Some of my photographic work from the past four months all seemed to land on that single day. Since arriving in the Netherlands, I’ve kept a spreadsheet tracking everything I’ve applied to since March — competitions, opportunities, anything worth “shooting my shot” on, just to see what might happen.

Thank God for that spreadsheet, because I’d completely forgotten about a photo competition I’d entered back in April with an image I originally created in 2024. I’ve always liked that photo, but it had only ever lived on my Instagram and my portfolio site. When I heard about the competition, the deadline was days away — no time for a new shoot, edit, and submission. So I submitted the older photo instead.

Fast forward to last Tuesday: I got an email that the photo had made it to International Photography Award’s Official Selection. I was genuinely shocked, and my first thought was, ‘what photo did I even submit?’ Then I realized it was one of my dance images, which made the news even better. When I first picked up a camera, I attended a workshop where the models were former dancers. That experience was pivotal — it’s when I realized how much I preferred photographing dancers.

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Oddly easy so far has been getting my residency. I’ll attribute that to holding a US passport. I was able to move here under the DAFT visa. I would go to different government appointments and would be in and out within 15 minutes. To top it off, the government employees were cordial or even nice! Smiling, even. What an odd concept. I wasn’t met with scowls or an attitude, which still shocks me.

Now, my business officially goes live on July 1st. I have an LLC back in the States, but this is the first time I’m focusing my energy on me and my business. I’m an entrepreneur now. New phase unlocked.

On that note, I have never networked and outreached so much in my life. I have lived on my laptop and stared at my screens so much since I’ve arrived. Definitely learning as I go, but I do love that I get to dictate my day. I work when I want. I can meet another person when I want. I don’t have to worry about missing a day in the office or requesting PTO. There is a sense of freedom I’ve been loving in this new chapter.

As part of my outreach and networking, I have had some very interesting conversations. Portfolio reviews, business conversations, potential creative connections, etc.

The hardest part? Possibly dealing with Europeans in the summer. The Dutch don’t compromise their leisure, and they shouldn’t. But since I have a clear objective and I’m trying to “hit the ground running,” the Dutch taking WEEKS to respond — because EVERYONE is traveling — has been annoying for this impatient Pisces.

“Sorry for the delay. I just got back and I’m leaving tomorrow for Switzerland.”
“I’m interested, but I won’t be available until after September.”

Or just a good old classic ghosting after THEY reached out with a potential opportunity.

Also, remembering that I’m an outsider. Not the same as I was in Beijing, but an outsider in my own right here in the Netherlands. Holland is tiny. The creative teams are already set, and it’s 4 degrees of separation. So, trying to learn who’s here, and whether — aesthetically — this new person and I would even work well together. Then I remember, I’m in Europe. I can go to France, Belgium, London, easily. And have!

I’m curious to see how the pacing/cadence will be in the fall. Travel has slowed down, the weather has cooled off, and everyone’s back to their usual schedule of random coffee dates and 4-day workweeks, lol.

I drink oat lattes now! I blame Beijing for that. I was terribly exhausted at times in Beijing, so desperate for a false sense of alertness that I’d order a small latte I barely finished. Now, there’s a cafe on every corner. I have a few cafes that I frequent often to pull out my laptop to edit photos or send some emails. But I can’t help but notice how I still see people pull out a book to read or to journal — something so tactile, I noticed it here and in Paris too. I see bookshelves in practically every home (the Dutch keep their windows completely open, and their homes have the biggest windows).

I love that I can get anywhere with public transportation. I haven’t bought a bike yet. I saw 2 bike collisions within the first month of arrival. So, I’m not in a rush; my legs still work, and I’ll continue to walk.

Not everything has been great because that’s life. Two days after I arrived in the Netherlands, a cousin unexpectedly died. There are still moments I can’t comprehend that. As my mother reminded me, “Live your life while you can.”

I’ve taken that to heart.

Going headfirst into a new country, opening a creative business while EVERY SINGLE AD and PROMO is about AI. Fun times. Then I remember: the definition of insanity is “doing the same thing and expecting a different outcome.” I’m doing something new. Demanding something new and different of myself. When I officially had my business registered, the government rep said, “Congratulations and have fun.” Have fun — such a novel idea. Who thinks of having fun when launching a business? Starting a business to make money. But to have fun? Mind-boggling.

Overall, I’m navigating my new world as a foreigner, a businesswoman, and a solo traveler.

Here’s to the next 100 days and to more good news.

My Beijing contract was coming to an end. I had the date highlighted, underlined, and bolded in my calendar. I was ready to leave.

Last summer, I’d gone down rabbit holes of potential new home countries. I also read A Court of Thorns and Roses. A few European countries caught my interest, but none seemed feasible within six months.

By December, I was fighting a nasty flu while interviewing for positions in Japan. I’d had a great time visiting Japan—why not move there and sink my teeth into the country? I ultimately accepted an offer that would put me in the heart of Tokyo. Two months left in China, a new country on the horizon.

NOPE.

The Japanese employer clearly didn’t work out. During the interview process, I told the recruiter my contract would end in February, and she confirmed the new position would start in March. My birthday month—it had to be meant to be.

After completing some online training and signing documents, I told the recruiter I’d be traveling in February and wanted everything taken care of beforehand. Especially if the Japan job was starting in March. Japan was holding weekly onsite trainings starting the first week of March—cutting it close.

The only thing I was told: once I finished the training, I would get my Certificate of Eligibility (COE). No mention of further steps.

Fast forward. My last day in China was February 9. I flew to London on February 12 and met up with one of my dearest friends (hey, Molly!). Still no updates from the Japanese employer. Before I left, I accepted that I would get the COE while on holiday.

My last night in London, the recruiter sent the email with the COE. I was heading to Amsterdam for the first time the next day, so I figured I’d read it once I got there.

Part 2: The Email That Changed Everything

I sat in a hotel on a rainy Amsterdam morning, rereading the email and the Japanese embassy website in shock.

Now I had to submit my passport to the embassy to get my visa? Up to that point, I’d never had to hand over my passport before arriving in a country.

