I N S T A G R A M

Hashtag, INFJ

 

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I booked two jobs this week; one is for UNIQLO, another is for an eco-friendly fashion brand by a local designer in Stockholm. Of course I’m excited for the UNIQLO job, but it doesn’t move me. What moves me is a heartfelt email from an actual designer with her own stories to tell. “Our budgets are still low, but you’d be perfect for our concept” I looked at the email as the same way I look at an uncut gemstone. When I see an authentic piece of creation where someone is doing something because they have to, because it brings them to life, because it ignites their soul, I feel like my mind is changed, my creativity is challenged, and the world looks different than it did before. To me, This is what gives the simmer to gold; I realize how lucky I am to be able to work as a model, as an artist, and asked to be a part of something meaningful together with other golden artists wherever I travel. I’m a model, but I’m also just a person who is craving for authenticity to unleash the human potential. I keep my mind open, I’m always prepared to be amazed, and I’m never disappointed. If my art direction meets your standard, please feel free to message me with your best shot, and let’s be amazed together!🌷

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The land of endless “Fika” in Helvetica, fastest wifi, shyest humanity but no humidity, and absolutely zero #wabisabi. 🌳 “Why Sweden?” has been your number one question when you spot me in this utopian country. The answer is simple; it’s because I feel absolutely no connection with this place. I can’t relate to anything here; the culture, language, historical background, racial orientation, and the quality of life. It’s impossible for Japanese to understand any of the Nordic living, and I love it. In anthropology, there’s a common belief that you must immerse yourself in an unfamiliar world in order to truly understand your own. Every single fiber of my being strongly agree and I come back here every summer to reset myself. 😌🇸🇪🌳

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The scout team of Elite Model Management was either on crack or sneezed so big and accidentally sent a wrong email to a wrong girl and that’s how I got into modeling and my traveling days had officially started in South East Asia. I was the shortest, chubbiest, oldest, Asianiest and everyday I had no idea what I was doing with those gorgeous European girls who looked like a work of art next to a midget muppet. I couldn’t book many jobs like they did, but I miraculously booked beauty jobs; makeup, skincare, nails, hair, all those things that didn’t require being tall and skinny. When starting models ask me where to begin, this is what I always tell them; – Find your market. There’s always a market for you somewhere in the world. Your biggest task from now on is to find it. Age, size, colors, origins… those are inconsequential when it comes to the creative industry, or just about anything, to be honest. Find your market and work with them. Not *for* them. This is my favorite picture of some of the girls I lived with in Bangkok☺️💕 I hope they are doing alright. And I miss the crazy night-out with them at Koi and and all the free food and drinks, surrounded by rich bastards slowly undressing us with their eyes just until we finished eating and went straight back home to Skype with Eva’s family in Slovakia in front of her laptop together😍 Memories, by the way, are more valuable than the actual outcome, but I’m sure you already know that! xx

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Every week I get asked what my favorite book of all time is, and I always don’t know how to answer it. “It’s a comic book” is not really sweeping off their feet and people are very quick to judge me as a “geek” when I answer it honestly. I grew up with this comic series called “Adventures of Dai(#ダイの大冒険)”. Everyday I sneaked into my elder sibling’s book shelves and grab a copy or two into my backpack to school so I could read it during the classes. My grades were horrible, but reading hero stories seemed to be the only thing that made sense to me when I was a child. Recently I finished reading “Bushido” by Inazo Nitobe, the famous book from 1899 written beautifully by Japanese former diplomat/scholar, and I was dumbstruck; Never have I imagined finding Nitobe in Adventures of Dai! The way of rectitude, courage, benevolence, politeness, sincerity, honor, loyalty and self-control. I was unconsciously learning the Bushido, “the way of samurai”, in my kindergarten library everyday after school. No wonder I became a tenacious ninja now; it was the books I read when I was a child. If you know this comic book, you and I are automatic best friends and if you don’t, I’d strongly recommend this one more than any books I have read in my life.🙇🏻‍♀️📚

