Because that’s exactly what happened when I started watching Season 2 of Netflix’s The Boyfriend.

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I was in awe and completely changed by watching, who I now kindly refer to as, “my boys” cook curry, fold laundry, run a coffee shop, and have deep conversations about identity and how fearsome and hard it was to come out as a gay in Japan.

I saw a piece of myself reflected in their journey, but there was one piece that I couldn’t quite resonate with.

At the start of this journey, I quickly realized that what started out as a Japanese dating show of sorts, focused heavily on romance, was not at all what it appeared to be on the surface.

At some point, I realized I wasn’t fully watching for the romance or even the hunky Jobu, Izaya, or William…it was the platonic intimacy of this newly forged friend group that kept me on the hook and wanting more for my life.

Watching this group of gay men at various stages of their coming out journeys, band together and form a friendly support group of sorts, whose primary goal was to uplift each other. I don’t know if it’s just aligned with the culture of kindness and respect of the Japanese people, or this group of men specifically, but I want it.

I want to manifest more gay friends into my life.

I’m slightly embarrassed to admit this, but why not be vulnerable with the masses on the internet for all of perpetuity?

I’m a gay man of the ripe age of 34, and after watching this show, I’m now fully aware that something missing from my life is gay friendship.

This is not meant to discount my boyfriend, my tight-knit tribe of friends and family, and some truly sweet and amazing online pen-pals scattered across Substack and Instagram.

It’s only meant to highlight the fact that the texture of my day-to-day life is missing local, IRL, queer brotherhood like that found in The Boyfriend.

I don’t think I’m alone in this. I feel like no matter where you live in the world. There are many of us, who are now adults craving friendships, but not sure how to.

And yes, I know, this was all sparked by a TV show. Are these people even real friends now?

I don’t know, and that’s frankly none of my business.

But what they emulated and displayed on this show, for the whole world to see was inspiring, at least it was to me. It sparked this new desire to put myself out there, or at least try to in a way I haven’t before.

If I were to put a name to the feeling: I yearn for gay friendship, and it feels corny to say it like that but it’s true.

At this point in my life, my post-formative years, I’m realizing now, more than ever, how difficult it is to build friendships out of thin air.

Especially when you’re past your clubbing days, allergic to surface level small talk, and have zero patience when it comes to talk of weather and politics.

Sure, I’ve had gay friends in the past, but the friendships have slowly been lost to time, not due to lack of love or anything dramatic, but just the sands of time and probably being younger and not as great at keeping in touch.

But again, after watching The Boyfriend…this hyper-specific ache and yearning for a tribe of peers who share some of the same emotional architecture of growing up queer, is something I want.

Let’s get one thing straight:

It is an honor to be loved by allies, those who support you and your existence, and friends and family with loads of love in their heart. But to be known and loved by peers who have lived similar moments of deep shame, of not belonging because of who you like, or who also have some deep-rooted trauma related to their coming out experience, seems like something I want.

I know I can’t wave a magic wand and instantly have deep friendships.

And finding your tribe, is tough enough. As an adult it’s even harder. There are not the same conditions as in high school or college where things were much easier and proximity, shared schedules, and communal living spaces made the conditions optimal for garnering friends.

A squad can be manifested but it can’t be conjured out of thin air.

In your thirties, I’ve come to realize, friendship requires deliberate and sometimes uncomfortable amounts of effort from at least one side.

Organic connection is hard to navigate.

There’s more more to be done with a budding friendship: context to be shared, vulnerability to be unlocked, and the passage of time to nurture and build a blossoming friendship…

You need to flower a new platonic relationship in the hope that it works out, similar to a romantic one.

You never know if it will last, but if you like the person you hope it does.

And I think I’m ready for that.

Acknowledging the gap in my life isn’t even the hardest part, I’m now realizing. It shows me that I’m ready for something new, new people in my life.

It’s the getting out of my comfort zone and putting myself in spaces where I can meet new people and build new friendships that scares me.

I tend to be very hard on myself for no damn reason, and need to be reminded that taking action doesn’t have to mean forced conversations or manufactured platonic intimacy.

The first step is just leaving my cave, and placing myself into communal spaces where organic connection can/or might happen.

Perhaps showing up to my weekly neighborhood Drag Race viewing party more frequently, is my low stakes bar to entry.

It’s one of my favorite shows, and in the past I’ve seen many groups of friends there, maybe I could infiltrate an existing friend group.

Instead of talking myself out of joining the queer romance book club at my local indie bookshop, maybe I can actually join in person. I love reading and it might be nice to have more book friends IRL. Not to say that my parasocial book friends are not enough, but in person is good for the soul, right?

As I’m typing this I present as shy…which is weird because I don’t really think of myself that way. But it is a comment I get often when I first meet people.

Is shy a bad place to start? Shy is endearing, versus intimidating. And at least I have that going for me.

I’ll have to remind myself to show up as authentically as possible, but Rome wasn’t built in a day. And sometimes progress is slow, and I have to be okay with that. And also, people can take me or leave me, and I’m sure both might happen.

There’s also this fine line between trying too hard to make friends, and just taking the hands off the wheel and chasing intuition.

Either way making friends as an adult is hard, but factoring in the specific intention of building a queer social circle and bringing that into the world is tough, or it feels that way now.

But I’m optimistic.

It’s a great feeling when an unassuming reality TV show, like The Boyfriend, is able to awaken you to something you’ve been yearning for. A show that is both entertaining, and a show that forced me to look in the mirror and speak this platonic yearning into the ether.

Thank you Japan, and Netflix, for reminding me that searching for community isn’t just a one and done thing, it’s a worthwhile and lifelong, pursuit.

Now before I get out there, don’t mind me…I’ve still got Season 1 to go back and watch first.

questions for the kind hearted.

If you are queer, living in LA, and looking to make friends in real life let me know:)

For those of you who are further along in your journey of adult friendship than I am, how do you navigate making genuine friends outside of nightlife or dating?

What’s your favorite third space? I feel like I need more third space energy in my life!

I will preface this by acknowledging that I’m fully aware there is a clear through-line of girlhood throughout Girl’s Girl, Sunburn, and Kitten…and as a gay man I don’t know what it feels to be a girl, not yet a woman.

Although, I can’t tell you how many times I’ve lip-synced along to Britney Spears’ song, “I’m Not a Girl, Not Yet a Woman.” I even think I had a HitClip of that song too…

What I do know, however, is what it’s like to experience this transition of life that is often described as “coming of age.” The roller coaster of emotion that spans from adolescence, through awkward teenagerdom, to the confusion and stupor of young adulthood.

During this tumultuous period of life EVERYTHING is being questioned!

Whether it’s your relationship to your family, your sexuality, love, life, ambition, moving to another town, friendships, college, how you overcome adversity, or who you are as a person.

This time of life is such dire straits, and it’s so perfectly captured in Girl’s Girl by , Kitten by Yu, and Sunburn by Chloe Michelle Howarth. A trio of amazing reads I’ve recently been pining over that are unknowingly in conversation with each other. So much so that I wanted to keep the conversation going…

Girl’s Girl by Sonia Feldman

being a teenager, maintaining friendships, and “coming of age” is tough stuff.

The core of this novel is a friendship between three teenage girl's in the Midwest.

Hormones are raging.

Life experiences are so desperately sought after: kissing, drinking, going out.

Our three gals, at their core, are just teens who like to swim and tan at the pool, play Sims, and reference Sailor Moon (my kind of people!!!).

BUT…SHIT GETS COMPLICATED. AS IT DOES WITH TEENS.

When two of the girls in the friend group develop feelings for each other, but lack the communication skills to navigate it gracefully, that’s when Summer Break becomes more tragiqué.

This book does a great job at highlighting the fact that teenagers are messy, but particularly during a period of time when you have nothing to do, SUMMER BREAK.

There are no school days to connect during, or touch base throughout.

Just the cursed cell phone, primarily used to stalk and analyze social media posts and guess their underlying meaning, gauging when your friends are lying to you, and waiting for texts that will never come.

I remember that life.

I remember those years, not with tender nostalgia, but with a nostalgia that can feel quite similar to the going ons of adulthood and navigating being direct with people you love.

all parents are not created equal.

You can’t talk about the teenage years without talking about the ever-evolving relationships between teens and their parents.

Let’s start with the obvious, not all parents are created equal.

Some are more hands off, some are cringe beyond salvation, and some are basically our captors. And for the most part, majority of teens preferred our parents “hands-off.”

We want them to allow us the space to grow on our own, and let us do our own thing so badly. And this is reflected in the relationship between Mina and her mom.

At times we view our parents as uncool, and completely lack of any helpful insight at all. Sure, they’ve lived a life, and might have some wisdom to impart, but we don’t want to hear it. No Way! They can’t relate to our unique experience…like be so for real!

As time passes by, you come to find out that some of the random nuggets of advice your parents threw at you, were helpful…but never in the moment.

You also might come to the realization that a solid relationship with your mom might not be the worst thing in the world. Mina and I have this much in common.

loving your bestie ain’t easy.

As the book progresses, the shame of denying queerness rears its head, and sadly this is a universal experience amongst queer people, myself included.

And on top of that, having these feelings for a close friend, and now fearing the dissolution of a cherished friendship! Far too much.

As an adult, you can look back and realize that at some point we all evolve from carefree children who easily express ourselves, to repressed and shamed, hyper-conscious teenagers.

There is a lot of embarrassment felt throughout our childhoods.

But, what happens during that time period exactly?

I have a couple guesses:

• parents and schools are just teaching us to other those who don’t fit a status quo.

• there could be a shadow government and larger force at play trying to conform us into categories and push agendas of what is cool and who is cool and socially acceptable, Alá Josie and the Pussycats brainwashing scheme.

• It’s a much larger conversation to be had, but the point being at some point for queer children or any child that has ever felt different or othered, something shifted…and at no fault of our own.

you should read it, it’s worth your while, I promise.

Without spoiling the entirety of this book, it’s a more modern take on coming of age as a queer teenager. How it affects your childhood friendships and your relationships with your parents, but how it can all be okay, and not super tragic and in some ways, queer joy can live on.

Sunburn by Chloe Michelle Howarth

Same, but different from Girl’s Girl.

Both are centered on teenage girls in high school.

Both have friends who fall for each other, romantically.

Both are queer, but during different time periods.

Girl’s Girl is more modern times in the U.S. Whereas Sunburn is 90s small town Ireland (higher stakes, here).

I put off this book for so long, but I’m glad I picked it up.

the high school besties to lesbian lovers pipeline.

Lucy, our main girlie, and Susannah, one of her besties end up harboring feelings for one another. At some point the feelings manifest into something more. And at a further point, they have a good thing going.

In many ways this book is hopeful, but in other ways it’s tragic.

While it might not be as tragic as something like Giovanni’s Room, and more closely related to Swimming the Dark, it stands on its own.

You really want to root for Susannah and Lucy!

moms, religion, and status quo can really fork shit up.

Susannah has a hands-off fairly absent mother. While, Lucy’s mother is pushing the boy next-door, Martin, on her daughter.

Her mother is quite religious and has such a heavy influence on Lucy and her struggle with being in the closet and keeping her relationship with Susannah a secret, and it was painful to read it really was. You can tell just how much influence she has over her life and how detrimental it is to Lucy’s well-being.

Lucy and Susannah belong to this larger group of girl friends who on the surface seem close knit, but are very much catty and everyone has their own agenda. Even the way in which they speak to each other you can tell that this friend group is one dramatic reveal away from disintegrating…but they stick together because it’s status quo.

let me sell you on it

I’ve put this book off for so long, and all I can say is, just pick up the book you’ve had on your TBR for too long and read it. I loved that this book was over the span of years and years, and how it vividly described the transition from friend and classmate, to something more romantic and substantial.

It’s Irish, I love Irish lit.

And it really centers around those conversations of not wanting to leave what’s safe, the hometown, the boy who your family thinks you will marry and who is head over heels for you, the friends you think will last forever, versus, caving in to the lesbian romance, disappointing your parents, leaving your city in search of the unknown and living with the fear of not choosing things outside the norm for the sake of shame internal or external or both really.

Kitten by Stacey Yu

Kitten is focused more on that post-college, continued adolescence and young adulthood, what the fuck am I doing with my life now that I have a degree kind of vibe.

It’s heavy on the sentiment of checking things off a list and then wrestling with everything on that list: good boyfriend, good job, degree, friends, etc.

navigating friendships

Katie’s friendship with Lou is a running point of contention/awe throughout the book. How we approach relationships with our friends and what it’s like having expectations of said friends does to our psyche and well-being. I’m of the firm belief that we never experience the same thing as any other person, for better or worse and this can be a source of frustration for many (myself included). Some friends are truth tellers, some are passive aggressive, and some might not be your friends at all.

self-worth

When it comes to self-worth, Katie has low self-esteem, but mainly as a result of her difficult relationship with her mother and her earning power. Katie’s internal struggle shines a light on the phrase: We are our own worst critics.

In those moment of self-deprecation and devaluation, we are just trying to show up in the world the only way we know how…but it never feels good enough.

Shame kicks up a notch, depression comes spiraling in, and then everything that goes wrong in our life is a measure of low self-worth.

showing up in a romantic relationship/boyfriend

Katie’s boyfriend is very much a privileged golden retriever in spirit. And in some ways now looking at it, Katie is like a black cat. And while this has all the elements of a grumpy sunshine trope rom-com in the making, it’s not that.

But also, Katie isn’t necessarily always grumpy, her place in life and her relationship with her mother really adds more complexity to her, adding layers to her life. More on that in the next section.

toxic parents are the worst.

Toxic, parent-child relationships, or at best, abnormal parent-child relationships can do a number on us. Sometimes, it seems as if these dysfunctional parental relationships might just be an essential tenet of the human experience, because all of our parents fuck us up in one way or another. Too nurturing, too overbearing, too critical, they’re all bad. There might be some magical balance, but I never experienced it.

Our relationships with our parents literally affect everything in our lives. Like the way we view the world, our psychology, our politics, and how we show up in other relationships (romantic or not). And this is front and center in, Kitten.

shiny-toy distraction

Distraction is a coping mechanism.

And Katie’s biggest distraction is Silver, her boyfriend’s cat.

At any age, we will do anything for a distraction or an escape, to avoid confronting how we truly feel. In some ways, this manifests as fixation. An intense focus of energy and effort into caring for a small, precious kitty is Katie’s vice. A vice that distracts her from her own needs.

finding work post grad is hard + money troubles

Finding work, in general is hard. it’s particularly depleting when you are a post-grad and feel wholly undeserving and unqualified for all the jobs out there in the job market. This aspect of Katie’s life is so relatable, especially for all of us who spent month’s in their family homes applying to jobs, hoping to get a lead on a job that would change our lives for the better.

