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writer with a lowercase w (on writing in a life full of limitations

Last Sunday, my laptop broke for the third time this year. The first time was my fault: I stupidly left a bottle of water unscrewed in my backpack, only realizing my error once I saw my backpack leaking all over the linoleum floor. By the time I pulled out my poor laptop, it was too late to resuscitate it. The second time was Best Buy's fault: the refurbished replacement they sent me turned out to be tied to a former Doordash employee, and despite powerwashing the machine ad nauseam, it never let me bypass the security set-up screen. And the third time was a cruel trick from fate, who decided it would be funny to crash my new laptop's entire system right in the middle of my scheduling a doctor's appointment.  All of that's a long way to explain why I'm sitting in the laundromat, mooching off their free WiFi and typing this post on a Chrome tablet that looks like an upscale Fisher Price toy. And, man, would you believe me if I told you this is somehow the most I'
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My name is Mo Kim, I'm a teacher, and I'm not okay.

Dear colleague: My name is Mo Kim, I'm a high school teacher, and I'm not okay. I have held onto this letter for months now. I've turned it over in my head like a worksheet I can't solve. I've clenched it between my gums as if that would stop the bleeding. But even when I hold this in, it seeps out of me one word at a time. A cranky comment slips out of my mouth towards my Block 3. A "how are you?" from a colleague turns into an impromptu  20-minute  vent session.  I repeat all the classic teacher mantras to myself:  Focus on the positives. Take it one day at a time. Think about solutions, not problems.  And still, four months into the year, I feel as if I'm slowly shattering. Last Wednesday, as I make my way across the room during staff meeting, I stumble. My half-finished lunch spills across the floor and I spill with it. Tears filling my eyes, I rush to grab napkins, kneel on the carpet, watch as people help me pick up peas and carrots and grains
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Put your fucking hands together, 2020 (a love letter to Charli XCX and educators everywhere)

I've been trying to figure out why I've been so captivated by this old video of Charli XCX launching into a tirade performance at Melt Festival in 2013 . It first made the rounds on Twitter in 2018, when her now-famous words "does anyone fucking know this fucking song?" became the meme of the day, and it still resurfaces from time to time (which explains how I encountered it on my feed two years later). Witness it in all its raw glory: Mood: annoyed Charli XCX trying to pump up a boring crowd pic.twitter.com/rZlyuJSMb2 — Here tf is sticky 🚫👼 fell off era (@Wheretfissticky) June 10, 2018 The easiest way to read this video is as a confrontation rife with schadenfreude : here's a pop star with a #1 hit, bewildered by this lot and how incredibly unwilling they are to "put their fucking hands together." Unstoppable force, meet immovable audience. And sure, it's fun to imagine ourselves as a part of that big crowd. Get your ticket. Find your seat. See
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Loneliness, self-love, and the strength to keep going in Lee Hi's "HOLO"

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I woke up last Wednesday morning with my left shoulder out-of-place. Unable to sleep the night before, I had wrapped my arms around my pillow, conjuring a warm body in its place. There was nobody left when I opened my eyes - just a phantom throb. A reminder of emptiness. It is stubborn, this ghost. It has lived with me for most of my life; during those teenage years when I gradually recognized that the same queerness my youth pastors and parents condemned held home in my heart; during the 4 years of college where I struggled with (and ultimately began growing into) my identity as a queer person and a survivor; and even now, when I have filled my life with a job I love and friendships I can't believe I have and hobbies old and new. It returns home when I least expect it, whispering the same shameful messages I've memorized like bad Scripture: How could you be this old and still feel so stuck in the same old family dynamics? Isn't it lonely, being the one to break away from t
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