March 16, 2026
I've been thinking about language a lot. Partly because of my linguistics class, but also because of how I participate in conversations. I consider my intuition one of my best qualities. Not in the wow I'm so intuitive way, but in the sense that I feel I can observe someone or a situation and really gain indicators about it. About a person, about a moment. And in that sense, I feel like I can be intuitive about language too.
Things people say are indicators of who they are, but what they don't say sometimes feels greater than what can be heard, because it sits in the room anyway. Not to say that what people do say doesn’t hold weight, because it does. But the act of omission is present for a reason… right?
Words hold power. I remember someone on TikTok years ago saying they stopped saying “bless you” to people because they were technically telling them to “be less you.” I kind of giggled about it at first, but then I was like.. hold on,, there’s something there.. While I don’t agree with that specific statement, I do agree that words and phrases are powerful.
There’s something about manifestation and speaking truth into existence, but also something about the unconscious mind. If you say something enough, you might start to believe it. Like if I were to say I am sad, it’s different from saying I feel sad. I am not permanently sad, but yes, I am feeling sad. And if things are said consistently, there might be some unconscious thread to it now.
Sometimes someone will say something and forget they said it, and then I’ll be like, hey, remember when you mentioned blah blah blah And they’ll be like, yeah.. I never said that. Now I’m thinking: what is the truth then? What was said in the moment, or the lack of importance placed on remembering it now? And which one should I understand as more real?
Ugh, I don’t know. Maybe it can be true then but also true now. Maybe it could be important at the moment but presently disregarded.
But to get to the point, I’m writing this because I feel very intentional about what I say. I don’t like to react, I try to respond. I've had many conversations where I am saying exactly what I feel, and somehow my words still get misconstrued. It’s frustrating, because part of how I communicate is with grace, and even in my frustration I feel like I have to show grace.
Like, I think maybe one crash out would be okay. Or maybe it wouldn’t. Or maybe I would be seen only through that one crash out and not through all the instances I handled with grace. Grace now has become so nauseating that I have to choke it down.
And I am so fixated on my words. Like, how can I show people the gravity my words carry without showing a reaction? Would the reaction make my words more serious? Make them less forgettable? my words feel wrapped in cotton because I refuse to yell.
February 12, 2026
This is a reflection I wrote for a reading. If you’d like to read Greene's paper I'm linking it here. I wrote this in my car next to a lecture hall for free wifi. I was paranoid about getting a parking ticket and my coffee was also hitting and bubble guts were brewing.
etc etc .. —--
We should question why Standard English is treated as the natural or neutral default. In reality, that “default” status is socially constructed and sustained through power. Greene’s discussion of African American Language (AAL) makes clear that AAL is linguistically rich and structurally complex. In many ways, it is more flexible and expressive than what we label as “standard” English, yet it is rarely recognized for that complexity. Instead, we attach sociopolitical meanings to it, marking it as informal, improper, or deficient. That reflex reveals how deeply standard language ideology shapes the way we think. Most of us internalize these beliefs without ever realizing we have.
When I try to trace where my own feelings about certain languages began, I can’t pinpoint a single moment. I, and like most people, was socialized in a context where standard language ideology was so normalized that it felt natural. I remember speaking Spanish comfortably in elementary school and occasionally in middle school. By high school, though, I stopped using it publicly. I still spoke Spanish at home, but at school it no longer felt like just a language. It became a marker.
The meanings attached to Spanish were shaped by the same standard language ideologies that teach us to value proximity to whiteness and linguistic assimilation. Standard language ideology and raciolinguistics are so pervasive that they can lead native speakers to internalize prejudice against their own language.
Here is a summary from another reading that I find fitting:
The lost object is racially disparaged objects at the face of assimilation (racially disparaged objects can include the manner in which you speak. For example speaking with an accent becomes racially disparaged in the U.S.) the melancholia process is whereby the racialized subject holds onto these disparaged objects through an act of love – you continue to speak with your accent, though it is hated by the dominant group. Eng and Han write, “This preservation of the threatened object might be seen, then, as a type of ethical hold on the part of the melancholic ego. The mourner, in contrast, has no such ethics. The mourner is perfectly content with killing off the lost object, declaring it to be dead yet again within the domain of the psyche”. Therefore, their main argument is that holding onto these racially disparaged objects in the face of assimilation is an act of melancholic love, and to simply assimilate, mourn and replace that object (i.e speaking without an accent for example) can be internalized hate to the self and heritage.
African American Language, like Spanish, is complex and rule-governed. The fact that it may be difficult for non-speakers to understand does not make it inferior. In the United States, we often colonize language in subtle ways, framing certain varieties as deficient while leaving the racial hierarchies embedded in those judgments unspoken.