She’s also worrying about money throughout the entire book. The financial strain becomes even more cumbersome in contrast to her boyfriend who is well to do and doesn’t view money as a limiting factor in any sort of way.

this book is all the rage for a reason

This book is incredible. It’s complex. It’s slow but moving. It’s a thinker, and we love to think.

parting words

When you’re a teenager, coming of age, and navigating that transition from child to early adulthood there are so many unpredictable variable floating around in your life.

There’s your relationship with your parents and family, love and romance, navigating friendships, sexual identity, shame, fear of the unknown, ambition, and these are barely scratching the surface. Everything is competing for your attention all at once. Every decision, exam, or life event feels so dire and final, it’s terrifying to say the least.

Reading these books, put me back into that headspace of being so unsure and afraid of what was next. They dropped me back into the burning need of leaving my hometown and never looking back.

They reminded me of the friendships that have lasted beyond this phase of life and how they were meant to grow and flourish beyond adolescence. On the other hand, it highlighted the friendships and closeness that’s been lost over time.

Some friendships evolve, some dissolve.

We live, we learn, we grow, we remain imperfect. All human beings are capable of being both harmful and helpful, depending on the situation.

Intention matters. And growing up and learning ways to cope with complexities of life, is par for the course.

It’s a hard time of life to navigate, no matter the circumstance, place, or era.

And I’m grateful for having moved out of this phase of life.

But if you really want to dive back into what that felt like, you’ve got to read these three books.

P.S. Two Movie Recs with the same kind of vibe

Don’t Say Good Luck

This movie had me in tears from the jump.

I don’t know if I was there exact target audience, but as someone who’s mom was sick with cancer and also a musical theatre gay…a lot resonated with me in this film.

For the most part, Sophie is pretty grounded, she’s not an annoying brat of a teenager, and she seems to be pretty close to her family, which includes two very annoying younger twin brothers. She’s tight with her parents. Isn’t trying to start shit, and she’s really into musical theatre, and singing and it’s so brilliant to see kids with ambition these days.

Where this movie connects well with the audience is it’s very real portrayal of high school, friendships, ambition, and navigating all of those natural and normal woes, with the fact that your mom is sick, and you’re not sure she’s going to make it.

I related deeply to this and while I was marginally older to Sophie when my mom got sick and eventually died, I felt that older sibling responsibility to keep pumping and to keep living life as intended by my mother. Pretending things were status quo even though there was a big elephant in the room and that elephant in the room was death and the big C.

This movie hit a little close to home and I had to pause to cry a few times. But rather than give up to avoid tears, I pushed through, because good art and writing makes you feel something, a new emotion or an old emotion that you’ve buried.

My Old Ass

At face value, this is a movie about a mushroom trip gone wrong (or right, depending on who you ask).

When you are face-to-face with your older self, what does that conversation look like? What does that mean for your love life?

It’s funny, it’s queer, it’s got great friendships and solid family, but at the core of it all it talks about this transition from youth to adulthood but from the point of view of a girl who is ready to break free or her small town who’s a little bit horny and who has great friends and this newfound connection to an older version of herself. She’s ready for college, and for the next phase of her life, or so she thinks!

I curse the person who decided the arbitrary and nonsensical length of a “year.”

Because each time that number ticks up, I’m forced to reckon with my mortality.

Some people don’t look their age. Some people don’t act their age. Is there even an age to look like or act like? Who even knows? It’s all limiting to me.

Age is just a number—quite literally!

So whoever said that first deserves a raise, or if they are dead and passed, they deserve an extra cocktail at heaven’s gate or something like that.

Also, when you become the legal age to vote, smoke, drink, and drive—not all together, by the way, and not in any particular order—all these age-related barrier-to-entry activities are significantly tied to a number and that makes it fun and cool.

Then once you’ve finally turned 55 and can now claim “senior” citizen discounts (those are an added bonus, bc of course).

I respect people who never disclose their age. Mad respect, honestly, because it’s no matter. Unless when dealing with consenting age, then yes, very important.

A lot of us place so much important on the number side of aging.

Married by this age, kids by that age.

It doesn’t fucking matter.

I mean, sure, there are some biological factors out there that make having kids at an advanced age harder, but outside out that…

I even eye roll when I think of how many times I’ve used “I’m getting old” as an excuse for something. Meanwhile, my 88-year old Nonna is baking bread, making pasta, tending to her garden, and running a household with one permanent stay grandchild and two cats…all the while having a robust social calendar and never forgetting her semi-frequent mani-pedi.

break into Act II

All this background blah blah, to further emphasize the fact that my number is up.

Or rather, going up.

From 33, to a ripe 34.

My “Jesus” year is coming to a close. And in all honesty, if I live to be a miraculous 100 years old, I’m about at the 1/3 mark of my life.

My first act is complete, two more acts remain.

This would be a good time for an intermission, no?

I think this might be my moment of pause, because Act II requires heavy plot work and tends to be more dialogue-heavy. I’m not quite ready for the bad guy to close in or to get a false victory, or whatever beats Save the Cat! taught me.

What I’m ready for is savoring more of the small moments of life. Staying present. Grounded. Doing things I want to do, and not just waiting around to do them. Choosing to be grateful in the face of adversity. Not in a toxic optimism way, but maybe more along the lines of Dua Lipa’s Radical Optimism.

Seems to be working for her. Hot husband, hot bod, great talent, always on vacation, excellent book club. Honestly, do I just aspire to be Dua Lipa?

Is that my North Star for this next act of my life?

Could be.

What I envision this second act of life to be…is something more aligned with living with a deeper hue of authenticity. Not necessarily, ridding myself of who I am, but aligning myself more with who I want to be. Not wasting time of dumb shit. Remaining, deeply unserious. Not taking things too harshly or personally. Spending quality time with the people I love and doing shit I actually like doing. Spending less time with people who trigger me and who dysregulate my nervous system. Spending more time building skills I want to grow. Doing more of the work that leads to a feeling of fulfillment. When I feel burnt out, taking time for me. Always choosing myself. Try to move more. Remain grateful. Not get caught up in the material shit. Do my best, and never compromise my values.

Life is short AF.

So much so that wasting time sweating the small shit, and giving your precious time to people and activities you couldn’t give two shits about seems…pointless.

love, work, living situation

Someone, somewhere, decided that the three most important decisions you can make in your life are where you live, where you work, and who you choose to love. Very important these three: love, work, living situation (place).

When we think about love, we think soulmates, marriage, romance.

I’ve had all that, minus marriage. I’m in what I’d define as a loving long-term relationship. But LOVE in the next act aligns with something more along the lines of growth in/and with a partner. Evolution, baby. Learning from each other, adapting, growing.

When it comes to love, like many things in life, a choice is what starts it all. Relationships are not always easy, they are like a garden that needs tending to. But with romantic love, you can always choose another partner, some people literally hop from one to another from one day to the next. You can choose to stay with someone for their potential. There are trials and tribulations in love, but when I think of this next act of my life, is there enough love in my love? Am I tending to my garden as well as I should be?

In work, you can pivot careers, get new degrees, new skills. New opportunities arise. You can always make your own opportunities.

Science.

Arts.

Both.

You can do whatever, and luckily in this increasingly connected world, and with the powers granted to us by the internet and modern technology, more people are working for themselves and seeing the benefits of entrepreneurship and such.

Work can be boring, you can get burnt out, but you can also…IDK quit your job. jump ship? Do your own thing? Sure that route might be harder, and take a bit more work, but it can be rewarding? I think the big question I'd like to answer when it comes to work and this next chapter of life, is: Is the way in which I make money fulfilling to me?

Last but not least, where you live!

Well, sometimes, it’s what you can afford, or what you aim to afford.

Big city, small town? Coast, mountains?

Middle of nowhere?

Near water, river, stores?

Near your community, near people you love.

A food heaven.

What language do they speak?

Is this another county, country, or continent?

All big factors, but when I think about this next chapter my brain goes to this: Where do I feel most regulated? Where does my soul sing? Where do I want to spend majority of my time? Where do I want to live and build my family and community around? Am I already doing that?

pulse checking for the journey ahead

I’m getting older.

And I don’t know if I’m getting much wiser, or if I’m just more comfortable sharing thoughts and putting pen to paper and putting them on display for the whole universe to see.

I’m choosing to move into the next act of life, not hyper-focused on a number, but hyper-focused on what this number symbolizes for this journey ahead.

Who do I want to be?

Who do I want to spend more time with?

Who do I want to spend less time with?

Am I happy?

Am I enjoying each moment of life to the fullest, and in a present way?

Am I living in deep connection with my body, mind, and spirit?

Am I aligned with my future self?

What do I want to do with the time I have left?

If it all ends tomorrow, would I be happy with how I spent my life?

I think so.

what does 34 look like?

More assured.

More confident.

More at ease in my body.

More at peace.

More creative.

More outdoors.

More relaxed.

More rested.

More grateful.

More generous.

More poetic.

More in tune with myself.

More resourceful.

MORE, MORE, MORE. I’m greedy. Sue me.

But is it greed when you’re focused on your own happiness and how you can make the world a better place for the next generation?

Something to think about.

life is and will always be a work in progress, for me + for thee

I’m not perfect. I will stumble.

These goals and visions for my life moving forward are all fine and dandy, but I’m human.

Things will change.

I’ve already stumbled.

I’m a work in progress, like the Sagrada Familia, never to be completed—always renovating, and evolving.

Vowing to never stop growing and becoming more aligned with the person that I want and need to be, in order to be consistently proud of myself.

I’m manifesting continued abundance.

Joy. Community. Creativity. Lots and lots of love and support and mutual respect.

I think I’m onto something here. The more shit I type out, the more I realize that this is a diary entry of sorts, of me figuring out and talking through what it is that I want to do with my precious life.

Passion and purpose are at play here.

I’m both warrior and healer. Living in the duality of self. Strong and soft. Compassionate, yet disengaged when needed.

I’m complex. But not trying to complicate things.

I’m trying to make life much more simple for myself and others.

When I explore the many tenets of my life and share them with others, I can only hope to make things easier for the next person. Learn from my mistakes and lived experiences.

I’m focused on quality interactions.

Reading books.

Writing. Sharing.

Exercising my body to go into my “older age” with healthier habits.

I’m not trying to be too restrictive, but I’m trying to protect myself in ways I know how.

There’s heart in these words.

I know what direction I want to go in life. I’ve always been good with directions and responsibilities.

I’m seeking to find what we all have in common. Less of what divides us.

I can do this.

I have faith.

And as my number ticks ups from 33 to 34, let’s just see where this cursed existential plight takes me, and us.

Tunnel Vision is my middle name.

So when you present me with something like the Los Angeles Indie Book Crawl (LAIBC) 2026: 1 Weekend, 13 Indie Bookstores, and prizes along the way.

I say, let’s fucking go.

The Dates: Friday July 24th, Saturday July 25th, and Sunday July 26th

Mileage: I lost count somewhere around 150 miles…in total, so woof.

Prizes: If you spent $10 or more at each location, they would give you a stamp for your “passport”.

At the 1st store, you got a “passport” + first stamp.

After your 4th store, you got a branded sticker for the LAIBC.

After the 7th store, you got a free audiobook from libro.fm.

After the 10th store, you got a branded LAIBC Pin.

And finally at your 13th and final store, a branded LAIBC tote bag, and a chance to be entered into a raffle. The raffle prize being $25 to spend at each of the participating bookstores, which essentially, if you won, you’d make your money back and then some…which we love money back and then some.

Something worth mentioning was the “What is the CRAWL?” blurb on the LAIBC website and passport.

“An adventure that spans the range of LA’s diverse neighborhoods and literary scene, from Manhattan Beach to Pasadena! It’s an opportunity to shop local, explore the city, and forge connections with new friends and new communities.”

But with such a range of diverse neighborhoods and only three days to see all of these bookstores and collect all these stamps, a bit of strategy is useful.

strategy works best for a crawl…

I tried to cluster things into neighborhoods, while simultaneously not canceling my social calendar for the weekend. Long story short, my crawling was Friday and Sunday heavy.

I noticed there were a good amount of children’s book stores on the list, so I made it a point to get books for the children in my life, for at least half of my purchases. And let me tell you there are and are about to be some very happy children in my life. My only goal in life is to hear the words, Uncle Marco is my favorite (and also famous!).

When, I realized there was a passport involved, I knew my every intention was set on filling it up. Much like a real life passport, collecting stamps is always the goal.

My plan was:

Friday: diesel, Children’s book world, The Ripped Bodice, Village Well, and Malik Books.

Saturday: pages and The Book Jewel (my afternoon + evening already designated for friends + beach)

Sunday: Book Soup, Annabelle’s, Once Upon a Time, Vroman’s, Skylight, and last but not least Chevalier.

how did it go though?

I definitely ended up spending too much time in my car.

Friday was great, but started later than I wanted to, and traffic in LA was atrocious. But I had two companions with me, and we stopped for some food at the Brentwood Country Mart, and all was good. I made it to each store I intended to go to.

my local book stores

• The Ripped Bodice: my local romance book store, super queer friendly, the staff are so kind, and one day…one day I will show up to an in-person book club there, still mustering up the courage to show my face. I got a copy of Rupi Kaur’s very aesthetically pleasing poetry book, entitled Love Poems.

• Village Well: my favorite local book store, you can find literally anything here, and the staff are super knowledgeable and kind and will drop anything to help you find a niche translated fic they know is in store…and they have a cafe and fun events all the time. I grabbed a copy of their August OG Book Club book, The Nights are Quiet in Tehran.

• Malik Books: love this store whose motto I align with “change your thoughts change your life” and it’s located at the local mall, which usually I tend to avoid malls at all costs, but this store with such lovely and kind employees and fellow bookworms make it worthwhile. Here I grabbed a copy of Chain Gang All Stars + was gifted a free used copy of The Secret History.

new-to-me

• Children’s Book World: They have every children’s book in the world, which makes sense because that’s their name, right? But they also have a great selection of books, for us grown up children aka adults. The staff were so kind here and also, they gave us Heartstopper stickers with purchase. I snagged a copy of an anniversary edition of Captain Underpants for my friend’s son, who has read all the Dog Man books.

• diesel: very small but gorgeous, tucked into Brentwood Country Mart. This is where I started my book crawl, and I am so glad I did because the man working there helped me map out the rest of my crawl, giving me some pointers on which clusters of stores were easy to get to in one go. I grabbed a fun book about a bunny + friendship for my niece, here.

