List of Curiosities: 003

Dear Reader,

It’s been three months since my last List of Curiosities, a semi-monthly note where I recap the unfolding events around me, the people I meet, and the things I find worth sharing. Much has happened in these past months as I try to revisit memories after returning from a trip to Europe—a journey I nearly canceled but my closest friends insisted I take.

Tragically, my mother passed away just before my trip. It’s been over a month since then, and my grief has reached a point where I can finally acknowledge my depression and honestly address the simple question, “How are you?” While in Paris for almost a week, I found solace in the company of friends who offered both comforts of reunion and excitement for their achievements. Then for a week in Milan where we celebrated a grand Italian wedding surrounded by friends from near and far. Upon returning home, I spent time with my friend from LA, Anita Lashey, who stayed with me for a week before I had to get back to work.

In the morning, as I returned to work after my vacation, I changed into my uniform. I slipped off my newly bought Paraboot Michael's and slipped into a pair of Mephisto shoes that I always wear during my shifts. The moment my feet entered the shoes, they felt familiar, evoking the sense of returning home that I had forgotten while traveling. It was as though I had never left. Yet, I found myself back in New York, a place marked by unbearable pain and grief at the departure. My beloved colleague Kimberly, whom I cherish deeply, noticed my momentary pause as I gazed at my shoes. With a tender embrace, she whispered a motherly question in my ear while wrapping in a soft hug, "How are you holding up, my dear?"

"Being thrown into work dealing with people every day is truly the worst possible scenario for what you’re going through,” said Anita in one of her messages the night before I dialed 988, the Suicide and Crisis Lifeline.

After a brief explanation of what I was experiencing to the operator on the hotline, I was connected to someone named Miguel, followed by Latisha the next night and others I spoke with whose names I don't recall the nights after. What I do remember is revisiting with them the days after my return.

On my scheduled dental cleaning, Dr. Klempner asked, “Have you been stressing out more than usual lately?” Surprised, I inquired why he would say that, and he pointed out that I had cracked two of my teeth, necessitating making night guards to prevent them from destroying. Another incident involved repeatedly forgetting my apartment keys. Embarrassed to call my super for the third night, I went to Brooklyn to retrieve a spare set from a friend. While changing shoes at his place, I noticed blood stains on the white tube socks I had worn that day. I couldn’t feel any physical pain, but my brain kept sending alarms to prevent further unintentional harm, mindful of the pain my body had experienced in the past.

I'm back to the routine of doing yoga early in the morning, taking my time to meditate, and not refusing when people around take me out for dinner, invite me home, or take me for a walk without questions about how I am feeling. It still hurts for those who wonder. That is why, as my Italian friend said, I'm taking 'uno per volta,' one step at a time. There's no proper way to grief as it comes in waves, and despite my love for open waters, I never learned how to swim. That's why sometimes I'm drowning. What keeps me afloat is reading.

On the plane, I delved into

julie satow

’s upcoming book, which I mentioned and is available for pre-order. (Additionally, you can register for a public talk with Julie at Rizzoli.) Then I switched to Joan Didion’s ‘A Year of Magical Thinking,' a book I’ve read before and felt losing myself in again. For Paris, I packed the heartbreaking 'Letters to Yves,' written by Pierre Berge to Yves Saint Laurent after his death to read before visiting Musée Yves Saint Laurent. In Milan, just before my departure, I stumbled upon 'The Outsider' by Albert Camus at Hoepli. Its opening line, "My mother died yesterday," resonated with me. Additionally, I couldn't resist picking up ‘La Vita Immaginata,’ a book of Giovanni Peli's poetry at Gogol and Company, feeling a growing desire to reconnect with the Italian language after finding myself unable to speak it fluently anymore. On the plane back, I revisited the highlights on the pages of ‘Many Small Hungerings,’ a beautiful book by William Bortz, filled with poetry that explores the journey of overcoming grief.

Before ending my reading marathon with ‘Comedies’ by William Shakespeare, following an episode of the Radio Hour podcast with the brilliant Judy Dench discussing her seven-decade-long career in Shakespearean productions, and having recently published ‘Shakespeare: The Man Who Pays the Rent,’ I had the honor of reviewing a manuscript written by a close friend. "Who am I to give feedback on such incredible work?" I thought to myself. While unable to reveal his name (two Pulitzer Prizes for his journalism might give a clue) nor the title or context of the book (though eager to share and have you read it), I can summarize the past month in books with a sentiment.

Every challenge we face is an experience. Each experience serves as a lesson. Every lesson contributes to our growth. Without growth, we have no meaning. And if you find yourself drowning in open waters, do not hesitate to seek help; sometimes, we are the ones who can save us from ourselves.

Love,

Kiki