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Finally visited one of the most abhorrent places ever exists in the world today. I watched the tourists on the corner of my eyes with a gnawing doubt and disgust, but I excruciatingly decided to take this pic just to show you the vestige of this horrific event. What disgusts me the most is not the fact that atomic bombs destroyed Japan nor we lost a war. It is the fact that this entire thing fell into oblivion and became a travel destination for you to take selfies. We all know who Hitler was and what he did. But how come none of my Japanese people know who Tojo was and what he did and only talk about Disney Land and eyelash extensions? My friends often tell me that it is because we became all stupid, but I don’t think so. I think we are just asleep. And here comes my million dollar question: – Japan, my dearest home, when will you wake up? #japanesebyyuki

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We all get peculiar messages. It could be dick pics from males, with the primal grammatical/intellectual errors that make us wonder how a Neanderthal can go out to Best Buy and buy a phone. When from females, it could be hate mails, which I’m getting twice this month. I usually reply with the basic “Hello, ___. Thanks for your email.” Then I apologize for things she’s upset about, and ask how she’s feeling today. I then end with wishing her all the best in the future, and also her family’s. They usually don’t reply back after. I almost never dwell. Instead, I use all my energy to improve things, because I believe nothing ever comes out of anger or hate. But if you still feel frustrated and sense the urge to vent, write it down, cut the profanity, take a shower, then come back and reread it. If you still think I should read it, then hit “send”. And that’s enough.

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In Japan, the sound of the name is not that all important. It’s the meanings of the characters that matter. And also the numbers of the strokes used to write them because there are lucky and unlucky stroke counts. . You see, I was supposed to be “Aya”. But my parents decided to change their mind to “Yuki” instead, because it was snowing quite a lot on the day I was born. ❄️ Snow in Japanese is 雪 (yuki), but my characters are 有希, it pronounces “Yuki”, but 有 means existing, and 希 means hopes. My father and I go way back, but one thing I am more than grateful about him is his literary intelligence. He gave me one of the best names a girl could ever ask for. My name means snow, and also “where the hopes exist”. ❄️ . It is March 5th, my tipsy birthday today, raining. Everyone is telling me lovingly how sorry they are that it’s raining today, but im not sorry😌 Rain, actually, has always been my favorite weather, because it gives me a child-like imagination that when I’m happy and feeling so warm, the snow melts and becomes the rain to rejuvenate the universe, and rejuvenate you as well. ❄️ . Thanks for the birthday wishes, everyone! Like this rainy weather is telling us, I feel so happy and warm right now😍 #japanesebyyuki

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You tell us we look very Japanese, we get offended. We want to look westernized, half-Asian, to be specific, because those are the only girls we see on magazines and televisions lately and we want to be just like them. We spend a lot of money dying our hair lighter, extending our lashes longer, and we become a better liar to convince ourselves thinking this is normal. So I took a DNA test (swipe!😘), just for kicks, you know. And when I looked at the result, I didn’t even see “old fashioned” or “out of trend”. What I saw was the deep roots and heritage that have been living in my blood for thousands of years and it made me feel like I was part of something, something that makes me want to tell everyone that this is so much more worth talking about than our obsession in consumption. But that would be a lie, because sometimes I have those moments of lament craving to have what they have and forget everything about what I’ve read. I wonder if this is what #wabisabi is all about; “the acceptance of transience and imperfection”.

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Every week I get asked what kind of books I‘ve been reading, and I always don’t know how to answer it. . You want me to say Haruki Murakami. You want me to say Alchemist. Well…. none of that. The truth is that I spend majority of my time sitting under the medical section at the library with my notebook taking notes of the chemical compounds, or at the kitchen mixing things like a maniacal Asian witch. . I’m currently crazy about microorganisms and creating lactic bacteria out of vegetables for making vegan probiotic recipes in Sweden. I’ve done this in Japan and it was easy; I just used germinated brown rice and fermented it. But here, rice is not their thing and neither is humidity. . And of course I wondered if it was still doable. And it was. . I used date seeds. Surprisingly, date seeds contained a lot of active bacteria to enhance the lactobacillus in soy milk and I successfully made a soy yogurt. In Sweden. With date seeds. . Why success? Because I ate it and I’m still not dead yet. Someone told me that difference between fermentation and putrefaction is if it’s beneficial for us or not. And it tasted like yogurt and I was like this: 🤪🎊 . Now you know why I have no friends but I’m beyond in awe of the power of symbiosis and no one can stop me! K, bye!