Saturday I spent in parking hell, but made it to the pages Instagram page! Made me feel cool. Also, was solo for these two and I realized, alone at a book store, I can spend hours trapped in there with no real sense of time, dangerous.

new-to-me

• The Book Jewel: This is literally 15 minutes from my house and right by the Petco we pick my pups food at. I never knew it was there, but I am so glad I do now, I will bump it to my local bookstore list. I grabbed a used copy of Natural Beauty by Ling Ling Huang here as well as two fun books for my friend’s boys about Myths and a more science heavy book all about Earth.

• Pages: I love Manhattan Beach, but I hate finding parking in Manhattan Beach. This book store was worth the hassle though. The staff are so helpful, beyond, one even took a picture of me with a copy of Girl’s Girl and my passport for their Instagram (See Reel below). Way to make a guy feel special.

Sunday, my boyfriend had FOMO and joined me for my hours long journey through the valley, Hollywood, the east side of town, and more! He did however get a free kid’s scoop courtesy of Annabelle’s and a burrito, courtesy of ME.

old haunts

• Vroman’s Bookstore: Every time I am in Pasadena, I visit this bookstore, with or without my bestie who lives nearby. It’s massive, and I live for the newsstand out front. Also, they have a full on bar on the street level and you don’t see that everyday at a book store. I got a vintage, reprint of one of Dostoevsky’s old works.

• Skylight Books: This is located in Los Feliz, a town I spent a bit of time in my early twenties, living with my two best friends. So I always associate this store with that time of life and never being able to find parking (Still true!). It’s an icon store, just not-so-iconic parking. I grabbed some very inspired Roland Barthes here, I’ve been wanting to read more of his work as a result of reading Almost Life, thanks .

• Chevalier: Every time I find myself in the Larchmont area, I will definitely be stopping here. It’s fun, it’s the oldest bookstore in LA allegedly, or not so allegedly I just don’t want to get sued for making that claim. Either way, it’s small but mighty and the staff are incredibly kind. This is where I ended my book crawl this year! I finally bought a copy of The Disappointment here, a treat at my last stop.

• Book Soup: When I think of this store, I think of my young nights meandering through West Hollywood and going to bars like The Abbey and The Den and eating tacos on Sunset. I am very thankful that the sinkhole and flood of recent did not take this iconic bookstore with great parking away from me. I grabbed a copy of The Idiot here, a book I’ve been meaning to get to for some time.

new-to-me

• Annabelle’s: Super cute, super pink, so many children’s books which made it fun to shop for niece gifts! Iconic merch. I grabbed a fun board book about California for my friend’s baby boy, I’m sure he’ll love it, even if he can’t read it on his own just yet.

• Once Upon a Time: this was tucked into the cute town of Montrose, parking was so-so, but I loved the staff that mentioned they also loved Las Culturistas, I was wearing my “reader” t-shirt and she clocked it. We found such a cute book for our nieces here, and I can’t wait to give it to them. I grabbed a fun board book with strong flaps, ocean themed, for my niece:) I hope she loves it.

My only 2 big gripes throughout the weekend were:

• The book stores, like LA County at large, are far and stretched out. Granted, I didn’t have to go to all the book stores, but my inner-completionist had this overwhelming desire to complete the passport and claim all the goodies. + I wanted the honor and valor of saying I did it, so it’s on me, but a boy can still complain about driving in LA.

• The $10 minimum spend to get a stamp on your passport might have dissuaded a few book lovers. Sure, the branded LAIBC merch is cool, and if you make it to the end you have a chance to enter a lottery and win even more money for books, but in order to get there you had to spend at each of the stores. Yes, support indie book stores is great.

  Honestly, I could end on that note. But $130 minimum + gas needed to drive to and fro bookstores…can be a big ask. It can be a barrier to entry, and I’m not making a big stink about it, but just highlighting the facts.

I feel great for having seen so many books and book stores this weekend.

It was exciting walking around neighborhoods with other crawlers flashing their passports and having a grand time. Many smiles on faces, many jolly book worms bopping across LA in the heat. It was a site for sore eyes for sure. Sore eyes from reading so much obvi.

There was this overwhelming sense of kinship and community throughout the journey. And it felt nice to support local book stores, some of which I’d love to come back to.

It was nice to hear some stories from the booksellers as well.

The Book Jewel told my friend Heather, that they almost went out of business and had more traffic in one weekend than they had in years!

Book Soup, which recently almost flooded due to sink hole in West Hollywood, mentioned that this weekend was the busiest they’ve been in over 18 years!!!

Which is incredible.

Some had great parking.

Others were expected to be bad.

Luckily, the locations, hours and parking situations were disclosed ahead of time, which I found fantastic.

I think there are so many more indie bookstores that would love to be included in this list as well.

Overall it was fun, I am excited to see what changes they makes for the next year, and if they add more to the mix, I would do this again, perhaps with a tinge more strategy, and less aimless driving, and maybe plot some other activities in the mix between shops, but in similar neighborhoods.

Oh, and I got all my stamps + goodies!

unsolicited advice for 2027 and beyond…

• LA Indie Book Crawl MONTH.

  • YES, I should be shopping at local indie bookstores all YEAR long, but a MONTH! A month makes it easier to get around the entirety of LA without having to spend a weekend in my car.

• Regional Bracketing system.

  • Split things up! North and South LA, East and West LA, can be a whole thing, sans rivalries. And add more to the mix.

• Steal from Chicago + San Diego!

  • My friend Leah’s husband, Carlos, aka the inspirational voice in my head throughout my book crawl, does the Chicago Book Crawl each year, traveling on bike, and he has hyped their book crawl so much so that I can only imagine it’s the best…Also, and this is purely based on anecdotes from two fellow crawlers we met at Annabelle’s in Studio City. But allegedly the San Diego Book Crawl is ELITE, and I will be going next Spring to see for myself…but also, LA Indie Book Crawl organizers, maybe crowdsource what’s working for them and apply it to our glorious county!!

• I’ve got so many ideas…but the rest come at a price, so slide into my DM’s if you dare.

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I’m ashamed.

It’s not like I’m some acclaimed content creator or online personality with billions of followers, consistently cranking out content like there’s no tomorrow.

Nor am I a young and spritely Gen Z, Alpha or beyond…the algorithms desired and most susceptible prey.

I’m actually the type of person to poke fun at my Nonna, when she drifts mid-conversation, by pressing her eyes onto her iPhone in order to watch her Facebook Reels.

So believe me when I say this, I’m straight-up addicted to Instagram. & I’m ashamed of it.

And as much as I want to pass the blame onto Meta, and their deviously attractive tentacles…I can’t.

Not fully at least, because I know deep-down, it’s a two-way street.

I’ve got some self control, free will, devices like my handy dandy BRICK, and the sage and powerful advice of others online who are reclaiming their screen time and their lives from the screen dreams.

BUT…I’m still struggling.

I’m in the throes of it, and beyond the withdrawal-like symptoms, it’s the shame that’s really messing with my mind.

It’s also this persistent and unyielding notion that:

I thought I was better than this.

In the last week I’ve:

• Caught my thumbs hovering above my cell phone where the Instagram App used to be. A place where nothing currently resides.

• Spent more time than I care to admit just opening and closing random apps on my phone, just for a fix.

• Been on LinkedIn more than I’ve ever been…and LinkedIn is corny as hell.

• Been down more Youtube rabbit holes than actual rabbits have been down actual holes.

• Been spending so much time on Substack Notes, so much so that I recently asked a friend: Is Instagram to smoking, as Substack Notes is to vape? And yes, it has the potential to be.

I’m sick.

Like truly, sick to my stomach by my own behavior.

What I’ve learned so far about my relationship with Instagram…

When I’m using Instagram:

• I’m constantly entering a not-so-flow-state of comparison.

• I’m obsessively checking my follows, likes, messages, and comments.

• I’m constantly questioning if I should post more and more and more.

• I’m begging for the moment where I go viral.

*Side note: someone once called me a “carpet bomber” simply because I posted a story about loving Celine Dion! This is not a joke, this is real life.

This sounds dystopian or mentally ill, and honestly, it’s both.

The real paradox here is that I don’t hate the app entirely.

Cue my contrarian argument.

Here’s what I like about Instagram:

• I love the community I’ve built on Instagram: a combination of delightful friends and fellow readers some of which have turned into real-life connections.

• It’s also a creative outlet, and frankly, a path to income streams and opportunity.

• Using a Brick, can help, or rather it helps when I’m more religious with using it.

Substack is a fun alternative…

• There are no ads on Substack, which I like.

• With no ads, there are not random clicks to external products or clicks to this thing or that thing.

• And it doesn’t auto-queue the next video or carousel.

• Substack feels like a net-positive alternative for now because I like long-form written word and intentional engagement.

However, the Notes aspect and the Phone App can become a bit of a placeholder for my IG vice.

But I just love to have my attention sucked away! What can I say?

I’m frustrated AF…

What makes this all frustrating is that I’ve been down this road before.

Two years ago, I took a month long break right before my birthday. I even wrote about how amazing and relieved I felt by the end of it.

I went back to Instagram convinced I could form a “repaired relationship” with it.

Clearly, I was unsuccessful.

And now Instagram and I have decided to separate.

Even reading the article from 2024 back, I’m thinking: WOW, this guy has it figured out, sure seems like he had a lightbulb moment, he’s probably doing fine right about now…But I’m a dummy.

& now I find myself asking, what the hell happened in these two years?

Have I become more addicted?

Have the tech overlords gotten better at their game?

Am I a sucker?

Most likely…all of the above, my friend.

Here’s what I do know…

When I’m busy: out at dinner with friends, traveling, or having my day-to-day disrupted, Instagram’s hold on me doesn’t feel so constricting. I don’t feel that urge to check my phone. It’s times like these actually, where I envy my friend Laurel, who isn’t on Instagram at all and lives her life above the frey.

It’s the normal, daily life, where Instagram becomes my crutch. An easy escape hutch. Except it’s not much of an escape, really. It’s just a vortex that induces chronic illness onlineness. Gasoline, fueling my fear of missing out (FOMO), and that crazy behavie of needing to know what absolutely everyone on the planet is up to at any given moment.

So here I am…

So here I am, again.

Planning to take a month off, feigning a new phase of enlightenment.

Acting like a social media detox is an original idea.

Like this will be the cure all that will set me on this magical path to all the wisdom of the universe…and also somehow clear my skin.

When in reality, I’m on the cusp of 34, entering the second act of my life, trying to convince myself I can put the phone down and just live my life.

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Where do we go from here?

In a couple week, I’ll be on a beach in Florida.

Relaxed.

Unplugged.

Soaked and sun-kissed by il sole.

I’'ll be in good company and in walking distance of the ocean.

I know I will be happier.

BUT…

Endless summer isn’t always going to be my default.

So I need to figure out some way to navigate the mundane, everyday middle areas, where I’m most susceptible to the IG overlords and bad behavies.

I know Instagram is killing my focus or at least the way I’m engaging with it is.

But I’m an adult with free will, so is the only thing holding be back, myself?

Plus, I’m loaded with tons of advice and other tools to make a real shift…

I’ve know I’ve got free will, devices like my handy dandy BRICK, and the sage and powerful advice of others online (like , , and ) who are reclaiming their screen time and their lives from the doom scrolling.

So the question remains: will I choose to continue being a victim, will I magically repair my relationship to being online and using Instagram, or will I be prey for the meta overlords?

That’s ultimately up to me to decide.

I just hope I’m strong enough to stick with whatever I choose, when all is said and decided.

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One could say that this love comes from a combination of pervasive judginess mixed with a penchant for analysis.

My preferred approach on this road is almost always, read the book first.

I’m a firm believer that it’s better to read the source material before going into an adaptation because it enhances the overall viewing experience…in most cases.

Other times, you’re left in surgical scrubs, cleaning up a gooey mess of what used to be a book, but has now become something so dissected and Frankenstein’d it’s rendered unrecognizable.

The following list of 9 book to screen adaptations that I’ve watched this year, has been sifted into sub-categories to assist with your reading and viewing journey.

So without further fan fare, here we go!

both source material and screen adaptation are masterpieces

Project Hail Mary

the book

Project Hail Mary by Andy Weir, is a sci-fi, save-the-earth, unlikely duos kind-of-book. It’s heavy on the science…to the point where I was 50 pages in and thinking to myself, “Self, is the whole book going to be like this?”

It wasn’t though, I promise.

For the record, I enjoyed this book more than Andy Weir’s other big sci-fi novel turned adaptation, The Martian. I found the main character, Ryland Grace to be charming and someone you want to root for.

And without spoiling too much, there is an alien named, Rocky, who Ryland Grace befriends. THIS IS THE HEART OF THE BOOK, THIS IS THE MAGIC OF THE BOOK AND IT’S STORYTELLING. This is the most defining feature of this novel.

the movie

Some thing(s) of note: this book has a massive fan base and the author has proven that his original IP can translate to a successful film adaptation.

When you have a good book, Hollywood is happy to profit off the existing fan base. However, with that built in fan base comes a certain level of pressure to perform. To do the fans a service, and give them more than they could have ever dreamed of, while watching their favorite book come to life.

A great way to do that, add a widely beloved film star, like Ryan Gosling, to anchor the film about a heartwarming, funny, and charismatic scientist in space trying to save the world.

Then add in an incredible trailer, that gives enough of a nod to the fans. Bingo!

My expectations going into the movie adaptation were high.

While the movie cuts out some of the more science-forward portions of the book, it does so in a tasteful way that makes the story unfolding easier to understand.

Seeing this book, brought to life, in the best way possible, was a sight for sore eyes. I honestly can’t distinguish which one is better, the movie or the book. I would even go as far as to say they are equal and add to each other.

This might be the best screen adaptation of a book I’ve seen, ever.

Remarkably Bright Creatures

the book

Remarkably Bright Creatures by Shelby Van Pelt, is a book I had very low expectations for.

However, after a glowing recommendation from my friend, Shayla, I knew I had to give it a try. For reference: My Shayla, is the friend who recommended I read Lessons in Chemistry, and now that’s one of my all time favorites.

To my surprise, and Shayla’s delight I fell in love with an octopus.

This wonderful story about grief, family, belonging, and a lovable octopus, is a worthwhile read…and how can you not love an octopus?

the movie

When the trailer for the Netflix adaptation came around, I raised a brow, heck I might have raised two.

Similar to my hesitation surrounding the book, I was doubtful this movie was going to be a “good one”.

Those were my famous last words…

Why?

Because this film reduced me to tears.

Yes, it’s marketed as a drama, sometimes mystery, and overall family film. Yes, Sally Field is an incredible anchor to the narrative. And yes, Marcellus the Octopus was incredible.