I emailed the recruiter. She told me the embassy could hold my passport for one to four weeks.

Then I saw it: the embassy site explicitly stated that visa applications could only be submitted from your country of residence. I was no longer in China—my job was done, my residency was finished. If I’d stayed, I would have overstayed my visa, since the COE arrived near the end of my Chinese visa’s validity.

That meant an unexpected trip back to America to turn in my passport. In case anyone was wondering: turning in my passport while the world was on fire was not something I wanted to do. My passport is my lifeline.

I requested a call with the recruiter. She was ultimately clueless.

“I’m essentially stuck in the Netherlands now, since I can’t submit my passport here.”

Silence.

“How come the entire visa process wasn’t communicated at the beginning of the interview process?”

Silence. Then: “I’m only familiar with the visa process.”

Again: “Why can’t the whole visa process be communicated with full transparency?”

“Oh, we’re not allowed to do that.”

What the hell??

I paced the hotel room for an hour. Then I decided to extend my stay in Amsterdam, because… why not? I wasn’t booking a last-minute flight to America, especially due to poor communication. Every other country I’d worked for—including China—had been upfront about the visa process. No surprises. The Japanese recruiter and employer gave me information piecemeal. I’d complete one task, then they’d give me another. Finish that? Now do this.

A few days later, I reconnected with a consultant I’d spoken with the previous summer about the Netherlands visa process. Out of frustration and slight pettiness, I decided to start the Dutch visa process.

I ended up staying in Amsterdam for nearly two weeks before I eventually—and begrudgingly—flew back to the States. The highlight was seeing my mother and grandmother. It had been nearly two years. I got to see them and take care of necessities for the Dutch paperwork. Two birds, one stone.

Part 3: Housing, Zoom Calls, and a Final Straw

While stateside, I felt like I lived on my laptop. A vital step in the Dutch visa process is finding housing. Housing in the Netherlands is diabolical. More people than housing, and most options are sublets that don’t qualify for visa registration. But after scouring the interwebs, I found a place and made my one and only offer.

During the house hunt, I had a Zoom meeting with the Japanese employer, the recruiter, and the head director. I’d already made up my mind not to pursue the Japan job. That call only confirmed my decision.

Did I forget to mention that up to this point—early-March—my salary and work location still hadn’t been confirmed? Communication was painfully slow. I was supposed to give up my passport for possibly up to a month in the States—during a government shutdown and a war—for a job without a confirmed salary? That was a pass.

On the call, the director contradicted the recruiter. I mentioned the embassy holding my passport for one to four weeks; he said it would be five days max. Then he pivoted, saying my conversation made him concerned about what had been said. He was also concerned about how I might act once in Japan.

Now I was confused. My Chinese employer had been upset that I was leaving and wanted me to stay. And now this stranger was implying I would be a problem.

I asked the recruiter directly: “What did I say?”

The recruiter’s only response: “The conversation seemed targeted.”

What in the actual hell?

I’d heard enough. “I’m not interested in joining your company. I wanted to tell you directly and not via an email. Best of luck.”

I’ve always heard living in Japan is different than visiting—which is true for any country. But the slow communication, piecemeal information, three months just to get an update on anything… and then that Zoom call? It took two weeks just to get that call on the calendar. Not to mention the Japanese yen was very weak at the time.

Part 4: Birthday, One‑Way Flight, and a New Home

Two weeks later came my birthday: March 18. I spent the day with family. My godmother made an impromptu trip to visit me the weekend before and my mother and I had a date night. I fielded calls and texts from family and friends while packing. (At this point, I’d been living out of my suitcases for six weeks.)

The next day, I took a one‑way flight back to Amsterdam. All my worldly possessions in three suitcases—after traveling from country to country, you get rid of a lot of stuff—and my camera gear in my backpack. My mother stood outside the security line, getting one last glance at me.

I got to the airport so early. Local Atlanta news kept showing the longest lines. Atlanta airport is a pain on a normal day, now with a government shutdown. I was mentally prepared to stand in TSA lines for hours despite having pre‑check. Luckily, the international side of the airport was quiet, and I was through within thirty minutes.

The eight‑hour flight was fairly easy, but I couldn’t sleep. I was exhausted from spending many early mornings communicating with folks overseas, and I was still in a bit of shock at what I was doing. I stayed up starting and completing an entire book.

I got through Amsterdam’s security and grabbed my bags in forty minutes. Hopped in an Uber and went straight to my new apartment. At this point, my mother was praying that this wasn’t one big scam—that I hadn’t gotten my down payment stolen and wouldn’t end up homeless.

It’s been thirty‑six hours since I arrived. I don’t think it’s fully hit me yet. When I left China at the beginning of February, I thought I would be on holiday for about two weeks, then head to Japan. Instead, I extended my holiday an extra week, went back to the States for the first time in years, and now—I’m writing this Substack from my new home in the Netherlands.

A hard pivot in one month.

Happy Birthday to me!

I was drowning in possibilities but had to remind myself to stay grounded. It wasn’t until August that I finally had a clue and realized: girl, just breathe. After more flip-flops than a discount beachwear sale, I’m about 95% sure where I’ll be spending 2026—and honestly, I’m excited. It’ll be around my birthday, which I’ve always considered the real start of the new year anyway. Perfect timing. I’m trying hard not to over-romanticize it (no place is perfect), but I’m genuinely looking forward to the next chapter.

In 2026, I definitely want to do more photo shoots. I also need to photograph more of the mundane, day-to-day stuff. I realized I barely walked around Beijing with my camera capturing daily life—but then again, street photography isn’t really my jam. There’s an art to it, and there’s definitely an ethical way to do it, but as a foreigner navigating different laws and norms? I wasn’t trying to become an accidental viral sensation. That said, I’ve got some travel planned before the big move and, God willing, I’ll squeeze in a couple test shoots. Yet another reason to side-eye 2026 with optimistic curiosity.

As for 2025… what a whirlwind. Beijing really clarified what I like and what I absolutely do not. It started with an unexpected highlight: my photography work was showcased in an exhibition in Brooklyn. Seeing selfies from friends and family who went to see my prints—without me even asking—was everything. Having support from across the world? Chef’s kiss.

