Brioche beanies and Palmieri

So last week, my sister and brother-in-law came to visit me. But more importantly, some good light came into my apartment, and then this happened:

I know. I thought I was a better photographer, too. I did my best to channel my instaproficient friends, keeping in mind converging lines and the rule of thirds (and subtle indications of a sophisticated literary palette). But, as it turns out, I’m pretty crappy at stylizing. Or I need cooler sunglasses. 
IMG_4523It’s probably the sunglasses.

But anyway! A few years ago, you may remember me toying with the particularly elusive brioche stitch and ultimately making a brioche infinity scarf and writing about it (that post was temporarily redacted while i applied to medical school due to some disparaging remarks about etsy users and also because i ended the post with ‘suck it’). Well, ever since then, I’ve been trying to figure out a way to adapt the brioche stitch to be knit in the round so I could make brioche hats or sweaters. All to no avail, sadly.

Until last month! When I found this post on craftsy with instructions on how to knit brioche in the round. That, in conjunction with purlbee’s instructions on how to brioche decrease (i’m in a bit of a creativity dry spell right now…), gave me just what I needed to knit up my very first brioche beanie! Here’s my friend, Shirlene (a brand spankin’ new american #goamerica), attempting to look as fabulous as the beanie on her head.

IMG_4615IMG_4619Well, she tried.

IMG_4643One of the reasons why Shirlene is so visibly happy (other than becoming the best kind of citizen ever and having someone shake a tree to shower you with flower petals) is because she is both model and owner of this grey brioche beanie. As the fifth installation of my ingenious art swap idea (knitschange? knit for tat? quid pro knit?), I agreed to make Shirlene a hat in exchange for a work of her own.

As it turns out, Shirlene happens to be a pretty fantastic artist, so I asked her to draw me the single (i wish) most undeniably perfect female companion: Jessica Chastain.JC2softlightBtw I’m not usually the type to obsess over people; Other than Ed Sheeran (sheerio4life) and that Indian guy in high school who stole my crossword puzzles, I tend to keep a healthy separation from people not actually a part of my life.

Except for Jessica Chastain.


So as I mentioned earlier, my sister and BIL (brother-in-law get with it) came to visit last week, and they were actually the tail end of a string of family visitors coming to see me. It was great having them all here–introducing them to my diverse friends (in a recent family contest of ‘who has the most white friends’, i won hands down) and showing them around Hyde Park–but it was also kind of weird (and not just because i gave them all the same shower towel to use). Because for the first time, I was able to see myself as who I am in light of who I was, noticing all the things I’ve changed or kept the same since moving away and finally realizing that I actually really live in Chicago now. For like, my life.

And then they all left and I returned to my routine of Microbiology and reading Jessica Chastain’s bio on Wikipedia, but I started seeing the ways I had really made this place my home. I can bike now (debatable), and I know where to get groceries and what an alderman is. I’ve even learned how to play cornhole (as it turns out, i am a cornhole prodigy).


But then there are times when it’s like I just got here and everyone can see the San Francisco on me (hecka awkward). Like when I ate kale and granola with a dozen Chicago firemen (thankfully they were too busy watching ultimate catch to judge me). Or when everyone’s upset when the Blackhawks lose to the Ducks because of how good Palmieri is (i had to google every single proper nouns in that sentence). Or when someone uses the word ‘salad’ incorrectly and my heart gets sad.

I have been in Chicago for almost twelve months now, where it has been A Most Violent Year, but also a most eventful one, what with the start of medical school (and The Debt that comes with it…) and leaving my family (including Mama, et al.) back at home. But with The Help of my new community here, I’ve learned to Take Shelter in the fact that I have less changed than matured, adapting to circumstances and learning from mistakes ranging from minuscule to Interstellar (reading while walking is NOT something you can do here). Because I figure I’m not different, but more than who I was before, growing steadily on The Tree of Life, adding to myself with each decision.

Zero Dark Thirty.

***Jessica Chastain was born in Sacramento, California, and is currently is in a relationship with Count Gian Luca Passi di Preposulo, though prospects look bleak.

Scottie socks and Sensodyne

IMG_4345Yay socks. Yay scottie dogs. Yay scottie dog socks. For those of you thinking, ‘that’s it?!’ 1) rude and 2) I actually made two pairs. Well, technically, I made this pair once, unraveled it, and then knit it again. At two separate times while making these socks, I noticed how egregiously large and disproportionate they were and hoped that the combined power of prayer and blocking (mostly prayer) would be enough to fix my mistakes. Alas, the knitting gods did not look favorably upon me (likely due to my idolatrous relationship with the neighboring granola gods, who have showered me with an abundance of wheat germ), and the socks ended up all sorts of wrong. So, I tried again, this time with a little more thought and preparation before starting (along with an animal sacrifice), and out popped a perfect (well, almost) pair of two-toned scottie socks!

IMG_4365If you’re wondering what misshapen canine I based my pattern off of, let me direct you to the below x-ray:scottiedogscottiedogscottiedogyeeeThat’s right! This is my very first medically inspired knit! The scottie dog (which is legit enough to have its own wiki page) is identified on radiological images, and a break in its neck is indicative of a pars interarticularis fracture. BAM. medical knowledge. 8 months of medical school finally paid off.

Anyway, my initial plan was to have scottie dogs running all over the socks, but I hugely overestimated my fair-isle proficiency, so I knocked it down to one each and added a nice and easy contrast color toe.

IMG_4406Here is my friend, Soo, chilling on the couch and totally rockin’ the scottie socks with a three-quarters smile. Props to her and her shameless feet for bearing through the long and awkward photoshoot and pretending to believe me when I said I didn’t have a foot fetish.

So, I kind of wish I had finished these socks a bit sooner, because then I would’ve been able to write about some of the things that happened this past month, many of which were masculiknable. For example, I could’ve written about my trip to South Dakota (scottie socks and john-lancaster) and our stop in Mitchell (population: corn), or my new bike (scottie socks and annie c.) and the fortuitous way in which I stumbled upon her (and the many un-fortuitous ways i stumbled off of her). Or, I could’ve written about my latest J. Crew Factory purchase, which, we can all agree, deserves a post all by itself. Unfortunately, all of these have come and passed (except j. crew factory, that’s more of a lifestyle choice), and the only eventful happenings recently have been my PT appointment and receding gums.

That’s right. PT. physical therapy. For my back, which, after 3 months, is still sore and stiff. And then there’s my lower right premolar, which is now hypersensitive and requires me to use Sensodyne toothpaste and enamel-restoring mouthwash twice daily. Knitting (and crosswords and West Wing and fiber consumption) aside, I’m starting to feel old (for you crotchety 25+ folks, know that i am exaggerating. kind of) and, in a sense, cheated.