Not to mention the film’s pacing was fantastic, I was not bored once, while watching.

Without spoiling too much, I will say that if you’ve read the book but have not yet watched the movie, the movie edited down the right elements of the book. Elements that do not take from the magic of the book. In actuality, the new additions to the adaptation add nuance and help the movie medium version stand up in its own right.

This might be my second favorite screen adaptation ever made, but recency bias, so don’t quote me on that one. Both movie and book are A+.

both are good, but the screen adaptation is giving more than the book

Margo’s Got Money Troubles

the book

For starter’s my good friend Josephine recommended this book to me, so it was a no brainer to pick it up.

Here’s the gist: Margo, the titular protagonist, is raising a baby on her own, kind-of-sort-of when her dad pops back into frame to help. All the while she is earning money on OnlyFans to support her creative life and to keep food on the table. It’s a fun read, super original, and I recommend it if you like Fiction that is out-of-the-box.

the tv series

Now the series on Apple+ is another thing entirely.

While, it mostly sticks to the source material, you can tell it will be taking some twists and turns. By the end of Season 1 you can tell that they are building a universe around this incredible IP and the majorly talented stars on the cast.

Speaking of stars, Elle Fanning, IS MARGO, there was no other choice in my mind.

Her friend, Susie in the television series is without a doubt, an angel on this earth! I’m glad they gave her character her flowers.

Nicole Kidman’s random cameo character adds to the show. Nick Offerman is JINX.

And Michelle Pfieffer as Margo’s Mom, Shyanne, dear god I hope she wins an Emmy for this. Shyanne is unbearable in the book to the point where I was convinced she was the villain in Margo’s story, but in the series, she is endearing. She really comes to life in the best way, and for this reason, among others, I vote the television series is better than the book!! Shock, gasp.

Hamnet

the book

Interestingly enough, I read this book in preparation for watching the Oscar-buzzed film in theaters.

Hamnet by Maggie O’ Farrell was also a recommendation from .

Agnes, Shakespeare’s wife, among other things, is THE MOST ICONIC female protagonist in all of fiction history.

I know, big claims.

But this book had me thinking: Who the hell cares about Shakespeare? We want to know about his family!

Also, be prepared to have your heart broken a million times.

the movie

Let’s start by saying Jessie Buckley in her Oscar-WINNING performance as Agnes was a once in a generation level of talented acting moment.

For this alone, I vote the film is better than the book.

While the movie is slower in parts, it is incredibly aesthetic throughout. Chloé Zhao has an impeccable eye and anything she directs, I will watch.

I think another reason why this movie was such a great adaptation was the heavy-handed involvement from the author. It absolutely enhanced and built upon the bones of the book to the point of the movie being better overall.

results, inconclusive

The Testaments

the book

The Testaments by Margaret Atwood is a follow up to the novel, The Handmaid’s Tale.

Much like its predecessor the structure is around transcript documents, interviews, testimonies, and letters.

Big spoilers surround the identity of Daisy, a new Pearl Girl & Aunt Lydia and her motives.

The book switches POVs, but the core of the story surrounds Agnes (Hannah) a young woman coming of age in Gilead.

The book is great, if not too long. It skips around in time a bit, which I didn’t love, but I think I enjoyed it more than the first and most famous book.

the tv series

There is this indescribable magic to the show.

Mostly, I want to say that it’s some combination of the actresses they cast and the slower pacing of the screen adaptation versus the novel pacing,

The series is deeply rooted in the lore of Gilead and anchored by its similarities with the source material, BUT there are some big changes!

In the show there is less time skipping, more focus on girlhood, and what it was like growing up in misogynistic Gilead as a young woman.

Some of the changes made in the adaptation haven’t paid off as much as the book. There are also some changes that make more sense with the anticipation of an additional season (aka: more time + more episodes to flesh the storyline out).

I’m curious to see what Season 2 is giving, but in all honesty…

The verdict is out. I think both are their own thing, and you may or may not like one, or both. I personally liked both, but not sure which one is better.

movie was better than the book

People We Meet On Vacation

the book

I won’t sugar coat this, People We Meet On Vacation by Emily Henry was one of the most cringe books I’ve ever read. No dig to Emily Henry, per se, but Poppy’s character in the book is very unlikeable and the setup and momentum in the book are not my cup of tea.

This was a miss for me.

BUT…

I do love some of EmHen’s other books Funny People and Beach Read to be precise.

the movie

Now to the biggest surprise of my life, this movie. This was an incredible adaptation on Netflix, from a book that left much to be desired.

I can’t begin to tell you how much of a joy this rom-com was to watch.

Thankfully my distaste for the book did not outweigh my boyfriend’s desire to put this short and sweet movie on for a date night at home.

The format, the acting, the music (maybe some combination of all) made it all come together, and performed plastic surgery on this novel. And to my surprise the author was attached to the film…maybe she didn’t love the book 100% herself and wanted to help enhance it for the film?

The lies I tell myself.

Skip the book version, and watch the movie version on repeat, over and over.

Regretting You

the book

There was a period of time where I was a CoHo freak, from 2021-2022. This was a book that I read during that period. Please don’t hold it against me.

For the record: I did remember thinking that the premise of the book was incestuous in a way, the main lovers were unlikeable, and the book overall was not Colleen’s best work.

Despite, the surrounding movie drama, I still think It Ends With Us by Colleen Hoover, is a good book…albeit a terrible film.

the movie

Something of note: my boyfriend and I have two very different opinion on this film…but who care’s this isn’t his Substack! muahaha!

My verdict is: I will watch anything with the talented and always booked star, McKenna Grace. Mason Thames too, for that matter, especially after The Black Phone film series.

Their chemistry was magical, and their acting chops, superb. They made the book characters more likable.

Don’t even bother with the book on this one, but give the movie a try!!!

book was better than the movie

Wuthering Heights

the book

For reference: I read this book in high school and thought to myself, “Self, this Catherine chica is insane!!!”

And she is…

BUT. The story of Catherine and Heathcliff is just so dark, tumultuous, and honestly fucked that you have to keep reading.

Now looking back, should young teens be reading this?

I mean it’s marketed as the greatest love story but is it? It’s awfully dark to me.

If you don’t get lost in the hard-to-follow-at-times prose, you might enjoy this book. It’s not for everyone, and I get that, but I like it and I think it’s a classic for a reason.

the movie

Why on Earth did they chop off the second half of the book???

This isn’t a spoiler, this can be gathered from just watching the trailer.

The movie was aesthetically pleasing, Emerald Fennell has a distinct vibe to her directing and I live for it. Still thinking about Jacob Elordi’s bathwater in Saltburn.

And speaking of Elordi, if you think he’s hot or if you love Margot Robbie, and want to see them being sexy on screen, this movie is for you. Their acting is okay too.

If you like fun costumes in film, this might also be for you.

However, the book is so much better, and I will admit I think it’s Brontë’s best.

Pillion/Box-Hill

the book

First off, the book and the movie have different names! Gasp!

The book is called Box Hill by Adam Mars-Jones. I enjoyed the book very much, and it was a random find at Perpetual Books in Chicago on their queer lit shelf. I had no idea this book existed or that it was being made into an adaptation.

It was a short, light read from an interestingly perverse POV. I was transfixed by the POV of Colin, our subservient and observational protagonist. The intersection of being the object of affection to a dominating biker and also his sub, was unlike anything I've ever read.

Loved the late 70s early 80s timeline and the nods to biker culture and queer culture during that time. I love a queer history lesson.

the movie

The movie version is called, PILLION. Which is the term for the second seat on a motorbike, just learned this.

The film was advertised as hypersexual, hot sexy movie featuring Alexander Skarsgård and dorky Dudley Dursley from the Harry Potter films.

That sounds great in theory, but in reality this movie adaptation fumbled the bag.

Spoilers incoming…

The time period is different, aka the movie is set in a more modern time, with cell phones.

Colin’s mom and dad have a sort of role reversal when it comes to presence in the book vs movie, to the movie’s detriment.

Less poker in the movie, I loved Ray’s poker nights!

Colin’s fellow subservient biker boy, Kevin, was more problematic in the film and only in it for such a short time.

Ray vanishes without a trace in the film, with a more confusing and ghost-like ending to the film.

I would not really recommend this movie, unless you are desperate to see a shirtless Alexander Skarsgård, or listen to loud motorcycle noises.

Read the book, it’s shorter, more enjoyable, and you’ll thank me later.

final verdict

Nothing will ever be as bad as the One True Loves adaptation that came out a couple years back. My Lord, it was so awful I had to write an entire article about it.

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He would say the 3F’s: FAMILY, FRIENDS, AND FOOD.

And while I don’t disagree, and I love and miss my dear Nonno, I would like to go a step further and claim that other valuable key ingredients are needed: VULNERABILITY, HONESTY, AND OPENNESS.

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When we are vulnerable, honest, and open with ourselves, and others…doors begin to open, new paths unfold before us, the world gains more vibrancy.

For lack of better words: Life is so much better when you open up!

It’s not always easy, and it’s easier said than done…

BUT, and it’s a big BUT…

When you begin to say yes to life, open yourself up to love (both mutual and romantic), new experiences, and walk through it with unwavering fearlessness…your life expands!

And with that expansion, comes the capacity to live an existence you can be proud of, one in which you can say, “I did my thing, I was 100% me, and I regret nothing.”

Who doesn't want that?

it’s not always easy. opening yourself up is tough work

Throughout the course of my life, there have been moments where I felt insanely closed off, aka most of my adolescence. For the most part, I was so wrapped up in my own self-loathing and my determinism to leave my hometown and never come back once I turned 18…I entombed myself to a point of near suffocation.

Many years of this Tutankhamen lifestyle, while in Catholic school, did me no good. I was beyond stressed and anxious about EVERYTHING. Grades, appearance, how others would perceive me, being late to school… One morning I remembered being so anxious about my brother making us late to school, that once I made it to the classroom door, I projectile vomited into the rose bush just outside. My nervous system was wrecked and it was torture.

To the average onlooker, I was a pleasant child.

Polite (literally voted “most polite” in the 8th grade, gotta love class superlatives), friendly, able to hold a conversation, great at school, but internally I was a fucking mess. I was holding on by a thread, most of my relationships just bobbing above the surface. Nothing deep or intimate, outside my friendship with my mother at home.

I restricted myself from walking through life with authenticity, and without fear of persecution or judgement. It was an exhausting and dark place. I felt so lonely, for so long.

The tides eventually turned though…

And here’s where things get better, this isn’t a tragedy I promise.

Enter Sam: My now lifelong friend.

When I met Sam, it was one of those notable moments in life where you are finally able to exhale. And you think to yourself, “Self, have you not been breathing this whole time?”

Sam and I bonded over brief moments at recess, where we spent majority of the time sussing each other out. Like what’s your motive type of deal? We eventually turned our recess banter into deeper conversations, after school and on weekends. We bonded over our shared experiences growing up in immigrant households with machismo men. We both enjoyed going to the movies, listening to The Killers, and scouring every crevice of funny junk.com.

We nourished each other’s goofiness, and were able to openly express our emotions around each other, without being riddled with fear.

Trust was gained.

And in the process, so was a friend.

And even better, the idea that being an open book was good for me. Being an open book could work out in my favor. Life could get better, and brighter.

It was the first glimmer of what life could look like beyond the prison of my own design.

I must be a pearl, because it’s tough to pry open this shell…or so I thought.

Outside, of Sam, I didn’t give much more to other friendships.

Once, I got to high school, however, I found it slightly easier to crawl out of my shell. I put myself in positions for other people to see the pearl I was inside. Also, this open book metaphor has now evolved into another metaphor about clamming up and opening a shell, stay with me…I promise the story evolves even more.

My mom and Sam, helped me build the foundation, and as a teen, I was ready to build a bit more.

Luckily, I found fast friends through Drama Club.

I know, I know, cliché.

But when I joined Drama, I saw pieces of myself in those kindred spirits. It could be a classic case of us all perceiving each other as outcasts and misfits…but realistically we were all peers who enjoyed talking about the same tv shows, movies, books, pop culture, and the shit we were LIVING for.

We were able to share our woes and gripes with teachers and homework and AP classes. In this space I was able to express myself creatively too, and let my personality flourish, outside of the home.

It was a period of expansion for me, and coming into my own.

But life is great at throwing curve balls your way.

a new start, and then another new start, and another…

Life has a way of forcing you out of your comfort zone, sometimes without warning.

And in some cases, that book you opened up, instantly shuts. That pearl, also unattainable. Sidenote: pearl reference, jumped in here again…idk I’ve been watching too much Housewives of Rhode Island.

Either way…

After my dad’s fast and furious, impulse home purchase in 2008, I moved high schools midway through. AKA, a period of life I call: What the hell dad?

Entering a new school I was very much clammed up, and starting over, with a more filtered and restrained version of myself. A version of myself I thought I’d outgrown.

Slowly, over the course of two years, I managed to open up again.

A new tribe of friends revealed themselves. People I could be myself around, who never put pressure on my sexuality, or cackled at my questionable hair and fashion choices. We were able to be silly and let our hair down, be goofy, and gluttonous. We enjoyed showering each other with unconditional love and Warped Tour fanfare. We griped over homework and thrived on being couch potatoes.

I’m often nostalgic for those simpler times. And these moments that allowed me to grow and not wilt.

Once, I left home and went to college, I told myself that all my experimental openness in high school could serve me well in college. Isn’t college where people discover who they are and come into their own?

My first year of college was just that.

I managed to silence my inner saboteur and quickly met some of my lifelong friends. We began to build friendships based on unconditional love, trust, getting through the trying times, morning-after-crazy-nights recantations, and shared classes. We all had this primordial openness and a willingness to connect. I thank God every day for these friends.

But true to the cycles of life and the opening and closing of my book.

A perfect storm began to brew.

One that forced me back into my shell.

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My mom was diagnosed with brain cancer, the stress of school and her illness brought on horrible and cystic acne, I was coming to terms with my sexuality and exploring it, and I failed my first class.

I felt so alone at times, even in the presence of great support.

I thought my world was ending, but rest assured the plot was thickening.

After 6 months of Accutane, my skin got better. I had more confidence in my appearance.

But after a near 2-year battle with cancer, my mom passed away.

Her death was this major inflection point of my life. It was like this weird depressing catalyst that motivated me to live life in color.

Live life to the fullest, in her honor.

It was the impetus to come out to close friends and eventually family, and I guess the world at this point (so to speak).

This perfect (albeit tragic) storm gave way to what I call the “golden age” of opening myself up to the world. And so many good things came from it.