Work in Beijing had its bright spots too. Turns out I’m surprisingly decent with kids. It takes a village worth of energy to teach and entertain a bunch of little humans who may or may not want to be in a classroom, but overall, it’s been fulfilling.

The moments I felt the most American, though, were always related to healthcare.
First instance: Beijing requires employers to offer a free annual physical. Turns out I was the only one on my team who signed up. Apparently, that was a dead giveaway I was American. I got bloodwork, X-rays, ultrasounds, screenings—all free. FREEEEE. I did decline a couple of exams that felt a little too thorough. (Rectal exam? Not today, Satan.)
Second instance: I recently caught the flu—Flu A, to be exact, plus an upper respiratory infection and an ear infection from blowing my nose like a trumpet. (Note to future self: take your flu shot!) After two days of suffering and my usual cold medicine doing nothing, I went to an international hospital. Same-day appointment. Check-in, bloodwork, X-rays, swab, ENT visit, results, and prescriptions—all done in under three hours. All under $400 USD. (My work insurance doesn’t cover this hospital, but the care and service are worth every yuan.) Back in the States, that same process would’ve involved waiting forever for an appointment or hours in the ER, more hours at the pharmacy, and a future argument with insurance—plus possibly questionable care. Even in Korea, when I caught a cold, I saw a doctor on my lunch break with no appointment, picked up my prescription, and walked back to work. (Kids are walking germ festivals. In Asia, they show up to school masked up and medicated—handled.)

Anywho, as 2025 screeches to a halt, I’m grateful for every experience so far—the good, the bad, and the “what was that?” I’m hopeful 2026 will be even better, and I wish the same for each of you. I hope you’re doing the best you can with whatever the world is throwing your way. Spend these last few days resting, recharging, and loving on your people.

Until next time…

I’d only had two massages in the past year, so my body was basically an abandoned construction site. I’d even noticed weeks ago that my right shoulder was visibly higher than my left. So, I did the logical thing and tried to find a chiropractor in Beijing.

Spoiler: it’s practically impossible. The Chinese medical world doesn’t really embrace chiropractic adjustments. I saw an orthopedic doctor who immediately wanted an X-ray before he would even look at me. I didn’t have time for that whole song and dance, so I just left. It was a sh*t show.

I then pivoted to the Traditional Chinese Medicine route. I found an acupuncturist. This sadistic experience has confirmed, with absolute certainty, that I will never have acupuncture again. I’d had a session in New Jersey and felt nothing. This Chinese man had me screaming.

I told him my symptoms, and he immediately declared, “It’s the muscle.” (Groundbreaking, but I still needed my spine checked.) He placed six needles at the top and bottom of my neck, then three in my left hand, since the pain was on my left side. I lay there with the needles, “relaxing,” for several minutes. So far, so good.

Then he removed the needles and had me sit up. He put three new needles in my left hand: two between the knuckles, and one perpendicular to my pinky. This is when my hand turned to fire. He’d jammed the needle in deep enough to hit a nerve to “open up the energy channel.” THEN, he started moving the needles between my knuckles. OUCH!

He turned my hand into an arcade joystick, commanding me to move my head left, right, up, and down. I don’t know how long this lasted, but it felt like an eternity. Then he did it all again on my right hand. The entire time, I was grunting and moaning like a wounded animal.

Next, he told me to walk around with the needles still in both hands while moving my neck. I was strolling around the room looking like a TEMU version of Edward Scissorhands.

After a while, he told me to sit back down. “Sorry,” he said, “but I’ll have to hurt you again.” He then proceeded to use my hands as joysticks once more while I tried to move my neck. My hands were on fire, and I was supposed to be finding Zen. At one point, his voice got very stern: “Next time this happens, call me within two hours! Don’t wait!” (I’d had the stiff neck for three days by then.)

He finally removed the needles (my hands were still warm), and I lay on my back as he gave me a deep tissue massage on my neck and upper back. Somehow, this was a reprieve. He finished, and I had regained some motion. One of the parting advice? “Avoid cold air and AC.” Then I went to work, slightly traumatized.

Two days later, I woke up and my neck was sore again. Thank the gods for my heating pad.

A few days after that, I got a neck and shoulder massage. The therapist found multiple knots in my back, resulting in more groaning from me. I’d asked for a firm massage and woke up the next morning incredibly sore. What is a deep massage like, then? But it was very much needed and bought me another week of functionality.

Since I was planning to visit Shanghai for the upcoming holiday, I figured my chances of finding a chiropractor would be better there. A quick Google search later, I had an appointment booked.

By the time I saw the chiropractor, my neck wasn’t in acute pain, but the adjustment was long overdue. My chiropractor was from Sweden, and we bonded over our traumatic acupuncture experiences and the difficulty of finding chiropractic care in Beijing.

He started the assessment.
“Do you have scoliosis?”
“I can show you my x-ray from several years ago that shows my low back curvature,” I said.
“Curvature is scoliosis,” he replied.
“Yeah,” I said. “Sounds about right.”

He then drew what my spine looks like on the patient form. It was identical to my x-ray.
“That tracks,” I said.
“Your right shoulder is higher than your left.”
“Yep, saw that in the mirror a few weeks ago.”
“Let me check your profile. Your head is slightly leaning forward.”
“Ummmm, come again?”

He took me over to a spine picture on the wall and explained how the spine should be aligned to keep the weight of the head in line. He handed me a weighted medicine ball. “That is the weight of a typical head. Hold it close to your body. Easy, right? Now extend your arms. Heavy, right? That is your head now.”
“Great.”

He told me to lie on the table and checked my legs.
“Your right leg is longer than your left. That means your pelvis is off.”
“Of course it is.”

He checked my neck, and that was the end of the assessment. The verdict? He had to work on my entire back and do some soft tissue work because, according to him, “pardon my French, but you’re tight as f*k.”
“Let’s do this!” I said.

He started with the massage gun on my hips. My God, that hurt. I’ve never had a machine gun applied to my hips. I was grunting through it while my self-proclaimed sadist chiropractor giggled. We were off to a great start.

