May 28th 2:23pm Austin, TX – Playing Catch-up: Part 1

Life has a habit of grabbing you by the balls (whether you actually have them is irrelevant) and not letting go until it feels like giving you a break. I’ve always had a difficult time reconciling the need to exist in the moment versus the need to capture it with word and image. This problem relates more directly to photography than it does to writing, because I’m always writing but I’m not always taking photos. Mental snap-shots don’t count. Those usually manage to morph into something that feels more like a half-remembered dream than an actual memory. Which, to be perfectly honest, is how I prefer to look back on my experiences. It’s kind of the same with writing about them. Regardless of how long I wait to record a particular event or feeling, the interpretation will never accurately portray the reality. And I’m completely okay with that. Doesn’t make the internal battle any easier though.

To back-track, my five days in Seattle felt like an extension of the last time I visited, just spun on its head a little bit. My cousin Justin had moved to another house, but his belongings, his furniture, his art, his personal touches were still the same. Which I think made the transition an easier one. For the first few days we didn’t see each other much because I was too focused on spending as much time as I could with the incomparable Sarah (a member of my weirdly wonderful internet family). She introduced me to the beautiful University of Washington campus and joined me on my adventures exploring the city (something I neglected to do much of when I was there two years ago). We ate delicious food, luxuriated in some beautiful music, walked along the waterfront, looked at some art, wandered without purpose, I rode a carousel. It was pretty great (that’s a ridiculous understatement). Justin and his girlfriend Amy treated me to some of the best sushi that has ever landed on my tongue, sinfully scrumptious gelato, and a night of roller derby with some of their friends. Excitement does not always come in the form of a racing pulse and an adrenaline rush.

Due to lack of vehicle and lack of funds, I’ve found that I am far less adverse to relying on public transportation than I used to be. There were several instances where I ended up giving myself an unintentional walking tour of some of Seattle’s lovely neighborhoods, but I believe that only added to the tapestry of the city that was weaving itself together in my mind. Even though I entertained the thought of hacking off my own feet on more than one occasion. Only having one pair of shoes will do that.

I feel that there is a piece of me for every city that I visit and every person I meet that gets left behind, desiring to make its home in the traces of a make-believe life that may or may not ever become outlined in ink. Pieces that will remain until I return, for however long, and that will attempt to convince me to grow roots instead of catch a ride with every passing dandelion seed. This is the truth of an existence without limitations. Everything seems dangerously possible and tempts me with the opportunity of starting over. Choosing to follow one of those paths will probably be one of the hardest decisions I ever make in my life.

May 14th, 7:43PM Portland, OR – Bikes, beer, hiking, food, sun, old friends, and naked ladies

A lot has gone down in the last few days, so bear with me as I recap. Portland has always been a bit of a weird place for me because every time I come here not only do I feel like I’m in a completely different city, but I feel like I’m relearning how to be a human being. The granola lifestyle, and variations thereof, is so pronounced here it kinda blows my mind. And I knew this from previous experience, but it still takes a period of adjustment regardless of how much I think I can handle it. Communal living adds another layer to that and it’s something I’m super supportive of, however my lack of overall experience renders me socially retarded. Seriously. Because I totally psych myself out. It’s like if I breathe wrong, I’m gonna offend someone and then everything will be awkward and I’ll become even more of a monosyllabic neanderthal. It’s the dumbest thing in the world but I can’t help it. This world is so foreign to me and yet I find myself immersed in it on a surprisingly frequent basis. Which is wonderful and (not gonna lie) sort of terrifying at the same time.

