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1. If my Korean next-door-apartment-neighbor and I ever meet, and we somehow manage to understand each other, he’ll be like, “Hey, great singing!” and I’ll be all, “Hey, great puking last Tuesday night! Also, can I use your microwave?”

2. Remember Vine?

3. Where are all these engaged people coming from? (She’s engaged? When did she even get a significant other?) It is surely Spring.

4. No matter where I go, Bob Dylan follows me around and sings to me (figuratively speaking). It’s lovely to be sitting at my window at night, gazing out at the multitude of neon lights of Seoul, and think about how I listened to this same beautiful song in so many other beautiful places.

5. “It’s fine to be alone.” “Is it?”

6. No, I am not interested in buying expensive lotion-covered plastic wrap, thank you. Where are these things coming from?! Why?! Why?! 

7. I’m a pretty chill person. I don’t get upset easily. I don’t hold grudges. However, if you tell me you’re sending me a letter, and then 1 to 2 weeks pass, and I receive no letter, just know that I now hate you. Don’t mess with my heart like that! 

8. Be kind.

9. It’s 2014. We have all kinds of efficient, safe, comfortable ways to travel. So, why have you not left your mother country? Your homeland? Your place of birth? Sure it’s great. I get it. Guess what else is great? Basically everywhere else.

10. Recently I googled broheim to make sure I was spelling it correctly. I was.

A few days ago I woke up and somehow almost immediately decided that a good way to become a more active Instagram-er would be to take one picture every hour — sort of a documentary of a day in my life, in pictures. It went well… for a few hours, anyway.

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“8am #adayinpics”

A hotter-than-normal Michigan summer morning, therefore, fan on full speed.

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“9am #adayinpics”

Eggs for breakfast with the morning email scan-through.

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“10am #adayinpics”

Tiny potted plant gardening.

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“11am #adayinpics”

Running work errands, sweating profusely, examining the beautiful city I live in.

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“12pm #adayinpics”

Heading back home, stopping to admire the potential of a once-abandoned building that’s already being realized.

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“1pm #adayinpics #resume”

Working on my resume, attempting to create an image of myself on paper that shows my own potential.

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“4pm #adayinpics #walden”

A resume rest and Walden in the living room.

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“6pm #adayinpics #naptime #hidinginsidethehorribleweather”

Finally retreating back to the relative comfort of my bedroom and box fan.

follow me on Instagram: @ohnewfree

Today is Franz Kafka’s 130th birthday (something I’m sure he’s not excited about, as he’s both dead and a pessimist). Thanks to Google, I know this. (And a lot of other things, but anyway…) tumblr_lkrcs9GJXq1qac37io1_500

I was talking to a friend the other day about remembering the past, including people who have already lived their lives and died. I think it’s important; some don’t. Maybe Kafka disagreed with me, who knows. All I know is that “The Metamorphosis” was one of the first and strangest things I ever read in high school. And we’re still talking about it.

Three years ago, back in the autumn of 2010, I had an English class at my University, where all we did was read poetry and examine poetry and talk about poetry, etc. It was sort of an introductory English class, with simple goals for its students: learn how English works; learn all the little rules of grammar; learn how to read and think about writing – stuff like that. I’d had a few English classes before it, and I’ve had many since, so not much that I learned in that class has stuck with me – I made a few friends, have a few good memories, and, I’m sure, was sent away with a greater appreciation for poetry. One thing, though, from that class, has always stuck with me. Or, rather, has refused to stick with me. A poem.

I remember this poem vaguely. I remember that it was about a woman driving her car along an expressway during a traffic jam; that she noticed a flock of birds flying through the sky – I remember it was simple and beautiful and that even as a newly enrolled English Major, way back when in 2010, it spoke to me.

I’ve been searching for and wondering about this poem for a long time. Over time, I forgot who wrote it. I forgot the title. The only things I could remember were the birds and the traffic jam and that I loved it.

Now, fast-forward to 2013. I’m about to graduate college – I’m finishing up one last semester – and that poem still finds its way into my mind from time to time. Today, going through some of my files on a computer at school, I came across an old paper I typed up three years ago in that English class where we talked about poetry.

The file was called “Poetry Journal”, and I opened it only with mild curiosity, not yet realizing what I might find within it. Inside, a list of titles to several poems, with my thoughts of them underneath. I scrolled down the page, skimming with uninterested eyes. Then, I found it. My poem. The title, anyway. And the author. With a quick, excited trip to Google, I quickly found the words I had been searching for. I read it again, and I still loved it. My eyes followed along with the lines of the poem as if I had never lost it – perhaps I have dreamt about this poem many times.

It seems funny to me that the file containing the title to this poem has been around all this time, and I’ve just now found it. Maybe because I’m feeling nostalgic – I’m wondering about the person I was three years ago, when I still had so many moments to experience, so many new things to learn, so many more people to meet. Three years from now, I’ll be long gone from the University I’ve called home for so long now – and maybe I’ll find this poem again and think back to this moment.

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Folks, we have a problem. Well, I do, anyway. And google isn’t helping! (Which saddens me; Google knows everything! right?)
So, there’s this guy…
Wait, no, let’s start over. (this is going poorly already!)
Here’s what I wanted to find in my recent googling, yet failed to find:

How to let a guy down easy:

  1. Move far away. Maybe to France. Does he speak French?
  2. Delete your facebook. Twitter, too. Throw your cell phone in a nearby body of water (even though you didn’t give him your number — right??)
  3. Change your name. Get a sex change. Shave off all of your hair and tattoo your entire body.
  4. “Tell him the Truth.”

Ok, seriously. This is my version of what can be found on this topic on the internets. The first “best” choices? LIE YOUR HEAD OFF.

None of this is easy. It’s easy to ask, “How can I let him down easy?” It’s easy to decide that you’re just going to tell him the Truth (because you already tried learning French and that’s just not gonna happen). But the next time you run into the guy (or, uh, he runs into you,) you have to actually look him in the face and, um, talk to him. Lying is easier in person than talking about feelings. (God, why does this happen so much? Why are there so many lists of choices out there that women can make when faced with this problem?)

Ok, guys, (boys. males.) listen up. If you ask a girl out, proclaim your love for her, etc, and she goes:”…….umm…….”. Well, that’s probably a bad sign. Maybe not. Maybe she’s thinking about your wedding already.

However, if you continue your attempts at wooing her, to no avail, she doesn’t want you to woo her. Stop that.

Don’t keep asking her on dates. Don’t say shit like, “Well, if you won’t answer me today, I’ll just come back tomorrow.” Or, “I can tell that you’re avoiding me. Gee, why are you so shy?”

If a girl wants to date you, if she thinks you’re attractive, she will get with that. Trust me. Trust me, I’m a girl, I know these things. Her avoiding you? That’s not flirting. That’s not a sign to keep at ‘er.

How to let a guy down easy? I have no idea. No wonder Google was so unhelpful! Here’s a better question: Why can’t guys sense when girls are trying to let them down easy?