Then he began to “warm up the spine” with a handheld “thing” that just punched both sides of my spine. My old chiropractor was old school and would only do single hits. This was a rapid-fire gun going up and down my entire back.

“Okay, turn your head to the side,” he said. Then came the first neck adjustment I had so deeply MISSED. It resulted in multiple cracking sounds.
“There we go! That was great!” I cheered.
“I just came back from holiday, and your energy is so chill. Very much needed. Thank you,” he said.
“Thank you! I’ve waited weeks for this.”

He continued with more adjustments, including the classic hip adjustment that prompted him to say, “You’re making me work!”
Internal thought: “Good! I want my money’s worth.”

“Ready for the towel?” he asked.
“Yay!” I’d only seen towel work in online chiropractor videos, so I was excited for the experience.

I switched tables and lay on my back. He locked me into place with two bars on both sides of my hips. It was snug. I legitimately couldn’t move. He tucked a towel under my back and crossed it over my neck. The pressure from the towel alone was enough to give me pause.

But then I IMMEDIATELY got a case of the giggles because… what the hell is happening in my life right now? I started laughing uncontrollably, which only made it worse. The chiropractor started laughing too—at me or with me, who knows? He let me regain composure before continuing his sadistic work.

“Grit your teeth to make sure you don’t bite your tongue off,” he instructed.
Internally: “That’s comforting.”
“Ready?”
“Yep.”
“1, 2, 3.” He yanked the towel, pulling my neck. The sensation in my head was a new experience—definitely not as bad as it looks online, and nowhere near as traumatic as the acupuncture. The oddest part was the sensation in my face.

He finished with some soft tissue work on my back, and then I was out the door. Start to finish was about an hour, and I felt like I was floating. FINALLY.

I floated my way to a photoshoot at an old factory building turned cafe/storefront. (Photos coming soon.)

I know people have strong opinions about chiropractic medicine, but it has been a savior for me time and again. Now I’m able to walk around Shanghai, freely moving my neck from side to side as I dodge massive crowds.

• 4:30am: At Beijing airport. A fun reminder that you have to go through customs and immigration just to escape China. The adventure begins.

• 7:00am - 11:30am: Emirates flight. Thank you for the safe passage and the tiny meals that somehow fuel a full day.

• 1:00pm (Dubai Time): Land, clear customs, grab bag, arrive at hotel. Efficiency is my love language.

• 1:30pm: Hotel upgrade! Shower, scarf down a snack, and transform from weary traveler to ~Fashion Photographer~.

• 4:30pm: Hail an Uber. Immediately notice a theme: every car is either a Lexus or a Tesla. Dubai casually lets you know the vibe.

• 5:00pm: Check in at the show. Scope out the photopit and realize the pit is… not for me. Decided my talents were better suited from the front row. I unapologetically move to the front row.

• 6:00pm: Show is scheduled to start.

• 6:30pm: Show actually starts. Some things are universal.

• 7:00pm: Show ends. Collection shot, looks captured, duty done.

• 9:30pm: Collapse back at the hotel. The glamour is real, folks.

Sunday: The Victory Lap

• 9:00am: Wake up. Groggy is an understatement.

• 11:00am: Arrive at the Dubai Mall. This place is a city within a city. I had to use GPS to find an exit. Spent three hours happily lost among aquariums, ice rink, waterfalls and every luxury store known to humankind.

• 1:30pm: Shift gears from ultra-modern to classic at the Gold Souq. Where the Dubai Mall is sleek, the Souq is all dazzling, overwhelming charm.

• 4:00pm: Major fuel stop. Lunch? Dinner? Let’s call it a very timely "linner."

• 8:30pm: Check out of the hotel and head to the airport. The blitz is almost complete.

• 12:00am: Wheels up, leaving Dubai. A perfect 36-hour takeover.

Monday: The "Back to Reality" Special

• 11:00am (Beijing Time): Land in Beijing. The jet lag is about to hit.

• 2:30pm: Finally back in my apartment. Shower, power nap, and attempt to remember my normal life.

• 4:30pm - 8:00pm: Go to work. Because what’s a whirlwind international trip without work immediately after?

• 9:30pm: Officially pass out. Mission accomplished.

A weekend that was equal parts efficient, fabulous, and a little bit ridiculous. Until next time, Dubai.

The Good, The Bad, and The “Wait, What?”

• Tokyo stole my heart with its cleanliness, efficiency, and public transit that actually respects personal space.

• Shanghai is a relief—foreigner-friendly, effortlessly cool, and the instant relaxation I needed after Beijing’s chaos. (Air quality? Better than most. The energy? Chef’s kiss.)

• Vietnamese people are the kindest souls, and their food is a vegan’s dream. Pro tip: Just…don’t lead with “I’m American.”

• Korea: Where do I start? The hagwon (private academy) system is a circus, doctors are mass-resigning, and I lived through martial law that lasted a few hours (only to wake up to “never mind!”). Yet hiking with Koreans? Brutal. They’ll leave you wheezing on a mountain, questioning your life choices.

• Asian summers are brutal. If you see me melting into a puddle, pretend you didn’t.

• Beijing is a contradiction: Olympic grandeur meets…casual public nose-picking? The metro? A shoving match with a side of summer BO. Pass the hand sanitizer and face mask.

Reality Check: From housing crises to political drama, every “dream destination” reminds me of Amerikkka with different fonts. Low wages? Check. Youth unemployment? Check. Leaders making choices? Big check.

Survival Kit Essentials

• Masks and tissues: Non-negotiable. For pollution, bathrooms, and emotional support.

• Good walking shoes: Because cobblestones and moped traffic (looking at you, Hanoi) wait for no one.

• Thick skin: For stares, sneaky photos (China, I see you), and kids asking why my hair “looks like that.”

Personal Wins

• Solitude = peace. Who knew?

• No car, no stress. Trains > traffic.

• Leisurely reading! And a new camera to capture it all.

• My students think I’m rich (gold jewelry = billionaire status, apparently).