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73 years ago today, the war had ended. My grandpa was 22, and he was in Burma when he heard the news, and his final task that day was to type “Haisen” to the typewriter for his commander, meaning, “we had lost”. He died when I was 8. . My other grandpa was 14, in Tokyo, getting a fencing lesson in the sizzling summer day when he heard the news from the radio. It was everyone’s first time hearing the voice of our emperor, and he told me, I quote, “to be honest, it was more shocking to hear his voice than the “haisen” news. . And today 2018, visiting Yasukuni Shrine, the place we commemorate Japan’s war dead, is considered controversial, and you will not see what they are protesting here anywhere in the media. I did not tell anyone where I went. I couldn’t. . You see, I went there because I just baked a banana bread, my special recipe I invented without using any sugar. I’m going to visit my grandpa tomorrow with my banana bread, and I want to ask how he is doing, what songs he sings lately at karaoke, and what other stories he wants me to know before someone, somehow, for whatever the reasons, sugar-coat them. . ✨🥧✨

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I baked a lot of banana bread as usual, so I visited Haruko, my mum’s cousin, and “wazatto”ed (sharing homemade food🇯🇵) her at her adorable retro hair salon she runs since the 60s in west Tokyo. . She was so happy to see me but she wanted to give me money to show how much she loved it. I roared and rejected her money, but this 73 years old Haruko was holding her 10,000 yen bill and chasing me around like a really fast sloth and I started to feel sorry for her by the time she eventually cornered me(😂). . She then grabbed my hips, stuck the bill into my jean shorts, and grinned like a little child. I really wanted to tell her what this meant in the western setting, but sexual topics are strictly off-limits in Japan and I didn’t even know if she knew what “stripper” meant, so I decided to give up and accepted the money, and told her that I will bake more to “wazatto” her again. . She suddenly looked at me sad and wistfully said “just come back here more”. On impulse I reached out my hand to hold hers, and then she added, “I think of you as my own granddaughter.” . The last pic is when she did my hair and kimono a couple years ago. I could have gone to the nearest trendy salon to do my kimono, but I took 2 hours train to do so because I wanted my grandma to dress me and I’ve always thought of her as my third grandma. ☺️💕 #loveisintheair

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I think mother’s kimono is like a mitochondorion DNA. Even after marriage, Japanese women are accustomed to wear kimonos with their maiden family crest. . So much so that surnames are passed from father to child, mitochondorion are passed from mother to child. And more than this, your mitochondorion DNA was inherited intact from your mother, who got it from her mother, and so on. This provided a record of the maternal line right back to the origin of humans.🎉 . Talking about feminism is not my thing. I feel like there’s a lot more important thing to use our tax for, than changing the goddamn traffic signs to skirts. But when I look at this picture of me and my mother, there’s a certain poetry in the way that the mitochondria rinks us to our female ancestors, and serves as an important reminder of the challenges faced by woman in science. 👘🔬.

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Today I almost got eaten by a wild boar while hiking in a bamboo mountain. And because of that, I lost a key from running away from getting eaten by that boar. When I miraculously got home, I had to break into my own house because I didn’t have the key. . I was detecting several judgmental stares from the neighbors, but I climbed a wall using my ninja nails like a really gracious Asian spider. When I successfully squeezed myself in from a tiny window, there was my beloved cat looking at me judgmentally. . I made Christmas Pudding this evening and while I was mixing the ingredients, I wished I could’ve told him that human women were similar to a Monet; we remain pretty from afar, but once you get a closer look, there’s always so much to dissect.

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This clip of Nausicaa perfectly depicts how I deal with my foreseeable depression; – don’t defy it. Learn how to live with it.

