Even though it's the weekend, I've been getting terrible sleep. Since Friday night, I've been falling asleep at a ridiculous late-night hour that feels more like my ideal time to wake up early and start my day on the right foot. I've also been having the weirdest dreams the past few days and opening my eyes to this heaviness and exhaustion.

After waking up today, I lied in bed for a bit not sure of what to do with my thoughts or my day. I used cleaning my room as a reason to get motivated and on my feet, and as I was Swiffering my floor with Natalie Merchant's Tigerlily album playing in the background, my phone rang—it was my good friend Annie calling. 

Annie and I have been close since high school and she's been living in Seattle for a while now. Honestly, at our age, with most people having life partners, kids, and generally, different interests, it's natural that all friendships evolve or fizzle out. And that's totally okay, because as we get busier with more responsibilities, that's just how life works. I could say that outside of my core group of friends, it's inevitable that I've become mutually untethered from most other people I used to know, and now keeping in contact through Instagram likes is more than sufficient. If there's nothing left connecting us or no longer any genuine effort put forth into friendship, people grow apart and move on and there's nothing wrong with that. But that's why I'm so thankful to the forever friends who do check in on me to make sure I'm doing alright. Annie has always been one of those friends, and is one of my dearest pals who genuinely knows me so well (and vice versa). Getting her call today couldn't have come at a better moment. We gabbed for about an hour-and-a-half and she helped me with a lot of the mental blockers and stuff I've been recently trying to process. By the time we hung up, I was feeling much better about everything.

Afterwards, I got some air from a walk and have been vegging at home doing absolutely nothing since.

Now, Sunday is nearing its end and it's time to mentally prepare for my upcoming workweek.

Over the past week on two different occasions, I randomly recognized people I know (even with their masks on) while walking down a subway platform and a Brooklyn street.

But because of COVID-19, I of course did not say anything and kept walking on.

The end of 2020 is less than an hour away...

So much stuff went down this year, but—I need to not end the past nine months of messed up (and totally awakening) stuff in the same way it's been going. Rather than thinking about that or what didn't happen, I also find myself going back to the most memorable time of what I'm missing the most right now: being out and dancing all night. 

For going out and partying, I had an exciting era where my life felt solely dedicated this. It started exactly 20 years ago from this upcoming February when I was a senior in high school and had just turned 18. My cousin's friend who I had become friends with said his older sister was going to this club called Exit in the city (I think it might've been her birthday). He was going to go for the first time and asked me to come along because he didn't want to go alone. I remember feeling lucky because my birthday had just passed, so I didn't need a fake ID to get in like my friend. He lived in Flushing near Northern Boulevard and Parsons, and I recall going to his apartment first so we could all head into the city together. That first night at Exit changed my life. I ended up going there weekly for years. There was specifically this one corner near the dance floor where all the Asian kids hung out. After going there every Friday, so many of us became friends and would party together. Light shows, bunny hopping, dance offs, candy bracelets, blowing Vicks VapoRub onto each other's faces, DJ Tony Draper, like wow haha. To just be that age and doing that back in 2001, it was so damn fun.

Now, as I'm thinking about all that happened in 2020, all I can do is blast old party music in my room and dance. It makes me miss being on that dance floor again while having the time of my life. I felt completely free back then and life seemed like everything was going to be okay. The old space of Exit is Terminal 5 now. I haven't stepped foot in it since it used to be Exit.

Here are some old pictures of that infamous corner from back in the day.

Good morning, and happy New Year’s Eve!

I just woke up from a weird dream and since it’s the last day of the year, rather than go back to bed to grab a bit more sleep before I start work, I thought I’d stay up.

I dreamt this good friend of mine who I care deeply about was in town and over my place. It wasn’t in the apartment I’m living in now, though, but his visit was such a pleasant surprise that when he spontaneously suggested we go party somewhere (although we knew we shouldn’t because of the pandemic), I immediately said yes. As we were getting ready, my middle sister came home and began venting about her rough day so we invited her out as well. The three of us weren’t sure where to go, but we walked around some industrial area while helicopters flew about above the Manhattan sky. The next thing I know, we’re in some secret warehouse party where everyone is dancing and having fun. At one point I find myself staring at this tv monitor of the dance floor and I watch my friend spot a guy he thinks is cute before making a direct b-line for this dude to hit on him. This sort of upsets me because I have a crush on my friend and I decide to leave the party to get some air. While I’m outside, I see the cops about to swarm the party and I try to text my sister and friend to warn them. That’s when all of the partygoers slowly start exiting the huge building and I eventually spot my sister. I ask where the friend is and she said he ditched us to hang with that new guy he had just met. The cops are trying to herd everyone in to these tents while making everyone change into hazmat suits but I grab my sister and say we still have to go party somewhere. I double check with her to make sure she hadn’t taken off her mask inside the warehouse at any point and she confirms she didn’t, so we slip away from the side and escape. We end up wandering these small houses and shops that remind me of the side streets of Khao San in Bangkok. The two of us are linked arm-in-arm with our masks on and trying to find someplace to grab a drink or some food but since it’s a few minutes past the NYC 10pm curfew, everything is about to close or is closed.We eventually stumble onto this small spot selling Jamaican oxtail about to close up shop but still has some customers dining inside. The storefront isn’t like one in NYC, it’s like an old school spot in Thailand where all of the large windows are open and circulating fresh air. When my sister gets in line to order and I go to grab us seats, that’s when I woke up.

