I have a crush that live mostly in theory — the kind that feels too big, too ideal, almost unreal, the kind you tuck into daydreams because it feels too far away from your actual life. I honestly didn’t expect our paths to ever cross. I even prepared myself not to meet him at all.
But life is always 50:50 — half uncertainty, half chance — and for once, I didn’t want to choose the safer half. So instead of assuming the worst, I did something unfamiliar: I prepared for the best. So I packed a bottle of wine for him — not out of expectation, but intention. Not random wine — wine I chose intentionally, like a tiny offering that said: “I wanted to show up thoughtfully, just in case the universe lets our paths cross.”
When the moment finally came and I handed it to him, he lit up. He really liked it. he said it was special. Then he said it again, and then once more, like he wanted to make sure I knew he meant it.
I didn’t think the encounter would be warm.
I didn’t think it would be close. But it was.
There were hugs — many, many hugs. They were warm and disarming in a way I didn’t expect. There was hugs hello, hugs in-between, hugs goodbye, hugs again because goodbye didn’t land quite right the first time. It was the kind that held a little longer than necessary. There was hand holding too — easy, natural, unforced. It was repeated soft contact that feels like calm, not chaos. The kind you only get when both people feel safe enough to let their guard drop for a moment.
It wasn’t dramatic.
It wasn’t a confession.
It wasn’t anything wild.
It was just two people sharing a gentle, unexpected closeness — one I wouldn’t have experienced if I hadn’t stepped into the 50% chance. But somewhere in all of this, my narrative shifted. It stopped being about the crush and started being about the version of me who didn’t shrink. The whole interaction shifted and it takes me to a moment of reflection — about the woman I’ve been becoming these past few years. The one who gave the wine. The one who stepped forward instead of doubting. The one who let herself be seen, even in her nervousness.
I’ve been single for a while now — not because I was waiting, but because I was building. For 3–4 years, I poured myself into work, my dream, my business, my family, my closest friends, my pets. I traveled a lot. I learned. I rebuilt myself and my life. I went to therapy and even took medication. I survived seasons that required everything from me. And I came out softer, steadier, more myself than I’ve ever been. Somewhere along the way, I created a life I’m genuinely content with. A life that doesn’t feel empty. A life that I no longer want to escape from. A life I’m proud to return to — whether I’m holding someone’s hand or not.
So maybe that’s why this encounter felt different.
It didn’t make me desperate for more. It didn’t make me spiral into fantasy (well maybe for just a few days). It simply reminded me that my heart still knows how to flutter — gently, quietly, in a way that doesn’t steal my peace.
And that realization felt precious:
I don’t need a partner to complete me,
but if someone adds warmth and softness to a life I already love… I’d welcome that.
And I hope to God it would not be someone who subtracts — but someone who complements.
This encounter didn’t promise anything. It didn’t need to. It just showed me that I’m able to show up with sincerity and courage — and still stay grounded in who I’ve become. And I realized something simple that day: You can’t lose someone who is not in your life yet. What exactly is there to be afraid of? Fear of embarrassment? It passes. Fear of being “too much”? It fades. Fear of disappointing someone who doesn’t even belong to your life yet? Doesn’t make sense.
So I held his hand. I hugged him fully. I laughed a lot and let myself be in the moment without calculating outcomes. Because life is a coin toss anyway — and I didn't want to be the person who's always betting on the side that protects me from nothing. Only when I choose the 50% can I gain courage, gain clarity, gain memories.
I don’t know what any of it means long-term.
Maybe nothing.
Maybe something small.
Maybe just a memory that will sit softly in my chest for a long time.
Maybe the story goes nowhere.
Maybe the story goes somewhere someday.
Even though there were promises, but I know the future is never guaranteed. But the softness of it stays with me — not because of him, but because of me. What matters is this: I showed up. I gave a thoughtful present. I leaned into the moment. I let myself be seen, even with the nerves humming under my skin. And for once, I didn’t shrink.
He wasn't mine to lose. But the moment was mine to keep. So I do. Softly.
Encounter That Felt Different
December 2, 2025
Last year on April, I went to Korea carrying a mind that felt heavier than my luggage. The trip ended earlier than I had planned — not because of a change in itinerary, but because of a panic attack that cut the journey short. My anxiety packed itself into my suitcase without permission. I was mentally off, disconnected, and exhausted. I thought distance from home and the excitement of traveling would make me feel better, but I stand corrected.