I graduated college (by the skin of my teeth). I started living more authentically and in return garnered some of the most amazing chosen family members a boy could ask for.

My relationships with my siblings are more stable than they were in our youth, might be due to the fact that we are bonded in grief, but still more unconditional love, is good.

And I’ve come to realize that my lifelong friends I’ve made along the way are the friends I was able to be vulnerable with. Not just surface level. The friends I keep close are those who reciprocate this open book mentality with me. They have shown me how amazing life can be when you embrace who you are and are completely and unapologetically yourself.

It’s remarkable when you find that, contagious even.

things get better when you’re an open book, I promise

A lot of blessings flood into your life when you stop asking permission from yourself.

You become resourceful and resilient.

It’s corny to say this out loud, but when you live your best life for yourself, without having to filter out what makes you, YOU. Life is remarkable.

But we all falter, at the altar of life.

The book closes at times, the great thing is- we are able to pick it back up and open it again.

Earlier this year, I wrote from a place of being extremely harsh on myself and becoming a self-reported shut-in of sorts during and after the COVID era.

But once I published that piece, a great friend of mine quickly reminded me that I was not painting a full portrait of my life and not allowing myself enough grace.

I’m an extrovert at heart, who started dating my boyfriend and now long-term partner during COVID, and we both work from home (mostly), and live in a city and apartment we actually like.

Essentially, I was playing the “woe is me” card when deep in the feels, negating the beauty of my life. I was beginning to close my book back up, closing myself off in the process. But thankfully, with some help, I bounced back quickly.

Since then, the months have gotten busier. They’ve been ripe with love, quality time, and deep conversations with the ones I love. Things are shifting into focus again. Priorities are becoming clearer.

I’m again, reminded of the young man I once was—filled with grief, coming of age, coming into my sexuality and being so resilient. A young man who was supported, loved, and came into his own. A young man who truly believed things work in your favor when you let yourself unfold more authentically and in communion with the world around you.

It’s easy to forget the moments that made us.

last minute motivation here.

Listen, no one’s life is perfect. Mine included. It’s not possible, nor is it a sustainable dream to aspire to. Perfection, and chasing perfection, and closing yourself up to life and people in that pursuit gets you nowhere. It’s a distraction from the beauty that surrounds us each and every day, one that we can easily become blind to.

If you ever get caught up in the comparison trap online (guilty of it myself), just don’t. You don’t need that car, house, this or that to make you successful and to live a rich and colorful life. I would venture to say that unconditional love is the most valuable resource you could have, and the only way you can accumulate it en masse is to apply this open book effect to your life, as much as possible and as frequently as possible.

Be yourself. Be an open book.

Embrace life.

Love more. Be a dreamer. Encourage others to live their best lives. Smile at yourself in the mirror. Pay it forward. Laugh more. Eat an entire pizza in one sitting. Go to the movies alone. Write love letters and postcards to your friends. Go on the trip! Make what might seem mundane, extravagant.

Sometimes all it takes is a much-needed shift in perspective. One little adjustment in the way we think, and we are energized, open, and free. We are ready to take on life and all its winding roads, twists, and turns.

I know life has more to offer. With each and every breath comes an opportunity for joy.

My book is far from finished. & so is yours, don’t you think so?

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One thing I miss from my youth are those lengthy summer reading lists we used to get in preparation for the next academic year ahead.

What a time to be alive!

A curated syllabus. Filled with some many classic gems—but not all were hits, and not all were everyone’s cup of tea. Actually thinking back now, most were misses…but nevertheless it was fun to have a curated list.

Who doesn’t love a curated list?

Actually who doesn’t love, multiple, highly specific lists of books to fit unique vibes you might be trying to match for your summer reading ahead?

In an effort to pay it forward to my fellow readers and friends out there. I have come up with 8 book groupings/reading lists: some of which might interest you more than others and that’s ok!

I’m grateful for your eyes reading through this carefully curated fever dream of a summer reading list.

Happy Reading and I am wishing you well, wherever you are in the world <3

the Didion/Babitz rabbit hole

If you’ve read any of Joan Didion’s work or anything from Eve Babitz, you’ve likely had a hankering for more. You are not alone! Me too (raises hand).

I’ve no time to be a completionist at this juncture, but I have a gut feeling that if you are like me, then the Didion/Babitz backlog might be something you want to dive deeper into…and this summer is for you (us)!

If this fits your vibe, then here are the books we’ve got cooking this summer:

• Sex and Rage by Eve Babitz (a book that has been on my TBR for way too long)

• Play It As It Lays by Joan Didion (a novel from Didion which is new territory for me, so I’m curious)

• Slouching Toward Bethlehem by Joan Didion (my local Village Well Book Club pick for July, I’m excited to read this one, mostly to chat about it with strangers, in-person)

• Didion & Babitz by Lili Anolik (a deeper look into their antagonistic-LA Scene-y writer vibes lives, very gossipy, and I can’t wait to peek at their letters and the behind the scenes stuff included in the book)

international translated fic summer

If you love translated fiction, are obsessed with the International Booker Prizes, or want to try something new, this summer of international dalliances is for you (us)!

Here is a short and sweet reading list if this is your summer vibe:

• She Who Remains by Rene Karabash (shortlisted for the International Booker Prize this year & really hyped book with a stream of consciousness style)

• Taiwan Travelogue by Yang Shuang-zi (the winner of the International Booker Prize this year, and we love odd pairings, some historical insight, and talk of food and culture, and this is the August pick for so I have to read it!!)

• The Stranger by Albert Camus (in all honesty, I know nothing about what this book is about, might be grief, but have heard it’s a classic, and I peeped it on Alice’s nightstand while watching Shrinking)

lispector introspectre summer

Clarice Lispector is one of a kind. And from what I have read of her work, I know one thing: I need to read more…and so do you for that matter, but we can keep it light.

Just two entries here:

• Àgua Viva by Clarice Lispector (An internal monologue of a female artist exploring life, and art, and language. Fun, light not really, mostly deep, but I’m invested, you should be too!)

• The Passion According to G.H. by Clarice Lispector (I’v been told that this is one of those novels that you can’t put down once you start, I think it’s about an existential crisis of some sort and we love those eh?)

Jenna’s book club archives summer

I trust Jenna Bush-Hager’s book club more so than most book clubs out there, definitely above Reese and Oprah, no offense to those queens. Jenna has her finger on the pulse of what real readers want, without the grift of a book to tv/film adaptation pipeline fueling her machine (that I’m aware of at least).

I don’t read every single pick, too many to keep up with at this juncture, but of the one’s I have read, mostly incredible.

Here are some from the archives that have major hype and we (I) should get to this summer:

• The Husbands by Holly Gramazio (they are making this into an onscreen adaptation and I love to compare notes, so I will have to read all about this tale of a woman who’s husband changes every time he goes into the attic, interesting concept)

• The Names by Florence Knapp (a book all about the importance of a name, and what realities and different timelines emerge in the multiverse of what live’s the names give us, I’m interested)

• The Celebrants by Steven Rowley (love a book centered on college friendships, I think this might be more tonally somber than his other book The Guncle, but don’t quote me on this might be more Lily and the Octopus territory)

• Transcendent Kingdom by Yaa Gyasi (I think Homegoing is one of the most incredible books of all time, so I’ve been hesitant to read another of her books, but I’ve heard great things about this one, and it’s Jenna …so I trust, mainly blind trust really…)

queer book summer

I’m greedy and I need more queer reads in my life. You probably do too. The genre is so much more than rom-coms and smut. And I think these are a well-rounded group, I have yet to get to, so we can buddy read them together if you want, you just let me know.

Some hyped queer reads we’ve got to get to this summer:

• A Language of Limbs by Dylin Hardcastle (I love a queer coming of age story, and a book with an embrace or some combination of limbs, no pun intended, on the cover)

• Henry Henry by Allen Bratton (more queer coming of age but with British flair, and I’ve heard good things,)

• Shuggie Bain by Douglas Stuart (I want to thank Dua Lipa and my bestie Josephine for recommending this one to me, I loved Young Mungo, so I am sure I will love this one by the same author, but I need to mentally prepare myself for crying in the summer, and I am not sure if I am ready for it just yet)

• Almost Life by Kiran Millwood Hargrave (It is the quarterly book club pick for my book club, The Lit Hunnies Book Club 2026 Q3 and lauded by so it’s bound to be amazing, yes?)

• The Long Game by Rachel Reid (my one remaining book in the heated rivalry series…for now that is.)

better at baldwin

I am fascinated by James Baldwin, after reading Giovanni’s room. If you have not read that one yet, hop to! But if you have and are diving deeper into his Bibliography than add these to to your list, like me:

• Go Tell It On the Mountain by James Baldwin (just got a free copy at the annual Aēsop Queer Library event, another coming of age, but semi-autobiographical and this was his debut, we love a debut, no?)

• If Beale Street Could Talk by James Baldwin (there is a film adaptation of this, and my favorite thing to do is read a book and then immediately watch the film adaptation, so there you have it)

trusted recommendations list

This is a list of book recommendations from a few of my trusted sources for book recommendations, and you could literally make a whole summer off this list (depending how fast you read, but worth a shot?).

• Pond by Claire Louise Bennett (highly recommended by the icon in her newsletter and I trust her book recommendations, always!)

• Universality by Natasha Brown (I recently posted about all the books on my physical TBR, and this one was singled out by the fabulously talented , so that means I need to read it!)

• Transcription by Ben Lerner (In a recent YouTube video from there was a mention of this book as one worthy of ditching the doomscrolling for, so I must listen and more importantly read. It’ about memory, technology, and fatherhood…essentially a writer’s phone breaks, and we go from there…I think from what I’ve heard, but it’s more existential)

• It Lasts Forever and then It’s Over by Anne de Marcken (I trust anything recommends, not to mention Hudson Williams shared this and he’s a reader like us!!!)

• Stoner by John Williams (Speaking of Hudson Williams’ he recommended this one on his Instagram and I like everyone else flocked to the store to buy a copy, but they were sold out, but I eventually found it at Vroman’s in Pasadena during indie book store day)

• Sunburn by Chloe Michelle Howarth (One of my trusted Instagram book rec sources ReadByAndrew, a queer coming of age set in Ireland, two of my faves)

my favorite reads that you have to read this summer if you trust my taste in books or want to sus out my taste in books.

• Martyr! by Kaveh Akbar (This is, without a doubt, my favorite book possibly ever. It’s chaotic, queer, and deeply human. I definitely think it resonates with me because of dead mom + general gay man figuring it out vibes. Cyrus Shams, a queer, bicultural poet is wrestling with addiction, grief, and identity and is at times too sad boy, but it works. This is a poetically driven masterpiece, that is humorous at times, which is near impossible, especially when presenting a story on generational trauma and the relationships with have with our parents (dead or alive).

  If you love queer, immigrant stories…then you will love this. or if you just love to read amazing books…try it out).

• Good Material by Dolly Alderton (Big Dolly fan here! Reading this tale of an endearing loser of a man post heartbreak, navigate his life, then near the end we get a mic drop from the POV of his ex…iconic. I loved the play on chapters and I love a book with dates as guide posts and books with letters in them. me likey, where is the film adaptation???)

• Rejection by Tony Tulathimutte (the most “out there” collection of short stories I could possibly recommend, centered on, you guessed it, REJECTION)

• Yesteryear by (The book of the year, and the hype is real, and it was such an honor to attend a Q & A + Book Chat/Signing with the author in LA last month and watch her light up when talking about the process and inspiration behind the book, a writer’s dream book to create/but also read).

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We are now out of the shadows, and have made our way online.

Please join us, it’s free, and chill, and you can put as much as you want into it.

Our upcoming pick for Q3 of 2026:

July, August, September 2026

Almost Life by Kiran Millwood Hargrave

Sapphic Lit Fic, which aims to reduce you to tears. It begins during a romantic summer in Paris, then follows the relationship through many years after. Highly recommended by , who’s recommendations I beyond trust!

Join Us, It’s Free, and Fun, and Low Stakes.

Join The Lit Hunnies on Fable :)

The Lit Hunnies Archives

Ranked from favorite to least favorite:

1. The Wedding People by Alison Espach (2025 Q1)

2. Open Throat by Henry Hoke (2025 Extra Credit Read)

3. The Safekeep by Yael Van Der Wouden (2026 Q4)

4. Cleopatra and Frankenstein by Coco Mellors (2025 Q3)

5. Monsters: A Fan’s Dilemma by Clare Dederer (2026 Q1)

6. Outline by Rachel Cusk (2025 Q2)

7. Talking at Night by Clare Daverley (2026 Q2)

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Backrooms and Obsession are those films. And in some divine twist of fate, they were released at this exact moment in history, with Hollywood betting on two young directors with a vision. Both fueled by word of mouth, both helmed by young directors who built their names on YouTube before ever stepping foot on a real set, both leaning into the natural curiosities that live within all of us.

Can you tell I loved these films, and have a lot to say?

questions we’re all already asking or rather the questions we need answers to

I recently read a book about Leonardo da Vinci, so forgive me if he’s front of mind, but he had a word for this insatiable approach to life and unrelenting desire to learn and know answers to all the questions of life. Curiosità. My favorite kind of art exists in this space—not necessarily giving us the answers to all the questions we so desperately are seeking but zeroing in on the questions that live rent-free in our heads. Questions we can’t ignore and are now forced to reconcile.

Obsession asks: what if you could have the one thing you’ve always wanted? What if you only had one wish—what would you use it on? Bear (Michael Johnston) is quickly forced to reconcile with this exact curiosity. And what the director, Curry Barker does well, is emphasizing the fact that true horror isn’t necessarily in the supernatural, or the blood and guts of it all. It’s in the reckoning, the aftermath of a wish granted. The object of your desire is now yours—so now what???

What cost comes with that decision? Nikki (Inde Navarette) brings that cost to life in a frightening way. She gives the consequence a face, a name, and makes it way too real for Bear to handle. Us too (the audience). Together, the two of them transform this film into something ugly, intimate, and genuinely disturbing but not because of the events that unfold, but because how recognizable it all feels. It’s way too real. Way too believable, and we love it. We leave wanting to know what we, ourselves, would have done in this situation. Would we even have been in this situation to begin with?

Backrooms comes at this curiosity from a different angle. Same shot, different perspective, and with that perspective comes a host of questions that are more primal, survivalist, psychological, and daring in nature. What else is out there? What exists in the spaces between the places we know? How far would you venture into the unknown? You can feel this raw nerve ending that Kane Parsons built this film around. And it’s not just that random yellow, backroom 4chan image. It’s the inherent wrongness of a half-remembered, oddly inconsistent space. Fluorescent hum. Anxiety at every turn. It’s an architectural hellscape, not too far off from Dante’s Inferno, but make it 90s backroom. Through perspective and positioning, the film prompts the audience to ask: would you step through that door? Would you go deeper into this fucked up maze? What are you actually afraid of, and what would you do if you came face to face with it?