I think somewhere along the line, I got it into my head that good health was one of the ‘perks’ of being a doctor, that I somehow deserved (medical gods willing, of course) a body that ran like clockwork. Some part of me thought (thinks, to be completely honest) that with all the time spent learning what constituted a healthy body, knowing it and being it couldn’t be too far apart. But, as my erector spinae muscles remind me each morning, that is not the case. And I was so, very childish to think that it would be.

Maybe the real perk of being a doctor, rather than the fountain of youth (that’s not too much to ask for, is it?), is more like an understanding, a language that we use to shed light on the things that ail and scare us. Now, I admit that there is so much that medicine can do and restore (i most certainly wouldn’t be in medical school otherwise). But for someone like me, with a bad back, a strong propensity for falling off unstable things (e.g. human totem poles, bikes, etc.), and diabetes/glaucoma/heart disease (pick 2) in my not so distant future, knowledge has become a fast friend and an appropriate medicine for the things that afflict me most: time and pure, dumb luck.

Sad to say, I am getting older. Fortunately, this seems to be not an uncommon phenomenon. So, while I could obsess over the Adonis that I once was (high school mile time: 8:25), I think I’d rather lean back (with proper lumbar support, of course), put up my feet, and enjoy the ride.IMG_4398***Chicago’s nearest J. Crew Factory is in Rosemont, IL, 23 miles away and a 36 minute drive without traffic.

Triangle scarves and Knitzker

IMG_4266First off, let’s just take a moment to fully appreciate how amazing these colors are.

aaaghagh gorgeous. so much

okay, I’m done.

Anyway, I am happy to report that spring has sprang (though i am told it will unspring and respring on and off until mid to late april) and I am currently enjoying my first 40º+ day in who knows how long. Though I am well aware that this is a good 25º colder than how I lived the first 23 years of my life, it basically feels like home. For example, today, I left the apartment in under a minute, since I didn’t have to worry about which jacket, scarf, hat, ear warmers, and gloves to wear (i will say this winter has done wonders for my accessory game). Also, I no longer get blood when I blow my nose, so that’s good. I will admit, though, I was getting used to the frigid cold and will almost miss it, stomping through the snow in my boots and having a good excuse to lounge around my room in just my long johns (i totally get yoga pants now).

But oh well, winter is over(ish), which means it’s time to put away that chunky alpaca wool and bust out some spring knits!

IMG_4268Full disclosure: I’ve never made a triangle scarf before, mostly because I didn’t see the point in them. They seemed to have an inferior shape to the traditional scarf and were always made of too light weight yarn. Well, as luck would have it, due to an eBay bidding binge, I found myself stuck with 500 yards (approximately the length of 19 tennis courts) of extra fine merino and 2 unwatched seasons of The Fall. So, I tried my hand at some triangle scarves and, needless to say, I’m now hooked.


IMG_4308This is Brooke, powerpoint slide master and Harvey ball enthusiast. She’s also a professional triangle scarf wearer, clearly.

IMG_4324But wait, there’s more! Mostly on a whim but partly because I found that Notability has a graph paper function, I decided to write up an alphabet pattern so I wouldn’t have to knit letters ad hoc anymore. I thought I was being very clever when I did this, but then I googled ‘knit alphabet’ and it appears everyone and their mother have made alphabet patterns, which was quite discouraging. So take your pick from the interweb, but if you like what you see, download my alphabet pattern here for free!

IMG_4314Some of you may have deduced that, with all of this knitting I’m doing, there’s absolutely no way I’m not knitting in class. Well, a) I promise I’m still listening and b) this has caused some of my classmates to suggest that I start a knitting club for our medical school. I was hesitant (and awkwardly avoidant) at first, but then I came up with ‘Knitzker’, which basically forced my hand (some puns are bigger than us all). So I said I’d do it.

A few weeks later, I found myself sitting before the ~25 members of Dean’s Council (how intimidating is THAT name, right?!)–the dean of the medical school among them, surprisingly–explaining why knitting was so important and why we needed Knitzker. THE dean was there! My freakin’ dean (she sat right next to me. i almost reached out and touched her but then i didn’t #selfcontrol)! Obviously, I was anxious beyond belief with stress pains up the wazoo, and I blacked out for most of it, but from what I can remember of my stitch pitch, I found the whole thing very ironic.

Believe it or not, prior to medical school, I told myself that I’d never start/lead a knitting club (#nomoselfcontrol), because I never wanted to be ‘that guy’. ‘That guy’ who knits. I didn’t want to have assumptions made about my other interests (or the source of my clothing) based on my knack for knitting, and I didn’t want to be reduced to a single thing, especially not something so incredibly innocuous (i’d much rather be known for my crossword puzzle prowess). But while I was sitting there, trying to sell Knitzker, just a mere 2 feet from The Dean Herself, I thought about how crazy it all was–the fact that I was petitioning to (essentially) the president of my world for money and institutional recognition, just so I could teach people how to knit. It was both epic and laughable, but something that had to be done. Maybe not by anyone. Maybe just by ‘that guy’.

There are few things in my life that I’ve done longer than knit (been in school, had asthma, hated cauliflower), so maybe it’s a little bit right for me to be wearing a scarlet K, and that’s just something I have to accept. But so far it hasn’t been all that bad, really. Just ask ‘these guys’.

IMG_0523***Gatorade was developed in 1965 by researchers at the University of Florida and is named after the university’s mascot, The Gators.

Throws and luck

IMG_4193Winter is in full swing here, and with each passing day I can feel my credibility in all conversations meteorologic steadily increasing. Just in this last week, I’ve walked through Chicago’s 5th worst blizzard (only thinking i was going to blow away and die twice), helped push a stuck car out of the snow, and had 3 (count ’em, 3) spontaneous snowball fights (update from last post. can confirm, they are one of life’s greatest joys). Oh yeah, and I also made a serious dent in my unacceptably large yarn stash, making a quick visit back to my Gryffindor cowl, but this time representing the house of Salazar Slytherin (actually false. slytherin’s colors are emerald and silver.).

IMG_4202Fun fact: I bought this yarn with a blank check (the yarn store made a mistake and forgot to write in an amount on my gift certificate!), and it took literally weeks for me to decide whether or not I was going to buy out the whole store. Alas, I am nothing if not conscientious (in 8th grade i forgot to turn in a science project and lied and said it was because i had an asthma attack and then i got stress pains), so I restrained myself and only bought a few skeins of green and black Cascade superwash merino.