This year, I returned to Korea — and the difference felt surreal, like meeting a new version of myself. I didn’t go back to “fix” anything. I went back because I wanted to try again in a softer way. I wanted to enjoy life without having to plan out every moment to make sure that it would go well.
Just this quiet promise to myself:
“I’ll try again, but gently this time.”
And somehow, without forcing it, life met me halfway.
This time, the trip felt kind — in the air I breathed, the yellow leaves I saw, the strangers who became friends, the long walks, the unplanned conversations, the wine I drank. I met so many new people, made good friends and even crossed paths with a moment I had once kept safely tucked away in prayer. A simple, unbelievable moment that reminded me that the universe answers quietly too — when you’re not pulling at its sleeves.
Somewhere along this trip, I stumbled upon a quote that said:
“Everything in life is a win if your goal is to experience.”
And that felt like the missing piece of a puzzle I didn’t even know I was solving.
Because when experience becomes the compass instead of outcome, life becomes far less frightening. Every person, place and moment walks into our timeline not to be ranked, but to be felt. To move something in us — stretch the heart, stir emotion, spark wonder, or make us braver simply because we lived it.
I also learned that 'what's yours will never pass you by'.
Plant a seed with gentleness.
If it grows, that’s shared.
If it doesn’t, go on with grace.
That philosophy ended up echoing through every corner of this journey — including the moments that bloomed unexpectedly when I loosened my grip on needing control.
The biggest and most important part of this year's trip was realizing this:
I’m so proud that I’m in a much better place mentally now.
I’m more confident. I’m more open. I’m putting myself out there again, trusting more, fearing less and being present for moments without needing them to prove my survival or success.
What grows isn’t always what we expect.
But the act of planting again with genuine intention is already growth.
So if this blog is a recap of anything, it’s not panic, or heartbreak, or fear.
It’s this:
Returning to a place where you once struggled, and finding that you are different now.
That you can receive joy now.
That healing doesn’t have to loud and big.
It can just walk alongside you, quietly, warmly, uphill or sideways, one gentle moment at a time.
Seoul did change.
But I've also changed. A lot.
And if the goal is to experience life gently, without gripping too tightly —
then this time, Korea was nothing short of grace.
Experiencing Life Gently
November 30, 2025
A friend asked me a question few weeks ago that I haven't been able to stop thinking about: "What's your plan if the whole cabin or farm thing doesn't work out?"
Even though this isn't the soft, cozy season of slow living I imagined (at least not yet). But maybe that's okay. I now understand slow living isn't about things being easy. Right now even with the chaos, I know I'm building something that matters (importantly to me).
So no, I do not have a plan B.
But I have this dream and I'm all in.
Slow Living at Full Speed
May 27, 2025
I guess it’s official—blogging has become an annual tradition for me. I’m trying my best to keep it up because writing a birthday blog post gives me a moment to pause and reflect on the past year. It’s been a while since I last wrote something this long, and honestly, putting my thoughts and experiences into words isn’t easy. But I’ll do my best to share.
In my 33rd year around the sun, I’ve gotten to know myself even better. Through different experiences, I’ve uncovered parts of me that I’m genuinely proud of. And with self-hate being out, here are three things I love about my 33-year-old self:
This was the year I learned to survive on my own—again. But this time, it was different. Unlike previous years, I was on my own, but I wasn’t lonely. Take my solo trip to Seoul in April, for example. It had been a while since my last panic attack, so I was caught off guard when I found myself crying my eyes out in a jjimjilbang. I tried to push through until the eighth day of the trip, but eventually, anxiety got the best of me. Unlike before, though, I didn’t keep it to myself. I reached out to my family, and they embraced my fragility, reassuring me that it was okay to have a change of plans, cancel the rest of the trip and fly home.
Traveling usually brings me immense joy, but this was the first time I felt truly unhappy while on a trip. And yet, the fact that I held out for more than a week is something to be proud of. In fact, that trip isn’t the only moment I deserve recognition for. I’ve traveled solo to multiple countries before, navigating them without panic attacks, and that in itself is an achievement. Not many people—especially women—get to do that. Isn’t it brave? To step out of your comfort zone, to challenge yourself?
