Kate

Aficionado of the mundane [ 21 | cakes28diary.tumblr.com]

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Everything has felt so dystopian and inhumane, but tonight gave me the hope and motivation to keep going.

New Jersey, I love you.

New York, I love you.

Hopefully, in 7ish months, I’ll be freshly graduated, with a job lined up, and moving to the city I’ve loved since I was a little girl.

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Moods boards of the fragrances that have been on my mind since first sniff.

1. Boccanera by Orto Parisi

2. Incenso by Santa Maria Novella

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The Morgan Library & Museum, A Lively Mind: Jane Austen at 250

Tuesday, September 9, 2025

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Journal Entry 005: 13-year-old me, are you there?

She was a cool girl. Started editing my pictures as she used to; at this age, all I cared about was how my grid looked.

Tuesday, August 12, 2025 — 11:11pm

Subconsciously, I got a similar haircut she had: mid-length, blunt bangs, natural hair color. Granted, this time I have more layers and am actually styling it, but this is how 13-year-old Kate wanted to look. I also rediscovered my Forever 21 denim jacket that I wore

Every.

Single.

Day.

Ironically, the oldest pieces of clothing in my closet are from F21. RIP.

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At that age, almost every day after school, I’d go on HypeBeast.com on my sister’s Mac desktop, reading up on the latest trends in streetwear and upcoming sneaker drops. God, I am my father’s daughter.

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13-year-old me knew exactly who she was. College me was the antithesis of her. I spent three years not knowing how to dress, what my hobbies, likes, and dislikes were; ultimately, I didn't like myself for the majority of the time, and I became a shell of a person.

But right now, senior year Kate, is starting to feel familiar and like a reunion. I'm feeling the most comfortable in my skin than I have in recent years.

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13-year-old me, you’re cool in my eyes—I hope you feel the same way about 21-year-old me—and will forever influence style and how I edit my Instagram posts.

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Thursday, August 28 — 3:24pm

As I am editing this post, happy ten years to Badlands. The album of my formative years.

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Journal Entry 004: Remember when

I'd go to the beach whenever I could during summer break? I’d be freely blasting music in my car, driving wherever? I had a person I would go to for everything? It all felt so carefree?

Wednesday, July 30, 2025

I did not anticipate this summer to be so lonely, so tiring, and so grey. At the very beginning of summer break, I started a new job—a job I absolutely love—and the whole application process was on a whim. I wasn’t actively looking for a new job, but had been itching for a change; something more catered to my future endeavors. Now, being there for two months, I’ve been having a lot of fun and learned one major thing about myself: I cannot do retail long-term. The main reason is, as an introvert, this job takes so much out of me at the end of the day; speaking to people nonstop makes me go nonverbal when I go home after a full day shift. Most of my summer days consist of waking up, eating, going to work, going home, eating, and lying in bed until I have to go back to work. I know this isn’t sustainable—literally feeling my personality and will to do something other than lie down deteriorate every day—I should learn to find some sort of balance. I love this job! In the sense that I learn a lot about the fragrance industry, meet perfumers, product developers, people from HQ, and I’m actually creating products. It fuels me creatively. 

Me on break with the best matcha I’ve ever had—and the café is only three minutes from my job!

A lot of letting go is happening right now. I’ve given up on a lot of things and people. It’s different. Everything is different this summer break. I’m alone a lot of times. I don’t want to be. I feel a sense of awkwardness and even embarrassment to ask people to hang out, especially with those who never respond to me. I am clingy, but have no one to reciprocate with. Before, kinda, now for sure no; and I think I’m the only one mourning it. It’s an odd time for me and my feelings towards relationships.

This song came on shuffle the other day and I haven’t stopped listening to it since.

This is my “last summer break” before graduating from college; I imagined it to be the complete opposite.

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The faces of strangers. The faces of handsome criminals. Avocado slices.

— Perfection, Vincenzo Lateonico

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Turned 21 a few days ago.

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Work work work work work😪

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Journal Entry 003: I saw Edward Hopper’s A Woman in the Sun (1961)

Thursday, April 17, 2025

Went to the Whitney Museum for the first time ever. I was a little hesitant at first because none of the exhibits sounded interesting to me. I have a very minuscule background in art history (I took one art history class) and I gravitate towards renaissance and baroque eras. Don’t get me wrong, I do love some modern styles especially realism. Realism brings me to tears.

I went in to the Whitney Museum with an open mind and I started at the top floor. I hadn’t realized how familiar I was with Hopper’s work. A lot of his work amazed me—Soir Bleu made me chuckle—and I stood the longest at his works. A Woman in the Sun was an experience. At first, I thought it was a romantic piece for Hopper’s depiction of his wife, who was in her late 70s, and that he still sees her in her younger age. I saw how beautiful it was that he considered her as this young woman with supple and plump features, and nothing much has changed since. Yet, upon thinking and looking it at more, I can’t help but think, does he no longer see her beautiful as she ages? At what age do you stop loving someone for who they are and only reminisce the person they once were?

The fear of growing old is instilled in women at a young age. Especially in Asian culture, with all of these anti wrinkle and retinol forward products, I can’t help but think what is the point in all of this. Growing old seems like a beautiful experience—alone or with a partner—and it was a privilege to see a set of my grandparents grow old together.

Love is a foreign concept to me and this piece had me questioning it all.

…

Man, I wish I double minored in art history.

Edward Hopper, New York Interior (1921)

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Royal Post

Stand still.

Flicker here and there

Tethered are my veins that command this court

Stand still.

Fuzzy little creatures I attract

I’m a home, a guide, a reflection

Stand still.

Now and then I’ll see her

Her unwavering beauty that sits center at midnight

While she illuminates

I stand still.

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Oh wow

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What's in my school bag haul

My sisters and I are doing a little book club for Harry Potter, and I'm falling in love with the series (don't worry, I'm reading out of my sister's first editions and didn't buy any of the books). I just started book 3, and I'm really looking forward to this one because POA is probably my favorite movie of the series :)

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Journal Entry 002: My parents don’t believe me

“You went to the movies by yourself?”

I’m 20 years old. Not that old, not that young. My newfound independence is slowly becoming apparent to my family—particularly my parents—but I’ve had it for some time, shockingly. I guess becoming an A-lister at AMC is what it took for my family to realize that I can do things by myself; even though I commute to the city almost every day for school, I digress. I’ve gotten comfortable being alone and not relying on others to show up because it ends up with me being disappointed in them.

As the youngest sister of three, I’m still perceived as that little girl who's heavily dependent on the grown-ups around her. I don’t think that will change in their eyes. I tend to dilute my personality to my parents and sometimes my sisters, not in fear of being judged, but not to taint that idea they have of me. That’s where it’s my fault.

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Feeding into the theme of this blog—exploring the fine line between loneliness and independence—you can’t have independence without the constant feeling of loneliness. This blog isn’t supposed to be stimulating or challenging, it’s just me experiencing my 20s and realizing how alone I am.

Cheers to more independence in 2025.

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What’s in my bag haul

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From the first two weeks of this sem. I feel alive again.

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A week in the motherland

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