Speaking of theft, buy my Gryffindor cowl pattern for $1.

(because it’s a steal)

IMG_4206IMG_4232I also finally finished this purple/white/light brown/dark brown striped throw/lapghan thing (not one of my prettiest projects)! I actually started this project back in August, but I forgot how much endurance it takes to knit a blanket, so there were several times when I stopped and seriously considered ditching this project as an overambitious failure (to join my bullet hat and creepy rice bunny).

Some details about this throw: The pattern is adapted from this scarf pattern and knit from a hodge-podge of types of yarn. Also, in all, this took me through 5 seasons of The Good Wife, 2 seasons of The West Wing (18th and Potomac whyyyyy), and a smattering of episodes from Sons of Anarchy (can’t keep track of all the fat racist white men in leather).


When I first moved here, many people told me that one of the worst things about the winter (other than the cold eating your face off) is the fact that it forces you to hole up somewhere for days and you can’t go anywhere or do anything. Well, 1) it’s true about the cold, it really does obliterate your face, and 2) on the contrary, I’ve actually found this winter to be one of the most eventful seasons of my life (also puberty. that was pretty eventful), mostly because it was filled with an abnormal amount of good luck as well as a considerable amount of bad luck.

Here are some of the things that happened:

IMG_0452_2I went to Nashville and it was the best. Seriously, I mean it. Aside from an initial bout of misfortune (i.e. blown tire, nosebleeds, and 2 dead phones within 5 minutes), everything about my first venture into the South was oddly perfect. From strangers picking up our tab to free hot chocolates and Italian sodas (basically a ton of stuff was free) to shopping carts with what we needed already in them, everything we decided to do just seemed to work out (even my in-car performance of Poor Unfortunate Souls was especially on point). By the end of the trip, we were on such a high that we spent the entire ride back tallying up our life-wins and talking about how great we were and how no one would ever understand how great we were (7 hours and we didn’t stop talking about ourselves once).

IMG_0375I broke my back (kinda not really) and it was the worst. Seriously, the worst. For those of you who know me well, you know the relationship I have with my back. I love my back. I take care of my back. I judge people who don’t take care of their backs. Well, a couple of weeks ago, I threw out my back, and I spent the rest of the day hunched over leaning on my knees. The following morning, I couldn’t get out of bed. at all. It took about an hour, but I finally did get out to go to the bathroom (urinating has not been that painful since when my catheter was taken out). But then I overestimated my pain tolerance, and I fell in the hallway on my way back to bed and couldn’t get up (i have a thing with falling, i’m learning). That entire day has since become a blur of pain and shame, but loosely consists of army crawling to the area of my apartment with good reception, cold calling classmates for help, being pushed around student health services in a plus sized wheelchair, and downing ibuprofen like crazy (though as a future health care provider i must advise that only 600 mg ibuprofen should be taken every 6 hours and always with food).

That’s some crazy luck, right?! Well, as much as I’d like to say that I was the only one riding this roller coaster of ups and downs, that isn’t the case.

I actually roadtripped with 3 of my classmates, and it took the collective courage of all 4 of us to busk on the streets of Nashville (we earned 8 whole dollars and a cigarette butt!). And I absolutely have to mention Natalie, who I all but proposed to after she basically carried me to her car to drive me to the hospital. More and more, I have been realizing how often I am surrounded by friends, ready to partake in whatever (mis)fortune befalls me. And as someone who usually has few friends and always seems to get in awkward social dilemmas (everyone calls me dan and i don’t know how to make it stop), this relative popularity is surprising, but not altogether uncomfortable. Who knew getting free pralines (seriously, everyone in nashville just handed us stuff) was so much sweeter when you got them with others? And for some reason, after lying alone on my hallway floor looking for signal (and taking a quick selfie), I was so relieved to see my friends in the hospital waiting room, laughing at the irony of my situation and my complete ineptitude in operating a wheelchair.

As a hardcore, fundamentalist introvert, I uphold my love and need for cafe days and proclaim my aversion to phone calls, ice breakers, and blind dates. But friends are nice to have, too. As I’ve come to see it, they make good luck fun and bad luck, well, funny. So while I left my heart in Nashville and still get out of cars like an old man, I’m excited to see what luck I run into next.

***Most ‘thrown out’ backs are due to muscle strains and spasms, unless there is tingling in the legs and feet and loss of bladder control, in which case nerve damage is likely.

Fall cowls and gifts


First of all, I would like to say that I have officially survived my first week of sub-0 winterdays with minimal whining and my contact lenses not frozen to my eyeballs. So, success! To be honest, it’s really not that bad (except for the dryness. it once got so bad i had to rub chapstick on my face); it’s actually quite pretty, but I’m still honeymooning over the fresh blankets of snow and the anticipation of a spontaneous snowball fight breaking out (the #1 thing i’m waiting to happen in my life, next to getting waken up by a dog jumping on me), so maybe the worst is yet to come.

Anyway, while I was back home for the holidays, enjoying non-winter, cafes, cafes, and eating dim sum next to a Chinatown mob boss (I KNOW. RIGHT?!), I was finally able to finish a project that I had been working on since October. Now that it’s January and the coldest ever, though, it’s a bit out of place. But oh well.

IMG_0211IMG_3995I originally intended for it to be a fall cowl, because the colors are essentially the epitome of autumn (autumn incarnate. inyarnate.), but I guess now it’s a winter cowl. Regardless, let me just say that this yarn is effing gorgeous. I know that doesn’t really sound like me or anything I would say, but it’s true. It’s spun and hand dyed by Three Irish Girls (the same company that made my chevron beanie), and when I saw the rich tones of red and green, it just blew me away (#onechineseboylovesthreeirishgirls). Seriously. I don’t think I’ve ever had such a visceral reaction to an inanimate object before (except that time i tried kombucha).

IMG_4019Aggghhhhh, it’s so beautiful!

Oh yeah, and Katie looks good too. (but seriously props to Katie for standing in 10° weather without gloves, a jacket, or pants)

In fact, I liked this yarn so much, that I decided to immortalize it by writing up the pattern I made, which is available here for FREE! The pattern will be on Ravelry shortly (i tried earlier but i messed up and then the lady in the online help chatroom got mad at me so now i’m scared to try again), maybe.


Okay. Last picture. I promise.

Anyway, Christmas tends to be a busy time for me (not an uncommon sentiment), since I alternate between knitting/Netflixing in hyperspeed and catching up with (what are now long distance) friends, but usually I find the time to write about all of the things I’ve knit for people as presents, lengthy posts complete with humble brags and (not so) self-deprecating parentheticals. Unfortunately, December this year seemed to slip past me, and I find myself writing this 12 days shy of the holiday season.

