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    Lynn Kim Do

    there's nothing to hide and no one to hide from, especially yourself













    Who else do we spend more time with than ourselves? Conversations in our heads with ourselves. Long stares and quick glances from ourselves to ourselves. Sing to ourselves. Curse at ourselves. Pinch ourselves. Wear 6 inch stilettos to torture ourselves. Harsh judgement to ourselves come too easy. Kind supportive words less frequent. Instagram feels suffocated with fake all-day-every-day curation of happiness and success. New York moves too fast to acknowledge “feelings.” There are millions of people out here hustling, maybe even harder than I am. Sleeping less than I am. Talking to more people than I do. Putting in more energy than I have to give.

    But be kind. Be kind to myself.

    Dear self, 
    I will softly pick your head up from your shoulder and whisper “Baby, you are doing so well.” I will tuck the strands of hair one by one off your face, kiss your forehead, and say “I believe in you.” I will wrap my hands around your waist and squeeze until your organs squish out of place, until it’s hard to catch your breath and say, “I will be here to pick you up.” Or “If you want to stay here a while longer, I can stay here with you, too.” I will seep a tea bag in a cup of warm water, drizzle some honey, hand you the mug with both hands, and watch the steam encompass your face while you take your first sip. I will remind you of every little accomplishment you made, write them in a list that will fill two king size bedrooms. I will say “Look how long you’ve come. You’re on the journey of joy that no one before you have ever dared to tread.” I will wipe your tears with my own fingers. Press my DNA onto your cheeks. And say “You will do great things.”

    Images by Vinh Luong
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    . January 30, 2018 .

    Be Kind To Yourself

    . January 30, 2018 .













    Who else do we spend more time with than ourselves? Conversations in our heads with ourselves. Long stares and quick glances from ourselves to ourselves. Sing to ourselves. Curse at ourselves. Pinch ourselves. Wear 6 inch stilettos to torture ourselves. Harsh judgement to ourselves come too easy. Kind supportive words less frequent. Instagram feels suffocated with fake all-day-every-day curation of happiness and success. New York moves too fast to acknowledge “feelings.” There are millions of people out here hustling, maybe even harder than I am. Sleeping less than I am. Talking to more people than I do. Putting in more energy than I have to give.

    But be kind. Be kind to myself.

    Dear self, 
    I will softly pick your head up from your shoulder and whisper “Baby, you are doing so well.” I will tuck the strands of hair one by one off your face, kiss your forehead, and say “I believe in you.” I will wrap my hands around your waist and squeeze until your organs squish out of place, until it’s hard to catch your breath and say, “I will be here to pick you up.” Or “If you want to stay here a while longer, I can stay here with you, too.” I will seep a tea bag in a cup of warm water, drizzle some honey, hand you the mug with both hands, and watch the steam encompass your face while you take your first sip. I will remind you of every little accomplishment you made, write them in a list that will fill two king size bedrooms. I will say “Look how long you’ve come. You’re on the journey of joy that no one before you have ever dared to tread.” I will wipe your tears with my own fingers. Press my DNA onto your cheeks. And say “You will do great things.”

    Images by Vinh Luong
    _____________________________


    . January 23, 2018 .







     





    I’ve never been to a restaurant and said, “I want to live here” and actually meant it in all the literal sense. Every single corner in Fairfax is cozy, aesthetically pleasing, and well thought out. But not in a systematic way or a “this will get us a bunch of tags” kinda way. It’s for the love of the space. It’s absolutely refreshing. I love this place so much I drag myself here from Brooklyn once a week at 8:15am or 8:34am because I’m always late. You’ll most likely find me in the back couches with a laptop and a matcha latte. I take many morning meetings here, too, or just catch up sessions. The waiters are attentive and super friendly. I came here once for brunch and they went to every table and asked each person for a song to play in the restaurant from their high school days. Brilliant. Now their food, oh my. Where do I begin? I’ve tried their entire menu damn near. And everything is delicious. Fresh. Balanced. Creative. Their Ronnybrook Yogurt creation drizzled in honey and topped with figs and pistachios is divine. Their Gravlax is nothing I’ve ever tasted before. And their simple Petit Omelette is anything but simple. You simply can’t go wrong here. So close your eyes and just place your finger somewhere on the menu and I promise you won’t be disappointed.


    Order this:
    Ronnybrook Yogurt
    Gravlax
    Petit Omelette
    Frittata (Brunch menu only)

    Great for:
    Meetings
    Laptop Work Sesh
    Catching Up With Friends
    Date
    Impressing Your Parents

    Price Per Plate:
    >$12

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    Breakfast 8am - 11am on weekdays. 
    Brunch 8am - 3pm on weekends.
    234 W 4th St,
    New York, NY 10014 

    Images by Lynn Kim Do & Thao LeBlanc
    . January 15, 2018 .












    Surround yourself by the prettiest things. And when I say pretty, I’m not talking about pretty people or pretty artwork or “that shit is pretty expensive” shit. I mean the deep rich feeling of pretty that exists in layers beneath the surface, the face, the frame. The feelings of attachment that’s inexplicable or, perhaps, brings you to too many words gathering at the tip of your tongue.