Both films drop us into the headspace of what if. And that’s a great feeling as a creative, and audience member. Leaving the theatre mulling over second of this sumptuous cinema over in your head. What would you do if you swapped places with the characters on screen? Would you make the wish, knowing what you know now? Would you walk into that creepy backroom maze? These aren’t normal questions, but they play with the frightening curiosities we reckon with daily or stir up the childhood fears that never fully left our nervous system. These movies trust us to sit with the discomfort of not having a clean answer wrapped up in a bow. A funhouse that is absolutely no fun at all, but somehow, we love it for what it is.

rooting for the underdog

The lore behind these two directors is almost as compelling as the movies themselves.

Curry Barker co-founded a sketch comedy YouTube/social media channel That’s A Bad Idea. He made his first feature, Milk & Serial for less than a thousand dollars, and put it on YouTube for the world to see, and it went viral. He made Obsession with a small budget and in a short amount of time, and now it’s become this buzzy beast of a film that has made a huge profit on word of mouth and sheer creative hunger.

Kane Parsons created this Backrooms universe and lore all on YouTube using Blender for visual effects. Hollywood called him before he could even legally drink in the U.S. And now he’s a highly sought after creator, the youngest director in A24 history, and the youngest to open at number one at the box office. That’s just incredible.

These are both young filmmakers who were given a chance by Hollywood and proved that creativity and proof of concept are not age-bound or experience bound. Sure, they got their reps on YouTube and through short-form content—but they were given a shot, and they took it, and they showed everyone that original IP and a hungry creative mind can absolutely generate a success. They also proved the power of word of mouth, how much of a machine a good recommendation is, and that people will run to the movies if they are guaranteed to watch something that makes them feel something real!

a touch of creative envy…

Let me be honest.

As an artist/creative, both of these films had me rethinking current projects I’m working on. How can I push further into my own creativity? How do I keep pushing the boundaries of my own limiting beliefs, while presenting the core thesis of what I am trying to share? How do I tap into something real—the kind of human curiosity and collective obsession that fills seats, gets people reading, and starts conversations.

Call it creative jealousy if you will. But with inspiration sprinkled in. I’m not bitter but motivated to get better. I near certain it does not come from a place of why didn’t I think of that but more from a place of curiosity. I left both these films feeling genuinely sparked, and humbled. If these young guys can do this, I can too. What am I waiting for? Sure, my filmmaking experience begins and ends with Instagram reels, and the occasional YouTube video talking about books, but so did theirs, kind of…

We all can do it. We just need the drive, the determination, and the impetus to create without the attachment of being favored by an audience. Creating for creation’s sake. That’s the magic of these films. Of these creative visionaries.

you can do it to!

Everyone wants to root for the underdog. The debut author. The director with their first feature at 21. The YouTube ingenue who is absolutely crushing it in real time. We all want to be that person—the one who breaks through, whose work is seen and heard, that resonates with as many people as it has the possibility of reaching.

Backrooms and Obsession remind us that it’s still possible. That a question asked with enough honesty and enough nerve, gall, audacity, and gumption can fill a theatre, can garner an audience. You don’t need a legacy or a franchise or a famous name behind you. You just need to believe in the question more than the answer and then go make the damn thing.

It’s exciting. And I’m obsessed.

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A quick bite at the local McDonald’s led to a new discovery, one that would change my life forever. A serene lunch, quickly disrupted by the phrase, “I want McChicken, this is not McChicken.”

On loop for what felt like hours, most likely minutes.

An irate Italian man, throwing hands (and wrappers). Clearly disgruntled about the order being delivered to him by the Greek wait staff, was not indeed a…McChicken.

Could the iconic golden arches have caused this much disarray on their own?

Or was it the McChicken itself?

Is the McChicken so tasty and delicious that it causes this kind of a scene?

As we left the restaurant, I could not stop thinking about this fiasco.

Rather than enjoying my time on the island painted with beautiful blues and whites, I kept circling back to the McChicken.

Googling images of it on my phone as a I sat on a veranda drinking cheap wine.

Researching ingredients as I hiked up Oia during the sunset hour.

After spending the remainder of my vacation and the better part of a week enraptured by this experience. I could not deny my eagerness to return home and try one for myself, with clear eyes and the familiarity of a USA Mickey Ds.

I was home for less than 24 hours, and under the guise of running errands, I visited my local golden arched landmark.

I did not tell my partner, I did not tell a soul,

Because I knew a novel journey was about to unfold.

Call it divine, call it serendipity.

But as a I took my first bite of McChicken.

Something overcame me.

I felt instantly at ease.

My DNA altering.

There was a brief moment when I thought I had become the McChicken.

But no. That would happen later.

It was so succulent. Juicy. Tasty. Loads of protein. Fried Chicken + Bread. Savory. The perfect meal.

I began to understand the deranged look in my Italian compatriots eyes now.

This was worth a revolt. This was worth causing a scene for.

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ONE YEAR LATER…

What started as a curiosity, became a special treat. My special treat.

I would reward myself with a McChicken once a week, as a soothing stream of calories for a long work week.

After a few months of this behavior, once a week was not enough.

Right before the Lent season, my partner eventually caught on to me, mainly because I gained a new body part, love handles.

I confessed my greatest sin and it’s power over me.

I tried to give it up. And I did, for a whopping three days.

But I could not survive without it.

Now, I’m rounder than when I first met the McChicken.

More horizontal. Mishappened. Greasy. Fried. Delectable, to some…not my partner, he’s now left me.

When I had my first bite of McChicken, I thought I had transcended and become one with it.

Now I realize that was a false start.

For NOW, I truly understand what it means to be one with the McChicken.

Some may call me gluttonous. Others, an obsessed freak. But gluttony is in the eyes of the beholder, no?

I beholden myself to this moment. For in this moment. I am indulgent.

I’ve become the supreme treat I’ve always aspired to be.

I am now the supreme treat presented on a silver platter for my glorious golden-arched overlords to enjoy.

Bon Appetit.

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To share videos and pictures with friends and family.

To gift the world with your written word.

To promote a creative endeavor in the pursuit of financial gain.

To dip your toe into expressing yourself, in a public way.

The reasons are endless, and no one’s reason is the same.

You may just be starting.

But most likely, you’ve been doing this for a while.

You might even be at the point where something that started out as fun has now become something leaving you feeling depleted, depressed, or burnt out.

You’re endlessly doomscrolling, comparing yourself to others on repeat, cultivating your camera roll for the highest of highs, or debating with your inner self on where expression ends and oversharing begins. You’re searching for genuine kinship or desperate for praise. You feel like you are scooping out a hollow core in your chest, where your heart used to be.

You tell yourself that you are a victim to the algorithm.

That you’ve got a horse in the race.

That your livelihood depends on this.

You’re mad at yourself for allowing your inner child to dream. This is the only creative expression you’ve allowed yourself and it’s at the judgement and will of a social web of randoms.

Your hobby might have grown into something lucrative.

It’s aspirational.

You want to be famous.

You want your voice to be heard.

You want someone to see you for who you are, or at least, who you pretend to be online.

You make silly videos that took hours to make. You record yourself singing covers of popular songs, uploading them to YouTube, waiting for your big break. You used to have fun doing this, but now it comes with added pressure.

Internal and external.

A pressure to succeed, a perfectionist’s kryptonite.

But what is it that you even want to succeed at?

If we publish, share, and create for the world to see, at what point is it a performance?

Does the sharing of your life and art feel natural or unnatural?

Have you succumbed to the imitation game engineered by the socialmediasphere to please an algorithm that favors monetary gain and investor contentment?

Are you walking a dangerous tightrope? Do you feel this insurmountable pressure to get your name out there? Do you feel like you are on this slippery slope of indecision and wantonness?

My friend and writer inspiration, , recently wrote about a psychological and philosophical concept that perfectly illuminates this trap: the difference between awayness and towardness.

We all start somewhere. And most likely, we started out being driven by towardness. Moving toward a specific direction—joy, our dream life, our deepest aspirations. An innocent and humble beginning, an act of agency where we are trying to make something out of nothing.

But most of us, me included, get amnesia along the way. We get lost in the sauce.

The algorithm dominates our reality. We get wrapped up in the frantic hullabaloo of a perfectly curated feed, and suddenly, our creation pivots into awayness. We are no longer moving toward joy, we are frantically pedaling away from it in an effort to escape irrelevance. We desperately inch away from declining engagement, away from our own creative instincts, and what calms our anxieties.

We are frozen in time and riddled with indecision. We start to chase likes, subscribers, and follows. We let negative comments drag us down, allowing any piece of feedback to ruin us. We cry just to release the pressure and demand of cranking out content. We lose touch with why we started this journey in the first place.

What used to bring us joy? What first got us to show up? Even if it was just FOMO.

It’s easy to lose yourself in the socialmediasphere, to turn to putty in the hands of tech overlords. You can trick your mind into subversion and depression by doomscrolling until your grip on reality feels fragile and your authentic self is unrecognizable. You begin to forget what makes you special.

When we open our lives and share the parts of us, we finally had the courage to show, the floodgates open. The tightrope even tighter.

We begin to crave a break. A holiday. Summers off. We strive for connection—real connection with ourselves and what/who grounds us. We’ve succumbed to the perilous nature of social media and now we want people to see the real us again.

But we are scared shitless.

We’ve spent so much time curating a highlight reel, manufacturing marketable content, smiles, fun, and games. But what happens when we realize that social media is the game? A dangerous one at that. One we want no part of but feel forced to participate in.

Some platforms are better than others (hey, !). Some people are better at playing the game than others. But that’s entirely beyond your control. I encourage you to not fixate on the small stuff, to focus on you. When you reach the inevitable hump of performing as yourself or someone else online for the world to see, just reach back in and pull yourself out!!

Likes do not determine worth. The only person whose love and approval you need is your own.

To be “visible” is not the same as feeling “seen.”

There are many pitfalls in the pursuit of carving a space for yourself online, but you will be fine. As long as you alleviate yourself of the pressure to create, the pressure to stick to a self-imposed deadline, to match a certain aesthetic.

Ignore the algorithm and listen to your heart.

Easier said than done, right?

One of my favorite follows on Substack, from Social Media Escape Club, frequently suggests hopping off social media and getting your art and yourself out there in real life. Connect with your communities in-person. Create a website of your own. Just a suggestion, it’s all your decision to make at the end of the day.

You can always share as much as you want, or nothing at all. But beware: the perils of performing can eat at your soul. And you most certainly need your soul intact.

Depending on how much access you allow these perils in your life, just know that they come at a great cost. But only if you work for them.

Instead, reclaim the socialmediasphere to work for you, as best you can. There is danger in the process, and danger in being a part of the system, but you can always rise above.

Do what works for you, and show up as authentically as you want.

Keep it light, keep it free. You are limitless; enjoy the ride of infinite bounty.

And when you can, take a moment to be obsessed with yourself. You’ve earned it.

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What do you do for your dog?

Enter the most generous and loving people I have ever known: my Nonni (grandparents in Italian).

how did I get here? act I: summer 2014-jan 2015

After graduation, I packed all of my belongings (minimal) into the family minivan, and did what most graduates do, move back into the family home waiting to start the next chapter of my life.

I lasted two weeks.

A meager two weeks living with my Dad in Corona, before I reached a breaking point.

The independence I had spent years cultivating, slowly started to disintegrate. Relinquishing my hard-earned autonomy to old family dynamics.

Dad=boss.

Child=subservient.

No bueno for moí.

I quickly (re: fast + furiously) reached a dark place.

Feelings of helplessness crept in.

I felt like a fish out of water, desperately grasping for air.

I couldn’t take it. So rather than sinking further into the “bad place,” I followed my intuition.

Grabbed my essentials, and accepted an open invite from my Nonni, my maternal grandparents.

I landed on their doorstep with a “Hey, remember when you told me that I could come live with you? Here I am.”

The joy on their faces, I will never forget. An image I only hope to see when I close my eyes at night.

And do you want to know what the first thing out of their mouth’s were?

Don’t worry about a thing, you just focus on getting a good job and making us proud.

Their conditions: be happy and let us help you.

Once my dad realized I wasn’t merely sleeping over at my grandparent’s home and had in fact moved there, my trusted family minivan privileges were revoked.

“You don’t want to live under my roof (regime), then I can’t support you.”

An ultimatum was offered: my rules, or GTFO basically.

So I stayed TFO.

Aside: my dad isn’t the villain in this story, just an antagonist/catalyst for me making one of the best decisions I’ve ever made…

But let’s continue…

For context: my grandparents had always been prominent figures in my life. I casually called them my back-up parents. Who at this phase of my life became my primary parents. A role they fully leaned into.

Nonni/Nonna/Olga (depending on the day), my grandmother, provided me with nourishment via endless amounts of homemade food. Including the foods of our Italian and Venezuelan ancestors. Arepas, Panzeroti, Pasta, Focaccia…you name it.

Nonno, my grandfather, showered me with encouragement, every second of the day. He never stopped telling me just how proud he was of me for my chemistry degree. And I attribute him as the primary motivator for my graduate degree.

Nonni taught me how to lean into the sass, rather than against it.

Nonno shared stories of the past, glimpses into the small and provincial life in Triggiano, Italy and all of his friends and family (his paisan, his compares, his entire world).

Nonni provided me with a love of gossip and telenovelas.

Nonno taught me how to make focaccia from scratch. Barese style with an abundance of tomatoes.

I look back at these days, weeks, and months, fondly. Moments where I had nothing but free time, and their full undivided attention.

At this point in time, their health was in a better position…Nonno still with us.

I can still see my Nonno in the garden, ripping weeds and climbing the persimmon tree at 90!

I have visions of my Nonni running back and forth from her garage kitchen to her house kitchen, preparing a feast for 20+ people. Italians always come over expecting food btw.

I vividly remember our group trips to Super King and Costco.

Taking Nonni to shop at the big three: Marshalls, Homegoods, and Ross…and a special fourth (Target, if she was good!).

Showing them both the delights of Del Taco.

They nourished my soul, at my lowest point.

My mom had died just two years prior. I barely graduated by the skin of my teeth. My identity was tied to procuring a job and making money.

They gave me a life raft at a time where I could have continued using alcohol as a crutch to numb my feelings.

We loved this new dynamic, we leaned into it, and it saved my life. And I’d like to think theirs as well.