Mostly, I’m grateful—for my family’s support, for meeting incredible humans worldwide, and for the freedom to keep auditioning countries. Where to next? Stay tuned!

Lately, I’ve been sifting through my work, trying to pinpoint what’s missing. The answer? (No surprise to me.) Male models. Back stateside, I rarely photographed them. So, I’m pushing myself out of my comfort zone, getting more men in front of my lens.

My shoot day approach hasn’t changed much: arrive with a loose plan, then see what the model and I can conjure up in the moment or with our surroundings. Shooting male models in Seoul, Tokyo, Beijing, and Shanghai so far? I like this trajectory.

Subconsciously, Dana Scruggs looms large. I’ve always been a fan of her distinctive style. She famously focused on male models early in her career, especially in her magazine, SCRUGGS. Photographing men now, on my terms? It’s genuinely fun. No pressure. Just exploring what we can capture in that fleeting moment.

There’s the occasional language barrier – different emphases on syllables can lead to some amusing confusion. But it’s also fascinating collaborating with other foreigners in a new country. And then there are the small kindnesses, the glimpses of basic decency that catch you off guard. Like the Korean model who gifted me a treat at the end of the shoot. Or the Nigerian model in Beijing who kept offering to carry my bag. I don’t walk around expecting much from people, but these moments? They’re a warm counterpoint to the constant low hum of culture shock vibrating in whatever international city I’ve landed in.

Where this new chapter leads, I don’t know. But I’m ready to embrace being an international photographer, lens open to whatever – and whoever – comes into focus next.

Curious about the work behind these reflections? See more of my photography on my website or follow my visual journey on Instagram @shaunice_photos.

Finding frames between flights,

Janeé

The next day, I hit the ground sprinting. Wore my Fitbit like a badge of honor and clocked 10,000 steps by 11 AM. By day’s end: 20,000 steps, 11 miles, and a newfound respect for my own stamina. Observations? 1. The air! Clean. No pollen blizzards. Just blue sky and a sun so aggressive I nearly vaporized. Beijing’s gray haze had me fooled—this was actual weather. 2. The architecture! European bones with a Chinese heartbeat (thanks, Opium War history). Surreal, but chic. 3. Vegan food galore! Even the waitstaff’s English was fluent—no charades required to order. 4. The metro! Civilized. No shoving, no nose-mining strangers, no loud phone theatrics. Just… peace. My nervous system sighed in relief.

Saturday: Test Shoot Day. I arrived early, scouting locations, when an elderly man and two kids froze mid-walk to stare. Ah, here we go. The man chattered to them (about me, obviously), while the youngest hid behind him like I was a haunted statue. He stepped forward, said something in Chinese. I fumbled: “Wǒ shì měiguó rén” (I’m American). Then—the pivot. He nudged a kid toward me, iPhone raised. Oh hell no. I declined faster than expired milk. They wandered off, the kids still looking confused, grandpa undeterred. Luckily, the model arrived soon after, and we got to work. Easy collaboration, killer shots, zero more unsolicited fan photos. Success.

Post-shoot, I café-hopped with new friends until my train back to Beijing. As we neared the city, the sky turned grayer, the air thicker, and every man on the platform lit a cigarette like it was his job. (Shanghai’s secondhand smoke-free zen? Gone.) Look, I’ll admit this became a love letter to Shanghai with shady footnotes about Beijing—but the vibes don’t lie. Even the stares during the shoot made sense: a Black woman photographing a white guy isn’t exactly everyday scenery in China (or America, tbh).

Final Verdict: Shanghai was a whirlwind of clean air, smooth metros, and vegan wins. Met cool people, expanded my portfolio, and left plotting my return. Beijing, I’ll see you at home—cigarettes and all.

I ended up at Jinshanling, about 2.5 hours from downtown Beijing. (Side note: The Great Wall is 21,196 km long. That’s roughly 13,171 miles—or, as I like to think of it, an aggressive step count.)

On the drive, our tour guide gave us a crash course in Chinese history. Very informative, but honestly, I was just relieved we could drive to the entrance instead of hiking to the hike. (Shoutout to South Korea for traumatizing me with the "hike before the hike" concept.)

The Backpack Brigade

When we arrived, three Chinese women with backpacks materialized out of nowhere. “Hello!” they chirped. We said hello back, assuming this was a normal greeting—until we realized they were following us.

Me, side-eyeing with my fellow tourist: “Uh… who are they?”

The tour guide, casually tells us they are local farmers. Since, there aren’t any crops to sell right now, so they moonlight as souvenir vendors.

Cool. Would’ve loved a heads-up, but hey, entrepreneurship knows no bounds.

We declined their trinkets, thinking that was that—until we started climbing and realized they were still trailing us. Not aggressively, just… persistently. Like the Great Wall’s very own NPCs.

Then, plot twist: One of them helped me climb. The fine print said there’d be lifts (like ski lifts) to take us to the top. Lies. The lifts weren’t even operational. So hiking it was. Listen, some of these steps were practically vertical, and I was lugging my heavy Canon camera, a water bottle, and poor life choices in my backpack. Next thing I know, this tiny but mighty farmer just yoinks my bag and carries it for me.

Obviously, I bought something from her afterward. Respect the hustle.

“Ma’am, This Isn’t a Zoo”

What I wasn’t prepared for? Becoming a tourist attraction myself.

I pulled out my camera to take photos of the Wall, only to realize locals wanted photos of me. A teenage girl waited patiently before asking, “Photo?”

Me, blinking: “A… photo? Of me?”

I naively thought avoiding the crowded sections would mean fewer stares. Nope. I was the main attraction.

It happened three more times. One woman in full hiking gear didn’t even speak English—just grinned, waved a mini China flag, and had her (presumed) brother/husband snap a pic.

Our tour guide tried to explain: “Many people here have never seen someone who looks like you.”

At one point, a random guy blurted out, “Norway!”

Sir… what? Even the tour guide was confused.

I left that day with a newfound respect for Beyoncé. How does she do this?

The Wall Itself: A Marvel

Despite my unexpected fame, the Great Wall was stunning. We trekked about 3-4 kilometers, passing makeshift souvenir stands and taking in unobstructed views of raw, natural beauty.