So on Friday I rode a bike for the first time in well over a year. My nether regions were none too pleased with this, but I love bikes and Portland = biking culture so it would be silly not to ride around for at least a day. My friend Melody volunteers as a cook for a couple organizations in town, one being Food Not Bombs, which I helped out with that afternoon/evening. It was a bit of an eye-opener to see a good cause functioning on such a successful level. People’s needs are being met, albeit in an alternative fashion that shouldn’t actually have to exist, but it works. And that’s inspiring in so many ways. After distributing the grub for Food Not Bombs, I reconnected with an old college friend from my time at Montserrat who moved out here last November with her boyfriend. I believe four years have passed since I’ve seen Jess, which is entirely too long, so I’m glad we had the opportunity to spend some time together.

Saturday was an adventure and a half. Melody took me hiking to Mt. Tabor (which is really just a massive fucking hill with far too many stairs), we got coffee, we ate super good food, she showed me this sweet old movie theater that almost looks like an Arabian castle on the inside (Alison Bechdel was giving a talk, I didn’t want to leave), we went to a fundraiser for Right 2 Dream Too (helping the homeless folk build safe communities to live in), met one of her friends who bartends down the street at The Gemini Lounge (I got spicy beer, it almost killed me), and then ended the night at the coolest strip club in the world. I’m sure you’re sensing a pattern here, what with me and the naked bitches two Saturdays in a row. I’d say this is unusual for me, but I think I’d just be digging myself a hole. Devil’s Point is not the kind of strip club you’d expect. The women who work there are covered in tattoos and piercings, they have backgrounds/experience in dance or gymnastics, they’re spunky, they’re cute, they have personality, and they spit fire. I mean really, what more do you need? The fact that they’re naked is really just a huge bonus, because the acrobatics I witnessed were truly astounding. One of the girls even wore roller-skates on stage and spun fire poi while some remixed ragtime tune blasted from the speakers. It was my first time, and while it certainly won’t be my last, my expectations are now so ridiculous only Portland can deliver in regards to my stripper needs.

As to be expected, Sunday was lazy as all get out. I didn’t even leave the house until after 3pm when Jess picked me up so we could grab some food cart delicacies downtown and sit by the river. The night ended with carrot cake, coffee, and Hope Floats on Netflix instant. Sometimes all you need is a cheesy 90s romance flick and some junk food.

Finally, this afternoon was spent ogling all the movie costumes, props, and memorabilia from the last ten decades at Movie Madness (a rental store with a frighteningly enticing selection of films). I’m talking serious shit here too. Orson Welles’ suit jacket from A Touch of Evil, Tony Curtis’ floral hat from Some Like it Hot, one of the dresses Julie Andrews wore in The Sound of  Music, Richard Beymer’s jacket from West Side Story, Frank Morgan’s pants from The Wizard of Oz, James Cagney’s shoes from Yankee Doodle Dandy, one of Elizabeth Taylor’s dresses from The Girl Who Had Everything, one of the wicker chairs from Casablanca, the Fu Dog from Citizen Kane, an animatronic dinosaur head from Jurassic Park, the baby carriage from The Untouchables, the list goes on and on and on. It was beyond awesome and I highly recommend swinging by for a visit if you’re ever in town.

Though technically my time here isn’t quite over, I just wanna thank Portland for keeping it real and keeping it weird. I hope you never change.

May 10th, 12:51PM, Seat 8A on Flight 560 to Portland

I can already tell that it’s gonna take some time for me to find my sea legs. It’s been more than two years since I had to carry around my life on my back and it’s sort of a weird feeling. The urge to get rid of stuff is strong and only a few weeks have gone by. The only issue is that shedding the extra weight this time around means saying goodbye to it forever. There’s no back-up supply life waiting for me at home. Mostly because I don’t really have a home anymore, but I digress. I guess coming to terms with existing in extreme minimalism is a longer process than I anticipated. Another reason to cut down on what I carry with me is the brutal bag-check fee every time I fly. Nothing is without value anymore, and it’s breaking my bank account.