AAL thrives within its cultural and historical context. When someone outside that context attempts to use it without understanding its roots, the disconnect becomes visible. Language carries history, identity, and struggle. To engage with it responsibly requires an awareness of its sociopolitical positioning and its place within raciolinguistic systems. Language is never neutral. It is always tied to power, and as a tool, reveals what is not explicitly spoken.
February 10, 2026
My mother is the first landscape I discovered.
She makes her indent next to me on the hill I call home. She is the hummingbird’s kiss i chose to tattoo on my back for comfort. I walk with her through symbolic rituals in my day-to-day to soothe the want in my chest. She warmed my milk and reminded me not to pick my scabs. I grew up, and what hurt no longer bled where she could see it.
She was born to a mother and father who soon became the lake and forest by her house. Mother, for her, was the slickness of algae on her skin, sticking long after she was out of the water. Father was the whisper of breeze guiding her home one arm at a time. She had no way to account for her birthday, so she chose the 10th of February because it just felt right. She learned arithmetic by tending the lives birthed after her. Reading and writing came through documentation of her siblings’ lives. They would have birthdays because she was there. What she gave me was real, even if it was incomplete. My mom is a good mother
November 21, 2025
I am 22 years old and 23 seems to be the stalker around every corner.
We’re on our way to Tahoe, my dad is driving and my mom is recording sparse pine trees gradually joining a forest. I feel like a 22 year old child. i am in awe especially when I see snow so delicately glazed over the arms of the pines. I put on the new khc album to compliment my immersion better and my eyes are turning dry from analyzing the mountains. — before I put on khc the only thought in my head was: I FEEL.. EMOTIONALLL... LANDSCAPES.. THEY PUZZLE ME….I am trying to take it all in and stressing at the thought of losing this view and memory one day. I think it's been years since I was a passenger in my parent’s car and the time before this one I hadn't thought to take note, so this time I will remember. The snow makes me think of childhood in a more positive light which I find funny considering I never experienced snow as a child. It holds a nostalgic evocation that I keep chasing, so I think sitting in the backseat while my dad drives is very fitting for the mind's occasion.
October 22, 2025
God, my nervous system feels like it's been hit by a train, flung into the air, caught by a bird , eaten by said bird, shit out, and dragged all over the concrete by a bunch of passersby. Earlier this week i went to the park with my dog who i cant help but mention is blind and albino. I walk around aimlessly sometimes listening to music other times just the wind to let her get her sensory stimuli in for the day. While I'm walking though I tend to be looking at the ground,, a lot,, and I realize I do mostly everywhere. Maybe it's just my best vantage point as a 5 '2 woman lol. But not really.. I notice this while I'm walking on campus a lot and I think of the popular motivational sayings that revolve around not looking down: (“keep your head up”,”eyes on the prize, not at the ground” etc etc whatever whatever). But honestly looking down has brought me so many prizes that I seem to have been the only one ever in the world to stare at the ground. I found a hundred dollar bill opening the door for someone, a silver class ring while walking up some steps, and recently a lady bug between some grass blades. If i were a superhero my power would be looking down and noticing. Which I think is the root. it's not the lack of people looking down, it's just the lack of people noticing what's going on around them. one man's [disregard] is another [woman's] treasure - if only she’s looking down to see it.
October 11, 2025
October 07, 2025
I feel a pit in the left side of my chest, a knot in my throat, a blur in my vision. I'm trying to massage the knot away, and I keep blinking so much that I hope the girl in front of me only notices her computer. I'm a little exhausted; I woke up on the wrong side of the couch-cushion-bed I'm currently occupying. Nothing in the room department has hit, really, but I'm hopeful that it’ll come so I’m waiting, all doe-eyed, watching my Facebook messages.
Some other *things* never change, and I have to accept that.. but acceptance is exhausting. I feel a little [redacted] right now, but I’ve got this hat of optimism I wear at times when the swelling of stress in my head has subsided just enough for it to fit.
A swelling, an irritated pimple, a throbbing bone after you've just banged it against some steel—my head.
—-------- Celine just texted, and I have to meet her now, but I just wanted to write about my exhaustion to make sure that pimple doesn’t pop.
October 02, 2025
I am back at ucla this week after spending 3 months back home at my parents house. In my academic & personal journey I would say nothing compares to the friction I experienced within those 3 months. Nothing at all.. Everyday was a cycle of digesting and stomaching. What surprisingly kept me present was sitting outdoors and doing a combination of reminiscing, ruminating, and reflecting.
