Film photos taken between 2019-2023 on 20+ year old, expired film.
Cameras: Nikon N70, Kodak Ektar H35
Film stock: Kodak Gold 200, 400, 800
Film photos taken between 2019-2023 on 20+ year old, expired film.
Cameras: Nikon N70, Kodak Ektar H35
Film stock: Kodak Gold 200, 400, 800
At some point during clinic, while between patients, I began to wonder how whirlpools form. Turns out, they form when two opposing currents collide, causing the water to spin like a tornado. I can't imagine what it's like to be caught in an actual vortex, but life's full of them. Life spins whirlpools from simultaneous doubts and certainties, vigor and lethargy, frustration and callousness, grief and joy.
As dangerous and exhausting as whirlpools can be, they're hauntingly beautiful, too. Look up a photo to be mesmerized by Saltstraumen or Corryvreckan. Let your eyes trace the spiral, its energy pulsating, defying the limitations of a still image. Where does it lead to? Does it ever end?
The spiral staircase from the train platform is currently under construction. Wait, let me rephrase. The spiral staircase from the train platform is finally under construction. It's been a year since I walked down and discovered I had to jump the last 3 steps. It's also been about a year since I met my train buddy.
I've come back to this page several times over the month of May, each time with the same writer's block. Ideas come and go, but nothing has stuck. So much has been simmering, decisions big and small; so much life has happened, and I'm grateful for both the daily joys and the milestones. Yet as significant as the growth and learning appear in hindsight, the changes have felt subtle, like I'm undergoing cardiopulmonary training after heart surgery; like I'm sinking deeper in developing a skill after learning the fundamental basics; like I'm being refined rather than molded from scratch, over and over.
After the holiday festivities, all I want to do is plow through the dead of winter, straight into the sunnier, hopeful days of spring. There's usually a lull after Christmas, a slight peak with Chinese New Year, and a dip back down until Easter. With fewer occasions to mark the passage of time, my survival tactic this past winter has been to create opportunities to gather.
I’m sitting in my favorite blue dress, the one I recently thrifted for $20 and wear twice every week, on a stone block overlooking the Corrib, watching it rush over the slippery, algae-stained riverbank. Dingy boats rock back and forth in the wind under a blanket of hazy grey clouds. The air is slightly briny, and my coffee warms my fingers. It’s the morning of my fifth day in Ireland, and Galway had already become a second home. A few years have passed since my last solo trip, and I’ve forgotten how luxurious solitude can feel. It affords a way to be fully present in a way that traveling with friends or family can’t. Solo travel hands me the potent pleasures of fresh attention and an expanded imagination. Digital disconnection grants deeper intimacy with the breathtaking creation before me.
It's no secret that I love the fall season with its kaleidoscope of colors and excuses to gather, inviting us to remember that change can be beautiful, especially in the midst of community. This fall has been marked by more momentous occasions than recent seasons, yet the grandeur of events and travels have not necessarily been more responsible for its significance. I'm finding that the subtle indications of growth have been rather formative, too:
I have Royal Visconti Palace to thank for this rabbit hole I wandered down.
This project was born out of my failed attempt to get the recipe for an unassuming yet incredibly delicious apple cake from the hotel. In trying to find a similar recipe online and in various cookbooks (of which Dorie Greenspan’s were particularly enjoyable), I discovered that apple cakes are enjoyed across myriad countries. Some are architecturally unexpected, like a shortcrust dough base and a streusel-like topping in the Polish Szarlotka, while others fit the bill for a traditional apple cake and share similar characteristics, like a high apple to batter ratio.
There are so many recipes and it was difficult to choose just one, so with the support of my taste testers, I began making as many as I could. Somewhere in the middle of this endeavor, I officially committed to this “project” and am here today to present the results!
Every three months, I sit down for a seasonal check-in to reflect on what's happened, reconsider the baggage I need to let go of, and set a few intentions for the next season. Essentially, I try to reconnect and recalibrate.
Of everything that happened, a few small, recurring moments play over and over in my mind, and they haven't required my seasonal check-in to stir it up.
Spring unfolded like a symphony, each short movement purposeful on its own, but richer within an ensemble. Before my eyes, light green buds were sprinkled liberally across bare branches, alongside tufts of white cherry blossoms and pink magnolias achingly reminiscent of Cornell’s campus and my apartments on Beacon Street. As their petals showered the sidewalks, vibrant hydrangeas, the colors of summer, overtook neighboring bushes, and the world became green, so green, once again.
Days were long but the season was short, filled with changes in scenery and pace of life. After a period of ongoing-ness, spring’s tempo felt unfamiliar. While submerged in a new job and infant formula recall, outside activities and life events delivered new decisions and distractions to face, all of it testing and strengthening the tenacity of hope. Remarkably, the velocity of spring’s events was accompanied by the raw, head-turning beauty of nature waking from hibernation. I couldn’t help but stop. Admire. Breathe. Wherever I looked.
Four years ago, my sourdough baking journey involved tedious, daily starter feedings, messy and massive globs of dough streaked across my counter, multiple flat loaves, and more sourdough discard recipes than I wanted. I'm excited to say that today, though the experimentation continues, most of the waste and clean-up have been minimized.
I'm not one to celebrate half birthdays, but twenty four and a half feels pretty significant. Six months ago, I responded to evolving circumstances with what I consider one of my more "adult decisions," and that choice opened me to growth through uncertainty, humbling rejections, and a spur of the moment opportunity to go to Italy with my mom.
I had hoped by this time, the fog would've cleared, but at the time of writing, it lingers. Winter's grey curtains haven't parted way for spring's tender blooms and renaissance, but here, in the midst of the chill and gloom, there have been, and still will be, opportunities to recognize, even create, beauty.
It's hard to say how many islands are found in la Laguna Veneta, because even the main island of Venice is made up of numerous smaller islands connected by bridges. Three islands, in particular, are commonly grouped into guided day trips: Burano, Murano, and Torcello. Craving the leisurely nature of independent travel, we decided to tackle Burano and Murano on our own with a loose itinerary, spending most of the day wandering down cobblestoned streets, letting our shoes get licked by salty lagoon water, and capturing as many photos of the pastel fisherman's houses as we could.