May 10th, 10:28PM Portland, OR – The Big Magenta House on SE 25th and Cora St

My new host for the duration of my stay in Portland is someone I haven’t seen on this hemisphere. Melody and I met in Darwin, Australia a few Summers ago. We  both couchsurfed at the same house for a period of time and the connection remained even though we’d both moved on with our lives. She’s probably one of the most inspiring people I know. Because she hasn’t let what’s expected of her interfere with who she is and what she wants. Melody has traveled so many places and met so many amazing people and done so many wonderful things. I can only hope that one day I will reach her level of badassery.

Her house in Portland is shared by four other equally impressive individuals and within moments of arriving (1 train and 2 buses later) I felt a pang of longing. Longing for the lifestyles these people had, the sense of community. I have many beloved friends back in Chicago, but not once did my experience there ever feel communal. For some reason I think I’ve been chasing after that kind of existence but never seemed to find what I was looking for. Perhaps that’s another reason why I left. To look for the pieces of me that I haven’t found and that live on in other humans and other places and other happenings. To me, that’s what travel is, discovering yourself in others, in other cultures and ways of life. Because everything is an extension of everything else. Maybe that’s why everything always feels so familiar, even if I’ve never been there before.

Also, it’s really fucking cold in Oregon at night. And here I thought I was chasing the sun.

May 9th, 2:16PM – My last day in Los Angeles

No matter how long I stay in one place, it always makes me sad when I have to move on. Because I always find something or someone that inspires me to remain there, that whispers in my ear “this could be home”. It’s not fair, being trapped inside one body. I want to be everywhere at once, living out parallel lives and never once yearning for what could have been. Life is too short and the opportunities too many. How do I know if I’m on the “right” path? Sometimes The Universe will be gracious enough to drop me a hint, but  for the most part I feel like I’m stumbling through a darkened room with a blindfold on. I know I should be happy with the right here and the right now, but my mind wanders and wonders of endless possibilities.

Yesterday was full of too quick hellos and goodbyes. Saying farewell to Elisabeth was hard, especially since I’d grown accustomed to her presence and our easy humor. Spending time with her reminded me of how effortless it would be to stick around. There are so many more adventures for us to go on and I want more time. We parted ways, and I met up with my cousin Abby and her two children, Jacob and Bella. When we picked Jake up from school, he jumped up from his seat, ran across the classroom floor, and leapt into my arms. Apparently my visit had been eagerly anticipated, to the point where even his teachers knew I was coming. I guess my reputation continues to precede me. The rest of the afternoon was a whirlwind of video games (I tried to lose, really I did, but I totally kicked their asses. Every single time.), Connect Four, piggy-back rides, tickle attacks, and bouncy balls. It was like therapy for adulthood. Silliness for the sake of silliness. After another bittersweet goodbye, Abby drove me back to my friends’ apartment and left me with words of encouragement and a not-so-subtle request to return as swiftly as possible.

The icing on the cake of my two weeks in Los Angeles came in the form of a very old friend, one I hadn’t seen in almost ten years. He got me drunk, we waxed nostalgic, and I attempted to reconcile the version of him that I once knew with the one that was sitting in front of me. Life is funny, but it comforts me to know that I have spent my short twenty-five years surrounding myself with people whose cores never change. Once a friend, always a friend, no matter how many miles or decades or experiences separate us. That is true love, definitively.

May 7th, 9pm, West Hollywood – Is this real life?

ATTENTION: This post comes with a serious disclaimer. I promised myself that I wouldn’t censor any of my experiences, so you have been warned. Herein lies inappropriate content. Read at your own risk.