I always wake up really happy when I have dreams about this friend of mine.

It's amazing how helpful memes can be. I've had plenty of nights this year when I'm lying in bed super late and just laughing my ass off from them. And I mean like the genuinely cracking up, laugh-so-hard-you-can't-breath laughing. The deep type where clutching your stomach to hold on for dear life is the only thing you can do. It's like you're completely free for a moment and filled with this intense joy. Holy shit, what a good time. The feeling has been on mind a lot the past few months. With it, my mind keeps going back to this early memory from high school. It must've been during my sophomore year, but I'm standing with a group of friends in front of the Flushing Main Street Public Library (which was pretty new at the time). I think we had all just eaten together somewhere nearby in Main Street and probably hung out at some cafe for a bit, and we were there to wait for the Q17 so one of my friends could take it. I only remember my friend Natalia being there, because out of all of us, she was laughing the hardest. I don't remember what we were talking about or why, but I was trying to be funny and had everyone doubled over, and that in turn made me laugh harder. We had all started laughing back while eating, and by the time we were at the bus stop, we were laughing so hard that we could barely stand. The sound of Natalia laughing especially made me happy, and this epiphany that someone could think I was funny while being myself, well, I still remember that. Knowing I was gay at that age and desperately not trying to stick out had me normally holding back a lot of who I was. And it was only while immersed in this circle (all-girls, and I am still friends with) did I feel allowed to be silly, therefore feel seen. Don't get me wrong, I grew up with two older sisters and usually had them laughing a lot about dumb shit too. But this was different, because I was still getting to know these friends, and usually stayed quiet as a form of avoiding rejection. It's funny how laughter can bring back the weirdest memories.

The past few weeks or so.

"TAE, DO YOU WANT TO BE IN MY POETRY CLUB?"

An email with the subject line above was both my invitation and introduction to Thomas Miller's poetry club. 

It arrived in May of 2010, with the body of the email simply containing that week's poem, along with the name of its author and what years they lived. After giving it a read, I responded with an excited yes, saying I'd love to. But I wasn't sure what joining entailed, and if it took place at some sort of gathering or if I'd need to be buying books to prepare. So when I asked Thomas about how to join, my second installment of Thomas Miller's poetry club came with this email subject line: "You don't have to do anything...you just get a poem every week...like this one." 

And until this year, those poems have continued to come. 

I first met Thomas because he worked with my best friend Judy. Thomas and Judy weren't just coworkers who became close friends after years of working together, but they had a genuine friendship and connection. I mean, let's not even talk about them being birthday twins. But because he and Judy were close, I was able to get to know Thomas pretty well throughout the years. 

Thomas was genuinely one of the sweetest people I know. He was kind, and a definite one of a kind. He was loved for his big heart and also known for his unique style. And on top of all that, he was really interesting with tons of knowledge about art and whatever fine cultural events were happening in the city. On almost every day of the week, you could find Thomas out at an exhibit or sitting in the audience of some gorgeous production. Even the last time we hung out one-on-one was to watch ballet at Lincoln Center last year, which was my first time ever doing so. He loved anything that celebrated both the visual and performing arts and once told me he's "obsessed with looking at beautiful things." And this wasn't just for when he was outside his house.

Some years ago, a tough transitional phase of mine had me going through a long period of couch crashing. When Thomas heard about this through Judy, he generously offered to let me stay in his spare bedroom for a few months as I got back on my feet. Thomas had been living in his place since the 80s, so stepping inside his home was a deep immersion in who he was. Practically every inch and corner was decorated with some item. The spare bedroom I slept in was filled with things as well, from eccentricities I couldn't stop staring at to shelves of books and delicate figurines. And because there was no Internet connection in that room, a small analog tv near the bed was what I usually used to break the silence as I admired my surroundings. Being there in his home with all of the things he loved comforted me in a way. I was so used to living out of a suitcase with minimal belongings, and that's why Thomas' place was a great reminder in the serenity that can come from a home with stuff that brings you joy.

Sadly, Thomas passed away last weekend. His funeral was yesterday, and I was grateful to be able to go and say my goodbyes. You can read his obituary here, and also a recent article about him here. And as for Thomas' poetry club, while they became less frequent in the past few years, he had kept up sending out his poems since he first signed me up a decade ago. The final poem Thomas ever sent was on January 5th of this year.

While going through old photos to look for ones with Thomas, I found the following ones below I took at a work dinner of his, Judy's and their colleagues. This night is from exactly ten years ago in February of 2010.

Rest in peace, Thomas. You were a light to many.

Thomas Miller (1958-2020)

The past few weeks or so.

The past few weeks while breaking in an iPhone 11.