So, to make up for my Advent absence, here are all my gifts at once: 4 beanies (as you can see i couldn’t avoid dabbling with the Herringbone again) and 3 headbands (including 1 specially made menstrual headband at the behest of Katie. weird girl.)
IMG_3959But when I think about it, maybe it’s a good thing that I wasn’t able to write anything until now. Had I documented these presents in December, I would have probably spent a good 2-3 paragraphs writing about my own craftsmanship, going through each one with punny quips, somehow linking it all together to my Christmas activities (‘Hats, Headbands, and Trivia Crack’). I’d have also made more jokes about Katie.

Instead, I enjoyed December in full, and I waited until after I got back to Chicago, and after I received the following:

IMG_4044A cloth case for my knitting needles, sewn by Connie, who, aside from being an expert seamstress, also paints, swims, and lies about having seen TV shows that come up in conversation (‘there’s always money in the banana stand’).

IMG_4020Flight of the Conchords, painted by Viktor, whose glasses I once knocked into an open cadaver and who always compliments my clothing decisions and makes me feel like the belle of the ball. Why Flight of the Conchords? Because 2 minutes in heaven is better than 1 minute in heaven. Also, because we really like Flight of the Conchords.

Maybe it’s the fact that I often isolate myself as a guy who knits, but I sometimes find myself thinking that I am the only one that is surprising, unexpected, that an eclectic set of interests is somehow a rarity reserved solely for me. I don’t really believe that, of course, but I don’t really not believe that either (welcome to my blog). Having been knitting for 11 years, I have knit a lot of presents for a lot of people (except Brennan, who never lets me forget it), to the point where I know what their reaction will be. And as a man without a shortage of insecurities, that shock of being made out as a male knitter is euphoric and reassuring, something I thought I never wanted to lose. But now that I am where I am, and I can admire Bret and Jemaine spray painted on a grocery store crate lid in my living room, or fearlessly bust out my most masculine knitting accessory ever, I am so exceedingly glad and grateful to not be the only one giving gifts.

***In the U.S. armed forces, those who are ‘at ease’ may move everything but their right foot.

Headbands revisited and Uniqlo

IMG_3725For the longest time, I’ve been looking for fast and easy sub-100 yard projects to eat up all of the scrap yarn I’ve accumulated over the years. And after some time gravitating halfway between half rest hand pillows and fugly amigurumi, I think I’ve finally found it: headbands. If you were a patron of my blog during Christmas 2012, you’ll know that I’ve discovered knit headbands once before, but that was forever ago and twenty-two-year-old me was such a knoob (and inept photographer). I have since honed my craft (and stopped taking pictures in my neon green room) and perfected the knit headband, and I am now in the process of knitting away my leftovers by making as many of these bad boys as possible.

IMG_3711The pattern I used is 100% origiknal, but that’s not saying much, given that the entire thing uses the same stitch. The main motif is a basket weave cable (which I creatively googled and copied and passed off as my own design whenever people asked) with a modified seed stitch border. As you can imagine, these headbands knit pretty fast (i.e. 2-3 days), depending on the yarn weight you’re using and how into The Good Wife you are (24 episodes in 6 days. no shame). The basket weave stitch can get a bit redundant, but I will say, for any of you who are irrationally insecure about cables, knit just one of these headbands and you will instantly turn into a cabling fiend. And for those wondering how sartorially successful these headbands turned out:

IMG_3695I present to you Leslie, a classmate of mine from Minnesota, who taught me that a ‘salad’ in the Midwest is very different from what the rest of the country considers it to be (in that it can very possibly contain absolutely nothing nutritious for you whatsoever) and is fabulously sporting my green headband in twenty degree weather while only looking mildly uncomfortable. Good job, Leslie! Also, she thinks corn on pizza is absurd (hate her).

IMG_3700Unfortunately, this particular green headband has already been spoken for, but the gold and white ones are still up for grabs on my etsy (as are some insanely cheap knitting patterns). Alternatively, if you are like me and a member of the i’m-a-broke-twenty-something society, then know that I am not beneath bartering my knits for other types of goods or services (i love pecan pie and baklava).

Okay, so I hesitated to make this next part my ‘Thanksgiving post’ — and it wasn’t due to a lack of embarrassing anecdotes (i once accidentally led my college small group in making construction paper penises). Rather, it was because there have been so many new things in my life recently, and I hadn’t yet had time to figure out what I was truly thankful for (my 89 new friends? getting to go home for Thanksgiving? the two for one hummus sale at Hyde Park Produce?). However, something marvelous happened last week that, to me, takes the cake.

As many of you know, I am absolutely no good at shopping. Don’t get me wrong, I enjoy clothes, and I like to think that I have a viable fashion sense (my legs were basically made for chinos), but I have never been able to thrive in the shopping atmosphere. First of all, there are way too many options. Secondly, lighting is almost always inadequate (one time at Express it was so dark an employee scared me and i screamed). And lastly, there are so many people walking around and talking about different things that I constantly forget what I came to buy. Mind you, this is all during normal shopping conditions, so you can imagine what happened when I went Black Friday shopping for the first time a few years ago. And if you can’t imagine, let me just tell you.

9189789752_e92c46cba2_zI fell. at Uniqlo. I fell down their stupid rainbow stairs that are constantly changing colors and reflecting every which way. What’s worse, it was so busy and crowded that no one tried to help me (all i got were weird looks from groups of fashion forward high schoolers), so I had to pick myself up and leave with my bruised ego and shins as fast as possible (after getting some $19.99 colored jeans of course, cuz that’s a steal). It was so sad. I also tripped on the same set of stairs a few months later when I went to pick up some more colored jeans (i really like Uniqlo colored jeans). After that, I basically boycotted Uniqlo’s physical manifestation and resorted to buying my colored jeans from their website instead (it’s not my fault i look amazing in them).

So, I staved off Black Friday and other manic holiday shopping environs since then, afraid of repeating my Uniqlo-apse.

That is, until last Thursday at midnight, when I went shopping at Macy’s along with the hordes of fobs (not sure why that was) and remained upright the entire time (i.e. 60 minutes)! To be honest, it was still overwhelmingly stimulating (i got lost on the escalator for a bit), but I walked in and I walked out just like everybody else, so I consider it a win.

All this to say, I’m thankful for my sisters (who shop for me because they know I may very well get hurt if I try to do it myself), my mom (who dropped me off at Macy’s knowing I had a bone to pick with Black Friday), my dad (who wrote my initials on all my socks in pink Sharpie to distinguish them from his), and my friends, old (who didn’t make fun of me (too much) when I built up the courage to wear my first V-neck) and new (who assured me that it is possible for asians to look good in yellow).

