The periodic pleasure
of small happenings
is upon us—
behind the stalls
at the farmer’s market
snow glinting in heaps,
a cardinal its chest
puffed out, bloodshod
above the piles of awnings,
passion’s proclivities;
you picking up a sweet potato
turning to me ‘This too?’—
query of tenderness
under the blown red wing.
Remember the brazen world?
Let’s find a room
with a window onto elms
strung with sunlight,
a cafe with polished cups,
darling coffee they call it,
may our bed be stoked
with fresh cut rosemary
and glinting thyme,
all herbs in due season
tucked under wild sheets:
fit for the conjugation of joy.
A few days ago, while walking (my hyperactive cream-colored dog), (my family member who likes to give orders) found a kitten abandoned under a bodhi tree. Two curious dogs were already circling and sniffing at the frightened little thing. (my family member who likes to give orders) pulled them away, scooped the kitten up and took them to the vet where they stayed for a few days.
This afternoon we went to bring the kitten home.
They’re a calico, small enough to fit in the palm of my hand, with a thin coat that’s a little ragged and ears too big for their face. I made them a nest in the bathtub: a rope basket lined with fabric, a litter box, a water bowl and a small dish of wet food. When I’m not there, the kitten roams freely and without hesitation: climbing the edge of the tub, winding through the ferns, nosing under the alocasia and the snake plant. But the moment I appear, they shrink back behind the litter box. Just their blue-grey eyes, peering out.
They’re not used to me yet.
I already feel used to them.
I’ve started making small visits throughout the evening — so they can slowly learn the weight of my footsteps, the sound of the door opening, the running water. I talk softly in the room so they can get used to my voice. I’m glad they are quick and lively. I’m glad they finished most of their dinner tonight.
It’s been raining since evening. Now it’s late. And I’m sitting by the balcony door writing this. The wind coming in slow waves. Outside it’s wet and dark. In here, the kitten is probably dreaming under the ferns.
The idea behind this place started simple: to keep things small. It came from my own experience of building other personal sites, each one growing bloated over time, which was fine. That was its own kind of exploration. But this time I wanted something small. I wanted a place that doesn’t try to be too many things at once. A place for one thing only: to hold memories.
You can visit my old personal sites on the Wayback Machine: here
and here
. Thank you, whoever archived them.
On the technical side, that meant lightweight and no unnecessary dependencies. So I went back to basics, building a static site with only html and css (with some help from Hugo). No javascript. No images either. Images add weight. And weight has a cost. That’s why instead of regular photos, I made something called alt-text photos. Basically they’re descriptions of photos I’d love to share, written out as text instead.
this feature was inspired by Alt Text Selfies
, a project that collects self-portraits described in words rather than images.[alt-text: A person sitting at a desk in a dark room, lit only by a lamp, working at a computer beside a window. Outside, the sky is black and raindrops streak down the glass.]
When I want to share what I’m listening to, I’ll add a small music player to the post. Welp, a pseudo one, since it doesn’t actually play anything. All it does is open a DuckDuckGo search for the song in a new tab when clicked. The design is inspired by the iPod, mainly for nostalgic reasons. Clunky, but I like the way it feels.
The more I built, the more I wanted this place to feel a certain way. So I fixed the content column at 360px, narrow enough that the text stacks tall and the eye doesn’t have to travel far, like writing in a pocket notebook. No responsive breakpoints. It looks more or less the same on every screen.
This isn’t a space for conversation. It’s more like a personal corner I keep on the internet, for myself first. No comments, no analytics. No tracking. Nothing that would make it feel like it’s waiting for a response.
The rest is kept loose. The content is mostly text, written in lowercase. There’s no posting schedule, no particular format to follow. Things go up when they’re ready, or when I feel like it.
The only structure I impose is a system of tags called seeds. Though I use them lightly. Sometimes arbitrarily. The hope is that over time, unexpected connections will surface on their own. I’m curious to see what grows.