May 4th, 12:31AM, Koreatown – Home Away From Home

There are moments when you realize that you’ve been thinking a certain way for too long, being a certain way for too long, and something or someone comes along and changes that. Reawakens you. Revives you. It can come in the form of something or someone familiar, known, comfortable. Or it can originate from something new. In this case it was both. Until I stepped into the apartment of my dear friend Rikki, I wasn’t aware that I’d had a barrier between myself and the rest of the world. Sometimes you need an outside source to remind you that life is not something that you just walk through. Or something that happens to you. Tonight, she was that outside source for me. Because in seeing how much someone you thought you knew well has changed, it reveals how much you have or have not changed. Transformations happen in so many different ways that we don’t always notice that they’ve happened. So I am endlessly thankful to her for opening my eyes and putting things into a fresh perspective, a fresh mindset. And also for showing me how much I missed making connections on this level. (Not to disregard those made in the past, it’s just been a while)

Philosophical musings aside, Los Angeles is a weird fucking town. Every time I’m here I never actually feel like I’m in L.A. It’s impossible to categorize, which is not a bad thing, but it also contributes to feelings of being misplaced. I don’t know what to make of it, how to orient myself, if that makes sense. Maybe it’s because the city doesn’t know how to identify itself that I have issues doing the same thing. Or that I find pockets of familiarity, to avoid looking too closely. I have enjoyed my time here immensely, but I think I rely too heavily on past experiences in life by clinging to comfort. I am aware that it has only been a week, however I also know how easy it is for me to find excuses no to push myself. This journey is a challenge, a quest, if you will, to surprise myself. As of yet I haven’t accomplished that, but I have faith. Which is pretty much what got me here in the first place.

Trusting yourself is a daily battle.

April 29th Glendale, CA – Koreans Do it Better

I suppose I should supply a little back story before continuing with this entry. Nine months ago I acquired a second family in a rather unusual way. Unusual, because up until the end of high school, finding friends via the magic of the internet wasn’t really something I did. But through a series of connections (which I will not list here because it’s actually sort of embarrassing and nerdy) I met a group of amazing people from all over the country, all over the world, and they are more important to me than almost anything else in this weird little thing called life. Some of them I’ve already met prior to leaving on my grand adventure, but the rest I know only in the virtual sense. That changes this Summer, and I am honestly so completely and utterly excited that I might explode into a million tiny little pieces.

The first four days in Los Angeles have been a whirlwind of new faces and new experiences. Chocolate malts, bubbles, beer, dancing in the streets, Koreatown, kimbap, kimchi, the annual Korean Music Festival, karaoke (notice a pattern?). I’ll warn you now that all things South Korean will feature prominently in pretty much everything that I write and do. Call it what you will, but I’d classify it as less of an obsession and more of a fascination. Granted, all cultures everywhere fascinate me as a rule, it’s just SK seems to have captured my interest more than most. The important thing is, is that it has gifted me with more happiness than I know what to do with, which is all that matters.

I’m not really sure how to describe this last weekend in order to do it proper justice. The Korean Music Festival provided an opportunity for several of our “family” members to gather in one location, all but one of us traveling from other cities around the country. Finally meeting Amber, Elisabeth, Kim, Alina, and her mother Romila (who I have already met once) was surreal and incredible in equal parts. There is a very large gap between knowing someone online and knowing them as they are in person. You never quite get the full picture until they’re standing before you, living and breathing. But I can say with confidence that the experience has only strengthened my love for every single one of them. That night at The Hollywood Bowl will stand out in my memory and I will cherish it always. (Long story short, I got drunk. There may also have been excessive amounts of laughing and dancing while sitting down)

The weekend became impossibly more awesome on Sunday evening when I went to a noraebang, or Korean karaoke bar, for the first time with Amber and Elisabeth. I’m not normally a very showy person, so the fact that it became The Samantha Show was just as much a surprise for me as I’m sure it’ll be for a lot of my friends back home. In the beginning, I was nervous, because I almost never sing in front of other people. EVER.  But for some strange reason, as I kept belting out song after song, I found that I couldn’t stop. And it was probably one of the most liberating and gratifying experiences I’ve ever had because I forced myself to step outside of my comfort zone. Needless to say, I’m hooked. So watch out, Universe! I’m gonna croon and wail and make you my bitch.

Tomorrow:  Why I think Los Angeles is weird and how I always seem to find myself reliving experiences from middle school, only as an adult (which proves that I will most likely never grow up)