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🦷
i bit into my overnight oats the other day and was catapulted back to the fall of my senior year of college.
if i had closed my eyes, i would’ve found myself in my Chicago sunroom, waiting for Hailey to finish making her pesto eggs.
i felt overwhelming nostalgia and a general sense that (oh!) things do turn out ok.
it was awesome.
i felt like the critic from ratatouille.
it was awesome.
i felt like the critic from ratatouille.
May 12, 2025
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🏩i think i like the taste of the peach yerba mate so much because it reminds me of my peach ice puff bar from 9th grade. the cycle repeats. i can't drink the mint ones anymore, i've exhausted that taste. i miss home as much as ever. i feel very sentimental at this time of day (6:30ish,,, sunset). the light reminds me of home. it reminds me of you.
looking back on this is comedic in a sense haha! anyways .
looking back on this is comedic in a sense haha! anyways .
Apr 5, 2025
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My Melodramatic Dispatch (Pt. 2 of ?)
TLDR: Summers feel different now.
The older I get… the more I remember: Stinging hot pavement under bare feet as I raced around the block, hiding from and chasing others in hide-and-seek. The feeling of grass and dirt squishing between my toes as I paused mid-run, gasping, hair tangled — fully alive and present. The smell of smoke in the evening light as I crossed the street to join in making s’mores.
I remember the rush of wind as I soared on the oak tree swing made of rope and wood, my stomach flipping the higher I climbed. It felt like flying. I remember the musk of the playhouse — getting it ready for an imaginary guest. And the day I jammed my left thumb in one of the window sills, sealed so tightly shut it popped when we finally wrenched it open.
I remember the taste of sweet popsicles from Costco — the ones that cut the sides of your mouth if you weren’t careful with the plastic. The fried chicken my grandma would make for dinner, and eating it outside on the front porch. Inside, the air was thick with grease, wafting through the window screens. When they were ripe, we’d go blackberry picking on the trails. And when we got home, we’d pour them over bowls of vanilla ice cream - stinging & cut fingers be damned.
When we flew out to Illinois for family reunions, my cousins, siblings and I would grab empty bottles and run through the park catching fireflies at dusk. I remember the ice cream truck’s lilting tune, coaxing us out of the shade for a sweet treat. And the smell of pancakes in the morning at my friend’s house — her mom setting the backyard table for breakfast after a sleepover. I remember walking home afterward — full, tired - still in yesterday’s clothes.
The older I get, the more I cherish summer — in a bittersweet, remembering kind of way. There’s a softer anticipation now for this year’s version of it — and a small ache for the ones I’ve already lived. For the girl I was those past summers: unburdened, wilder, breath sharp in my lungs — racing barefoot down Tolmie Avenue.
The older I get… the more I remember: Stinging hot pavement under bare feet as I raced around the block, hiding from and chasing others in hide-and-seek. The feeling of grass and dirt squishing between my toes as I paused mid-run, gasping, hair tangled — fully alive and present. The smell of smoke in the evening light as I crossed the street to join in making s’mores.
I remember the rush of wind as I soared on the oak tree swing made of rope and wood, my stomach flipping the higher I climbed. It felt like flying. I remember the musk of the playhouse — getting it ready for an imaginary guest. And the day I jammed my left thumb in one of the window sills, sealed so tightly shut it popped when we finally wrenched it open.
I remember the taste of sweet popsicles from Costco — the ones that cut the sides of your mouth if you weren’t careful with the plastic. The fried chicken my grandma would make for dinner, and eating it outside on the front porch. Inside, the air was thick with grease, wafting through the window screens. When they were ripe, we’d go blackberry picking on the trails. And when we got home, we’d pour them over bowls of vanilla ice cream - stinging & cut fingers be damned.
When we flew out to Illinois for family reunions, my cousins, siblings and I would grab empty bottles and run through the park catching fireflies at dusk. I remember the ice cream truck’s lilting tune, coaxing us out of the shade for a sweet treat. And the smell of pancakes in the morning at my friend’s house — her mom setting the backyard table for breakfast after a sleepover. I remember walking home afterward — full, tired - still in yesterday’s clothes.
The older I get, the more I cherish summer — in a bittersweet, remembering kind of way. There’s a softer anticipation now for this year’s version of it — and a small ache for the ones I’ve already lived. For the girl I was those past summers: unburdened, wilder, breath sharp in my lungs — racing barefoot down Tolmie Avenue.
Jun 25, 2025
Rec
lived within 15 minutes of an ikea most of my life, and as a result, all my childhood memories are clustered and organized in my mind like ikea showrooms. ikea meatballs (recently, and scandalously, revealed to be of turkish — not swedish — origin, something we always knew since the company my dad worked for back then produced them) with jam always tasted like home. crying in the back of the car because my parents forgot me at the småland play area and drove home — and even though they came back 30 minutes later, i was too hurt to forgive them right away. falling asleep on one of the beds in the perfectly curated little girl bedrooms and my dad having to carry me into the shopping cart. running around until i was out of breath in the self-service furniture section. begging for ice cream at checkout. me and my mom only getting one soda to share because there were free refills and we were poor.
i drove to an ikea for an hour for the first time as an adult in the u.s. recently and held back tears the entire time because of the mind-numbing nostalgia. i was all grown up, but the meatballs tasted exactly the same. in true proustian fashion, i realized that my nostalgia — and the longing i attach to these memories — is somewhat synthetic, because there is no pain in the past. the pain is here, in the present, because none of my people are in this ikea with me anymore. and i am trying to hold onto what i’ve already lost simply by virtue of time passing.
nevertheless, it is important to eat the ikea meatballs even when you’re all alone. not just because they’re delicious, but because the power of involuntary memory — conjured through the simple cause and effect of a scent or a taste — has a profound effect on the body and the soul, though fleeting by nature, dulled over time by the desensitization of the senses. but for now, that brief moment of euphoria — the way the ikea meatballs effortlessly transport me back to my childhood — is worth a thousand trips to ikea.
i drove to an ikea for an hour for the first time as an adult in the u.s. recently and held back tears the entire time because of the mind-numbing nostalgia. i was all grown up, but the meatballs tasted exactly the same. in true proustian fashion, i realized that my nostalgia — and the longing i attach to these memories — is somewhat synthetic, because there is no pain in the past. the pain is here, in the present, because none of my people are in this ikea with me anymore. and i am trying to hold onto what i’ve already lost simply by virtue of time passing.
nevertheless, it is important to eat the ikea meatballs even when you’re all alone. not just because they’re delicious, but because the power of involuntary memory — conjured through the simple cause and effect of a scent or a taste — has a profound effect on the body and the soul, though fleeting by nature, dulled over time by the desensitization of the senses. but for now, that brief moment of euphoria — the way the ikea meatballs effortlessly transport me back to my childhood — is worth a thousand trips to ikea.
Jun 17, 2025
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🐺even if shit continues to hit the fan, pretty much everyone ends up exactly where they’re supposed to be. you will find a place to live, a job, a lover, friends, etc. just keep going and it will be ok.