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Whenever people ask me how they can be a ninja like me, I always don’t know how to answer. You see, being a ninja is cool, but being “cool” does come with a story to tell. Since I’m in Tokyo where my ninjaness was made and manufactured, I want to talk about my analysis of ninjas today. . Ninjas battle for a living, but we also battle with the the voice that we live with daily; it’s a distortion of our world view which tells us that we are not good enough. . This voice, by the way, is how “ninjas” feel all the time. We look at ourselves less than everyone else. . This comic is a cute reminder of our imminent disaster; it shows that we are a victim of “the voice” and it is also the reason we suck at relationships. . This schema is developed during childhood into adolescence. Our childhood was made with a mistrust miso soup delivered by a rigorous upbringing; – being told we weren’t good enough or smart enough or pretty enough to do anything in life. . This schema is developed in such a way that people we become closest to, we still often keep distance from. We do this because our mental framework says that these people will eventually hurt us or leave us, so we don’t see much of a point in trying to be close. . It’s comfortable for us to be a “ninja”, rather than pursue things that require leaving our comfort zones and taking risks. So we unconsciously use defense mechanism to justify our inaction, explaining our decision in a seemingly logical manner to avoid the emotions behind it. . When we do get close to someone, we self-sabotage the relationship because it is hard for us to let our guard down and let the relationship glow naturally. We need constant praise and attention because we can’t give that to ourselves. . Ninjas could be a vicious cycle of self-sabotage and self-hatred. But I think we all sometimes fall into this same cycle, too. Ninjas are not someone to be idolized. But instead, we are someone to reflect opon. If you relate to us, then look to the root of your problems. Your schema is not your boss. And I’m trying to fight this everyday, just like everyone else.

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Often alone. Rarely lonely. Introversion is similar to astronomy; — nothing is happening, yet so much is.

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Hi there, Mr. Klimt. Draw me like one of those French girls.

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This is my grandpa’s hand, reaching out to touch his blue hydrangeas in his little garden. Because of the millennium mindset, his first great-grand child is not allowed to be touched by him; they think his hands are covered with germs due to his profession as a farmer. I don’t know what to say about this, but I do know that this is singularly the most beautiful iPhone photo I have ever taken, capturing two of my favorite things; hydrangeas and my grandfather’s hand. This is the hand of a worker with grand nobility and kindness which will forever touch my heart till the day I die. If I’d ever have a child, my very first child, I’d want my grandpa to “infect” my baby, because whatever he has, we’ll gladly have it too. Ninja girl is upset today, but I like that I’m upset about something that actually matters. I’ve been preoccupied by stuff that doesn’t really matter lately; locations to live, money to feed, profession to pursue, etc. Those are all important, but they don’t really matter; those are all temporary. What matters is when you find something that doesn’t seem temporary. My grandpa will eventually die, just like I will. But whatever he makes me feel whenever I’m around him will never die. He will forever stay with me to guide me and my future me’s and that doesn’t seem temporary. Thanks to his “germs”, I seem to be “infected” by them already. With dimples on my cheeks when I look at this photo, maybe you can tell how I much I care about this whole thing.

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One of the most peculiar feelings you will ever experience is when you walk down a street of Geylang, Singapore, alone after the sunset. It’s where women are openly bought and satirized in this deeply entrenched patriarchal society; – one of our darkest gateways to the reality. Unlike Bangkok, prostitutes in Singapore dress just like normal girls; so when you walk down Geylang after work, men just simply raise their hands, with the gaze of total apathy, just sitting there waiting to see if you’d come up with a “hi” and a price. Whenever you “hi babe” me, asking me to “meet up” because “u r so cute”, I always think of how it made me feel when I walked down the street of Geylang. . . . . 📷 by Alvin Tang

