Rhena Writes

Tag: blogging

  • Legacy: Locked and Loaded

    Daily writing prompt
    What is the legacy you want to leave behind?
    View all responses
    Trying something new here. Just a short, unplanned audio file — almost like a spontaneous monologue in English.

    Earlier this week, I had the thought that I wanted to start posting a weekly summary of the previous day’s blog posts. Every day, I waffle back and forth on whether to email to my subscribers or just post to my blog when I hit that publish button. I understand that daily emails are, well, a lot. For everyone. More importantly, looking back at what I’ve posted each week is an opportunity for me to sit back and celebrate what I’ve done.

    As I was searching for when to start my first weekly “round up”, it felt serendipitous that the daily prompt was about legacy. Because the answer to what I want my legacy to be is THIS. Yes, this blog. But also THIS LIFE. I want to feel that everything I’ve done is a legacy. Yes, writing in this blog is part of that but really that’s only the tip of the iceberg of my life lived.

    More to the point: my legacy doesn’t have to do with a past or future self. It doesn’t have to do with how I impact other people or even the world around me. My legacy is in this moment. In each moment. And for me.

    Fruits first. (Wednesday, May 14):

    Of course I must begin with the Queen of Fruit: mangosteen. I cannot forget her king, durian.

    Their princess: the jackfruit.

    What is the custard apple’s role in this food court?

    Leader or follower? (Thursday, May 15):

    I’m a leader following myself… or maybe a follower leading myself?

    Either way, this post also includes a two-player cooperative video game recommendation.

    Ring, skin, mask, burdens, truth. (Friday, May 16)

    The summary for the answer to this day’s prompt reads like a riddle.

    And this one is actually a bit of a game. (Saturday, May 17)

    … and hopefully the “prize” is a lesson in how to center oneself while also trying to parent.

    Y’all, I was FED UP in this post. (Sunday, May 18)

    … but I still managed to include one book recommendation. If nothing else, I’m learning a lot about making myself visible in a world that chooses to ignore me.

    Dreams can be powerful. (Monday, May 19)

    This one includes three book recommendations (two novels and one nonfiction book) about dreams and dreaming (the nighttime story). And there’s a personal story embedded about how I found an answer to a problem in a dream.

    Surviving Extremes with Koselig, Sabai, and Balance (Tuesday, May 20)

    I think that the title says what this one is about. It’s in response to how I feel about cold weather.

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    If you enjoyed what you’ve read here, please check out other posts. Likes, shares, and reposts help get my writing out to where it needs to be. I’m also grateful for financial support. Even though I post about daily, I only send out a once a week summary email to subscribers (just like this one!). Thank you!

  • Writing this post is one small improvement I’m making in my life.

    Daily writing prompt
    What’s one small improvement you can make in your life?
    View all responses

    An underground lagoon of water inside a cave. On hot days, it is cooling. On cold ones, it’s a hot spring. Either way, it is eternally refreshed by a constant stream of clean, fresh water. High above the pool, there is a space in the rock ceiling through which sun and moon light alternating stream through. The sunlight feeds the mosses and ferns that grow on rock outcroppings on the walls.

    This cave can be accessed from a tunnel. But at first, the tunnel was very small. I’ve had to dig out the tunnel bit by bit to get to the pool. I shoveled and scraped a little bit here and there, carried out the dirt and stones back out of the back of the tunnel. I had to carry it some distance from the entrance lest it built up too high and the whole thing caved in. One day, I could finally see the pool clearly. And so I kept going. Each day, the work of widening the tunnel and carrying out the garbage became easier and easier. I could even say that I enjoyed it a bit, even though it was work.

    Finally, I could reach the pool. I swam and rested. I drank the clear water. I floated and let the water hold me. It flowed around me. I could stay in here forever. But I won’t.

    The world above would miss me if I stayed here.

    And in any case, the pool is infinite, ubiquitous, ever-present. All the work I put in wasn’t for nothing, after all.