Anyway, so I'm back now, and though some things are still not all the way sorted through, it would be a disservice to myself to become frictionless under force.
Friction is present when I'm fighting to wake up at my alarm's request lol. It's present as I walk to class in the most basic example of the steps I take. It's there when I choose to go to a new club meeting where doing anything for the first time is friction in itself. Avoiding friction seems easier, but it’s friction that makes momentum meaningful, it lets us grasp, guide, and feel the ride.
I just wanted to share a little of what's been going on in my head to keep me going. When things are tough they are reallyyy tough but our mindset on these experiences shape how we let them affect us. Sometimes these experiences feel fixed & while they can be our mind will always remain malleable upon practice.
In other important news:
Dr. Jane Goodall was set to speak at my university tomorrow. She is/was my greatest inspiration in overall philosophy. When I reflect on my academic journey and where I'd hope to end up I imagine the work of Jane's. To her, the work she produced seemed as instinctual as the behavior she was observing.. I feel connected to Jane in this respect. I am proud to be called an Anthropologist because of this. Here's a poem of hers that i find beautifully concurrent:
THE OLD WISDOM (By Jane Goodall)
When the night wind makes the pine trees creak
And the pale clouds glide across the dark sky,
Go out my child, go out and seek
Your soul: The Eternal I.
For all the grasses rustling at your feet
And every flaming star that glitters high
Above you, close up and meet
In you: The Eternal I.
Yes, my child, go out into the world; walk slow
And silent, comprehending all, and by and by
Your soul, the Universe, will know
Itself: the Eternal I.
September 17, 2025
What's going on?
I'm around animals every day and I love it. I feel like I have a special pull toward them .. in dreams they often appear, as prey or predators, showing up symbolically for me to try to pick apart. Sometimes saying this out loud feels trivial so I don't share it with just anyone.
How do I tell my mom that the reason I haven't eaten today is because I'm in mourning? I'm grieving the loss of my friend, the snail. I noticed him one night while feeding the neighborhood strays, and after that noticing him became part of my routine. Often when I share how deeply I feel about animals I'm met with ridicule or i can just tell they dont fully get it — whatever. That's not the problem, I'm not trying to change anyone's reaction. This is just a rant about how lonely it feels sometimes.
September 13, 2025
The story of Orpheus and Eurydice has always enticed me in its evocation. The memory resurfaced recently while I was rewatching a video of isobelsweb.com and me walking along a trail lined with buzzing bees. In the clip, I turn around to meet her after I’ve crossed, and I caught myself wondering what it would mean if I hadn’t. The turn was instinctive—a quiet impulse to pause and continue the trail together. I thought of Orpheus, whose turn meant loss, while mine meant arrival, leaving the story in my mind for days.
This muse lingered awhile. Last weekend I stayed at a Motel 6 in San Diego. It was 3:27 a.m. The television offered about thirty channels, and I was too curious to resist the small gamble of cable TV. I landed on a single frame I recognized instantly—Adèle Haenel in Portrait of a Lady on Fire. It honestly startled me because it’s hardly the sort of movie you expect to stumble upon in a roadside motel. More startling was that, within the five-minute window of dialogue, the characters began discussing Orpheus and Eurydice.
To me, this was chance weaving its final thread through ancient myth, a fleeting video, and a film I admire. A coincidence at first glance, but really jigsaw pieces of stories waiting beneath the surface, rising and connecting when life accidentally rhymes with them.
Maybe that’s what fascinates me: how hauntingly casual these echoes can be. You capture something in seconds, and suddenly it’s Orpheus and Eurydice, it’s Portrait of a Lady on Fire, it’s me and it’s Isobel. The myth isn’t confined to the past. It’s an everyday ghost shadowing ordinary moments with unexpected beauty.
September 6, 2025
Find a penny and pick it up; all day long you’ll have good luck. Look at the moon—it’s a full one (but don’t point at it, or you’ll have bad luck). 3 a.m. is a bad time to be awake, worse if i hear an owl's hoot. one persons luck is another persons unlucky —------- When I was in third grade, my classmate’s name was Heaven, and all I could think about was how juxtaposed we were: she had straight platinum blonde hair, and I had dark curly hair—plus my name was (Hel)en. I was scared this meant something lol. Well, I saw her at my local grocery store the other day, and it made me remember the fun little annotation I had about her in my head.
September 5, 2025
started up my blog page so i can start dumping my thoughts. for example today i thought about how my nightmare job would be to work at a deli. too much meat and one too many bacteria.
April 10, 2025
Went to the beach today while the sun was still out. I didn’t realize how much time had passed since I last saw Santa Monica like that. Pretty dumb of me to have only visited at night all those times—but I guess that has to do with me feeling invincible sometimes.