Through this experience, I’ve come to realize just how courageous and strong I am, and I love that about myself. I’ve also recognized how much I’ve grown—my emotional intelligence has made real progress. I no longer bottle up my feelings, hoping people will somehow understand while I silently suffer. I now allow myself to be vulnerable, to seek support when I need it. And that, too, is an act of courage and something to be proud of.
In the second half of 2024, I began building my tiny house and planning my move out of the city to live on the mountain. Honestly, I thought that since my house is tiny, it wouldn’t cost much. I figured that if I just skipped five or six K-Pop concerts (I know, ridiculous—but delulu is the solulu, right?), I’d have enough to fund the whole thing. But I stand corrected—turns out, one K-Pop concert ticket barely covers the cost of a showerhead.
I’ve always been great at spending money, but saving it? That’s a whole different story. Ever heard of the term "spending optimism"? It’s when someone assumes their finances will magically work out, even without careful planning. Well, that someone is me.
But now that I’ve committed to building this house and declared that I’m moving to the mountains, I have to actually figure out how to finance it. That doesn’t mean it’s been smooth sailing, though. When I took this leap, I thought I had everything calculated. But, man—I am terrible at math. LOL. There were times I completely miscalculated things and ended up in a financial crisis. Not only did I underestimate the costs, but I also got the timeline all wrong. There were so many moving parts to sort out—packing, decluttering, selling my stuff, dealing with property agents, movers, storage vendors, and cargo services. Then there was figuring out pet transportation, paying for pet services, covering house design fees, buying building materials, handling electricity permits, paying the builders, booking a plane ticket home, and so much more. For months, I struggled (and I’m still struggling) to bring this dream to life.
But since I’d already decided to push through, I hustled. I worked hard at my job. And my other job. And yet another job. Basically, I took on anything I could to make extra money and finally get out of the city. And now, I get it. I understand what people mean when they say it feels good to see their money turn into something real—something tangible. Knowing that my hard-earned money went into those bathroom wall tiles, that black showerhead, that granite stone floor, and ultimately, into the reality of living in my own tiny house away from the city—just like I’ve always dreamed—feels so good.
This dream was supposed to be a retirement plan. I could have waited until I had more savings, until it felt safer. But if not now, when? I don’t know what the future holds, and I refuse to live with regret for not chasing my dream sooner. Ideally I should've saved up more money in the previous years, but I'm a fangirl, so I'm sure you get the picture. Working multiple jobs has been exhausting, but I know that if I hadn’t pushed through, this dream wouldn’t have become reality. And yet, I can’t take all the credit. There have been people—very dear people—who helped me, who lent a hand (sometimes even financially) along the way. For that, I will forever be grateful. I am incredibly proud of my resilience and hard work in making this dream come true, but I’m even happier knowing that this dream was built through collective effort.
I am multifaceted.
I’ve been sharing my journey of building Querencia Farm on social media, so by now, quite a few people know me as the girl leaving the city to live on a farm in the mountains. But that’s just one part of who I am.
We’re often told to pick a lane—to have a clear niche, to build a certain image so we can be easily understood or remembered. “Be specific,” they say. “Stick to one thing.” But the more I reflect on my life, the more I realize that I was never meant to fit into just one box. I am a farm girl who finds peace in nature, but I am also a fangirl who will never outgrow the thrill of a K-Pop concert. I’m building a quiet life on the mountain, yet my heart still beats for adventure and travel. I crave solitude, but I also love deep conversations and the connections I make along the way.
For a long time, a lot of us—including me—felt like we had to choose. As women, especially, we’re often told we can either be pretty or smart, but never both. Gentle or strong, but never a mix of both. But I’ve come to love the fact that I contain multitudes. I do live on a mountain now, but that doesn’t mean I’ve abandoned my six-step skincare routine. My days are spent digging in the garden, dirt under my nails, yet I still reach for an outfit that makes me feel good before heading outside. I have the most breathtaking sunsets in my front yard, but that won’t stop me from traveling halfway across the world just to see a different sky. Querencia gives me the peace I’ve always longed for, but you’ll still find me blasting iKON and Monsta X on my headphones. So, I don’t think I’ll ever be “boring” because I’ll always be learning, evolving, and embracing every side of me. And that, to me, is far more interesting than being just one thing.
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