    When I started writing this blog, I didn’t set out to write every day. Even once I found the daily prompts (or they found me, perhaps?), I didn’t set a goal to respond to them every day. And yet, here I am, having just posted to this blog fifty days in a row. I didn’t ever set this as a goal. Still, it feels like something of a milestone which, in turn, feels like an appropriate moment for reflection.

    Or not.

    I had this sort of idea in the back of my head that at some point, maybe today, I’d write a “what I learned from blogging for fifty days in a row” post. Or “what happened when I blogged daily.” Or “the benefits of posting everyday.” My understanding is that those are very SEO friendly terms … or something. (The word “understanding” is doing a lot of heavy lifting in that sentence.)

    But none of this has been about pleasing any other person (much less an algorithm, search engine, or even, I’m sorry to say, readers). It’s been about me. Making myself content. Giving myself space. I didn’t know it at the time, but it’s been about digging towards that pool of my own creativity. And there’s still possibility there.

    So. Will I be back tomorrow?

    I really don’t know. Because the other thing this has been about has been to give myself permission to just be in each moment, to do the things that feel most nourishing to me, to always look for opportunities to extend myself grace. Who knows what tomorrow’s daily prompt will bring?

    I’m just focused on the grace, the space, the nourishment of this moment, this breath.

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    If you enjoyed what you’ve read here, please check out other posts. Likes, shares, and reposts help get my writing out to where it needs to be. I’m also grateful for financial support. 

  • “The community” of one.

    Daily writing prompt
    What do you do to be involved in the community?
    View all responses

    I definitely do not understand the what is meant by “the community”. And this is one of things that I do to be involved: I wonder at the meaning of things, I spend time parsing language, and I write.

    I do a lot of other things too, but this is what this daily prompt has inspired me to think about.

    Which community is being referred to here? The neighborhood I live in? The county? The state? The country? The global community of humanity? All of earth and every living thing? Depending on what is meant by “community”, either everything I do is to be “involved” or none of it is.

    I have an uncomfortable relationship with the word “community”. Sometimes I’ll read it or hear it in the context of “Asian-American community”, of which I am supposed to be a member. But I never asked to be a member of that community nor was I ever “invited”. There is no central council of Asian Americans who decide who’s in and who’s out. Or, at least, not that I’m aware of. Maybe there is one, but they decided that, in spite of my heritage, I’m not a member. Of course, the reality is that that term, Asian-American “community”, is usually just lazy, white supremacist journalism or writing or speech by whoever is using it. What the (often white) speaker usually mean is that they spoke to one or two people who they’ve identified as being “Asian American” and decided that they spoke for an entire group of people who may or may not personally identify as Asian American. In other words, when a racialized group is referred to as a “community”, it’s usually white supremacy in action.

    I’ve had to participate in “community building” activities several times for work or school. Are these “the communities” that this question is referring to? These fleeing, temporary groups of people brought together briefly because they all happen to work or go to school in the same place? I never really felt like this “community building” activities ever connected me to my co-workers or fellow students. Primarily, they worked to connect me to the institution or organization or even the manager, administrator, or teacher that was leading the activities. Isn’t community supposed to be about lateral connection, not hierarchical? “Community-building” is often used as soft language to mask a much more nefarious indoctrination.

    So when do I feel a part of a community? Or when do I feel like I’m involving myself in community? Well, blogging, is one way that I attempt to involve myself in the world outside of myself. I have many pages of notebooks and docs that are for me, but when I come here to post and write, it’s for someone else. In other words, it’s for “the community”. (Along these lines, I published a post this morning that included two book recommendations and a discussion of “the white gaze”. It was NOT a response to a daily writing prompt.)

    Didn’t Jesus say something about how he is present anywhere two or more are gathered in his name? If we apply this to this daily prompt, am I suggesting that anywhere two or more individuals are gathered for “the community” (for, in other words, the greater good of humanity) is “the community” present? Yes. I am suggesting that.

    Here’s the other thing I am suggesting: community doesn’t have to be human bodies/ minds coming together. I can experience community with the tree outside my window, the birds that I can hear, the blades of grass, the sunlight. I can gather with someone else by reading their words in a book or, yes, even on the computer. Eating that bagel I had for breakfast? Yes, I am in community with the people who grew and harvest the wheat. All the way to the drivers who delivered it to my local grocery store where. And then some.