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Try being a petite woman and walk on a street alone with a suitcase. Bonus point if you are soft-spoken, or even better; – Asian. When I travel I’m covered in black. My signature long hair is tucked in a hat that is big enough to cover my entire face. Hiding is your word choice, protecting is mine. Aftermath is your word choice, adaptation is mine. Being a ninja is not my choice, nor my cute sardonic wit; —it’s the byproduct of our environment. For those who know me from San Diego must be shocked to see me this way; an effervescent college girl in a pink shirt and blue jeans, loving the sun and boba milk tea. Well, I still love the boba milk tea, I just don’t love the sun anymore. There was a time I seriously considered a hamster ball; so I can roll around in a zoo with bottom-feeders while I sit and wonder if it’s even possible for women to reclaim our safety in this deeply entrenched patriarchal society. My reticence is never inaction. I’m just worried that conversations like this often dismiss Asian women as a mere puppet, incapable of engaging in these discussion ourselves. But I’m also perfectly aware that you dig this new look on me way more than when I was in collage; I think all women look great in black, once we become perfectly aware of our darkness. But underneath the darkness, there’s a slightly less darkness inside me, who is just dying to avoid becoming a ninja in a hamster ball. No one likes a ninja in a hamster ball. Please don’t let me go buy a goddamn hamster ball. ⚪️

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When I first saw my picture on Times Square in NYC, I thought I’d be so proud of myself. I thought it could help me overcome all my insecurities. But I remember I was so confused. My childhood dream of being on a billboard suddenly lost its purpose moments after I saw myself on the billboard of NYC. I didn’t understand why I was so disappointed. . Now that I’m back in NYC, I look at Times Square as the same way your grandmother would look at a portrait of her that you painted when you were a child. . This experience in NYC taught me that I was never passionate about the result of becoming a model; I was passionate about the process of achieving my goals as a model. I was passionate about improving myself. . I loved modeling, but I enjoyed working with people and creating artworks together way more than actual modeling. I loved getting to know them, being invited to their family dinner, their weddings, and creating art together along the side of these amazing human experiences. I even smile now when I think about how many times I had to pull over my car for hysterical crying after being rejected at castings on my way home on the freeway. . Tonight NYC appears to look misty and watercolored, because this ninja chick is being bombarded by memories, realizing she is finally proud of herself :,)

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Ninja girl’s first day at high school. Next day someone’s hand was in her underwear while standing in a moving train. You ask me why I’m unperturbed with dick pics, and my answer to that is always the same: you have no idea what kind of actual dicks women have to go though in our lives. Our reticence is never an inaction. We are just waiting for the right moment to explain or else “metoo” is not even an option for us to comprehend. . I look at dick pics as the same way your grandmother would look at a baby orangutan playing with its tiny wee wee. Just like today at Central Park when I was jogging, a middle aged man followed me and zipped himself down to state his new year’s tumescence. . Those things are too small for me. Too insignificant. I don’t have time for it. I have a lot more important things to deal with. So I just walked away, kept on jogging, and texted my friend to come join me at Central Park. Life is too short. Let’s just go get pancakes.

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Because of my immense passion in the Japanese history and culture, I get asked touristy questions more often than where I got my buttock implants. My answer for that is never to go to the touristy places anymore, unless you are a fan of seeing the by-products of American capitalism. These pics were taken when we were on our way to go get some noodles, in the rural side of Japan, where I don’t even know if it’s got name of. It blows my mind how much we don’t see that beauty is actually…. everywhere. 🌱🌳☺️🌳🌱 I will try writing a piece of “real” Japanese tourism. Guys, support me!! And I got my bum done by squatting everyday. Thanks for asking. #japanesebyyuki

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2 weeks ago, a “religious organization” came and knocked on my door and asked me if I was happy. I immediately looked around outside to see if there was Eric Cartman hiding behind, but he wasn’t, so I was like ok this is really happening. I got so curious; I succinctly told them that asking about happiness was meaningless and we could just live our life fully instead of searching for one. They looked at me like I was their newest prophet and asked if they could come back again. I wanted to say please don’t come back but I couldn’t because I’m a coward, so I just smiled like a lady and bowed one time and implied nicely that I’m not remotely interested. And yesterday they came back again with a handmade card written all about god and Helen Keller and asked me this: “isn’t it nice to think your ancestor was god, rather than a dummy little monkey?” And I was like, so you want me to deny the evolution and disrespect the monkeys this time? But of course I couldn’t say that because I’m a coward, so I just gave them this dummy little monkey face and slowly closed the door.🐵