Oh yeah, and I’m also thankful for my colored jeans, because, c’mon, who isn’t?

IMG_2511***Contrary to popular belief, Adidas does not stand for ‘All Day I Dream About Sports’, but rather comes from the name of the brand’s creator, Adolf ‘Adi’ Dassler.


ASOS cardigans, lazy chevron beanies, and shameless

IMG_3497Well, I did it! I finally finished my first knitting project here in my new home! It kind of feels like how I felt when I finished my first anatomy exam, except that I didn’t stuff myself with Chipotle and binge watch CW shows afterward (i had a rough start). But it’s a milestone nonetheless, and I’m really pleased with how it turned out, considering that it’s my very first origiknally designed cardigan.

IMG_3482So some background on this cardigan. A few months ago, a friend from college asked me to knit something for her (what else is new, amirite?). And since I never really liked charging friends money for stuff (let’s be real, though, she couldn’t afford me), we decided to do more of a barter than a sale. As it turns out, my friend is sort of kind of an amazing graphic designer (christine you owe me for this free publicity), so in return for one knitted item of her choice, I was given one graphically designed item of my choice. Well, actually, her choice, because I can never decide on what I want (seriously, my old roommate offered to 3D print me anything and it was the worst). So Christine, never one to ask for too much, sent me this picture from ASOS and told me she wanted a cardigan. And then for the next three months (interrupted by a bout of hand-foot-mouth disease, food poisoning, and moving halfway across the country) it was off to the races as I figured out how the heck I was going to make a freakin cardigan just from a picture.

Okay, so to be completely honest, I didn’t design this sweater entirely from scratch. I did have somewhat of a template. After scraping the bottom of my creative juices, I took out an old knitting book someone gave me when I was in middle school (it was sandwiched between my Golden Sun strategy guide and my other Golden Sun strategy guide) and found this unfortunate sweater:


I know. Yikes. But once I got over the initial shock, I found that it had the same neckline as the ASOS sweater, and the actual pattern wasn’t too bad. So after finding the right yarn (Berroco Vintage ftw), knitting up a swatch, and calculating the dimensions based on Christine’s measurements (by this point, i’m pretty much whatever about asking girls for their bust sizes), I adapted this book’s pattern into something (hopefully) a little more modern.

IMG_3491Also, this cardigan gave me the chance to try buttons, button holes, and pockets for the very first time! Well, I did pockets once before for my grandma’s last vest, but never from scratch. For those of you tickling the idea of adding buttons to your latest project, I recommend this tutorial accompanied by this youtube video (start at 9:53).

On a side note, I was hesitant about using the above picture because it looks like someone was lying on my couch wearing the cardigan, and then just disappeared.IMG_3582But wait, there’s more! After accidentally knitting two right sides of the cardigan instead of a right and a left, I got really frustrated and decided to work on something else for a bit. So, I hopped onto the L and picked up some superwash merino that I had heard about and always wanted to try (the brand is called ‘Three Irish Girls’ and a single skein gives you a honkin 270 yards!). Coincidentally, a female classmate of mine announced that she was going to shave her head just months before winter in the polar vortex capital of the country, so I thought it would be a good idea to graciously knit myself a nice, warm beanie (yay me). The pattern is 100% daknielknit and, as per my usual money mongering ways, can be purchased for $1 (chipping away at those med school loans) on either my etsy or Ravelry store.

IMG_3665As you can tell, I have not yet found someone willing to model my stuff, so I’ve been forced to take on the role myself. I forgot to hide my skeletor hands, but I’m hoping my overall hipster ensemble will distract from them.

With all this knitting, you may be wondering if I’m actually in medical school at all, or if I just moved to Chicago to knit in a place that’s not my parents’ living room. Well, believe it or not, I actually have not been knitting as much as I normally do because, much to my surprise, med school is sort of time consuming. For the better part of 7 hours a day, I sit (or stand) in a room learning about human anatomy. And while I could spend the next paragraph talking about the two heads of my sternocleidomastoid made so evident in the photograph above, it’s what I’ve learned about my 89 classmates that’s worth discussing.

Over the past 2 months, I’ve gotten to meet some pretty interesting people. For instance, I now know a girl who owns a cow. And there’s also a guy who’s hipster enough to make me nostalgic for home (he wears a beet pin. need i say more?). I have classmates who were in the armed forces and there are others who are poets and bankers and there is an alarming number of people who have never heard of pad see-ew before. I even met a bald man. He is my roommate.

Of course, they know me as well. They know about my knitting and my ignorance of all things Midwest. They know about my (less than) secret agenda to make The West Wing the most quoted television series among our class and they even know about this blog (shoutout to Connie who read through my blog instead of studying for Head & Neck #priorities). But one thing I did not tell my class–something which only became an issue last week at our celebratory ‘we’re 71% done with anatomy’ boat cruise–is that I cannot and do not dance.

Well, kinda.

It is widely known among my friends and family in California that I am not the most kinesthetically kreative kid in the klass. I have never been to a club or a rave, and there is not a beat of EDM or hip-hop or dub step on my iPod (though I Knew You Were Trouble could be considered somewhat of an homage to dubstep). I have consistently been the party pooper at weddings and proms, and I’ve successfully avoided all things dance since the 8th grade through strategic bathroom breaks and enthusiastic head bobbing. Until last week. When I joined my class on the dance floor and (gasp) actually had a very very good time.

There’s a degree of shamelessness that goes into dancing, which makes my aversion to it quite ironic when you consider that I spent a good portion of my high school years crocheting afghans and watching Everybody Loves Raymond. But as I experienced last week, there’s something about shamelessness that supersedes the tiny factoids that go into knowing a person, transcending the rehearsed one-liners that goes into every small talk conversation. It turns acquaintances into friends and experiences into memories. It transforms ‘my hipster classmate’ into just Sam and ‘my bald roommate’ into Chester (and ‘the class spaz’ into Leslie).

Having mistaken a Washington Nationals cap for Walgreens swag, knocked my friend’s glasses into an open cadaver, and danced horribly in public on a boat, I have a lot of things to be shameless of, and I’m certainly not the only one.

IMG_0085This is Victoria and Katie. Victoria is bald and brave and shameless. Katie is other nice things.

***St. Baldrick’s Foundation was founded in 2000 and has raised over $118 million for pediatric cancer research. You can donate here.


