I Am Not Alone. I Am a Party of One.

I get that a lot... “Aren’t you lonely?” Should I be lonely? I live alone. I travel alone. I eat alone, even at the finest restaurants. I go to bars alone, although it's rare. I go to the opera alone. I see plays alone. I go to concerts alone. Not always alone, but I am comfortable being alone... Go, seek, and do it alone. When something I want to do pops up, my instinct is to do it. I rarely have that moment when I am like... “I need to find someone to do it with.” When I invite others to join me, their presence isn't often required unless you know... it requires a minimum of two people. Rare, but it happens.

Lunch for one at KinKan

That word, alone, is misleading. Isn't it? Perhaps, it is how we've been taught to understand that “alone” means lonely and thus unhappy. Is it unhealthy that I prefer the company of none, often a book at a restaurant, rather than a human?

It is healthier than being in a relationship because of the fear of being alone, often clawing to justify misery. We all have at least one person in our lives. We want to shake them until they come to their senses. Perhaps, not their senses, but for them to muster enough courage or confidence to leave their unhealthy relationship. Not abusive, but unhealthy nonetheless.

Not enough courage or confidence... We tend to make unhealthy choices wrapped in anxiety. Once again, clawing at the reasons to hold onto what is, rather than looking forward to opportunities to experience something new and different. Dare I say, someone better.

It took me years and countless unhealthy encounters after the divorce to realize that I needed time alone, to be alone, and to be okay with being alone. And it took years after realizing that to be perfectly fine with myself. My worth is measured only by me and no one else. My life, moments... No one is responsible for my feelings, emotions, and mental health because where my emotions remain after being affected by others is my choice. Can a life easily hindered by others be a life of our own?

I don't like that word, alone, to describe my life. I am not alone. I have me. I relish life. I've had my share of dark and low moments, but life's fluidity has also brought me exhilarating and tender moments. Most importantly, it has brought me repose in my perspective on life and serenity in myself. My life feels irreproachable, neither perfect nor grand, yet a fête of my own.

So when folks ask me if I am alone, I now respond that I am a party of one.

_____

More essays:

Hunger

Be a Parent, Not a Pimp

This Crazy World We Live In

I Will Not Vote for Biden—But I Will Cast My Vote for Him

Should Los Angeles Remain a Sanctuary City?

ESSAYS | RECIPES | STYLES | IG

Comments

Oh Snap! BTS Just Made the Grammys Irrelevant

I am not ARMY. The first BTS member to intrigue me was J-Hope, who appeared last year on one of my favorite Korean shows, Chef & My Fridge, with his refrigerator in tow. There, I learned that he had performed at Le Gala des Pièces Jaunes at Paris La Défense Arena at the personal invitation of Brigitte Macron, France’s first lady. Naturally, I found the performance on YouTube. Thirty-five thousand people filled the arena as thousands of voices in France roared the Korean lyric, “adeuri neom jal nagaseo mianhae, eomma.” One need not own a purple light stick to recognize that kind of cultural power. Afterward, I became mildly obsessed with J-Hope and, by association, BTS. Original photo by Sudhith Xavier. Photoshop by ChatGPT. A song currently in heavy rotation on my playlist is SWIM, from their latest album, ARIRANG. The album debuted at No. 1 on the Billboard 200 and remained there for three consecutive weeks. During its debut week, its songs occupied the top nine positions on the...

Curated: Ballet Flats for Fashionistas

The ballet flat began, quite literally, with a foot in the theater. Claire McCardell and Capezio helped coax the slipper from studio floor to city pavement in the 1940s, while Audrey Hepburn and Brigitte Bardot later supplied the sort of cinematic endorsement no advertising budget could manufacture. What had been designed for pliés became a shorthand for modern femininity: graceful without fragility, polished without the architectural inconvenience of a heel. at Musée d'Orsay, Paris, France Its staying power lies in that contradiction. The ballet flat is delicate but practical, prim but faintly rebellious—the shoe of a woman who has somewhere to be and no intention of arriving with sore feet. And so, with a small curtsy and considerably better arch support, here are 12 curated ballet flats ready to take their turn in the spotlight. ANCIENT GREEK SANDALS Iro PVC Ballet Flats JavaScript is currently disabled in this browser. Reactivate it to view this content. ANCIENT GREEK SANDALS I...

Pasta al Tonno: A Korean Gal’s Ramyeon in Pasta

Growing up Korean, ramyeon was the reliable quick meal: intensely satisfying, reliably filling, and unlikely to leave much of a dent in the bank account. It was a cheap thrill, the sort of thing we were regularly warned was not particularly healthy while continuing to keep it stocked in nearly every Korean home. That contradiction was built into its history. Korean ramyeon was introduced in 1963, with government financing, as one possible response to South Korea’s severe postwar food shortage. Ceramic bowl was wheel-thrown and glazed by me. Once regarded largely as budget food, ramyeon now commands a global following that could almost compete with BTS. ARMY, please hold the hate mail. Pasta al tonno may not share ramyeon’s austere, mission-driven origin, but it occupies a similarly dependable place in many Italian kitchens, particularly among younger cooks and college students. It is quick, inexpensive, and deeply satisfying without putting an unnecessary dent in the wallet. Humble ...

Do Angelenos Really Believe Their Own Politics?

Los Angeles has proudly shouted ICE Out. The slogan is morally uncomplicated. Immigration is not. At the Dodger's Stadium, April 2025 I cannot join the chant—not because I excuse the Trump Administration’s conduct, but because I believe in the rule of law. It must bind everyone: those living in this country without legal status, the officers charged with enforcing immigration law, and the federal government that gives those officers their authority. Removal can be a lawful consequence of lacking legal status when it is ordered and carried out through lawful process. During the Obama Administration, more than three million people were formally removed from the United States. More than two million others were returned, generally without formal removal orders. Large-scale immigration enforcement is not new to this country, nor is it unique to Donald Trump. What is different—and indefensible—is a federal government violating the rule of law in the name of enforcing it. I beli...

