But I think, as we get older and sense that memory is deceiving and strange, we also do this to remind ourselves it did happen. That despite the disconnect that time creates, and any negative residue collected within ourselves, there was joy.
Sure, I was collecting things in an online space. But it still felt like clutter, fit for shoe boxes under my bed. And with Pinterest, my aspirations no longer floated in my head. They were right there: discoverable, pinnable, and recyclable by others. Aren’t my dreams supposed to be elusive? Unable to be bookmarked?
A boundaryless world where I participated and created, lost in moments mostly undocumented.
How would my Facebook updates read if I licked off the sugar coating?
Just before I went on a trip to Vegas, I was in Egypt. I doubt I’ll fly that jarring Egypt-to-Las Vegas itinerary ever again, and since this odd, amusing juxtaposition of culture still swirls in my head, I thought to share it with you.
Because all at once? It’s a sensory overload. But, honestly, I don’t think Egypt is a place where all pieces fit perfectly.
It’s quite confusing, all of this.
How seeing the accumulation of my things in a space that I own is both exciting and suffocating. How roots and wanderlust continue to battle. How I am eager for “home” to be something concrete, but know that no place I inhabit will feel like home until I have the one thing that’s missing.
The art on the walls of Clarion Alley, in the Mission District of San Francisco, calls out with its vibrant colors, eccentric iconography, and socially conscious messages.
One afternoon, I took the tram from Lisbon to nearby Belém, about 15-20 minutes from the city center. The location from where Portuguese voyagers set off to explore the world, Belém packs a lot of history—and grand sights—within its borders.
Random moments from the streets of Barcelona: sights, food, and art.