Hygge in Springtime

It's 2022.04.01 on the lunar calendar today.

The above photo was sent around to appease my sister, who complained that I wasn't sending any good pictures of the new place. She bought it for me from Scandinavian Designs after we sat on a number in search of my first sofa. I've been enjoying daytime naps without having to change into pajamas, folding myself into the corner created between the base and the pink pouf, and sitting atop the very comfortable piece of furniture (currently a bit too plush but it'll wear down over time).

I've been continuing to daydream about a home music video series—music of the mundane. I've got ideas on the back burner including whistling kettle improvisations that I've been wanting to do for years but needed a full stovetop for, a "how to paint interior walls" composition vaguely inspired by Philip Glass' "Satyagraha" (or what I've seen of it online) and music using found objects, incorporating the melody of Korean and Japanese appliances and other things around the home.

Apartment Tour Video

Having watched many a tiny home and apartment tour video on YouTube, I made my own—with plenty of music mixed in. I measured my now-old place for this video and was surprised to learn just how small it was. Two pianos (plus two gayageums) in 215 square feet? Sometimes I impress even myself.

On Synchronicity

Reading Jung's essay on synchronicity (meaningful coincidences), where he gave the example of running into a friend after thinking of him, brought to mind a fellow resident at International House NYC, who became my friend after she eagerly accepted a piece of citrus I was peeling in the hallway on one of our first days of school. We'd joke that we had telepathy after I'd run into her on multiple occasions after thinking of her. It could be attributed to the fact that we both walked up and down Riverside regularly and frequently. Fun times ... We don't keep in touch regularly but message each other every couple years. 

It seemed beyond mere probability when I woke not two days later to a slew of iMessages from Ritva, who has long since returned home to Finland, saying she dreamt of I-House and thought of me in the morning! Looks like the ocean poses no barrier to telepathy :)

88 Sq Ft of Wonder

The coziest space I've lived in thus far is an 8x11" room at I-House. You can see it marked in the image (photo from I-House's socials). I lived in one of the towers with one neighbor on my floor—whom Ritva described as "the most beautiful man in I-House"—and loved to hear his boisterous baritone whenever he would sing, which was often.

When Kim's sister was visiting from Norway, a giant flying cockroach visited my room and she—the sister, not the roach—kept me company for a bit as I stared down the roach. Aside from the roaches, it was home. The sound of the 1 train rattling to/from the 125th Street station was a comfort and I remember the fragrant spring air that moved through my windows. Thoughtful friends would sometimes leave goodies hanging on my keycard doorknob. There was a practice room I liked in particular, which hosted many long stretches of singing and composing into the night. In the dining room, I would mull over dinner choices until Vincent there would give me a sample and say "you ain't no rabbit" whenever I'd finally settle on the hearty option. I was no rabbit, it's true. I was a kid-adult in my twenties in a time of wonder ... I'm reminded that a period of wonder doesn't have to be over in a different place and time when synchronicity abounds (see also: 🥐 in my apt tour video).

One of my most-loved CDs is of the Nordic Chamber Choir singing Morten Lauridsen 💿 Listen to O Magnum Mysterium to calm a racing heart.

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