Category Kimchi x Kafka

I had taken the cheapest flight available to get from Siem Reap to New York City which involved an overnight layover in Hanoi followed by a transfer in Beijing to get on the China Air flight to JFK. The flight…

If the Jersey Shore had a spirit animal, he would be it. From his artificially tanned face to his green eyes flashing, he looks like a Greek god as he extends his massive hand. My new roommate is at least…

Kind of makes you wonder where you fucked up haha. Kind of makes you want to kill somebody, too. I pray to God, and I believe in Jesus’s name and all that come with it, but I gotta make moves…

  This is my Blue Period. Everyone has a blue period. Picasso’s best friend killed himself, that’s what got him so depressed. I heard it was over a woman, maybe a story of one-sided love, but either way, that was his best…

Folks, this story actually goes way back. All the way to a place called the Eighties. Just think about George Orwell and rewind the clock back twenty years. All that 1984 stuff would come soon enough, after the Towers fell.…

“‘Meet the Parents’ is a dangerous game,” I say again, repeating things I’ve already said out of anxiety. “It almost always goes south.” “Babe, it’s going to be okay,” Vita says. “I mean, how bad can it be?” “The first…

“It’s nice,” I find myself murmuring. “Us being like this. I miss this.” “It’s nice,” Vita agrees noncommittedly and takes a sip of black coffee. She’s wearing dark-red lipstick, heavy mascara, and a headband with her hair in a ponytail.…

Every hip hop mural artist story eventually leads to a studio like this one — a vacant-looking building, an all-nighter, and a wall that’s about to mean something. Before I leave New Brunswick, I stop by Commercial Avenue on the…

For My Father is the kind of story that never quite gets said out loud — it took a car ride and a stranger’s question to finally get it out. There’s a light in every drop as it drips down…

This Korean American coming-of-age story doesn’t move in a straight line — it drifts the way memory actually does, backward and forward at once, between a father’s shuttered store and a brother’s summer nights. My mom said to me once…