A New Book and Slow Beginnings!

Fellow readers of my San Fran misadventures:

I’ve definitely been way past deadlines in terms of posting about my previous weeks on a weekly basis, and my apologies. But it’s not without good reason!

I’ve been mentioning on my Instagram page that something big is coming in March 2016— and that, my readers, is my new book A Year by the Bay!! This book will be available via Blurb for all of you who enjoyed my past year chronicling a writer in San Francisco on a weekly basis. Every post I’ve made from when I moved out here from the trenches of the deep East Bay ¬†in late January 2015 to now will be published in this complete book along with various photos taken in that time period. It’s a small celebration of a successful first year in a stable and amazing job, a world renowned city ever-changing in crowds and entertainment, and of course, being single. So now, see it all in one book, and here is the cover:

A Year by the Bay

I’ve also been busy at my day position as a content manager and media specialist for Wish. If you have the app or follow their social media, you might find that I’ve made a few articles for their blog and appearances on their YouTube Channel. And don’t think that’s the last of me– yep, I’ll be shooting some more fun content videos with Wish and I can’t wait not just to share them, but to keep on improving myself for the camera, as I am an inherently awkward creature and although it’s something I’ve embraced off screen, it translates rather strangely when you’re trying to share shopping information and featured items from the app.

Wish 2016 Haul Paris 2

I’m also looking to branch out with my freelancing, already starting a new guest post at theLittleThing5 here with “These San Francisco Thing5.” I will be reposting that post shortly on here.

In the meantime, as you await A Year by the Bay, you can read through all the featured weekly essays in my Archives and check out some of my other books from my early years of writing here on Blurb!

Have a happy week to you all ūüôā

-P

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Loves, and Lows

January 25 – January 31

This bitch falls way too deep in love with things. Too fast, too easy. A cup of Tesora from Philz, the latest single by the 1975, Giants making the playoffs in an even year, stilettos under $20, Bernie Sanders. Because love itself is easy– easier than hate. You feel how much wondrous energy is being poured out in your ardency with no restraint. So yes, we’ll cover in this short wrap of an uneventful last week of the first month of the new year with quite a few loves. Any love makes anything eventful.

And then, a firm believer in the power of duality, you gotta bring up the things you’d love to forget: the lows.

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LOVES:

Coming straight home on a week day. Coming home means Biotin, choosing a book to read, and always a warm bed. It’s a cramped little commodity of accommodation but cramped to me means cozy. My cozy little crampedness makes me enjoy moments like buying toilet paper at the store. I have my own house to keep.

Filming a new video for work. I’ve fallen into an exciting new opportunity and project with my work which means viewers can subscribe to my work’s channel after sitting through my pudgy mug for 3-5 minutes max. It’s a painful process to prepare for the interwebz screen: cake on BB cream, write out the scripts, and practice moving my lips and smiling by filming Snapchat selfies of my lines. But for my cool TV presenter factor on a scale of 1 to Alexa Chung, I feel like I’ve gotta get past 0.5. It sure is an awkward, glamorous adventure.

The Carls Jr. Double Western Bacon Cheeseburger at 1 AM after losing your mind over The Revenant and beer at Dirty Water. Also, just seeing a movie again. A classic alternative to a night out with friends other than become emotionally wrecked by an open bar tab. The right film will just have the same effect.

An unexpected night out. Fireball shots. The fear of taking a shot of Fireball because the internet said there was antifreeze in it. Getting over that fear. Getting talkative with friends of coworkers visiting the office and visiting from Canada. Getting everyone else to go out dancing at Blondie’s in the Mission. Not paying for the drink you sipped at Blondie’s. Hanging in a fucking bar called Blondie’s.

LOWS:

Why is it called Blondie’s?? This is a very serious question any belligerent being would ponder and it could potentially wreck the night.

Not setting an alarm but by habit you’re half-awake at the usual hour just as a mouse comes out from beneath your couch and scurries back under. Suddenly you’re wide awake.