It was nice. I walked around for a bit and people-watched, although it felt kind of weird. LA people seem a little performative. Idk it just doesn’t feel as present as other places do. It was pretty packed and I forgot people actually go swimming there which had me cringing. I feel like that is California's Hudson River equivalent. I need to go swimming in the ocean again soon, but definitely not there.
I tried to look for some shells, but I went into it with low expectations. I don’t really feel like I’m getting much out of Santa Monica anyway. I would’ve preferred to go to Malibu, but the PCH is still recovering from the fires. Buttt at the end of the day it is the beach and I can't really complain about that. I'm just glad it's only a drive away.
It was really nice to feel the sand molding to the shape of my feet again. I hadn’t walked barefoot in the sand for a while. I’m usually worried my feet will get too cold and then I’ll have to adjust.
Things are okay. Walking and watching keeps me sane. Life feels kind of surreal right now.
April 1, 2025
I chose San Francisco as the place I’d enjoy during my final spring break before graduating in June. San Francisco has always been a place of hope for me, a world in which I can imagine myself becoming anyone.
I remember the first time I visited when I was four years old. My godparents were visiting from Mexico and my dad had worked extra hours to prepare for the road trip. I wasn’t sure what to expect, but what I had in mind was the red bridge. something I’d seen painted on people’s chests to signify they had been there too.
The unveiling of San Francisco was perfect. My dad had been driving all night, and it was morning when we finally approached the city. I was so excited that I ended up staying up all night with him. The first street we drove on made the cars in front of ours disappear so that the windshield was completely covered by the sky. I was bewildered. The hilled streets were my first admiration of the city. We drove through all parts of San Francisco and I fell in love with watching its residents. Teenagers skating at the park and couples holding hands with flowers in the backdrop, it all felt so romantic to me. A slow-paced life full of love.
Then returning to SF In Spring of 2022 I met Susan. She remains a great inspiration in my mind. She’s lived such a full life, which makes me excited to live mine and eventually be able to tell the stories. I reminisce on our conversations a lot. I've always felt like I gravitate towards older people in awe of their minds. She reminds me of the passage of time. of creating memories that will keep you company when you’re alone with your thoughts. I’ve met so many great people because of Susan, and she’s granted me such insight on life that I feel is a privilege to hold at 21.
On the first day of my recent visit I spent all day roaming around letting my curiosity lead me to places I had observed from the backseat of my dads car. I might have picked the wrong shoes to walk 10 miles but It was fulfilling for me nonetheless. Along the way I knew I wanted to go see Susan but when I got there I was so sad to hear she had moved to Colorado already. I spent the next few days gathering memories she’d left behind, compiling them so they could eventually reunite with her. Learning about her life through objects or planners she kept was timeless for me, the more I learned the more I wondered about my life. How old I feel at times or how often I feel I've seen it all.
It’s truly wild to think that the life I’m living now is only a fraction of what’s to come. I spent my last day staring down at her garden except this time there were no sun rays painting hues of green across her grass & no Susan to bounce admiration for her flowers off of. I sat for a while before it started to rain and I had to go fetch an umbrella from inside.
I thought about how many times I had sat on those stairs memorizing the skyline. How funny it is to feel like something will consume you whole only to find yourself years later sitting in that same spot with a different reason for that pit in your chest.
It was a difficult time. Not just saying goodbye to my conversations with Susan, but also bidding farewell to the version of me who had visited her home in the past & the company I held then. I wasn't prepared to turn the page, it's not what I wanted but it happened.
I think sitting on those stairs for the final time was one of the hardest moments of my life. I wanted to memorize every brick, shell, and clover patch that I could. I was alone for only a moment until the universe found me. I saw something hopscotching across the stepping stones & once I figured it out we were now in an undeclared staring contest. I had never seen a cat in her garden before. It stared at me with its glistening green eyes that were so pretty they replaced those green hues I was missing before.
In a moment when I needed comfort, I was soothed. The cat came, consoled, and then left.
a bittersweet goodbye.
a trip full of goodbyes.
I went through heartbreak on this trip, it happened in the car while Molly was driving. I was transported back to my highschool years, how Molly and I would go on drives because she had gotten her driver's permit so young which meant we could go and explore at night. How we loved to listen to music on a drive through the orange groves and talk about our teen heartaches. Now here I was again, present day, my heart split in two, seeking comfort in the passenger seat of my bestfriends car.
Throughout the trip, I became every version of myself — the child, the teen, the confused young adult. I lived them all again. I’m so grateful to be walking beside her still. no matter the strife that accompanies the uphills.