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You see, there’s always a physical limitation when it comes to exercise. I jokingly reply I got the bum from squatting everyday when they ask me, but the truth is that I was enrolled in martial arts (mainly gymnastics) since the age of 5 till I broke my right arm at 13.🤸🏻‍♂️ Our bodies are all different and we all have different stories. Meaning, #instalike bodies can come from anywhere, but not anyone can have them. And so what? Pretty soon we will all sag like Jabba the Hutt eating chips, watching a rerun of Lost or Californiacation all day. But what we never sag like Jabba the Hutt is our soul; We can start exercising our soul everyday so we get excited about getting old and be the best Jabba the Hutt in the world. I squat everyday so I can be the happiest Asian grandma Jabba one day in a galaxy not so far away… 😌❤️

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I think all these AI conspiracy theories are getting out of whack. I feel that worrying about AI is like talking about overpopulation in Mars. . But maybe I’m wrong; – because I’m pretty sure I’m already getting messages from AI these past few years. . “Hi”, “Your hot”, “Marry me”, “Hello”, “Hi”, “Love you”, “So sexy”, “Hello?”, “Boyfriend?”, “Hi”, “Hi”, and more “Hi”, like they are talking to themselves.🤖 . When I look at my inbox, I feel like I’m looking at the imminent future. So I get curious about this and wonder what would happen if I reply. 🤔 But probably I won’t, because I believe in our frontal lobes, social manners, simple etiquette, and the power of our human mental capacity. I for one refuse to become an AI before it takes us over! ⚔️

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I get asked about my posture a lot. It’s probably because I was a gymnast, but also because of my grandmother. She was a calligraphy teacher, and I remember she stuck a bamboo ruler📏in the back of my shirt to straighten my posture whenever she thought I was slouching at the dinner table. I looked like a little Asian lollipop upside down 🍭and I hated it. My skin still remembers the chilling sensation coming from my back and I remember I was always frightened by her. She and I never got along. But I don’t know why I think of her so often, especially when people point out about my mannerism. I probably missed out on getting to know her, and I still have a hard time admitting it :/

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If I ever receive an engagement ring again, I will lovingly ask him/her to get a refund and book a trip to Bhutan instead. . I’m acutely aware of the diamond conspiracy and how it could make you feel good about yourself buying an expensive gift to prove that you did something meaningful in your life, and there is nothing wrong with spending money on momentarily happiness. We all do that. But when it comes to women of a rigorous samurai upbringing, we want nothing but memories and experiences rather than jewelries. . When I say stuff like this, men are so quick to dismiss me as I’m their “dream girl”. But I will be bored out of my mind when you take me to Anchol Wat; – with all the tourists endorsing attractions filled with trite paraphernalia that has nothing to do with the magnificence of Anchol Wat, I will most likely share no interests with you if you think rejecting a ring is a “dream girl” thing to do. . I just want to eat pancakes with you and talk about you, your mum, your mum’s cat, and what condiments you like to put on your pancakes today. You might be thinking I’m joking but I’m not. It’s so hard to find people who actually enjoy conversations nowadays🤔

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Sending women dick pics is the vestige of our premature evolution, and let’s not be too harsh on someone with this obvious disability. . What I’m having a harder time than dick pics is the messages from non-neandathole; they think they are complimenting me but they are not. . You can’t tell a woman you just met “hi princess” and expect us to like it. Talk to us like we are human instead of objects, and know that women of this century only write back to those who know how to introduce themselves without any hint of misogynistic undertone. . It used to be called simple etiquette and social manners, and if this is too hard for us human of this century, we shall all succumb to the AI evolution and let them take over our lives by now.

