a pink stapler, and a photograph of korean farmers in snoop dogg hats, my desk is a messy kitchen, yellow tracing paper amok, inked up with dirty plans and elevations of potential apartments and restaurants. i have a shelf dedicated to thicky architecture books and magazines (colorful, crazy stuff), and another for the drawings that i do (black and white, corporate.) i am afraid of tuesdays, it’s the day we meet with our clients, and the day we discover another impossible wish they’d like to see done. i want an open kitchen! a grill room! a wine cellar! three elevators! a grand staircase made out of glass!
i guess my job is a lot like tetris, level 10.
i’m twenty-three now, and this architecture me wonders where the old me went. i feel like i need to catch up with life, so i go out and play less, dedicate more time to the office to prove myself, make-up for the insecurities i have about knowing so little in the face of so much. the theatre, the poetry, and the theory i was so fond of in america can’t keep me afloat here!
i’m winding my muscles, stretching my skin, all this that i love will stitch together soon, it will.