Cable knit caps and the midwest

So, a lot has happened in the past month: I gained a new brother-in-law (and co-gave the best wedding speech ever in the process), I got drunk/the runs from trying kombucha (not at the same time, fortunately), and I successfully organized and participated in a nertz tournament, which I most definitely should have won. But most importantly, I knit three caps!IMG_3308If you couldn’t guess, two of those caps aren’t for me. Instead, they’re for my grandma, who has basically worn through the one hat I made her last year. So, to give some variety to her wardrobe (though not really since everything she wears is purple), I knit her not one, but two purple caps! I know convention says that it’s the grandmother who’s supposed to be knitting for the grandchildren and not the other way around, but let’s face it, she wouldn’t even stand a chance. Plus, this way, I’m able to explore the depths of my malabrigo obsession and try out their different kinds of yarn (for those of you interested, i dabbled with malabrigo finito and silky merino, both of which receive the dakniel stamp of approval) while at the same time giving my grandma a cozy alternative when she’s not wearing her wig (or when i’m wearing it).IMG_3323The third cap, I am proud to say, belongs to me, and it is the first thing I actually knit for myself and will wear (not counting that sweater i made with 6 PTA moms when i was 16). Together with a muffler I knit a while back, this 3-month-early winter ensemble (i am sweating just looking at it) will keep me plenty warm in the four freezing Chicago winters I have ahead of me. The muffler pattern was adapted from purlbee’s baby blanket pattern with a couple contrast stripes thrown in and the hat pattern is 100% origiknal and may or may not be written up and posted depending on how shameless I am at asking a random classmate to model it for me (right now odds are looking pretty slim).

Oh yeah, so that’s another thing that happened this past month! Aside from winning (third place) at my nertz tournament and drinking the kombucha from hell, I also moved to Chicago! For those of you born and raised in the Bay Area bubble like myself, let me tell you a little bit about this mystical land I found myself in called the Midwest.

– Flat flat flat

– Winter is coming. Seriously. Every time I mention the weather I am told of the sub zero, contact lenses-freezing (yes! that’s a thing!) winter with wind chill (felt it once in St. Louis and i just stood in the middle of the street moaning) that will inevitably descend upon me.

– Everyone is a geography genius, familiar with remote places we’ve only read about in textbooks (e.g. Minnesota).

– Corn corn corn

Well, that pretty much sums up all of the Midwest. All in all, it’s a great place, and I’m excited to explore it over the next four years (besides my white coat ceremony, seeing fireflies was the greatest thing that happened to me this week). True, I got the whole medical school thing to take care of, but, c’mon, how hard could it be?

10604021_686118644809237_6469154189682442765_o***Wisconsin is north of Illinois.


Plötulopi and my 3 worst moments in Europe

IMG_1233Plaza Mayor in Madrid, where all of my photos were really crappy because I was under the assumption that what I lacked in quality I could make up for in quantity.

Well, I did it. After an entire month of musical airbnbs, deceptively valuable coins, and tall, blonde, ambiguous Europeans, I’m finally back in the US of A, where laundry machines are the size of behemoths and no one drinks bubbly water (because that ish nasty). A month is a long time, and I definitely returned with a lot more than what I left with, including 1,500+ iPhone photos (most of which are of cats), scars on my neck from falling off a bicycle (my rather protuberant adam’s apple spared my face from harm), and this:


This is Plötulopi (one of the easier Icelandic words I came across), which is unspun Icelandic wool! For those of you who didn’t fully appreciate the awesomeness of that last sentence, Plötulopi is basically the fibers of yarn before they’re turned into the balls and skeins you see in stores. It’s very thin, so you can break it quite easily, but you can also glue two strands back together with just a little bit of moisture (the lady in the store showed me this using her spit. How cool is that?!). Plötulopi is meant to be knit holding multiple strands, depending on how thick you want your yarn to be, and once it’s knit, it magically becomes as durable as regular, spun yarn! Go Plötulopi!

Not to be dramatic or anything, but Iceland was sort of like a knitter’s mecca for me. Knitting is everywhere there, since the weather oscillates comfortably between “wool sweater and a pair of fair-isle mittens” cold and “light merino cowl and maybe some arm warmers” chilly. They even sell yarn at gas stations! (bonus points for the absence of Red Heart Super Saver) Go Iceland!

IMG_1767Vernazza, one of the five cities of Cinque Terre and 1/5 of Cheny and Josh’s Italian vocabulary.

Sad to say, that is the extent of my knitting updates. I would have had a great deal more, but, thanks to the hugely inconvenient carry-on limitations of Ryanair, I was unable to bring any knitting with me on my travels. It took several repackings of my small duffel for me to finally admit that I couldn’t bring a single skein with me and that I’d have to find some other activity to pass the hours waiting for the 6 flights and 2 train rides I was scheduled to take.

But, as it turns out, bringing my knitting wouldn’t have done much good, since over the 8 different countries I passed through, I actually ended up spending very little time waiting in airports/train stations. Why, you ask? Well, it was because I was late, and then I was late again, and then I was late again, and it was the worst, ever.

IMG_2807A bird’s eye view of the Royal Library in Copenhagen, where I felt like I gained an architecture degree.

Before I go on, I should describe the other players in these tragedies, my traveling companions, the full-time friends I spent 35 straight days with, my fellow (fine i’ll do it) #theeurobears (in case you were wondering, #eurobears is already in use by an eastern European gay couple). Hopefully, this will help you better understand our dynamic as a nomadic troupe and imagine what it was like for us to travel together. Also, it’s an excuse for me to make fun of my friends publicly and garner popularity at their expense. For the sake of full transparency and blatant disregard for confidentiality, I will use their real names:

– Vivian: fellow introvert and all around heavyweight. She beat a couple of Polish lawyers at foosball in a Czech ruin pub, so I guess that’s pretty legit.

– Josh: punny and neurotic with chronic pink eye, a suspected hypochondriac.

– Cheny: connoisseur of modern art who wears a watch ironically.

– Michael: annoyingly optimistic with an unworldly metabolism. He once ate an entire tub of plain greek yogurt, 2 apples, and a bowl of pasta for breakfast.

Okay, so what follows are the 3 worst moments of my trip to Europe and quite possibly among the top 10 most stressful experiences of my life (right next to the time I got the runs and then hit a school bus with my car). Here are the 3 times we were very very very late.

Midnight train to (that country that’s close but not really to) Georgia: Prague → Budapest. Departure time: 11:45pm

11:10pm: We arrive via metro and take the escalator outside. There is an empty parking lot with no train station.

11:15pm: Czech stranger tells us we missed our stop. 7 stops ago.

11:17pm: We find a taxi driver who says he can get to the train station in 15 minutes. But he can only take 4 of us.

11:18pm: Michael and Josh agree to take metro back (Michael agrees. Josh gets kinda pulled out of the cab).

