Kate

Tuesday, May 22nd. Graduation day was overwhelming, to say the least. While I have dreams of pursuing my master's in perfumery, the likelihood is slim because of money, so for now, I’m done with academia. On the day of commencement, I woke up feeling like it was any other day; honestly, I was dreading the thought of sitting in the sun for 90 minutes. Feelings changed when I saw most of my peers tucked into a corner of the field. My best friends and I were on the outskirts of the opposite side because my family, as always, was running so late. Shit started to feel real.

Tassels moved to the left, caps thrown in the air, arms wrapped around necks.

We beelined to that corner of the field and hugged everyone we could. Seeing them all together for the last time, when we’ve spent so much time together in the lab, lecture, and rehearsing presentations, held a sadness. I feel proud of what we’ve accomplished and establishing these connections.

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College was a lonely and painful time. Fruitful in the way I learned to be independent. This past December, I studied abroad in Scotland and London for packaging design; those memories are more distant than I want them to be. In that month, I felt free and hopeful for what was to come. Scotland is the most magical, fairytale-like place ever; it will always have a special place in my heart. On the other hand, it was my second time visiting London, and this time it presented a familiar feeling of when I was a little girl dreaming of a life in NYC. It's a high that I will forever chase.

Captured on January 10 somewhere in the Highlands, Scotland.

Saw Hamnet (Chloé Zhao, 2025) in the cinemas on January 14th in Notting Hill, London.

The window of the hotel we stayed in London. Despite it being mid-January, we kept the windows open all night because we could not figure out how to turn off the heater.

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I don't regret a lot, except for one major thing: the time and energy wasted on waiting for someone to show up when, really, I wasn’t considered in their eyes. I felt like a hollow vase waiting for tulips to bloom; instead, it was a vessel left for dust and cob webs. It never mattered that I was creating all these new relationships, but there was always one that I begged for. I mourn the person whom I'd call when I was in a panic or just wanted to hear their voice; they're a perennial presence in a corner of my mind. I often doubted the distance that was widening between us because I couldn't believe it was happening to us, but I was faced with reality and the feeling of embarrassment when they started to live our dreams without me. It was clear that sentiments hadn't been reciprocated in years, and I'm left with questioning how I could've been a better friend. I don’t know if it could be cured, I don’t know if I want it to be; they say time heals, but the silence was torture and ultimately staining. I enter post-grad in some sort of peace, having closure of that time of my life, but I will always wonder how someone could be careless with something that was once so precious and built on dreams.

Frances Ha (Greta Gerwig, 2012)

Talk soon,

Lorde. The artist of my life. And I’m not even being hyperbolic. Every song has changed meanings in whatever stage I’m in my life.

Taking ribs, for example, a haunting and distressing song for me. It wasn’t always like this. In my teenage years, I was hyper-focused on the friendship aspect and the growing-up bit preceding it. I was so sure in my relationships, and while growing old is scary, I had these people at arm's length to go through it with. Oh, how different it is now.

Seeing it last night reaffirmed my fears of being alone, and my days of innocent youth are running low. Most days, I’m sitting with silence. On the occasion—meaning when I go to work on the weekends—I’m stuck with repetitive conversations that aren’t fulfilling any aspect of my life and often belittling, but hey, that’s retail! I’ve gotten good, again, at internalizing how I feel. I don’t remember the last time I had a candid conversation with a friend about how I’ve been. It was something I was good at to make sure I stayed sane and to let them know that I’m emotionally available for them, too. Well, I've been pushing it all down. When night rolls around, and I’m truly by myself with feelings that I don't want to face, I smoke until I laugh at the person in the mirror.

The growing-old bit in Ribs has a different meaning than when I was listening to it as a teen. I think of the people around me getting older, rather than me. There are conversations about my parents planning to retire, my sister getting engaged, and graduating from college very soon. I wish I could just lie down and pause for a moment.

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Production-wise, this concert’s rugged and raw style is artistically moving. With the era of media that we're in, it was quite refreshing to see something that isn't so overproduced and perfect. I saw some discourse saying otherwise, but it perfectly embodied Virgin's theme.

Subconsciously, I got a similar haircut she had: mid-length, blunt bangs, natural hair color. Granted, this time I have more layers and am actually styling it, but this is how 13-year-old Kate wanted to look. I also rediscovered my Forever 21 denim jacket that I wore

Every.

Single.

Day.

Ironically, the oldest pieces of clothing in my closet are from F21. RIP.