The sheer scale of it is mind-boggling. How did they build this without modern tech? The people who built the wall were enslaved—but still. The feat is incomprehensible.

Final Thoughts

Grateful to have experienced one of the world’s wonders—perfect weather, no crowds, and a day well spent.

I’ll leave you with a quote from Malcolm X from 1963:

“American propaganda is designed to make us think that no matter how much hell we catch here, we’re still better off in America than we’d be anywhere else.”

The joke’s on them—I’m out here living.

It’s my birthday month, and you know what that means—time for some deep reflection, gratitude, and a little bit of existential pondering (because why not?). While most people hit the reset button in January, I’ve always felt that March, with its blooming flowers and longer days, is the true start of the new year. Spring is nature’s way of saying, “Hey, let’s try this again,” and I’m here for it.

So, for those who don’t know, I’m currently living in Beijing! Yes, Beijing. The past month has been a whirlwind of apartment hunting, residency visa paperwork, job training, and trying to figure out how to say “Where can I find vegan food?” in Mandarin. It’s been a lot, but I’m settling in—slowly but surely.

In the midst of all this chaos, something incredible happened. My photography was chosen to be showcased during Black History Month back in Brooklyn! I was shocked, humbled, and honestly, a little emotional. I wasn’t even chasing this opportunity—it found me. And isn’t that just how life works sometimes? You’re out here minding your own business, and the universe drops a little reminder that you’re on the right path.

Seeing my work alongside other talented photographers—some of whom are way more established than I am—was both validating and motivating. It reminded me that my portfolio is growing, my voice is being heard, and my art is resonating with people. Plus, knowing that my family and friends showed up to support me (without me even asking!) warmed my heart in ways I can’t even describe.

And let’s talk about timing for a second. I’ve been traveling for a few months now, and I’m realizing not everyone got the memo that I’ve left the dumpster fire that is America. So, getting messages from previous and potential clients about photography gigs while I’m halfway across the world has been a wild but welcome surprise. It’s like the universe is saying, “Don’t worry, your work is still out here reaching its people.”

So, 2025 is off to a fun, exciting, and slightly chaotic start. My birthday is rapidly approaching, and while I haven’t quite figured out how I’ll celebrate, I’m sure inspiration will strike at the last minute (very on-brand for me). I’m just grateful to be here, to see another year, and to continue growing—both as an artist and as a person.

As for now, I’ll be in Beijing for a year. A year! It feels like both a lifetime and no time at all. I’m already plotting all the things I want to do, see, and photograph because I know this time will fly by. Will I stay longer? Who knows. Only time will tell.

In the meantime, I’m adjusting to the sheer scale of Beijing and all the curious stares I get on the metro (fun fact: if you say “hello” quickly, they’ll awkwardly smile and look away—it’s become my little game).

To close, I’ll leave you with a quote from the brilliant James Baldwin: “Not everything that is faced can be changed, but nothing can be changed until it is faced.” This year, I’m facing everything—new cities, new challenges, and new opportunities—with an open heart and a curious mind.

Here’s to growth, to spring, and to another trip around the sun.

With love and light,
Janeé

First off, let’s talk about the food. I ate so well. As a vegan, I was low-key nervous about finding options, but Hanoi came through like that one friend who always has snacks in their bag. Banh mi? Vegan. Spring rolls? Vegan. Fresh fruit and fruit drinks that tasted like heaven in a cup? Vegan, vegan, vegan. I was in a plant-based paradise. AND the fruit didn’t cost an arm and a leg like it does in Korea. I was eating dragon fruit like it was my job.

Now, let’s get into the details.

The Hotel: Black Girl Luxury

I rolled up to my hotel, and honey, the staff treated me like royalty. They greeted me with tea, carried all my bags, and even upgraded me to a junior suite. Let me tell you, that suite was bigger than the shoebox apartment my Korean hagwon stuck me in. The rooftop bar was calm and chic, and the hotel restaurant saved me more than once with late-night meals. I did something I’d never done before at a hotel: I used their laundry service! Best decision ever. Officially entering my bougie era.

The Old Quarter: Chaos and Charm

Since I got to the hotel early, I hit the Old Quarter for a walk. Immediately, two things hit me:

1. The pollution. My throat was scratchy, and my glasses had a layer of dust after just 10 minutes. Not cute.

2. The trash. Listen, I’ve been to Japan and South Korea, where the streets are so clean you could eat off them. Hanoi? Not so much.

I wore my shades not just to look cute (though I did) but to protect my eyes from the particles in the air. Priorities.

Ha Long Bay: Nature’s Flex

The next day, I went on a day cruise to Ha Long Bay. The limestone islands and that sunset? Breathtaking. I found out later you can do an overnight trip, but honestly, the day trip was enough for me to get my nature fix.

Village Tour: Culture and Comedy

The village tour was a highlight. I made a Vietnamese hat, had tea at a war vet’s home, visited an incense village, and hit up Train Street. While walking through a village, we rolled up on a group of about 20 men gambling. There was a blanket with different animals on the corners, a “dealer” who had dice with the animals on them under a tin can. The gentlemen placed their bets on which animal they thought would win, and the dealer shook the can to reveal the animal. It was fun to watch.

But the real comedy came during the Vietnamese massage. I was lying there, relaxed, almost asleep, when—BANG! BANG! BANG!—the massage therapist started hitting my limbs like she was auditioning for a drumline. I almost jumped off the table! I couldn’t even ask her what was going on because the language barrier was real. We were both stuck at “hello” and “thank you.”

Motorbike Madness: Hanoi’s Signature Chaos

The motorbike tour was the most fun I had. Hanoi has more motorbikes than people, I swear. And the traffic? Insane. Only to find out that it was “calm” since everyone went home for the holiday. Rule of thumb: You just have to walk forward and trust that the bikes will go around you. No stopping, no hesitating—just faith.

I saw families of five on one bike, no helmets, and women sitting sidesaddle in dresses like they were at a tea party. Meanwhile, I was clutching my tour guide for dear life, trying not to scream every time we zipped through an intersection.