    As a creative, an actress, an artist, I am moved and impacted by my surrounding. I have to be. You have to be. And we have to understand that sensation. The energy. Especially if we want to create something that will impact the world ourselves. We have great responsibilities. To me, artists are humanity’s keeper. We’re the vessel that nurtures it. So don’t blame me for taking my responsibility and my vessel quite personally. And don’t blame me if I want to decorate that vessel a bit and make sure that the 5 ft radius around my vessel is all but inspiration and pleasing, aesthetically and internally. This notion bleeds over to people, too. People I keep around. The only people worth my time are people with bellies full from genuine love and kinetic creative energy. Our vessel—our home—is too important to hoard useless and ugly feelings, people, and things.

    Images by Sofia Bibliowicz
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    . January 11, 2018 .






    My sanity is perpetrated by my future. My sanity is denied by my present. My sanity is lying in my past. 
    And there lies my past, sitting in 26 boxes covered in 10 layers of dust. Boxes I have to go through. Delicate issues wrapped in bubblewrap that I have yet to uncover and “deal” with. Hand-me-downs I have to donate. Pages and pages of notebooks and frames I have to set fire to. Sanity is the tape that holds these boxes together, neatly compartmentalized. Waiting for me to come back and settle the score. Sanity lies within the future. Within the life I decide to make, whatever that looks like, I’m still unsure. In the decisions that will affect the next course of actions, and then the next course of decisions, all leading to a future with “sanity” as the outcome or at least having apart of it. Presently, I don’t have the privilege to relish in sanity. There’s moments of sanity, sure. Of peace. Of feeling utterly grateful and blissed. But I see it as a luxury, a taste of what’s to come, and honestly, I don’t even want sanity right now. I don’t want full bliss or peace or contentment. I can’t function on bliss. I can only thrive in tension. Good tension. Bad tension. It is the stimulant I need to create. I’m hungry. I am too hungry to sit still. Too hungry to be patient. I am anxious because I have so much to do. And after that list is checked off, there’s another list waiting for me. So I move, work through my day, moment by moment, trying to make my future sane self proud. So that the sane future me could never say, “I didn’t work hard enough.” I will be enough.

    Images by Pedro Angel Morales
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    . January 4, 2018 .













    I can feel every fiber of my being. But it’s different. It feels foreign. My hands look different. It’s softer. More assertive in every punch into a key. It’s delicate and expressive like the leather on my favorite novel. My face tougher. Taking emotional punches to the chin. It formed calluses to take on the strongest and unexpected right hooks. But more often than not, it relinquishes my mind of any control and goes rogue (also known as resting bitch face). My heart more empty. It carries less weight. Paying a visit to all these homes, doors opening in front of it with the naivety of a 12 year old girl. But how nomadic my heart is, opening another door, closing, and leaving abruptly, it learned not to leave it’s toothbrush and say “I love you” to every host. And my mind heavy. Heavy in aspirations. In conviction. In pumping blood. I imagine the blood being fuchsia, perhaps. Or violet. There’s magic in my mind these days. It’s oozing out of every pore in my body, ready to paint the walls, the streets, the clouds around me.

    From today on, my mind will lead my steps ahead. It’ll shine the way even when the pit feels dark and endless. I’ll trust it. It’s blinding with the deepest streaks of pinks and purple. And so if you’ve known me before today, I’m sorry but I am not the same. You’ll see familiarities in my mannerisms, my smile, even my words. But you see, the light illuminating from my chest, from my mind is different. And if you’re looking for me. You’ll be disappointed if you’re expecting the old me.


    Images by Kim Geronimo & Lynn Kim Do
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    . January 1, 2018 .



    I’ll let you in a fun fact of Lynn Kim Do - New Years is my favorite holiday. In my opinion, It’s the one holiday that evokes change. It is one end to a chapter and a beginning of another. The whole world recognizes it. 2018 will arrive whether I want it to or not. It’s here. How did I welcome it? I mean, what kind of human do I want to be this new year? And so I realized…I am scared to death of 2018. So naturally, I asked myself—Why? Why am I so afraid? What am I afraid of?

    Is it fear of failure? Hmm, a part of it is, yes, but that’s not entirely it. As much as I am scared to fail, I can’t help but to also feel the same way about success. What does both of those things have in common? What is the seed that causes this “fear”? Then I had an AHA moment It is the unknown factor. This is the first year in what seems like my life that I actually have no idea what it may look like, what to expect, what to envision. Everything feels and will be different, quite literally, too. And deep down inside, I can’t shake this sense of fear surrounded by excitement and anxiety. I’ve lived long enough to be able to compare many years. Right before 2018, I left a company I co-founded for two years, I signed a lease with the love of my life ending our border-over-long-distance-streak, and…I have yet to begin to remember the lines for my first professional play. (I really need to do that.) Yeah, so shit is gonna be different. If my life is contained in a metaphorical snow globe, then someone had just grabbed the globe from the bottom and shook it like an asshole. It’s going to be challenging. 2018 holds so much potential but it’s what you do with that potential that makes all the difference. So what now, scaredy cat? Errr, let me change the way I phrased that—What now, you bad bitch?

    I guess, I must hustle. I’ve hustled every year since my very first breath but 2018 is the year of extreme dollar signs, Lynn Kim Do working harder than ever, laying a foundation for what I know I’m passionate about instead of working towards finding my passion. This is the year of SUCCESSES, of mountains and obstacles being climbed and crossed, and not settling. As I mentioned before, the mounting pressure of success IS SCARY. I’ve already put in the work to get here. Made all such sacrifices, took grand risks, left wasteful relationships by the sidelines, and practiced selective attachment. And god, I promise myself that I will never look back. 2018, I will hustle every moment of it.

    Images by Laura Pulgarin
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