11:25pm: While in the cab, Vivian says, “This will make for such a thrilling story!” I have never come so close to punching a girl in the face.

11:30pm: Taxi driver (bless his heart) is speeding through Prague. I am counting down the minutes.

11:35pm: We arrive at the train station. Cheny and Vivian unload bags while I throw money at the driver.

11:40pm: We run to our platform. Michael and Josh have not arrived yet. I need some albuterol because that’s the fastest I’ve run in a long time.

11:42pm: First half of the train arrives and people board. Our cabin is in the second half.

11:43pm: Second half of the train arrives just as Michael and Josh race to our platform. We embrace (first and last time) and board our train.

IMG_1956The Charles Bridge over the Vltava River. Also when I learned what vscocam was (HB2 da best).

Getting to Orly Poorly: Copenhagen → Paris. Departure time: 7:05pm

5:30pm: We arrive at the bike shop to return our bikes, but owner is MIA.

5:45pm: We decide to leave for the airport regardless (the consequences of this decision is a huge mess in and of itself, but that’s for another time…) and start walking to train station.

5:50pm: Half of Copenhagen floods into the streets as we realize today is the first day of a huge music festival. Also, public consumption of alcohol is legal, which soon starts to suck for us.

5:55pm: Train station is much farther than we thought (1.5 km to be exact), so we walk faster, pushing through hordes of drunk teens and crazy DJs on floats.

6:00pm: We arrive just in time to catch the train to the airport. Michael is carrying Cheny’s suitcase instead of rolling it because Cheny bought the worst suitcase possible.

6:20pm: We arrive at the airport. We’re mildly less sweaty due to air conditioned train ride, but still somewhat panicky.

6:30pm: We get through security. Can’t find Cheny. No one is surprised.

6:35pm: Look everywhere. Still no Cheny.

6:40pm: We decide to go to the gate, hoping Cheny is there.

6:50pm: Finally reached farthest gate ever in Copenhagen airport and find Cheny. We board soon after.

IMG_3218Sunset from inside the Louvre, where I felt like I gained 50 IQ points and an art history degree.

Gatwick sUKs: London → Reykjavik. Departure time: 12:20pm.

8:45am: Cheny, Josh, and I are waiting, all packed, for our car, which is scheduled to come at 8:45am.

8:50am: Car company says we scheduled a pick-up at 9:45am, not 8:45am. We check reservation. It says 9:45am. We’re so moded.

9:45am: Still waiting for our car, not too worried because it shouldn’t take more than 45 minutes to get to Gatwick (WRONGWRONGWRONG).

10:00am: Car arrives. Driver says we probably won’t make our flight (least helpful driver ever).

11:00am: We sit in traffic. I check email and see that check-in for our flight closes 45 minutes before departure (i.e. 11:35am).

11:15am: Driver stops to go to the bathroom. Yes, the bathroom.

11:30am: I bolt out of the car and run to departures. Josh is close behind. Cheny is probably still getting out of the car.

11:37am: I can’t find the check-in counter for our airline. I let out a few choice words (a short prayer, of course).

11:40am: I finally find the check-in counter, and we’re next in line. I send Josh back to get Cheny. Can’t find Cheny. No one is surprised.

11:50am: Josh finds Cheny and we get our boarding passes.

11:55am: We run through security. They hold Josh to search his bag.

11:57am: A nearby monitor says our gate closes at 12pm. Security finds a huge bottle of contact solution (to be completely honest, that bottle was for me, so I guess that’s kinda my bad) and confiscates it.

11:58am: We run to our gate, which is 3 sets of moving walkways away. so. friggin. far.

12:00pm: We board as they close the gate. We are literally the last people to enter the plane.

IMG_4033Glassy pool on the outskirts of þingvellir National Park in southwest Iceland, a sight attainable only through the vitalizing power of ginger cookies and frusli bars.

Okay, so if I were being incredibly knit-picky, I’d have to admit that technically we were never actually late, since we never missed a flight or train. We were just very close to being late. But for diehard ISTJs like myself, there’s no difference. You’re talking to the guy who made an entire travel booklet complete with metro directions, confirmation codes, city maps, a currency conversion matrix, and phonetic guides (Lam, D., Eurobears: A Comprehensive Guide, 2014). I made back-up routes to my back-up routes so that being close to late wouldn’t even be a possibility. But somehow, in a strangely appropriate execution of Murphy’s Law, directions were misread, flight delays were essentially non-existent (first time i actually wished for flight delays), and I became as late as I have ever been in my entire life, and it was the absolute worst.

Or maybe not. While I was bowling over little kids and slow old people on my sprint through Gatwick, I remember thinking that it was comical, almost–how after so many close calls we still couldn’t get it right, and how everything could have possibly gone so wrong. That’s the funny thing I learned from traveling for so long (other than my high tolerance for wearing dirty socks multiple times), after a certain number of times, seemingly critical mistakes start to matter less and less. Bad is as bad as bad gets. Once you accept that, things don’t seem as, well, bad.

Would I be saying the same thing had we actually missed some of our flights? Probably not, but I’d sure hope so. I’d hope that having been late on the very days when punctuality was paramount would have, on some level, changed me for the better, making me more flexible and quieting the tiny clock in my head (fellow J’s you know wassup). Don’t get me wrong, I’m still and forever will be a schedules-and-timetables kind of guy, and being late most definitely sucks. But maybe being late doesn’t have to be the worst. After all, I’d be lying if I said all I felt was complete dread when I recount the times we were panicked and out of breath, and that there wasn’t just a hint of nostalgia whenever I tell people the stories of my 3 worst moments in Europe.

IMG_3714***þingvellir National Park is the site of Iceland’s, and the world’s, first Parliament proceedings, which were held in 930 AD.

Endings and beginnings

IMG_0217So I quit 3 weeks ago, and can I just say that quitting is like, the best thing ever? I swear, if I weren’t Asian and quitting wasn’t seen as this huge slap in the face to my entire lineage (except ballet. pretty sure some ancestor out there is glad his great great great great grandson didn’t pursue ballet.), I’d do it all the time. It’s seriously the greatest feeling in the world (next to getting hired, because that’s a good thing too). Every single responsibility drops out instantly and you can just start mass-deleting incoming work emails indiscriminately. Unfortunately, I wasn’t actually able to say “I quit” to my boss and walk out holding a cardboard box with all my belongings as I originally intended, so I settled for taking an over-saturated Instagram of my last time leaving my work building and collecting its well-deserved 4 likes (thank you judy, greg, vivian, and nicoleriverox3 for your optimism).