The tour guide was amazing, though. He took me to a temple packed with people praying for the new year. Surprisingly, I got shoved—not once, but twice—by elderly Vietnamese women trying to get to the monk. The irony of shoving someone to get to a prayer was not lost on me. I just chuckled and kept it moving.

Final Thoughts: Hanoi, I’ll Be Back

Hanoi is a 9 out of 10 for me. It lost a point because walking in the Old Quarter is legit insane. If you don’t believe me, Google “crossing the street in Hanoi” and see for yourself. But overall, this city is vibrant, full of life, and unapologetically itself.

I’ll be back to explore more of Vietnam. Ho Chi Minh City and Da Nang, you’re next on my list. Until then, Hanoi, keep the pho hot, the fruit fresh, and the motorbikes… well, just keep doing your thing—it seems to be working for everyone, lol.

Hanoi, you’ve been a vibe. Loud, messy, and full of flavor.

If you’re reading this, I have officially left South Korea. That chapter is closed, and in a few days, I’ll be taking my talents to my next country. But first, I’m ringing in the Lunar New Year in Hanoi because, why not?

Let’s catch up:

The last month of 2024? Whew. A mess. On December 3rd, I was up late editing photos when my phone lit up with an alert—South Korea’s president had enacted martial law. Now, at that moment, I had two choices: panic or keep editing. Naturally, I kept editing. Went to bed. Woke up. And guess what? Martial law was over. If I hadn’t checked my phone, I wouldn’t have even known it happened because my day-to-day life? Completely normal. Turns out, all the drama was in Seoul. And when South Koreans protest? It’s giving K-pop concert—strobe lights, singing, and all of it happening in freezing temperatures.

Tokyo for Christmas!

I finally made it to Tokyo over winter break! And let me tell you—Tokyo is HUGE. I only managed to explore two districts, and even then, I barely scratched the surface. Japan needs multiple visits. It’s the little things that make or break an experience for me, and Tokyo delivered: public transportation on time to the second, spotless streets, and so many vegan options I didn’t have to panic-order fries for survival.

Also, I had two photoshoots! One was with a model from an agency. The agency assured me she spoke English. Lies. This woman knew about as much English as I knew Japanese, which is exactly two words. So, shoot day arrives, we stare at each other, and I realize it’s time to put my faith in technology. Google Translate? MVP. Despite the language barrier, we still made magic.

Leaving Korea: No Tears, Just Vibes

Let’s be real—I was ready to go. Korea showed me I needed a major city with easier access to, well, everything. Mailing documents? Had to go over an hour away to Busan. Getting a visa? Four-hour trip to Seoul. Needed a doctor’s checkup? Another long trek. The hagwon system, though? Scam behavior. Full stop.

Midnight runs are a thing, and they’re exactly what they sound like—teachers sneaking out of Korea overnight because of awful working conditions. Why? Try unpaid wages, crazy co-teachers, management that operates like the mafia, and parents who run the schools like VIP customers at a nightclub. I knew from week one that I wasn’t built for this foolishness, and when I looked into switching schools, I learned about the release letter—aka, a hagwon’s way of holding you hostage. If your current school doesn’t feel like giving you that letter, you can’t legally work anywhere else in Korea. And some of them get petty.

But here’s the thing—I always have options. I wasn’t about to pull a midnight run, but I was going to exit with dignity. Gave my two months’ notice (even though two months is wild), and my director decided to top off my experience by telling me—multiple times—that it wasn’t a “slave contract.” Chile. If there was ever a sign that I made the right decision, that was it.

Moral of the story? Put yourself first, always. People will be mad, disappointed, and throw tantrums when they can’t take advantage of you. Oh well. You don’t get a fast-pass to heaven for being a doormat.

But Korea Wasn’t All Bad

Outside of work, I had some great experiences. I met dope photographers, did some amazing shoots, made friends with the foreign teacher crew, and even befriended a badass Korean hiker. Korea itself? Fun to visit. Work in a hagwon? I can’t in good faith recommend that. Korea is also not the most foreigner-friendly place. The visa process was unnecessarily long, opening a bank account was a process, and getting a simple phone number felt like filing for citizenship. Honestly, I might’ve been better off just rolling in on a tourist visa.

So, yeah—bye, Korea! You were a learning experience. You showed me exactly what I don’t want, reminded me to always put myself first, and reinforced the truth: Disappointing people who thought they could play in your face is not a loss.

Next Stop: Hanoi!

Hanoi has been a time, and I’ll be spilling all about it in my next newsletter.

Until then, take care of yourself. And remember—self-preservation is not selfish.

I know some Korean—enough to order food and say polite things—but not enough to have a full-blown conversation. So, I whipped out my phone and opened Papago (a translation app) to let her know I could only speak English. She smiled, nodded, and... made a phone call.

I thought nothing of it until she put the call on speaker. Turns out, she’d called her son, who greeted me with, “My mother wants to know if you enjoyed the botanical garden?” I was SHOOK. This woman really called in backup just to talk to me! Her son was super polite, (spoke better English than me) and after our brief conversation, the call ended.

By the time the bus arrived, I figured this was the end of our “single-serving” encounter (two points if you caught that Fight Club reference). Nope! She motioned for me to sit next to her on the empty bus, and we kept chatting via Papago. She told me about her family, her love of hiking, and—plot twist—that we live practically in the same neighborhood! Fast forward a few days, and now we have a scheduled hiking date.

The Day of the Hike

She picked me up bright and early at 7 a.m., and we met with three more people—a man, two women, and a 7-year-old child—before piling into a car for a two-hour drive. Yes, TWO HOURS. I had no idea the hiking spot was so far away. Then once we got there, the temperature had dropped significantly. I didn’t dress properly. I’m talking hoodie and sweatpants. Rookie mistake.

Before we started the hike, the group had a mini picnic in the parking lot, complete with coffee and snacks. They offered me coffee, which I initially declined (because I don’t drink coffee), but when the cold started biting, I caved. And you know what? I didn’t hate it. I still don’t know what was in it, but it was warm, black, and delicious, so no complaints.