At the turn of the new year, I got a job. I took a hiatus living with my Nonni, and lived with my best friends in Los Feliz for a year and a half. Still making time to see them often, to raid their fridge and pantry for goods, and bringing friends over to meet them any chance I could get.

But our story does not end…

the return: act ii (June 2016- March 2020)

After a year and a half out of their home, I made a triumphant return to the humble abode of my Nonni.

This time was different however.

I could see the effects of old age closing in on them.

During this period I worked a full time job (where I commuted 3-4 hours roundtrip for daily, that’s a whole other story). Not to mention I added graduate school into the mix near the end of the commuting hellscape.

I felt like a ghost during the work week.

I was used to spending endless hours in conversation with them, and now I was begging for stolen moments on evenings and weekends.

Yet, they still managed to provide me with home-cooked meals and undivided attention.

But not all was peachy.

Instead of cheerful runs to Costco, I was taking time off to take them to doctor’s appointments, or to chauffeur them to family friends on the weekend.

At this phase of life, they transitioned from solely caring for me, and in turn we were all caring for each other. A loop of care, respect, love, and adoration.

I take pride in this time of caregiving, and my ability to pay respect to them for saving me, and to pay their kindness back to them.

I felt useful, wanted, and embraced for my ability to step up for them.

Things got to a neutral point, their health stable.

So a week before the pandemic, I had moved out on my own for the first time, and this chapter of my life as a dependent, closed.

present: act iii (April 2020-now)

While we are lucky enough to still have my Nonna, my Nonno passed in 2022.

Over the course of four years, Nonno’s health declined, and near the end a bad fall did him dirty. But he still made it to 97!

I was fortunate enough to work from home at the time, and take him to many appointments and help where I could. But it was tough to see such a rapid decline at the end.

With his passing came the sudden realization, that I would never have the opportunity to make more memories with him again.

But quickly another thought flooded in: How lucky am I to have had so many 1:1 moments with him? with both of them, really!

An abundance of joyous memories to look back on. A vast treasure chest filled with gratitude and appreciation for these glorious humans who pulled me out of despair on several occasions.

What a blessing.

One of the last things my Nonno said to me in front of a table of friends and family: I love you! And gestured to me and my boyfriend and said that we were the best, and his favorites. I’ll never forget that.

A nod of approval. A moment of pride. Unconditional love.

That’s all we need as humans.

True love, with no conditions. Unwavering love.

PS: I know living with family has a stigma in the U.S.

I know that not all relationships with family are created equal.

But just know that it’s okay to lean on your loved ones, as long as the unconditional love is there.

When you’ve reached rock bottom or need a saving grace, family can heal you.

At least in my experience they did.

My grandparents saved my life more times than I can count, and if I can give those around me and in my life just as much love as they gave me, I think I’ll be alright!

Sending you love wherever you are in the world.

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My desire to acquire books has become more of a compulsion than anything else. And as a result I’ve latched on to the Japanese term, Tsundoku (積ん読) with devotion.

Tsundoku is the habit of buying books to no avail and letting them preciously pile up in your home. That might be the cute way of saying it…

Let’s call it what it is: book hoarding.

I’m a book hoarder.

What started as an innocent journey from humble beginnings in an effort to build the home library of my dreams, has now become unsustainable.

Mostly due to the physical constraints of my living situation (i.e. apartment life). But that’s neither here nor there…or is it? you decide.

Simply said…my purchasing has outpaced my reading.

A disgusting privilege to own so many books. I’m aware.

Some don’t have access.

Some live in places where books are banned.

Some live in countries where popular and newly released works are not out yet.

I know…I’m annoying. Look at this guy complaining about a treasure trove of books, like give me a break.

Heard. Agreed.

I’ve also toyed around with the notion that this trove is just a result of many decades of manifestation and abundance in an effort to build the home library of my dreams. A library that rivaled Belle’s. Yes, Belle from Beauty & The Beast, yes—a fictional character, with a stellar library of grandeur…to be jealous of me.

How did I get here?

Well…I love to thrift books. I love a book sale. A library sale, anything with sale and book in it…it’s almost always an instant yes.

I save my full price purchases for author’s I love, new authors starting out and on the ascend, and for making good use of my B & N membership and/or gift cards that family and friends buy me for holidays (birthday, xmas).

And here I am, co-opting a Japanese term for book-hoarding to justify my shameful book acquiring addiction.

Rather than telling myself:

“Honey, you’ve got a big backlog of books that needs tending to.”

So here I am asking for help in holding me accountable here. Please.

With your help, the picture I am trying to paint here might be more along the lines of: Honey, you’ve acquired a big backlog of books that needs tending to. Think of it like a beautiful literary garden that is about to be encroached upon with weeds…and someone, you, need to take a hoe and plow to it in order to prevent rot…or something like that. not super familiar with gardening as a genre or hobby, but hopefully you followed.

Let’s get this list down to the two-digits.

Maybe you are less shamed by your ongoing laundry list of books to read, and I love that for you…but in an act of full transparency, here is my list.

Yes, I track all my physical books in Excel.

Tada! There it is.

Maybe you can join my quarterly book club, The Lit Hunnies on Fable.

Or we can commune on a buddy read? Eh?

Are there any shared overlap in the books on our shelves (currently waiting for us to pick them up much like the toys waiting to be played with in Toy Story)?

Let me know.

Wishing you well.

-M

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Here is a list of things AI could help me with:

1. Light life admin work (i.e. making sure my bills are paid on time, making sure my car registration is paid with enough time to get the sticker for my car before the bell tolls, or preventing my iPhone from it’s incessant “full storage” notifications)

2. Clean house (routine and deep cleaning allowed, Roomba doesn’t cut it)

3. Meal prep (the art of cooking I enjoy, just the chopping of things I could do without, i.e. onions)

4. Picking up my dogs steamy doo 1-2x a day (b/c yuck)

5. Review my subscriptions for duplicates my dumb ass is probably paying for (also, anyone else keep getting those video ads ‘if you could tell me how many subscriptions you are actually signed up for then I will give you 100 dollars’, just me?)

6. manicure and pedicure (in-house); we can still go out to get them and support local business but in-betweeners, at home would be nice

7. same for haircuts (a light trim or maintenance at home would be nice, but would we trust AI with sharp tools? idk, I’ve seen Companion)

8. be the bearer of bad news ( I hate being the bad guy, can AI do it for me?)

9. carrying things from the car (please, my elbows are not what they used to be and I have a tendency to pile things on as to reduce trips to and fro like a masochistic human-octopus hybrid)

10. clean the gutters (I don’t really have gutters, but if I did, people always complain about having to clean those and I think it would be helpful, no?)

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Do I just need a humanoid robot? Is that AI?

Rather than steal jobs, have AI write books, or a full on Terminator situation…what would you like AI to do for you?

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Jennette McCurdy and I have one major thing in common, both of our mothers died of cancer in 2013.

Her mother from breast, mine from brain (glioblastoma).

That might be where our similarities end.

However, this isn’t a comparison between her and I, it’s a dedication to my late mother and a reflection for those who carry grief with them each day.

I often think about my mother and what her legacy is.

Not just to her children, but to her friends, extended family, old coworkers, school moms, random strangers she chatted up in the grocery store…

To me and my brothers, she was Mommy. That was her anchor identity. The one she shouted most loud and proud.

To my father, a wife.

To my grandparents, a daughter. Their first-born.

To my aunt and uncle, sister.

To her friends, loyal and big-hearted.

She carried these identifiers at the core of her being.

Placing the upmost responsibility on each of them.

She was loving, funny, loud, and lovable.

She was the life of the party.

She loved to dance.

She loved exposing us to a wide variety of music, tv, movies, and books.

She loved a cheeseburger.

When I think of my mother, there are an abundance of memories that flood my mind. I had her for 20 years, mostly good years, minus the end of her life.

But I would be lying if I told you that, 13 years after her passing, I don’t kick myself everyday for not asking her more about herself.

More about her life ambitions. Her dreams, her goals, her desires.

Sure, my mother was no stranger. But could I have tried a little more to get to know her as a person, as a woman, as an individual?

She was my rock.

She would tell me I was her best friend.

She was the foundation upon which I am built.

And yet, I’m now haunted by this notion that I wasn't as good of a friend to her.

I was a child who took and took.

Granted, children by nature need tending to, mostly in a non-reciprocal way.

And very aware that mother-son relationships vary.

They are complex, dynamic, layered…even for a mamma’s boy like me.

But could I have done more to let her know that her internal life, was just as important as mine?

She loved movies. Did she ever want to star in one?

She loved music. Did she ever want to sing in a choir?

She loved to dance. Did she ever consider going professional or making it a career?

Was my mother told ‘no’ too many times in her life?

Is that why she never spoke of her dreams, the ones she might have wanted to make a reality?

Was she bullied?

Who were her closest confidants, outside of me?

Did she feel loved and supported?

She was an extrovert.

But did she ever crave isolation?

Did she ever have a moment of peace, outside of death?

Happy Mommy, wasn’t always happy.

Majorly in part to raising three boys under the age of 5.

We were crazy, still kind of are in our own ways.

She raised her voice, she was a yeller.

And we loved to push her to the edge.

But she led with kindness, mainly.

And she never let us forget that we were the best part of her…and that is a gift.

What a gift to receive. A mother’s love.

One I feel guilty having received, when others I know never did.

I could tell you most of her likes and dislikes.

I could explain her sense of humor to you.

I could tell you with certainty that if there was no AC, she was not interested.

If there was an event, we would almost certainly be late.

Every year on the anniversary of my mother’s passing, I write her a letter.

But this year, I plan on being more direct with it.

I will ask her, who were you without us?

Who did you want to be?

What was your true dream in this life?

I know 1000 times over, she would say to be a mom.

And while I don’t think it’s untrue, it might be the pageant answer she felt most comfortable giving.

Sure we brought her joy, but we also brought headache.

Children to worry over, raise, and raise-well.

We as a trio, were not easy.

To be a mother is not easy.

I know when my mom got diagnosed with glioblastoma (brain cancer), there was a resolution in her eyes.

She knew the odds, and she would hang on for as long as she could.

And she did. She tried. And her body failed her.

She is best known as a mother, wife, daughter, sister, friend.

There are parts of me that shatter, when thinking about how unfair it was her life was cut short.

If it hadn’t been cut short, would there be more to that list?

Would she have finally grabbed a hold of her hopes and dreams, and ran toward them?

Would she have had a mid-life crisis?

Would she remain the same?

I’ll never know.

But one thing is for sure.

I loved her.

She was the blueprint for selfless, unconditional love.

She was an angel on earth.

She was flawed, but aren’t we all?

She could get me to laugh in seconds.

Her specialties were: flautas, pot roast, enchiladas, shepherd’s pie, mexican rice, meatloaf.

Her favorite color was purple.

She loved being a red-head by choice.

She loved polka dots.

She was always singing and dancing in the house.

She loved Red Vines and going to the movie theatre.

She loved with her full heart, 100% of it.

Her kindness knew no bounds.

There are so many things I know about my mother, and what her legacy is to me and those closest to me. But there are things she will never get to experience. Selfishly, with me.

My mother will never get to know the friends I’ve made and maintained throughout the last 13 years. Friends she would have embraced as children.

She never got to meet my Lawrence, the love of my life, someone she would have adored and cherished and had so much in common.

She never got to see me as a dog dad, something she would never have guessed in a million years I would be good at.

She never got to see me graduate, twice. She would have been so proud.

I can say with certainty that, I’m not glad my mom died.

And I never will be.

Who wouldn’t want more time with their favorite person?

Who wants to live their life with questions, unanswered?

Not me.

My unsolicited advice to myself and to you my dear friends.

Never stopping being curious about the many parts of the people you love and hold closest to you.

What are their hopes? What are their dreams? Who were they in a past life before you knew them?

Love them with your whole heart.

Meet them where they are at.

Spread love and joy and kindness.

We as humans have more in common than we’d like to believe.

Live life with no regrets.

Much love,

Your Friendly Obsession (Marco)

PS. This is essentially a grief blog post, so if you want to share more about someone you love that has passed in the comments, I would love to hear about them.

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I knew that this tall, white California-grown nerd was trouble the moment I’d laid eyes on him. If only I’d averted his gaze…

Budding friendships.

Crowded hallways.

Teenagers shedding the remnants of their parents control.

This is where our story began.

A seaside dormitory.

A prestigious university.

The beginning of the rest of our lives.

Welcome to the class of 2014!

Move-in trolleys.

An abundance of cologne.

Bodies upon bodies.

A rising tide of young adults with newfound independence.

It was within this oceanic deluge that we locked eyes.

His piercing blues, beckoning me like a sun-kissed lighthouse.

Tight lips, blonde hair.

My newfound kryptonite.

How handsome is he, I mused. Taken aback by a new thought.

A thought boldly dancing through my brain, one I’d never had.

One so novel and shiny, I had to pay attention.

Shoot. Had I been staring too long?

I began to retreat toward my room.

But was met with a tap on my shoulder, as I was fumbling my keys into the lock.

Terrified…I glanced over my shoulder.

It was him.

The tall white house, I mean…lighthouse.

The world faded away once more.

Leaving only him.

Greetings, fair stranger, he said. His voice rich and inviting. Not at all what I thought it would sound like.

I’m Bryan. I couldn’t help but notice your eyes darting around the hallway just a moment ago.

Shit, I’ve been found out.

I mean; I guess what I’m trying to say is that you looked just as lost and confused as I am.

Safe.

I feigned an apology, hoping that I didn’t creep this new hunk out.

An awkward silence brimmed between us.

Are you heading to the dorm orientation later, Shire? He said with either a quirky speech impediment or emphasis on the Shire, as he tilted an imaginary cap in my direction.

I’m sorry did you say Shire? Like Lord of the Rings, Shire?

I replied, my voice trembling with a mix of anticipation and uncertainty.

Yes, I did say it that way on purpose. Trying to gage if you were just as nerdy as I am and if I could interest you in journeying there together? He suggested, eyes sparkling with intrigue.

Before I could linger on his overt friendliness, I followed up on his proposal with a ‘Sure, that sounds like a great idea, Frodo.’

What the hell just left my mouth? How playful could I be with my minimal LOTR knowledge? Are my cheeks on fire? Are they fire hydrant red?

I was eager to conjoin our paths.

At that moment, I noticed his ears blushed as he extended a hand toward me.

An agreement, and our first touch.

A jolt of energy coursing through me, a spark that hinted at a deeper connection than mere acquaintance.

Deal, I’ll come fetch you later, he said with a grin.

Isn’t fetch something you play with dogs? I mumbled under my breath as he turned the corner.

