8.15.24 hello, goodbye, and the year of bowl

hoping this year is full of soup

i move to braintree tomorrow. i have been thinking a lot about dishware. it’s so unlike me to be scanning the household items section of a goodwill (why do that when i could be spending these precious thrift store moments shuffling through clothing racks for yet another floral maxi skirt to add to my obscenely large collection?), but i’m about to be the proud occupant of big ass braintree duplex and i want to adorn her with tasteful yet economically priced housewares for my bostonian friends to admire when my housemate and i inevitably throw our housewarming party in the coming weeks. so i peruse the shelves stocked with 32 identical girl boss mugs and collectible rainforest cafe goblets, and i laugh because i remember when s and i purchased a pair and promised to make a big spectacle eating soup out of the skinny glassware.

i know it would’ve taken a miracle for me to find what i was looking for in the shabbily stocked shelves of an annandale goodwill—that being a gorgeous jewel-toned 金継ぎ kintsugi bowl i could use as a catchall in my room. something like this:

what makes 金継ぎ kintsugi so special is how the beauty lies in the process within the product. you can’t forget that this bowl was once whole, and then shards, and then whole again. something about that seems fitting.

a few months from now, i’ll be sliding my boots on, english muffin between my teeth, and trekking through the athletic fields on my walk to work. on the weekends i’ll take the red line from the tail end to go salsa dancing with my friend c, or bar hopping with h, or to hmart to get those fat eggplants s taught me that great recipe for.

only a year ago, the very idea of a commute would have made my body seize up at the hassle. i’m not one to embrace inconvenience. but once you spend enough days trapped in your family’s suburban virginia home, hauling ass to dc to see something other than wooden fences and the same house in different colors is worth the hour-long nuisance. and soon you find yourself watching the sunrise through the train window at seven-thirty in the morning as you cross the potomac and you’re like “wow i’m so lucky to be here” and a song you loved three summers ago begins to play and all of a sudden the life in between life isn’t so bad.

it should be noted that many moments from this past year were beyond salvage by my persistent romanticism—the crater that is my prehistoric mattress aptly resembles the depression pit i was living in for a good chunk of this year. there’s an inevitable whiplash when you’ve spent your whole life walking, then running, then barreling towards a shiny future, only to slam into the plum-purple walls of your childhood bedroom.

but i digress. so why are we here?

i’ve loved reading friends’ substack posts—i’ve laughed, cried, and felt deeply nostalgic for a time when we could chew on these topics over strawberry matchas at ceremony as bookstore girl by charlie burg played ambiently amidst the chatter and typing and ice knocking against glass. the idea of sharing my silly little musings with an audience has always interested me, but perhaps i never felt (and still don’t feel) like i’m worthy. some people i know, notably my sister and our friend k, have a way with words that is truly spellbinding. i’ve done many a dramatic reading of my sister’s short prose to my college roommates, always chuckling when she mentions me (and rolling my eyes indignantly when she doesn’t). and my friend s and i send each other k’s substack posts and confess that her words move us to tears. while i may not possess the prowess they do, clearly no amount of insecurity is stopping this oversharing bullet train, so on we hurtle.

i begin this substack to mark my return to society. as i reemerge from my year of rest and relaxation™, i’m ready to face the world in all my gold-lacquered glory. and if this bowl breaks some more, i’m comforted in knowing all that shatters is gold.

stick around for monthly (? biweekly? or this may be the first and last one, who knows) posts about my first year teaching middle school, living in boston (fine, braintree), notes app deep cuts, and my reflections on matters big and small.

this year was the longest year of my life—humbling and triumphant, bleak and hopeful, rotting and regenerative. a perpetual game of jenga but picking a scab over and over again. sometimes you have to destroy something completely and start from scratch. and sometimes you just have to leave it alone for a while.

it’s august, yes, but happy new year!

and welcome to noodle soup 😛