Seeing a man pee a pretty heavy flow near Civic Center.

Filming has its missteps. Getting nervous in the middle of filming, or never even knowing when you’re going to film. You just get lucky that the days you’re called in to shoot you’re already wearing concealer. But how badly you want to wash your face!

Not wearing your best outfit for going out. Even worse, when you find it so hard to leave to go home when you’re absolutely EXHAUSTED around 11, and still walk what feels like a good few blocks to the Elbo Room and then hot bacon dogs fresh on Mission Street and then tacos and an Uber cab back to your office to pick up your shit. And people insist you still accompany them to a party in the Marina– while others insist accompanying you home.

How? How could you last that long? How are you even still alive?

I guess those drawn out evenings going late into the cold night in one of the more warmer districts of the city are probably some of the finest hours you’ll get. For the chance of stupid stories to pass on in a recollection piece like this one– even if there isn’t much to tell– perhaps the pain is what I love the most. It’s masochistic, and it’s nothing to regret.

Even if I didn’t get to wash my face ’til 3 AM as I’m certain a mouse watched me.

 

 

 

The Music We Move to

January 18 – January 24

I find¬†myself listening to the same music that I had been listening to a year ago. The Colourist, Walk the Moon, Bastille, TATE, Oasis, Elliott Smith. It’s the week before the last of January. January isn’t of any great importance on a given year, except this same time last year I was just coming into the city.

So every time one of these songs come on, everything around me feels anew. And when things feel new, somehow they’re more spectacular than they should appear. The 9 AM trek from my apartment three blocks down to the bus. The stream of dance indie hits that serenade the air of the cabana-themed bar where you’ve crashed Juan’s 40th birthday bash before. The radio hits you subsequently hear on the Jambox of the office parties on a rainy Friday. Or in the Uber heading home from across town. There’s an endless playlist of these these tunes that are hard to name right now as I sit but they’re not just tunes– they’re amazing memories, too.

And when I¬†hear one I compare my current disposition to what I had imagined before the year behind me had even unfolded. I was excited, eager, ready to be out every night and working hard in the day to return peacefully back into the night that was San Francisco madness. But it seems that sadly, the madness wore off. There were times I wasted a day in bed or moods¬†that kept me from actually making out to live shows in the Mission in favor of just sitting warm listening to the radio in the kitchen. I was forgetting that within these comforts of a home in San Francisco, there was more to be done. The worst part is, some of these new songs from this past¬†year will only remind me of those lackluster moments in this time. I hear the music, but there’s no longing to dance.

But almost perfectly, a year after this big move, I was suddenly pulled from my back against the wall. An expedited envelope from Canada on my desk, inside containing one of the most beautifully written and thoughtful letters of gratitude, from one ambitious friend to another. This friend no longer lives in the city but he will return in the spring, and more driven than his last time. Here and now, though, on this desk, he wrote of a funny tale. Of a guy who made it past unforeseen obstacles in school and opportunities to sit atop one of the highest points in a city nearly 3,000 miles from home. His dance was coming to an end, the music seeming like the closing act. But here on this 40th floor there was someone who seemed, despite her own feelings of drab contentment, ready to take the stage. Any moment, any chance to get out there and still prove something.

“She shook me awake from my comfort and satisfaction and reminded me that I wanted more,”¬†the letter proclaims, “Paris Kim is a writer, and great writers inspire.”

Remember to dance, because there is always someone watching your every move. Keep in mind that where you feel lacking, your dreams are more fulfilled than the dreams of others. I may say I am a writer, but for awhile, “great” was a lovely, fleeting dream. A new year begins, and a greater pursuit of the greater things in this city shall commence and not without the sounding trumpets of glorious songs to keep me motivated that the future is scary, uncertain– and for those reasons, the best thing I’ve got.

So I’m listening to all of these songs again, on a Sunday back from Brunch, new ring– and outlook– in hand. The music you move to now was the one that moved you forward from the start and shall keep you moving along to something bigger than now.

Old Music Typewriter