The Hike

We approached the trail map, where one of the women traced her finger across the route, showing me the path. Her finger kept going... and going... and finally stopped at a temple. Then she announced, “Four hours.” Four. Hours. I knew I was in trouble.

We started hiking, and let me tell you, don’t EVER go hiking with a bunch of 60-year-old Koreans unless you’re ready to be humbled. They breezed through the trail like mountain goats, humming, singing, and hopping over rocks like it was a casual stroll. Meanwhile, I was fighting for my life.

At one point, we stopped for snacks (thank God), and my new hiking buddy offered me her hiking stick—because why would I have one? It was a lifesaver. The trail was stunning, though. Rivers, trees in vibrant autumn colors, and mountains surrounded us. But as beautiful as it was, my legs and feet were screaming.

When it started drizzling, I thought it couldn’t get worse. Spoiler: It didn’t. The rain was light, and I had a hoodie, so I survived. But by hour three, I was done. My friend asked, “Are you okay?” I lied through my teeth: “I’m okay.” She laughed and said, “You’re not okay.” She was right.

The Temple

We finally reached the temple entrance after what felt like forever. There were two options to get to the actual temple: a steep paved road or an endless flight of stairs. We took the paved road, but my legs were quaking. By the time we reached the top, there were still more stairs. I sat down and refused to move for a bit.

Eventually, we climbed the last steps, left our bags behind (theft isn’t really a thing in Korea), and entered the temple. Inside, the peace and beauty of the Buddha statue made me forget my aching body—at least temporarily. Stepping back out, the panoramic view of the mountains was breathtaking. Trees in shades of green, yellow, and red stretched as far as I could see. It was magical.

Of course, the group had another picnic right there, and I happily welcomed the break.

The Way Back

The hike down was much easier, thanks to a fully paved path (which, by the way, existed the whole time—who knew and why couldn’t we take this way to the temple?!). Back at the parking lot, I thought we were heading home. Wrong. My buddy grabbed my arm and said one word: “Makgeolli.”

Next thing I knew, we were in a restaurant ordering the Korean rice wine and enough food to feed everyone 3 times. By the time we got back in the car, I was ready to pass out.

But wait, there’s more! On the way home, we stopped at another park. I could barely walk at this point, but the sunset and autumn leaves made it worth it.

Lessons Learned

By the time I got home, it had been a 12-hour day. My body was wrecked, but my heart was full. And somehow, I agreed to another hike in December. Pray for me!

One thing I’ve learned since moving to Korea is the power of the tongue. I’d been wanting to hike since I got here, and not only did I get my wish, but I also befriended a forest ranger who hikes for fun and taught me about plants and the history of the trail through a translation app. Life has a funny way of giving you what you ask for—and then some.

Completely humbled.

Thank you for reading the very first post of my newsletter. As I step into this exciting new chapter of my life, I'll be using this space to document my experiences through words. The posts will be periodic, whenever I feel like sharing. For those curious, no—I won’t be creating a YouTube channel or TikTok anytime soon. If you tried to call or text me, I didn’t get it. Find me on WhatsApp! However, as I am a photographer, you can catch my visual journey on my website or my Instagram.

As I write this, I’ve been in South Korea for 42 days. So much has happened already, and honestly, I’m still processing it all. Even now, as I type this.

I've dreamed of traveling abroad for years. Going on vacations was never enough; I craved seeing the world and immersing myself in different cultures. But, like so many of us, I got stuck in the mundane cycle of Corporate America—long commutes, hours at a desk, and endless traffic. Years passed, and I was still doing the same thing. I knew deep down, this couldn’t be my life. Stuck under fluorescent lights when I felt like I was made for more. So, I hit my breaking point and said, f**k it.

Once I made the decision to leap, I had 6 weeks to sell all my things, say my goodbyes, and pack my entire life into 2 suitcases and a carry-on

However, two days before my one-way flight, I left the embassy without my work visa. I won’t bore you with the details, but let’s just say I called the embassy two weeks before, followed all instructions, and still walked out of there not knowing if I’d have my visa in time. After getting home, I ordered a tiny thermal printer that could fit in my carry-on just in case. Well, mid-flight from Dallas, I got the email—my e-visa was ready. Fourteen hours later, I touched down in Seoul, found the first available seat, pulled out my thermal, ink-less printer, and printed my visa. Immigration? Smooth as butter. And just like that, I was officially a foreigner in South Korea.

Oddly enough, I wasn’t stressed about my visa at all. Maybe it’s because I was absolutely exhausted—I barely slept my last week in Jersey. Moving is stressful enough, but moving to another country? Next-level. But the way everything had gone so smoothly up to that point, it felt like this was meant to happen, no matter the hiccups.

My First Art Exhibit

The best decision I made before coming here was reaching out to other creatives in Korea. I was lucky enough to connect with a photographer who’s been living here for 12 years. He told me about an upcoming exhibition showcasing artists from all over the world. Just 30 days into my South Korean journey, I was headed to Busan for my very first art exhibit!

The photograph I showcased holds a special place in my heart. I took it at LR2 Studios in NYC just two weeks before my move. My goal is always to capture the essence of movement and freedom, and this piece was the only one of its kind at the exhibition. It was a proud moment to represent a beautifully strong Black woman in another country. I’m grateful to LR2 Studios for their support, my photographer friend for the exhibition referral, and most importantly, to myself for making it happen.

My inspiration has always come from the desire to blend movement and fashion in my photography. Dancers, in particular, fascinate me because they can create shapes and moments that are often unseen. Through my work, I aim to highlight the beauty and diversity of Black women, celebrating their strength, grace, and individuality. To do that in NYC and now here in South Korea? That’s everything.

What’s Next

I have some exciting ideas brewing for future posts, so stay tuned! Again, this newsletter will be periodic, but please know I’m safe, learning so much about Korean culture, and—most importantly—learning about myself.

Thank you to everyone who has wished me well on this new journey. And to my friends and family, who’ve supported me in ways I never expected—I’m truly humbled.

Until next time, remember:
"We should all start to live before we get too old. Fear is stupid. So are regrets." – Marilyn Monroe