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At that age, almost every day after school, I’d go on HypeBeast.com on my sister’s Mac desktop, reading up on the latest trends in streetwear and upcoming sneaker drops. God, I am my father’s daughter.

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13-year-old me knew exactly who she was. College me was the antithesis of her. I spent three years not knowing how to dress, what my hobbies, likes, and dislikes were; ultimately, I didn't like myself for the majority of the time, and I became a shell of a person.

But right now, senior year Kate, is starting to feel familiar and like a reunion. I'm feeling the most comfortable in my skin than I have in recent years.

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13-year-old me, you’re cool in my eyes—I hope you feel the same way about 21-year-old me—and will forever influence style and how I edit my Instagram posts.

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Thursday, August 28 — 3:24pm

As I am editing this post, happy ten years to Badlands. The album of my formative years.

I did not anticipate this summer to be so lonely, so tiring, and so grey. At the very beginning of summer break, I started a new job—a job I absolutely love—and the whole application process was on a whim. I wasn’t actively looking for a new job, but had been itching for a change; something more catered to my future endeavors. Now, being there for two months, I’ve been having a lot of fun and learned one major thing about myself: I cannot do retail long-term. The main reason is, as an introvert, this job takes so much out of me at the end of the day; speaking to people nonstop makes me go nonverbal when I go home after a full day shift. Most of my summer days consist of waking up, eating, going to work, going home, eating, and lying in bed until I have to go back to work. I know this isn’t sustainable—literally feeling my personality and will to do something other than lie down deteriorate every day—I should learn to find some sort of balance. I love this job! In the sense that I learn a lot about the fragrance industry, meet perfumers, product developers, people from HQ, and I’m actually creating products. It fuels me creatively. 

Me on break with the best matcha I’ve ever had—and the café is only three minutes from my job!

A lot of letting go is happening right now. I’ve given up on a lot of things and people. It’s different. Everything is different this summer break. I’m alone a lot of times. I don’t want to be. I feel a sense of awkwardness and even embarrassment to ask people to hang out, especially with those who never respond to me. I am clingy, but have no one to reciprocate with. Before, kinda, now for sure no; and I think I’m the only one mourning it. It’s an odd time for me and my feelings towards relationships.

This song came on shuffle the other day and I haven’t stopped listening to it since.

Went to the Whitney Museum for the first time ever. I was a little hesitant at first because none of the exhibits sounded interesting to me. I have a very minuscule background in art history (I took one art history class) and I gravitate towards renaissance and baroque eras. Don’t get me wrong, I do love some modern styles especially realism. Realism brings me to tears.

I went in to the Whitney Museum with an open mind and I started at the top floor. I hadn’t realized how familiar I was with Hopper’s work. A lot of his work amazed me—Soir Bleu made me chuckle—and I stood the longest at his works. A Woman in the Sun was an experience. At first, I thought it was a romantic piece for Hopper’s depiction of his wife, who was in her late 70s, and that he still sees her in her younger age. I saw how beautiful it was that he considered her as this young woman with supple and plump features, and nothing much has changed since. Yet, upon thinking and looking it at more, I can’t help but think, does he no longer see her beautiful as she ages? At what age do you stop loving someone for who they are and only reminisce the person they once were?

The fear of growing old is instilled in women at a young age. Especially in Asian culture, with all of these anti wrinkle and retinol forward products, I can’t help but think what is the point in all of this. Growing old seems like a beautiful experience—alone or with a partner—and it was a privilege to see a set of my grandparents grow old together.

Love is a foreign concept to me and this piece had me questioning it all.

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Man, I wish I double minored in art history.

I’m 20 years old. Not that old, not that young. My newfound independence is slowly becoming apparent to my family—particularly my parents—but I’ve had it for some time, shockingly. I guess becoming an A-lister at AMC is what it took for my family to realize that I can do things by myself; even though I commute to the city almost every day for school, I digress. I’ve gotten comfortable being alone and not relying on others to show up because it ends up with me being disappointed in them.

As the youngest sister of three, I’m still perceived as that little girl who's heavily dependent on the grown-ups around her. I don’t think that will change in their eyes. I tend to dilute my personality to my parents and sometimes my sisters, not in fear of being judged, but not to taint that idea they have of me. That’s where it’s my fault.

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Feeding into the theme of this blog—exploring the fine line between loneliness and independence—you can’t have independence without the constant feeling of loneliness. This blog isn’t supposed to be stimulating or challenging, it’s just me experiencing my 20s and realizing how alone I am.