6. Harbor Seals 2026

  Week 5: The Loss of Friction – 10/21/26 - 10/21 [5:30 PM].   Hypothetically, could I be able to live in the United States while only walking fifty steps every single day?  Let’s experiment for one day: Before the experiment : I have the amount of money that the average Californian citizen spends each day, subtracting transportation fees since I won’t be leaving my house, is around $182. This seems high–I know that I don't spend $182 every day–but for our little experiment, the extra money wouldn’t hurt.  From this, I subtracted $89, since that is the reported daily (burdening) cost of housing and utilities per day for the average Californian. This leaves me with $93.  For the sake of efficiency, I live in a studio apartment (already paid), where I will move my bed (already paid) to be adjacent with a corner near the front door and a window, which has an outlet on one of the walls.  My restroom is five feet away from me; my feet are size 8 in women’s sho...

San Diego is the first home I have ever known. Its sunny beaches and warm weather characterized the first four years of my life, from our little two-bedroom home with two palm trees in our garden (that are as old as me) to our visits to La Jolla Beach, where I got my first taste of the salty ocean breeze that I have come to adore.  In 2016, we moved to Fremont, trading Southern California sunshine for the foggy Bay Area. 4-year-old me inside Minnie Mouse's house at Disneyland (L.A.) On our first Costco trip in this new city, my parents were in utter shock; they found themselves surrounded by Asians. San Diego had been primarily White, from our neighbors to my dad’s colleagues. Now, our next-door neighbors were the Singhs. Today, I have come to love this Indian-ness of Fremont: the universal experience of being subject to our strict parents’ shared principles and expectations, the familiar cuisine that is home to me, and the traditions and holidays that we all celebrate together....

                                                                                    image credit I stand beside her and admire  the quiet grace of her existence— as the bees land delicately  amid her fragile petals that mankind covets so dearly. At first, I pitied myself. I wondered,  as I stood perpetually ignored in the cold, untouched soil—  for weeks, for months, for years: Why must I grow— Only to feel apologetic for my own existence, and  shunned  by the earth that bore me? But after years of observing her being snapped over and over, just to be esteemed  impermanently by the greediness of  the eyes and hands of man, I felt pity for her. Time etched its lines; her splendor rotted, and she wa...

 It's been almost 4 months now... ...Since Deltarune chapter 5 released... What's changed? Ever since I discovered the Undertale community, I was hooked, consumed, absorbed even into a rabbit hole that was deeper than almost other fandom I've seem combined. The music, the characters, the gags, and my favorite, the Au's Now I know typically this type of content isn't exactly favored, but the base conceptual design had so many years to evolve that we created a completely new community, one that almost focused entirely on love for our own version Tumbler sexy man of 2022, and his game. (Of course Sans wasn't the only character we made our own but he was the main and most popular one)  From this we created gems like Dust Sans; whose theme was "Red Meglovania," Ink!Sans; whose theme was "Tokyovania", and Bad Time Trio ; whose theme was "Triple the Threat." (All of which I highly recommend you check out) These massively popular versions ...

 There is a strange mythology surrounding being the first. I was the first child, the grandchild on both sides of my family, the baby everyone carried around, the one with endless photos and the one everyone cherished.  Then slowly many more arrived. Cousin after cousin after cousin. At first, I was thrilled. I would soon be big sister; I would have someone to play, someone to hold, someone to watch grow up. But as more cousins arrived, I began to feel as though I had become a little less visible. I distinctively remember one moment with my grandfather. My cousins and I were about to cross the street, when my grandfather reached for my cousin's hand first. For a mere second, it felt as though he had forgotten about me.  As a child, that felt enormous I remember coming home and deciding, with absolute certainty only a child could could have, that I would never talk to my grandfather ever again.  Of course, I eventually did.  Another moment that I do not like thin...

  Week 4: Talking Trees  Growing up as a Disney addicted child, I saw many repeating patterns in tropes and types of characters in every show. Popular girl, nerd, weird boy, weird girl, sassy girl, jock guy, emo girl, emo guy–the list goes on. Each type of character always had a far too similar situation going on. It makes sense why–these producers are trying to entertain kids.  Often, the weird and alienated characters always seemed to have unusual pets and talk to them. (I love you Ravi Ross ). But this cannot be any further from the truth. My backyard is the most social place for me. Let me illustrate. The summer before third grade was pretty traumatizing. I’ll save you the story and instead summarize the highlights. One hot summery day, I was to go to the pool with my siblings and cousins, when a terrible thing had happened in my house before my eight year-old eyes–terrible enough to get men with badges involved. Everyone dealt with their own rough emotions differentl...

Growing up, I always saw my mom cooking in the kitchen. My dad was always doing his office work in his room, and my sister would always be in her room. My mom had always asked me to keep her company while doing my homework, which I didn’t mind. I barely had any homework anyways. Whenever I took a sniff of the air, I would be hit with this amazing smell. No way a simple dish smelled so good, just after adding a few spices too.  Interested in what exactly it was, I would ask my mom to help, but her directions were always so vague, like “a little bit of this,” or “add a spoonful of that.” But it was hard to distinguish what exactly “a spoonful” was when there would be 10 spoons to choose from, each with a very distinct size.  So I just eyeballed it, and nearly every single time, my mother would just look at what I put, then at me and just have a face that said, “Seriously?”  But she was never mad. She would just continue and 30 minutes later the food somehow tasted even bett...