so who do you think i am?

I don't have a favorite composer. I don't have a Twitter or TikTok or Snapchat and I refuse to make accounts. I don't have a dual citizenship or a Chinese accent, or maybe it's too far buried under my American sensibilities. I don't have photos of me in crop tops even though I wear crop tops. I don't have the courage to go on California Screaming or the steep zipline off the third level of a ropes course. I don't have 20/20 vision or good posture or a straight spine. I don't have the courage to ask a celebrity for an autograph. I don't have parents who can understand me in English. I have neither allergies nor the itch to become a full-time artist. I do not have what it takes.¹

I don't have anything to talk about today, so I'll talk about what I've left behind. I left my alternate selves, the Isabel who's a chemical engineer or environmental scientist, and they are as removed from me like sisters I never knew I had, ships in the night. I left my dreams of being an artist or musician or filmmaker, at least full-time, at least for now, and the prospects of being so talented I could get by with just myself. Now I'm old enough to know that sometimes we have no choice but to leave things behind, but that the ones we choose not leave behind are the ones that create the gravity for us to adhere to ourselves and our world. I'm not a meteor or an astronaut; I prefer to be a tree and the bird that lives within it.



^{1. inspired by Kit Zauhar's Intro Through Absence}

my identity: always under construction.

i am not anonymous, and i don't want to be. i'm more American than Chinese. i only existed since 2003. i'm nearsighted and righthanded and lost. i'm inv(isabel). i do not intend to scare you on tomorrow's feed or your email inbox. i do not exchange this handle like an eye or an eye, a follower for a following. i do not write to sell my soul like a tennis shoe.¹

i believe i should write as if my words run through radio waves, imperceptible except to those who know where to tune in. i do not know of your existence and won't stop to inquire your intentions. 1. "Pandora's Vox: On Community in Cyberspace" (1994)

it's far too possible to find me elsewhere; a couple queries on conventional search engines and i once again become a falsely polished presentation on the white background of a corporate website. but wherever else you find me, this is the only place i remain, invisabel and invisabel and invisabel. i'm here because i believe the handmade web can become a transformative tool for self-expression and identity formation. i'm here because i'm more than the 10-second stories or 10-photo slides of curated moments with snarky one-line captions. i'm here because i'm imperfect, and won't pretend to be otherwise. the internet can be a beautifully flawed place if we make it so.