It’s been almost two months since my last post. Ever since I started writing this blog over five years ago, this is probably the longest I’ve ever gone without updating it. So why haven’t I? The short answer is that I simply didn’t feel like it.

I do enjoy writing this blog, but for the past month I just didn’t have the energy. There were so many other things that consumed my thoughts and my time. Since late April I participated in an online 30-day course called “Write your grief”. Every day for thirty days straight I wrote a full page and shared it with an online community of fellow grievers. I learned a lot about myself and my grief in the process, and by writing so intensely every day, I felt a rekindled connection with my loss and my pain.

If you’re wondering why I would deliberately seek out pain, I’m truly happy for you. Because if you find this behavior strange, it likely means that you’ve never experienced real loss. If you have, you know why I sometimes feel the need to dig into my grief and really feel it. Sit with it for hours and let it wash over me.

The past two months have marked what would have been my soulmate Geonha’s 29th birthday and the 1.5 year anniversary of his passing. It has been incredibly tough. I’m still struggling with this odd concept of time, and I cannot bear the thought of time passing by, day by day pushing the time where he was here farther and farther into the past. I don’t want him to be in any distant past, I want him here in my present and my future. Naturally all of these emotions have been amplified by the current pandemic and lockdown.

I’m struggling knowing that I won’t be able to go back to Korea any time soon. Because of the travel restrictions and quarantine regulations, I’ll consider myself extremely lucky if I manage to go back by the end of this year. Likely it’ll be much longer and that thought is killing me. I want to go back, no, I need to go back, just like I need air to breathe.

Meanwhile, I’m thankful for Geonha’s family, particularly his brother, who, just as I was writing this with tears streaming down my face, sent me an encouraging message. I’m so grateful and relieved that our shared bond has proven strong enough in the face of physical distance and time difference.

In the midst of all this chaos, I’m trying to find the comfort and the small joys where I can.

When I haven’t been busy tending my ever-broken heart, I’ve been teaching online, studied Korean for several hours every day, and have read a ton of books. Over the past couple of months I’ve read:

  • Educated by Tara Westover
  • The China Study by Colin Campbell
  • How Not To Die by Dr. Michael Greger
  • How Not To Die in a Pandemic by Dr. Michael Greger
  • 21 lessons for the 21st Century by Yuval Noah Harari
  • 산 자들 by 장강명
  • 소년이 온다 by 한강
  • 언어의 온도 by 이기주

I’ve also listened to a lot of new Korean music. I know Geonha would have loved this brand new song by Standing Egg, because he was the one who introduced me to their music in the first place. As a tribute to him, I’m sharing it here with you:

Now, I’m going to order some Korean food for dinner. Stay safe everyone!


  1. I think about you and Geonha often even though you are total strangers to me. Learning Korean has brought treasured friends into my life too, and I think I appreciate them at least a little bit more when I think about how loss can come in the blink of an eye. Korea feels far away right now, but it will still be there when the world finally returns to some sort of normality. Wishing you the best.

    Liked by 2 people

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