But I couldn’t just leave without a proper goodbye. I mean, I was there for almost 2 years. This was the job that allowed me to talk to patients while they were in the middle of brain surgery and gave me an excuse to wear my ugly (but incredibly comfortable) shoes. And while most would turn to hand-written notes or Cheesecake Factory gift cards in order to express gratitude toward their employers, I decided to give my boss something a bit more, well, me:


Okay I know you all expected that because this is a knitting blog, but believe me, my boss was very much surprised. Some backstory: so my boss is a young doctor with an even younger son who I was able to meet at a work party (as someone who has farted during yoga, i can verify that work parties are awkward). And since knitting for grown men is often a difficult and intimate process, I decided to spare both of us the awkward silence that would inevitably occur had I knit him a muffler or wool cap and instead knit a simple striped blanket for his 2-year old. However, halfway through I had the sudden realization that spending hours knitting a blanket for my boss’s little boy son who I had met (more like “seen,” since he didn’t seem all too interested in me) just once before might come off as a tiny bit creepy, so I bought a couple of extra skeins and made it long enough to also pass as a light throw or lapghan.

Before I go on, I must admit that this blanket is not new to my blog, and that I actually used and wrote about this pattern before. But, given that this is now a baby blanket/light throw/lapghan, I did make some minor adjustments. First, I decided to use Berroco Weekend (as opposed to my all time fav Malabrigo Worsted), which is an acrylic/cotton blend and perfect for babies or anytime you expect large volumes of saliva. Not only is it completely machine washable and non-irritating to the skin, but it has a shiny quality that you can’t get with most wools. Also, it’s much cheaper, making large projects like this much more feasible and easy-going on my wallet. Second, I added the stripes, which babies love, I think. Unwilling to ask my boss for his son’s favorite colors and relying on my own unimaginative color palette, I defaulted to the standard blue and gold (go bears) you usually see in expecting nurseries. A safe choice, but, I am happy to report, it was well received by my boss, who responded to the blanket as one might expect one would when one realizes that one’s employee is an obsessive-compulsive knitter (i.e. with an awkward side hug).

Since quitting my job, I have joined the ranks of my fellow funemployees, with almost 2 weeks of uninterrupted free time. And while most would turn to sleeping in late and binge watching Netflix in order to pass away the days, I decided to spend my time doing something a bit more, well, me:


Oh, come on, you have to admit you were at least a little surprised. It’s 2 projects in 1 post! This never happens!

As many of you might already know, I have an unhealthy relationships with the Herringbone stitch, so I took my first free week of funemployment to finagle it into a beanie. And after several botched attempts (and like, 8 episodes of The Voice), I finally came out with my very own Herringbone beanie pattern!

IMG_2955This is the second pattern I’ve officially published, and you can purchase it for just $1 through Ravelry or my etsy. As you can tell from my prices, my business model could use a little bit of work, but if just 2 people buy my pattern, I can ride the bus back to the yarn shop and do this thing all over again, which is all I really want (#simpleliving). Oh yeah, and a big thank you to my upstairs neighbor, Vicky, for the use of her shapely head. Betcha didn’t see this coming when you signed the lease.


If you’re adding up the dates in your head, you may be wondering what I’ve been doing recently if I finished my beanie pattern my first week after quitting 3 weeks ago. And if you aren’t adding up the dates, then I have no transitional statement for you. This past weekend, I was revisiting my future medical school, meeting my future teachers and classmates and, more importantly, scoping the place for any deal breakers (e.g. institutional ban on knitting needles, widespread use of Red Heart Super Saver, book burning etc.). Fortunately, I found none. On the contrary, my time there was perfect, filled with passionate people telling me of the incredible opportunities I’d have over the next 4 years and the close-knit (HA!) community that would challenge and support me through what I am sure will be the most transformative period of my life (besides puberty. that really did a number on me.). Even the other potential students were amazing. Funny and intelligent, all of them, with a range of backgrounds so diverse and interesting that it made a knitting male like myself seem almost run of the mill.

But for some reason, after it was all over, I wasn’t feeling completely satisfied.

I was tired. Unbelievably tired. Of everyone I had just met, despite how amazing they all were. And this weariness was worrisome (wuh woh). In those two days, I was right there with my peers, forming relationships and memories and experiences that will (hopefully) lay the foundation for the intimacy everyone ensures will happen naturally. But that was as long as I could handle, and for the next 4 hours afterwards, I found myself at a cafe, alone, reading in silence and (regrettably) having the absolute time of my life. And then I started to think. What was everyone else doing right now? Were they still talking? Laughing? Building up those crucially bonding experiences that I didn’t have the energy to take part in? If you know me well (or not well, because it’s pretty obvious), you’ll know that I’m about as introverted as you can get (I’ve been cafeing since the 7th grade if that gives you a hint). Heck, you might have even known this was going to happen before I did. And while I accept my inner I as an integral part of who I am, as I sat there in that cafe eating my 3rd scone (don’t judge. i don’t drink coffee, so what else am i supposed to do?), I wondered if it was actually hurting me, tying me down and holding me back from being fully present in a social circle that seemed so accessible to everyone else.

And then I remembered the 5 hours I spent with Michael failing at breaking into a house (read more about it here) and that one time I tried all night to teach Joseph how to say the word “girl” (read more about it here). I remembered the Sundays and Wednesdays with these nerds memorizing the 90’s dance from Sister Act 2 and, oh yeah, who could forget the 8 days in Vietnam with my rabble-rousing high school friends (read more about it here). Anyway, the list went on as I brought to mind the people I (and don’t you dare tell them this) simply couldn’t get enough of, and when I thought back to the strangers I had just encountered, the names I had just learned and forgotten and learned again (though not really, but it’d be just plain insulting to ask a third time), the jokes I had perfected after telling it the same way 10 times, I realized that it will happen again, with time. Regardless of how many study groups or parties I attend or how many Sunday afternoons I spend holed up in a random coffee shop, it will all happen again. Acquaintances will be made, followed by friends. Awkward introductions will turn into hilarious anecdotes and deep, meaningful discussions will drag into the late night hours. I will be who I am, and it will all come together as it has before.

Whether it takes days or months (i really hope it doesn’t take months), I will find my place in this community that is as wonderfully different and unique as everyone else’s and embrace my new home away from home. And while most would turn to writing caps locked Facebook statuses or excited update emails to friends and family in order to celebrate this new medically-centered stage of life, I decided to go with something a bit more, well, me:

IMG_3010***”Crescat scientia; vita excolatur” is the motto of the University of Chicago and, in English, translates to “Let knowledge grow from more to more; and so be human life enriched.”


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