Skip to main content

feb.20 {i want to remember...}

I want to remember the way you feel in my arms, small yet solid wrapped tightly around with little limbs hugging, and a sweet smelling smile tucked snug into my neck.

I want to remember the light we found in this corner of the universe, surrounded by sea and steadiness and the four of us held together by the certainty of love.

I want to remember the stories we shared amidst a nest of blankets and how every word stitched our worlds together, as the two of us explored imaginary lands far far away.

I want to remember the freshly pressed smell, the weight in my hands, and the fluttering of pages with words and images staring back at me saying, "Yes, you were here, and you offered sparks that somehow caught fire."

I want to remember the thrill of a dream, the persistence of desire, and the way passion feels like a fearless elixir of holding tight and letting go.

I want to remember the path of kindness, all the open souls and their willingness to share which lit my way into the infinite tangle of my very own heart.

I want to remember the sting of your caress, the intensity of your touch, and the deep understanding that moved us beyond boundaries we didn't even know existed.

I want to remember the bridge of family and how one generation held onto the next with tradition and celebration and memories built by each and every one of us, one shared moment at a time.

I want to remember paint through my fingers, scribbling the words, and capturing an image, each creation a wish and a kiss blown out to the stars.


Popular posts from this blog

Inner Alchemy Cards: Build A New World Deck

Our next make-your-own card adventure is finally here! Inner Alchemy Collage: Build A New World Deck (online) is an artful exploration of language, learning, inspiration, and collaboration, that delves into important ideas around activism and systems of oppression. This is a way for us to examine and disrupt harmful dominant narratives, tell new stories, and inspire one another to use our creativity and personal power to help build the collective world we all want to live in! In the end you will have a beautiful and meaningful handmade deck of 35 oracle cards to use as unique a tool for guidance and reflection whenever you need it.  I'm your host,  Mindy Tsonas Choi , an artist, organizer, radical belonging activist, and the founder of the Be Seen Project - a grassroots initiative resourcing BIPOC artist and makers working in activism. Join me along with other stellar artists, makers and co-creators who have also been exploring social justice and activism as part of their creativ

The Cost of Selling Belonging

As someone who use to sell belonging and believed I was creating something universally magical , I now have fresh eyes on the harm that I once caused. I understand what can (and was) incredibly healing and impactful for some, was at the same time excluding, marginalizing and undervaluing others. First, to anyone who ever felt like they did not belong to anything I created because they were unable to afford it or felt like they did not have the social capitol to join -  I am sincerely sorry for not seeing you sooner .   To our entire creative community as a whole, I urge us all to think about belonging in new and equitable ways, and to do the work of dismantling these hierarchical structures that leave so many people out of the circle. We all deserve to have access to creativity and belonging, and I'd go so far as to say both are fundamental basic human needs and rights. Selling belonging can look like... Creating spaces and experiences that can only be accessed by buying in at one,

what's in a name?

It’s May 14, 2020 and I’m on a transnational call with a social worker and translator of the SOS Children’s Village offices in South Korea. It’s 7pm my time and 9am the next day in Korea, which adds to the surreal quality of the moment. It is my first long distance call following my inquiry with the organization documented to be my first place of entry into the system, found in my Korean records (the acquisition of which is an incredible story in and of itself). It was July 21, 1972 and I was 5 months old. It’s a small miracle the organization still exists, and an even bigger blessing that they took such time and care in searching for information and to talk it all through with me in person. I try not to cry as the call connects. What I learn is a lot of small details about that fateful evening which amount to nothing traceable, but still feel like huge missing pieces of my life. I was left near the entrance around 7pm under a small tree, wrapped in a blanket with only a name scribble