    And lastly, of course, I can be a community of one. Jesus did not say that he is ONLY present where two people or more are gathered in his name. Every time I tend to myself, care for myself, listen to myself, I am doing all those things as a way to involve myself in the community of myself.

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    If you enjoyed what you’ve read here, please check out other posts. Likes, shares, and reposts help get my writing out to where it needs to be. I’m also grateful for financial support. 

  • …making self into its own new religion…

    Daily writing prompt
    Do you have a quote you live your life by or think of often?
    View all responses

    “For how else can the self become whole save by making self into its own new religion?” Audre Lorde, New York City, 1970

    This is the quote I wrote on one of the first pages of (one of) my 2025 journal/ notebook. It’s a hard question to internalize into a mind and soul full of demands to be selfLESS. It begs the question: How can one be less oneself? Or more importantly, why would one want to be less than oneself?

    I do not.

    How does one make self into its own new religion?

    I wrote a bit about this here in this blog post: Me! Me! Me! Me! Me!

    And I wrote a bit about how important Audre Lorde’s writing has been to me here in this blog post: Tomorrow, I Will Learn to Whether I Will Become an Archer.

    Yesterday, I wrote about my holidays and posted rather late in the day. I’m reposting it here because it’s connected to this quote about making the self into its own new religion. Celebrate This Breath and Then the Next.

    I’m sitting here trying to figure out how I can write a longer post on this topic. Why? There on no word counts here. This post will not be graded or assessed in any way. There’s no one watching over what I write and telling me “not enough!” Well, except for me.

    So I have to dig deeper. What do I want? Do I want to have a longer post? Do I have more to write about this topic at the moment? I must be quiet and listen to that deep, deep inner voice: the self. What do I want? What do I need? I need rest. I’d really like to read a little bit. I’m in the middle of two books that I’m really enjoying right now. And I’m rather hungry, so I’d like to get some food. And I’d like to get a few sentences written in a few other projects. I’d like to play the guitar. And I will do all of those things at some point today. None of these things feel like they are particularly selfish, even though they place my self (my needs and wants) at the center. And nowhere is my deeper self asking me to write more in this post. So I won’t.

  • The shrug emoji is my fave

    Daily writing prompt
    What are your favorite emojis?
    View all responses

    There was a time that I convinced myself that emojis were not an effective way to communicate. Yeah. I was probably a bit of a snob. More than a bit. I believed that complete words were more effective. I was awfully precious about the power of written language. But also I felt I owed the world and everyone in it. (Well, except myself.) Text me a question or thought? I’m going to respond. And I’m going to respond thoroughly and completely. I’m going to consider every single eventuality and variation embedded in the question and my response. It was exhausting.

    It’s not that I use emojis all the time now but I’ve come to appreciate them. It’s probably the influence of my kids. It’s hard to hate on anything that brings them so much joy. Parenthood changes a person. Or at least it changed me.

    Back to the shrug emoji. Maybe I like it because I’m Gen X. We’ve always been characterized as the aloof, apathetic generation. And maybe my love of the shrug is born of that. If it is that, there’s an element of “giving them what they want” in my usage of it. In other words you (the older generation) characterized us as being apathetic, so that’s what I’m going to give you. I’m not going to waste my time trying to convince you that I and my entire generation are more than what you’ve reduced us to. Instead, I’m going to enjoy simply being. I have nothing to prove to you. And if you interpret that as apathy, so be it. There’s nothing to be done about that.

    The shrug is more than just apathy anyway. I had the realization recently that there’s immense power in the words, “I don’t know.” I used to feel like I had to be everything to everyone. I had to always know the answers. I had to have the right words at all times. The shrug absolves me of all of that in the same way that “I don’t know” does. I’ve taken to just saying those words, even in response to questions as seemingly basic as, “how do you feel?” I’ve absolved myself of always having to have a response to that question. To all questions, in fact. I think that this kind of behavior is sometimes called “stonewalling” and it may be considered, in some circles, anti-social. And if me centering myself above the questioning of others is anti social, then so be it.