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So these are my epicanthic folds. AKA Mongolian eyelids that 90% of east Asians have, yet we are advertised to dislike them by today’s beauty standard, where our insecurities are bought, sold and carefully manufactured. . Today I read that epicanthic folds are the evidence of climate adaptation, because east Asia used to have an arctic environment and they needed to develop fat around the eyes to protect them from going snowblind.(🎉!) . You see, my epicanthic folds are not as distinct, and I have so much respect for those who go under surgery. I’m a weeper; I can’t even have my ears pierced. I just think it’s extremely cool that we have the hidden Mongolian inside us, to prove that our puffy eyes represent the evidence of Asian evolution!🤩⚔️

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Everyday seems like Halloween to me. Wearing a costume to look just like you.😘

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When you read a lot, you no longer want to visit places based on the travel magazines. You want to visit places based on your reading. Your interest. . Last week I got myself a soy latte, and sat on a street of Skid Row Los Angeles until I finished my soy latte. I’ve been a voracious reader about human trafficking. Every year 600K people go missing in the US, and I wanted to visually see the insanity of this number and how it actually smells like to be in the scene. . I felt uncomfortable. But I like it when I feel uncomfortable; because it means I’m learning something, and my brain is creating a new space for me to think and act, and I think that’s how we evolve. . I left a box of my pancakes I got from Griddle for the homeless people to eat, and promised myself to stay uncomfortable instead of just talking about the issues, especially my own issues.

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Japanese women, I believe, actually feel the same as western women about weight; a desire for the comfort of fullness. And when that desire is repressed for style, and deprivation allowed to rule, we become afraid of everything associated with being curvaceous. . Eating for me is how I proclaim my application three times a day. It should inspire me, but I let it conspire against me based on the people I was with and how they made me feel whenever I ate. . It took me a while to cut those people out of my life. But I’m so grateful for the ones I still have, who encourage me to eat more, share their food, and want me to take a bite on every goodness in their lives just because they like the person I am, not the person they want to think I am. ☺️💕

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When you live a life, you get gifts on your birthday. But when you live a ninja life, you get bombs that look like gifts. . Here is my most recent bomb that came in a fancy box with a pink ribbon; – a pillow with my cat’s face printed out. It was cute for 0.5 second, because it also came with a sperm sample and a handwritten letter explaining PG13 contents in a NC17 manner. My life suddenly felt synonymous to a horror film moments after the bomb had exploded in my mailbox. . I kept this pillow because my life is not a horror film; it’s a feel-good sitcom everyone wants to watch and rewatch. It’s because I gained a life philosophy over past few years dealing with the bombs that was my life. I learned that patience yields resilience in most things. I learned that only humor and laughter would bridge most difference for short-term gains. I learned tenacity. I learned how to be a ninja, not a victim. . I kept this pillow because I’m a woman, just like you, ladies. Our reticence is never an inaction. We are just waiting for the right moment to express, because I don’t think anyone can openly hashtag “metoo” when they are no longer enduring it.

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This is my Thai twin, and today is her birthday. This picture was taken when we were both in a toxic relationship with hedonism and inebriation in a galaxy not so long ago. Now we look at this picture as the same way your grandmother would look at a picture of you when you were an infant. Three heartbreaks, one deportation, as well as our countless mental breakdown together, we still remain alive, though we both don’t live in a same continent anymore. Once a year in summer, we see each other somewhere in a foreign town. Last year was Prague, this year we are thinking about France. Brittany, maybe. So if you see us together ordering a Mocha chocolat in a really strange Asian accent, c’est bien, bitches. We are just two lonely souls with nothing to lose anymore ce soir.

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Often alone. Rarely lonely. Introversion is similar to astronomy; — nothing is happening, yet so much is.

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Hi there, Mr. Klimt. Draw me like one of those French girls.

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When my own photographs get mistaken as my professional modeling photos, I don’t know what to say. It feels so uncomfortable because all my photography looks so undone to me that I’m even embarrassed to call this thing “photography”. So I have a tendency of dismissing the compliments because it’s so comfortable to self-loath and be a ninja. But today is Sunday and I’m feeling less ninja so I decided to post this self portrait of a Yuki because I recently got nice compliments about this and I’m feeling tipsy. I also added a snow effect on top of it because Yuki means snow and I thought it was a nice ostentatious touch to enhance my sordid insecurity. Also, I’m wearing my mum’s yukata (summer kimono) when she was 18, hoping that this prehistoric information would give me some instant gratification, and I really need those instant gratifications for my sordid insecurity that is my photography. K, bye! -Yuki

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