Exhaling Life

The last federal election I recall working at the polls was on November 8, 2016. I was assigned to Los Feliz, often frequented by actors and musicians who lived in the lush hills above the neighborhood. I remember one particular actor from The Big Bang Theory who kept asking me if I really did not recognize him after I asked for his name. At the time, he was more of an annoyance as the line stretched out of the building and around the corner, and no, I had no idea who he was. Even after another volunteer whispered to me who he was, I just shrugged. He would still have to identify himself. I did not ask him for an identification card, which would have been illegal in California at the time. I asked for his name so I could locate him in the poll book for him to sign. Norton Simon Museum, Pasadena, California It became clear a few hours before the polls closed in California that Trump had won and that the hope of electing the first female President of the United States had collapsed. No...

Linen began not as luxury, but survival. Long before it softened into breezy trousers and coastal summer dresses, it was woven from the fibers inside the flax plant, one of the oldest cultivated textiles in human history. Archaeological discoveries of dyed flax fibers in Georgia’s Dzudzuana Cave suggest humans were manipulating wild flax as far back as 30,000 BCE. By ancient Egypt, linen had transformed from practical material into a cultural symbol. Its whiteness and breathability made it ideal for desert climates, but it also became associated with purity, ritual, and status. Priests wore linen for religious ceremonies, the dead were wrapped in fine linen for mummification, and the “Fine Linen of Egypt” circulated as both a luxury and a diplomatic offering among monarchs. Morning walk, Kauai, Hawaii Its path from field to fabric partly explains why linen carried prestige for centuries. Unlike cotton, flax demanded an intensely laborious process: pulling the plant from the ground to...

From rail yards and factory floors to cockpits and controlled descents, jumpsuits have carried a stubborn practicality that resists ornament while quietly absorbing it. What began as protection in the early 20th century became a uniform across aviation and wartime labor, particularly for women, then a symbol, and eventually a choice—one that moves between utility and presentation without fully belonging to either. That is what keeps them relevant: a garment that insists on function even when placed in spaces built on image. At a private screening. The photograph was edited to clean the background, shadows, and reflections using AI. Jumpsuits, in their most honest form, do not try to impress. They enclose the body with a kind of certainty: structured, utilitarian, unconcerned with polish. And yet, once placed within fashion’s gaze, even they are not immune. The silhouette tightened, the fabric softened, the fit became more intentional. What was once purely functional began to carry in...

Jajang, born from Chinese zhajiangmian and transformed in Korea into the rich, dark sauce made with chunjang, has become woven into the fabric of Korean everyday life. What began as an adapted working-class meal of black bean sauce (jajang) over noodles (myeon) in port cities has evolved into a national comfort food, synonymous with quick delivery, moving days, and casual family meals. Jajangmyeon was the pizza and burgers of my childhood. End-of-school semesters and good test scores were acknowledged with jajangmyeon. My grandparents always had it delivered when I stayed with them during school breaks, a proper opening to days of my grandmother’s home-cooked meals to come. Ceramic bowls were wheel-thrown and glazed by me. Its presence is as cultural as it is culinary: from shared bowls among students and office workers to its symbolic role on Black Day, when singles gather to eat jajangmyeon together. It is the unofficially official meal on moving day. More than just a sauce, jajang r...

Marriage is complicated. It requires more than love to sustain it. Divorce is a lot more complicated. It is rare for a single reason alone to cause a divorce, at least for most of us. I used to get offended when people inquired about why I divorced. That offense itself was layered with a need for privacy, the rawness of processing emotional injuries, and the reality that I did not know why he left. The only certainty was that I couldn't trust him anymore. It took more than a decade for me to openly talk about it. I am amused by Heather Ammel v. Kyrsten Sinema . It has all the elements of a good Lifetime movie: a cheating husband, a former U.S. senator, and an allegedly devastated wife. It extends beyond emotion, with legal questions unfolding as former Senator Kyrsten Sinema seeks dismissal on the grounds that while the affair happened, it did not happen in North Carolina, and therefore the state law forming the basis of the lawsuit is out of its jurisdiction.  In North Carolin...

A change in season shouldn't require us to abandon the past that resides in our closets, but rather the addition of a piece or two to elevate our style for the upcoming season. With fast fashion, digital creators, and influencers, we have gotten lost in the chaos of “new,” “more,” and “outfit of the day,” as though something new every day itself is fashionable. Cancún, Mexico Fashion, one's style, is not and cannot be always new. One's style is a reflection of our personality, mood, and perception of ourselves. It is quite unrealistic and damaging to one's mental wellness if the expectation is to change every day—brand new everything. It is also very damaging to the earth, as pointed out in Guilt of Disposable Fashion . Fashion, style, is about curation—a collection that reflects our individualism rather than a bin of polyester. As summer approaches and you are taking inventory of the summer pieces in your closet and are in need of one or two pieces to elevate your styl...

Time is always fluid. It never holds for more than a second, carrying us from the present into the next. I feel rushed at times, even when there is neither expectation nor commitment—only an impatient anxiety, as though I am about to run out of time. This sense of urgency often pressures me to neglect myself, to overlook the quiet moments within my own space, both mental and physical—the small pleasures that offer comfort and serenity... the simple act of slowing down with ordinary things that allow me to feel lived. Bowls were wheel-thrown and glazed by me. For me, that is cooking. As much as I enjoy dining out, cooking allows me to decompress and reset. The ritual—focusing on the ingredients, the process, the rhythm—at times releases me from the chaos that consumes me. There is a quiet satisfaction in savoring a meal of my own making, held within the calm of my space. The dishes don’t have to be opulent. A simple dish, like this Quick Fire Stir-Fry Beef, offers a gentle pause—a brief...