    In other words: 🤷🏻‍♀️

  • Right now. This is a risk.

    Daily writing prompt
    When is the last time you took a risk? How did it work out?
    View all responses

    Every time I write, whether it’s pen to paper or hands to keyboard, I’m taking a risk. I know. It doesn’t seem like it. I’m sitting in the comfort of my own house. I’m doing something (writing) I’ve been doing every day for the last month and which I’ve been studying for much, much longer. It should be easy, right? Low-risk? Safe even?

    Nope.

    It’s time and energy towards something that’s seemingly frivolous. What if I’m misunderstood? What if I run out of ideas? What if the creativity spring runs dry? What if I wasted it all on this one post? What if the time I’m taking towards doing this would be better off spent raising chickens or cleaning my kitchen? What if a meteor hits my house right as I’m sitting here? What if I develop carpal tunnel syndrome from all this typing?

    What if I die a Taurus? What if I die on purpose?
    What if it wasn’t even worth it? What if I’m walkin’ alone?
    What if I choke on this Slurpee? What if I make it big?
    What if my car exploded
    While I’m casually pumping the gas and smokin’ a cig?
    What if my life was loaded?     (Lyrics from Doechii’s Stanka Pooh)

    It’s putting myself, my thoughts, ideas words, images out there. Judgement and ridicule waiting just around each corner. Or they could just collapse out there in the world, unseen, unknown, unrecognized?

    But there are worse things. Like what?

    Playing it safe. I could just go clean the kitchen. I could just stand up from this desk and, well, quite literally do any number of other things: go for a walk, read, drive to the beach, buy a plane ticket to the Maldives, take a nap on the couch, blow dandelion seeds, steal a car, etc… And, yes, all of those have risks involved.

    I could do what I was doing before, the low-risk, safe option: writing and submitting that writing for someone else (a publisher or editor or judge) to “approve” my writing, to decide it was worthy of publication. But in the end, that “safe” option was much more damaging to me, to my emotional health. I allowed each rejection to be a blow to my self image, my self worth. I let them dim my light.

    Finally, I decided to stop playing it safe, to stop asking for approval from other people, and to start saying “yes” to myself. I started this blog. Each time I hit publish, it’s a risk. Someone could “steal” my words or twist my ideas. I have just enough experience in the world to know that there are ways in which what I publish here could be used against me. But I don’t spend too much time thinking about that, doing risk assessments, or trying to protect myself and keep everything one hundred percent safe. If I did that, I’d be trapped in an endless cycle of perfectionism, double checking, making sure I was pleasing everyone else all the time. I know where that cycle kept me: in silence.

    Instead, what I do is I trust. I trust the source of my creativity, I trust my lived experiences and, above all else, I trust myself. I breath. And I smash that button: publish.

  • My Secret Skill: A Prose Poem

    Daily writing prompt
    What’s a secret skill or ability you have or wish you had?
    View all responses

    A secret skill or ability I wish I had is to be able to just chill the eff out. No. That’s not it. I wish I could conjure joy on command. No. That’s not it either. I wish I could make a decision. Decisiveness. That’s it.

    No. I wish I could write spells. I wish I had been cataloguing spells with a feather quill in a massive leather-bound book with deckle edged paper in elegant script so that I could open the pages and recite one appropriate to any occasion. No that’s not it either.

    I wish I could fly. No. I’m afraid of heights. I’d like to be able to teleport. Fade into pixels and reappear somewhere else. Maybe even someone else. No. I love myself too much for that.

    I wish I could cure disease. Yes. That’s the one.

    Or that flowers bloomed in my footprints: forsythia and bluebells and hyacinths and all the ones, like plumeria, that I cannot name but remind me earth is my home.

    Spout fire from my mouth and hands. Eyes too. Laser beams.

    I wish for super strength so that I could bend the arc of history more quickly towards justice.

    I would like the ability to style my outfit everyday for both comfort and looks. So that I could walk down the street to a chorus of, “Who’s that?” and “damn!”