Curated Clutches: Tiny Bags, Big History

Before the clutch became the red-carpet punctuation mark of a gown, it had a more domestic ancestor: the reticule, a small handheld drawstring bag that emerged when women’s hidden tie-on pockets began losing their usefulness beneath slimmer, sheerer late-eighteenth- and early-nineteenth-century dresses. What had once been tucked under petticoats was suddenly carried in public, and privacy became ornament: silk, velvet, beadwork, embroidery, a little theater of necessity held in the hand. The bag was never only a container; it was a social adjustment, a concession to fashion’s old habit of taking away utility and selling it back as elegance. Yoko Ono: Music of Mind at The Broad The modern clutch came into its own in the 1920s and 1930s, when evening moved faster, dresses grew sleeker, and women needed only the glamorous minimum: powder, mirror, lipstick, perhaps money, perhaps not. Tiny dance purses, Art Deco shapes, celluloid and Bakelite, metalwork and beading turned the bag into an o...

Curated Sunglasses: Shades Without the Mourning

Sunglasses began as utility: a practical defense against glare, wind, and the indignities of squinting. Then fashion claimed them. Frames grew bolder, lenses darker, silhouettes more deliberate, until sunglasses became less an accessory than a small act of self-invention—the quickest way to suggest mystery, polish, or studied indifference. I lose sunglasses the way other people lose packs of gum: casually, repeatedly, and without explanation. After enough expensive disappearances and appropriate mourning periods, I now wear budget-friendly pairs almost exclusively. These 12 curated sunglasses offer the pleasure of a fashion statement without requiring a period of mourning when one inevitably vanishes. The trouble with a small indulgence is that shipping can cost nearly as much as the thing itself—unless, of course, one reaches the minimum. To spare us that particular absurdity, all 12 were curated from Amazon Prime. JOOPIN Oversized Sunglasses ZENOTTIC Retro Square Polarized Sunglasses...

Korean Gal's Guatemalan Red Beans with Pork Spare Ribs

Full transparency. I am afraid of pressure cookers. It is a fear instilled in me by my mom, a quiet but effective deterrent meant to keep me at a safe distance—especially when the pressure is being released. Reasonable? Perhaps. I would consider a therapist, but it has been years since I have needed one. Ceramic bowl was wheel-thrown and glazed by me. When I saw the Pressure Cooker Guatemalan Red Beans with Beef Short Ribs recipe in The World Central Kitchen Cookbook: Feeding Humanity, Feeding Hope , I knew I had to make a version of my own—one that did not require a pressure cooker. I also wanted the ingredients to feel simpler, more accessible. More importantly, I wanted the dish to center the red beans, rather than have them overshadowed by the richness of beef short ribs. This is not a bean stew, but a slow braise—one that relies on the gradual release of moisture from the ingredients themselves. So, changes were made—and thus, the name: Korean Gal’s Guatemalan Red Beans with P...

My Last Gift to Dad Was a Do-Not-Resuscitate Order

When Dr. Moon, a pain management specialist, told me about Dad’s wish, it was not the first time I had heard it. A few days earlier, Mom had told me that Dad wanted to be transferred from the hospital to hospice. I did not quite understand what hospice meant at the time. Between that conversation with Mom and the one with Dr. Moon, I had watched Dad take about twenty steps with the support of a walker and the assistance of a physical therapist. After seeing him come out of critical condition, I took those steps as a sign of recovery. So I was surprised when Dr. Moon told me that Dad had expressed his wish to end all medical treatments and go peacefully. I had been struggling with the continuation of his medical treatment. Three days after I wrote Will Love Give Us the Courage to Let Our Dad Go? , Dad passed away peacefully, as though he had simply fallen asleep, with a morphine drip erasing the pain that had once dominated him. He was eighty years old and had spent the last six years o...

Confessions of a Former Poll Worker

The last federal election I recall working at the polls was on November 8, 2016. I was assigned to Los Feliz, often frequented by actors and musicians who lived in the lush hills above the neighborhood. I remember one particular actor from The Big Bang Theory who kept asking me if I really did not recognize him after I asked for his name. At the time, he was more of an annoyance as the line stretched out of the building and around the corner, and no, I had no idea who he was. Even after another volunteer whispered to me who he was, I just shrugged. He would still have to identify himself. I did not ask him for an identification card, which would have been illegal in California at the time. I asked for his name so I could locate him in the poll book for him to sign. Norton Simon Museum, Pasadena, California It became clear a few hours before the polls closed in California that Trump had won and that the hope of electing the first female President of the United States had collapsed. No...

Pad Mee, My Way

In Thai and Lao kitchens, Pad Mee points broadly to stir-fried noodles: rice noodles loosened in a hot pan, glossed with sauce, sharpened by aromatics, and adjusted according to region, household, occasion, and whoever is standing closest to the wok. Ceramic bowl was wheel-thrown and glazed by me. Its history does not arrive with one neat origin story, which is part of its charm. Like many Southeast Asian noodle dishes, Pad Mee sits at the intersection of local rice culture, Chinese-influenced noodle cookery, and the everyday reality of feeding people quickly and well. Before a dish becomes famous enough to acquire fandom, it is usually just a meal. That is where Pad Mee is most interesting. It exists in variations: some sweeter, some darker, some spicier, some closer to Lao-style caramelized noodles served at gatherings, others tied to Thai regional cooking. Pad Mee Korat, from Nakhon Ratchasima, is one well-known branch of the family, but it is not the whole tree. Pad Mee’s real gl...

Exhaling Life

Search This Blog