LATER THAT DAY…

I had puttered around my dorm room for hours, even skipped dinner.

My mind replayed each second of my encounter with Bryan.

What were these feelings?

Was this a crush?

Spiraling.

Wondering.

Are these what crushes are supposed to feel like?

I contemplated heading to orientation to ensure I made it on time, as to not piss of the RA. But against my better judgement, I waited another moment, in the hopes that Bryan would show up as agreed upon.

A gentle knock on my door, clink clink.

He came!

Hello Samwise, would you kindly lead the way to this most majestic orientation, he said with a lilted accent.

Sure, was all I could conjure up. Guess he really is Frodo.

He really is committed to this LOTR bit, I thought.

As we ambled through the dorm hallways, conversation flowed like a babbling brook. Bryan spoke of San Diego’s captivating waves. He was a surfer, unexpected twist.

He was devoted to studying biology.

He was ready to take the medical field by storm.

We both enjoyed reading fantasy novels, our shared escape to the harshness of teenage life.

We closed in on our orientation, as I was beginning to question my own.

The very orientation, Bryan only confirmed.

My thoughts began to drift toward uncharted territory.

Choppy waters, I couldn’t begin to navigate, but knew I had to.

A place I had avoided for so long.

Asexual, until proven gay.

My sexuality a spectrum, until it wasn’t.

A flicker of a gay awakening, under the guise of a possible unrequited fascination.

I must have been so lost in my thoughts, because a concerned Bryan took a moment of pause to ask me if I was alright.

Just tired, I replied with a beleaguered grin.

His warm smile, that moment our eyes locked, was that a shared understanding?

Something started that day.

Something raw and magnetic was unearthed.

A secret language known only to us.

An epic adventure waiting to begin.

Or could this be one-sided?

Was I misreading the signs?

Would this imaginary journey reshape the very fabric of my life?

As orientation began, we were separated into two groups on opposite sides of the room.

It was at that moment, our gazes collided once more.

Everything around us faded once again.

Whether we were on this journey together, or parted ways at the impending forks in the road, an epic saga was about to unfold. I felt in my bones.

Our RA shouted, who’s ready to begin the best four years of your life?

Me, I thought.

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A list of 8 things I have been obsessing over, lately.

An invitation for you to check them out, and if you too are obsessed or want to talk about said obsessions, then let’s chat.

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I hope you are well.

And thank you for being here, my dear friend.

1. Atmosphere by Taylor Jenkins Reid (novel)

   I’m not going to front here, this is Taylor Jenkins Reid’s best. I’m willing to die on that hill. The perfect blend of space talk, feminism, clandestine sapphic romance, and drama. I have many thoughts on this, and might further delve into it in another post. For now, let’s leave it at this: If you love TJR, then read this. If you want a queer romance that’s not too spicy and more wholesome, read this. If you love astronauts, space talk, and a “period” piece of sorts….read this.

2. Department of Speculation by Jenny Offill (novel)

   I know that any book that is praised by I will love, and this was no exception. What I was not expecting was how seamlessly my newly acquired space knowledge from Atmosphere would carry right over to parts of this book. A raw portrait of a marriage and motherhood, in the style of vignettes. Tiny little peaks into our narrators life, slowly painting a picture of her reality. It’s inspiring lit fic for the writer in me who aspires to write something like this, stylistically. I am now Jenny Offill curious, so more to report on that later. Also, very much enjoyed the Rilke references, so much so that I re-read Letters to a Young Poet after this as well. If you like the works of Ayşegül Savaş or Rachel Cusk, then this is very much for you my dear.

3. A Room Above a Shop by Anthony Shepherd (novel)

   Disclaimer: if you are not prepared for tears, do not read. An age gap queer clandestine romance, with the owner of a bookshop and his new “apprentice.” It’s not as horny as you would think given the premise. I could not put this down on a recent flight from Los Angeles to Chicago, so much so that I finished it in its entirety on said flight. Fighting the bubbling embarrassment of my tear-soaked face while avoiding eye contact with the pilot sitting next to me. I’ve seen praise this book in many a video, and I was not lead astray. Without spoiling too much: if you like Young Mungo, or Lie With Me, then you would most definitely like this.

4. Shrinking (Apple + TV Series)

   Am I the only person in the world who did not realize that the show SHRINKING is about SHRINKS???? Please tell me no. I beg of you. Embarrassment aside, this series is incredible. My boyfriend and I have plowed through two seasons of this series and are now Pasadena-curious because it is the set for this series and it really elevates the landscape. This show is incredible at portraying the many tenets of grief and how a friend group, family, and coworkers navigate life in the “After”. This is Harrison Ford as his best!! You cannot convince me otherwise. Many laughs, some tears, and I cannot recommend this enough. Woof.

5. Audrey Hobert, Who’s The Clown? (music)

   What sad rock was I living under, without the musical stylings of Audrey Hobert? Better yet, where was I without the song, “Don’t go back to his ass.” The lyrics speak for themselves. I’m obsessed with the album because it gives the punchy lyrics of Taylor Swift and Olivia Rodrigo, but with more grit and this raw honesty that makes you want to punch a wall. If you are not familiar with her work, jump on the train…please? Then we can ride down PCH with her music blasting in our petobismol pink convertible with a vanity license plate that’s more ironic than anything else.

Don’t go back to his ass, that shit is a trap…

6. Kacey Musgraves, Middle of Nowhere (music)

   To know me is to know I ride for Kacey Musgraves. And at this point I am riding so much for her that I might as well have a horse and a tattoo of said horse or the initials KM tatted on my chest. Maybe a little extreme. I’ll dial it back. In all honesty, nothing will ever live up to Golden Hour, but this new album comes close. It’s incredible to see Kacey’s appreciation for caballero culture and for my fellow Mexicans. Some early standouts are “Mexico Honey” and “Dry Spell” but I am sure the entire album will be on repeat for many months to come. If you like country music, you will love this. If you love Kacey, then obvi you will love it. If not, idk.

6. Chicago (the city)

   You know those cities that you visit and you get this overwhelming electric feeling pulsating through you? Chicago is one of those for me. Too intoxicating to move to, but great in small spurts. I ride for this city, the weather is a little upsidownsies…but it’s always a fun time. The bookstore scene was incredible and I enjoy a walkable and planned out city with friendly Midwest people. I wrote a bit about this trip and what it woke up within me in another piece, specifically about the joys of getting out and breaking free of COVID PTSD. The food scene is incredible too!! And any destination is made better in the company of friends who live in said city. :)

7. Ukranian Food (food-result of Chicago trip)

   Speaking of yummy food…I was recently obsessed with Ukranian cuisine. I went to Tryzub Ukranian Kitchen in, you guessed it, Ukranian Village in Chicago. It was delicious and my friends and I inhaled their rainbow platter of delicious dumplings, and then some…I was so passionate about finding a Ukranian spot when I got back to LA, that I dragged one of my great friends on a walk-turned-food-expedition to a local spot called Mom, Please in Playa Vista. We gorged on their two greatest hits the pork and the potato and mushroom variations of their varenyky. We Stan a local spot with authentic and comfort food, I have plans to return in the winter or possibly for a brunch tea.

   What are some of your recent faves?

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Want to chat any of these?

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But that’s neither here nor there.

In this moment, what I really came here to say is, I feel like a shell of my former self, a husk. My personality feels like it’s slowly fading, at times I can describe the feeling as an out-of-body autopilot kind of vibe. Other times, the weight of this cognitive dissonance is without name.

If I really zoom all the way out, I’ve done enough therapy and inner-work to know that: when the world shut down, so did I.

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A little dramatic, sure.

But…my pre-pandemic self was wilding in the streets. Letting his extroverted freak flag fly. The Leo within me was roaring. Traveling the world, hitting the bars, meeting new people, and socializing like it was a full-time job. I was like the where’s Waldo of my friend group! My loved ones always taking guesses as to where I would end up next or asking me where my dad’s United standby ticket would take me (mostly stressed at airport waiting to get off the list).

The times were memorable. And as an extrovert, I thrived off the energy of this lifestyle, and by spending time with people in public, especially with the ones I love.

On any given day I could be eating Korean foods that were way too spicy for me with two of my girlfriends in Ktown. Or jumping across town to Santa Monica to grab drinks and a burger with a Tinder date. And on even wilder days, going to a Kacey Musgraves show at the Greek with one of my besties, then continuing the night with a spontaneous mènage á trois.

For a period of time, this was my life.

For the record, I’m not saying it was a picture-perfect life. But a boy can romanticize his past, right? The hoe phase that came to pass, and a single life I do not miss—but the going out and doing fun stuff…I do.

Before the big, bad Pandemi, I was mostly single, navigating the wild dating scene in L.A. Sure, I was looking for love in all the wrong places (eventually the right one), but I also genuinely enjoyed meeting new people. Everyone has a story, and as someone who loves to read, collecting those stories felt natural.

Then lockdown happened.

COVID-19 took the world by storm.

And with it, a part of my soul seemed to wither away, trapped in isolation.

I didn’t have the luxury of remote work, it was quite the contrary. I was on the front lines, working diligently as an Infection Preventionist in an under-resourced hospital in LA. The job sounds exactly like what the name energy gives off, prevent infections from spreading…but in a hospital. My daily purpose was to keep people safe, and when things were at their worst, it was really trying to keep people alive as best I could. I was a hot commodity at this time, suddenly everyone wanted my expertise. Who would have thought? I became the go-to for all things COVID. But when you’re constantly helping others, it becomes nearly impossible to care for yourself.

I still have flashbacks of running (driving) in the middle of the night to get PPE (masks, gowns, gloves, face shields) at a moment’s notice from our local disaster relief center. Because if you didn’t go get it at a certain time, you would lose your chance at life-saving equipment.

I remember updating staff on the latest guidance and policies changes, providing 1:1 education, only for said guidance to change the very next day. It was an uphill battle to not only keep staff engaged and healthy, but to keep them from getting COVID and burning out after the long, life-saving hours they were clocking in.

All of us with front row views to death.

No, literally.

There was a literal morgue van parked in the parking lot of our facility. Yes, you read that right, a vehicle carrying dead, refrigerated bodies in a place where we all parked our cars.

Even typing this out, the memory of this trying time flashes back to me with intensity.

I’d come home from intense workdays—weeks, months even—to a quiet apartment, living alone for the first time in downtown LA. Adjusting to solitude while being physically isolated from friends and family…

I used my free time to read, catch up on TV, FaceTime with friends and family, and practice daily yoga with Adriene (btw Adriene got me through some shit, thanks Adriene). But none of that was enough to refuel my tank. It was not the same as my vibrant and social calendar-filled life before the pandemic.

On top of that, I was trying not to get COVID at work, while buried under the weight of longing for my family and friends. To hold them, to touch them. But afraid to unknowingly pass a life threatening illness to my elderly grandparents.

But it’s now apparent to me, more than ever, just how much of a toll it has taken on me.

This period of my life that transformed me into more of a germaphobe and hypochondriac, a lifestyle that was never my intention but forged through a blend of coping mechanisms and professional exposure to crazy depressing shit.

Casually fighting my COVID PTSD in silence, while feigning sanity.

Fast Forward:

While peak pandemic is over, COVID is here to stay (albeit not as deadly, but still as infectious).

I’ve managed to collect a series of career successes, a thoughtful and loving partner, a fluffy dog, and I’m fortunate enough to live on the west side of LA, minutes from the ocean.

I feel this unnerving sense of imposter syndrome. One reason being that my current boyfriend never got to know this other side of me, the one who had more in common with the life of the party than the reclusive shut-in I feel I’ve become. Would he even be drawn to the version of myself with no care in the world, other than a good time?

We lost my Nonno, quite suddenly, back in 2022. The foundation of our family. The cheery patriarch who imbued a love of family, food, and friends as his secret to a long and joyous life. With him, I lost the one person in my life who believed the best in me. The one person who, without a doubt, thought I was the smartest person in every room, the most thoughtful, the most responsible…and I’d be lying if I said I’m not still trying to reclaim those bits of me that vanished with him.

I’ve lost bits and pieces of my carefree, free-spirited self, alongside my hope for humanity (at my darkest times).

These days I feel incredibly boring in comparison to pre-pandemic Marco. I feel as if I give off anti-social energy, like a Hobbit who prefers the Shire aka my house.

There are days when I want to lock my cell phone in a box, delete all connections to the outside world, and move to the woods and live off the land.

These days I have a set routine. One I so desperately want to shake up.

Recently, I visited my dear friend in Chicago for her birthday. During my time there, I was reminded—or inspired, really— by the life she has carved out for herself in a city she loves. It was incredible to see her so in her element, and with friends and a husband that added color and vibrancy to her life. A woman about the town in so many ways, a doctor, but also an avid Chicago anthropologist and adventurer. Getting to know the many neighborhoods within walking distance, and keeping her fingers on the pulse of what events were going on this week. Free or not. Tomato Palooza, or a fun conservatory with an incredible fern room that could keep us warm and out of the wind and rain for an afternoon.

Her rules, which became my rules for the weekend: if it’s less than a mile, walk. Know your neighborhood. Have friends to meet up within a moment’s notice. Eat more, walk more. Bookstores everywhere.

Sure going out and exploring new bars and restaurants was easier when I was dating and trying to meet new people. I don’t really drink anymore, so bars got less enticing. But now there are fun mocktails, or good vibes, or live music, or events like trivia or whatever.

Why can’t I be more like this?

What’s holding me back?

Be open minded Marco!

I felt the tides turning. And for whatever reason this recent trip was that switch, or that prince’s kiss that wakes Sleeping Beauty from her slumber.

It’s as if my internet has been turned back on and I am back online, re-establishing a network with the past versions of myself.

The social butterfly I once was now has a chance to slowly recover after years of no flight. While my wings are atrophied, after years of being locked away, out of reach, I am healing. Sure, this time brought many blessing into my life, and things to be grateful for, but also much to mourn and grieve.

Both things can be true.

Change is natural. We all get older, priorities shift, etc. etc. We are human after all. But I’m not ready to let go of who I once was, because he’s still in there. He’s a part of me. A part of who I still aim to be.

In times like these I pull inspiration from Sailor Moon, heroine extraordinaire. She’s been beaten down and hopeless from the villains she’s encountered, hell, she’s even died and come back to life. But somehow she manages to reclaim her inner light, channeling the energy from her loved ones in order to fend off the darkness.

Could this be me reclaiming my energy, my light, my spark and zest for life again?

I need to be more like my dear friend from Chicago—not weighed down by the trauma of COVID PTSD, not stuck in a hypochondriac loop, but out there living life again on the daily.

Maybe I should get out more.