I gave my seat to an elderly Chinese man on the train this morning. He was probably in his 70s or 80s. He reminded me of 아빠. He only had one glove on, he was carrying a filled, light blue, plastic bag, he wore glasses, he was skinny, he was short, and he was a little hunched over. He looked like he had lived a hard life, as so many immigrants do. He probably got on at Grand Street, and he got off two stops later, at West 4th Street, Washington Square Park. When he got off the train, Greg sat next to me. I started weeping. It was such a tender and beautiful, human encounter. He made me realize that 아빠 and our family had been pulled through a time machine, going at warp speed through time. I watched 아빠 age and deteriorate, becoming 70, 80, and 90, all within three months. But at the end of it all, I'm still 35. And I have to make sense of the warp-speed dying process that I walked 아빠 through.

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It snowed last night, into this morning. The snow reminds me of 아빠. It reminds me that I can't call him, and he can't call me. It reminds me that I can't watch him show me on FaceTime how much it's snowing in Virginia. It reminds me that I can't show him on FaceTime how much it's snowing in New York. It reminds me of the words he would've said to me on a day like this — words he will never be able to say again, words I will never be able to hear again. "지! 옷 단단히 입어! 밖에 추워! 조심 조심!" I felt sad and anxious that I was missing the first snow in Virginia today, because 엄마 is here with us in New York. As a person who has always really loved the snow, the snow now brings up a deep grief in me. It reminds me that I can't share one of my favorite things with him ever again. It reminds me that 아빠 isn't here anymore.

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Thinking about anxious and avoidant attachment as a vending machine has been incredibly helpful for me — Fruit Snacks, Mentos, and Oreos. To all my anxiously attached homies out there — we deserve reciprocity, we don't have to earn love, worth, or approval, and we don't have to fix people. Let other people fix their own vending machines. Funny story: my mom put Nivea and Vaseline on her face and legitimately looked like a 귀신. I recorded a video of her, we laughed so hard, and these tender family moments always remind me of 아빠.

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My right eye has popped blood vessels. My mom made us 떡만두국 and told us a story about how, in the old days, Koreans only ate meat three times a year — your birthday, 추석, and 설날. Greg also told my mom that we were going to do her laundry — that she's refused to let us do — because her t-shirts have been looking a little 후졌어, and my mom and I burst out laughing. She's been doing her laundry by hand, in the bathtub, with bar soap. Laughing together makes me feel like 아빠 is with us. Over the last five years, my mom has been telling me more stories about her life in Korea — she doesn't tell me that many, but I really cherish the stories that she tells me, even if they're small. Remembering is hard. Grieving is hard. We press forward, together.

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I have Complex Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, also known as C-PTSD. The two voices in my head — my voice, and the C-PTSD voice that goes into overdrive when I'm triggered — struggle to coexist and feel safe. Here is my metaphor for my C-PTSD — Hopeful Jieun and Fearful Jieun are sisters. Fearful Jieun has a hard time letting Hopeful Jieun drive the car of Jieun's Life because she believes that, whenever she lets Hopeful Jieun drive the car, she inevitably gets us into a car accident, and Fearful Jieun then has no choice but to take over and start driving. Fearful Jieun has no idea she's scared — all she knows is that she always has to be in control, she can't trust anyone, and the world is a dangerous place.

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I really didn't want to record this episode today because I really didn't want to feel vulnerable today. I think it's because I feel mediocre, and I feel mediocre because I tried to rest, and rest makes me feel very unproductive. I really struggle to rest. Intense feelings of mediocrity and shame come up for me when I try to rest. I have to go through 10 walls sometimes to finally succumb to my need to rest — that's how much I resist rest. Rest feels unproductive and lazy, but it's not. Rest is productive. I'm getting better at rest, but it's still hard for me.

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This episode is about how my morning walks have changed my life. It's about how much a messy space impacts my mental and emotional state. It's about being an Enneagram 8 and needing a place for all of my energy to go, especially when my anxiety is running high.

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Greg and I observed our 11-year anniversary today. On January 8, 2013, Greg and I met in a van, getting picked up by Liberty in North Korea, in the arrivals pick-up area of Los Angeles International Airport, sometime around 11:00 am PST. I flew in from Virginia. Greg flew in from North Carolina. I was 24. Greg was 23. 11 years later, we are still here. This is our first anniversary where my dad is not alive. This is our first anniversary without 아빠. All of my holidays are covered in grief. Surviving is the goal. Surviving is the victory.

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This episode is about self-righteous New York City bikers, those "I hate New York" moments, and giving myself permission to change my mind.

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This episode is about my struggle with people-pleasing, my new podcast called Morning Walks • 아침 산책, where I record the sounds of Prospect Park, anxious attachment, and getting my stitches pulled out four weeks after my dental implant surgery.

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