    I would like to be able to keep a neat and tidy email account, brew the perfect cup of coffee but just for the smell, extend an invitation.

    I wish I could crochet a blanket or two. Wrap you, perfect stranger, up in its softness on days like these cold and rainy ones.

    I would like my secret ability to be trust. Or maybe trustworthiness.

    I’d like to win the attention of elves so that I can lay my tools and materials out before going to bed and in the morning, a perfect pair of shoes appear in their place.

    I would like to be able to quiet the voices, to slay the dragons, to hold and keep faith, to have the right words.

    I would like to be present to each moment. And mostly to this one. Yes. That’s it. That’s the one.

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  • What needs to be written?

    This is a place of personal acceptance. What happened that this place became necessary?

    Many years ago I attended an MFA program in creative nonfiction writing. I won’t go into too many details about the program. I entered in bright-eyed, engaged, and optimistic. I was going to become a WRITER and this program was going to get me there. Suffice it to say, that’s not what happened. It was only years later that I realized just how cut-throat and toxic that whole setting was.

    Here, let me share with you one experience. I wrote and submitted a piece to a workshop. It was a long piece, maybe fifty pages. I was nearing the end of my access to getting feedback on my work and I wanted to get as many eyes on my writing as I could before I would be on my own writing my thesis. The comment that I received from the professor was that it was a disaster, so disorganized that she couldn’t even read it. At the time it didn’t cross my mind that if that was the case, how did she know it was a disaster. My only solace was that there was one other student in the class who received more or less the same feedback. In fact, the professor gave us the feedback simultaneously. We were both women of Asian descent.

    After workshops, we scheduled meetings with our professors to go over the work one-on-one in more detail (or something like that). To pour salt in the wound, this professor wanted to schedule our meetings at her apartment. I think that this was supposed to be some big deal: like the professor was so gracious as to welcome students into her home. But this professor lived across town. And most students lived near the university. After I scheduled the meeting with her at the end of the workshop, she turned to schedule with the other student who had received the same “this was unreadable” comment. The other student said something along the lines of, “if you weren’t able to read it, then there’s nothing to talk about and no need for a meeting.”

    Damn. I wish I had thought enough of myself to do the same. But I didn’t. I think part of me still thought I would show up to the meeting and, I don’t know, she would have changed her mind? Or she would have read it in the meantime and had more, you know, helpful things to say? Needless to say, she didn’t. When I was younger, I was always giving the wrong people second chances.

    I must have trekked across town because I remember sitting in her apartment with a cup of tea which she had offered and I had accepted because I thought that was the right thing to do. She couldn’t find a saucer or small plate and I told her it was fine. And I remember she said, “isn’t the tea bag going to bump against your lips?” And it was such a weird concern to me. Like, if you’re so worried about that, then just find a fucking plate or bowl for me and let me make the decision. And also, “you’re so worried about my lip coming in contact with a fucking tea bag when what you should be thinking about is the tens of thousands of dollars in tuition that I’m paying for you to read my fucking pages and have something helpful to say.”

    But, honestly, I didn’t have those thoughts until much later.

    “Pretty hard to hear feedback like that?” she said to me.

    “Oh no. It’s fine.” I might have low enough self worth that I was willing to cross the entirety of this island city on the off-chance that this person who had already proven herself to be unable to do her job was going to redeem herself, but I wasn’t going to break down in her apartment. Somehow, part of me thought that maybe that’s what she was trying to do? I implicitly (and wrongly) trusted professors and teachers and assumed that there must be some sort of greater plan or lesson behind this whole interaction. There wasn’t.

    This whole incident was one of the most obviously toxic moments of my MFA program, but there were other ones. The cumulative effect of these small jabs is that I really struggled with my writing and, as a result, my self worth. I hate that these individuals had so much say in how I valued myself.

    I’d like to end this post with some sort of redemption arc for myself. But, also, it’s necessary to sit with these moments of pain and toxicity, allow them to move through before jumping into “light and love.” Not everything is linear, which would be boring anyway. Besides, maybe where I want to end this post is actually where I started it.

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