or Youtube account? Aren't those more in? He's damn right! And that's why, I reject it. The blog is classic: a reflection of the old internet where people really did just have fun, fucked around, and found out. We simply don't have enough of that these days, especially on the internet.

The blogger is back! Welcome, welcome, welcome, be seated.

xoxo a 

published originally april 30th, 2025 at : hurricane-a.wixsite.com/hiccups