A year ago today I woke up in a hospital in Taiwan. I was in physical and mental pain. I knew that I would end up in there eventually and I guess, that day was the day. A big reason was because I worked for a person who told me I was a waste of time, wasn’t good at what I did and that I’d never find anything better than where I was. And I believed him. Another reason was the bottle of whisky I drank.
If I’m ever on the cover of a magazine I’d request to get my armpits airbrushed, my left breast photoshopped so it’s even with my right and I’d possibly get some adult acne removed. But I know, for a fact, I would never want my words to be photoshopped.
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Jason expectedly died earlier in the day and I was furious with myself for crying so much. I could tell my tears were making Allen nervous. I wish it were more socially appropriate to carry on a conversation while crying. Read the rest of this entry »
I want to make one thing clear: I do not think “journalism is dead.” In fact, I think journalism is the ‘Madonna’ of professions; it will get face lifts until it outlives us all. This is a post about my decision to stop trying to be a journalist.
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Every morning around 6 am I get home from work. I shield my eyes from the sun and scuttle into my apartment. I stare at the computer for two hours before adjusting my glare to the ceiling. Sometimes I fall asleep. Most of the time I don’t.
Sprinting through the airport, I vowed to start exercising the second I got to Taiwan. There are multiple reasons why I hate running through airports, first and foremost: my travel backpack. As if my 5′ 2” frame and chronic baby-weight don’t already make me look like high schooler, running with a backpack surely seals the deal. Read the rest of this entry »
“A TOAST!” Leslie yelled, smashing her butter knife against a mimosa glass. It’s 1PM on New Year’s Day and I have yet to go home and yet to stop drinking. “To the Apocalypse! Let’s quit our jobs, spend our money, and have the greatest year of our lives!” Read the rest of this entry »
“Okay Marina, I have to go google Russian penis jokes for your interview tomorrow. Bye bye!” My father said not waiting for a response. I guess I should explain how we got to this point. Read the rest of this entry »
A pink thong greeted me as I got off the elevator. I wouldn’t have thought it to be that weird if it wasn’t still attached to its owner.
Update: Due to unforeseen circumstances I am back at work. Which is ironic if you read the whole post. It’s a long complicated story that I can’t romanticize on this blog, BUT I don’t believe in pulling down posts. Maybe more to come about this, but probably not.
Double Update: Look out for a post with an update on the update.
8:51 a.m – Step out of the apartment.
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I’m running. I could hear whistles and cat-calls as I sprinted down 7th avenue. My short dress was flying up exposing my pink and black-checkered underwear, but I didn’t care because I was late.
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Noah’s brow furrowed as he studied my drawing. I hadn’t gotten two steps into his apartment before he had suggested we draw. Noah was full of these random, simple ideas that somehow always ended up de-stressing me. I’d had a long day at the office and was exhausted but I couldn’t break my plans to see him.
MARINAvsWriting 