Starting Over At “The Second Chance Convenience Store” – Review

I received this book as a birthday gift, and when I realized my birthday was coming soon, I immediately bumped this up my to-read list—and I’m glad I did. Although I started as usual: e.g. read a few pages then put it down for “later,” once I got going, I couldn’t put the book down.

Now, two days later, I’m thankful for the gift that I received a year prior.

“The Second Chance Convenience Store” is a wonderful story that introduces a myriad of different relationships, all centered around one person: Dokgo.

He starts off as a homeless man in Seoul Station. But after retrieving Mrs. Yeom’s wallet from a band of thieves, the two form an unlikely bond that results in the latter offering Dokgo a night shift job at her convenience store, Always Convenience.

When people meet Dokgo for the first time, they are taken aback by his bewildering personality and bear-like appearance. It doesn’t take long for him to learn the ins and the outs of the convenience store, eventually transforming into an outstanding worker that everyone can’t help but adore.

Throughout the various chapters, we see how Dokgo appears to other people and how their view of him changes over time. For most, even if they think badly of him at first, through his persistence and heartfelt actions, he softens their hardened hearts and breaks through their impenetrable shells. By the end of the novel, these individuals are left better off, happier, and moving onto the next chapter of their lives. All of which could be traced back to their encounter with Dokgo.

And in the process of everyone else’s healing, Dokgo finally faces his past, taking small steps to recovery day by day.

What I adored about the book was the simple human connections between characters. That all it took were small pockets of conversation, being there for another person, and small gestures that held great meaning.

Most of all, I appreciated the underlying message “The Second Chance Convenience Store” offered: that it’s never too late to start again. It’s something we hear often, but when we reach a dead end, this can become lost on us as we constantly worry how to survive another day.

Despite being at a dead end, upon meeting Dokgo, these characters are able to find another path in life and effectively start over. Even if they’re fictional, it’s heartwarming to know that starting over is a possibility and that maybe, just maybe, life won’t be so bad after all.

“I Want to Die but I Still Want to Eat Tteokbokki” by Baek Sehee Review

The first time I heard about the author Baek Sehee was through an article announcing her passing. In turn, I also discovered the title of her book “I Want to Die but I Want to Eat Tteokbokki”. Though I didn’t know her or her story, I thought a good way to start would be to find her book. And in doing that, I would also be honoring her life.

So off I went to my local Barnes & Noble, yet I found no copy in sight. A bookseller was even kind enough to look, but none were left in inventory either. However, on the shelves was the sequel “I Want to Die but I Still Want to Eat Tteokbokki”.

Normally, I like to start at the beginning to understand the full context. I could have walked away or asked to be contacted when Baek Sehee’s first book came back on the shelves. However, I decided to go against my usual instincts and take home the sequel instead.

Months later, entirely my own fault, I finally finished it.

I will say this: “I Want to Die but I still Want to Eat Tteokbokki” is not a life-changing story in the traditional sense. Baek Sehee does not go riding off into the sunset with a prince charming towards a happily ever after. So if you’re going into the memoir expecting to feel a sudden change of heart or a big burst of emotions, then this might not be the book for you.

However, if the memoir proves anything, it’s that sometimes you don’t need a polarizing moment to feel a change in your heart. The conversations Baek Sehee has with her therapist shows her trying to make sense of her mental state and navigate why she feels the way she does. And sometimes trying is all we can do in the moment.

Baek Sehee is honest about her feelings, laying her heart bare for the entire world to see. At the start, we see a Sehee in “crisis mode” (as called by her therapist). From a self-harm incident to a scathing remark she finds online, Sehee struggles, but continues to make multiple attempts forward.

Depression can often be described as a dark place, and though the book explores many dark spots, there are also forms of hope. And Sehee shares that sometimes hope can come in the aftermath of a car accident:

“It made me look upon my life anew, with a fresh set of eyes. The things I’d taken for granted suddenly seemed very clear and true. Not because I lived, but because I didn’t die. This may sound strange, but there was some purpose left in me. I wanted to believe that, and to pursue it.” (p. 98)

To many, myself included, Baek Sehee’s “I Want to Die but I still Want to Eat Tteokbokki” is relatable and offers comfort in knowing that we’re not alone. It portrays the difficulty of depression and how navigating one’s mental state can be an overwhelming task.

Now, reading it after she’s passed does add another weight. At the end of reading sessions, I’d wonder “Is it all really worth it?” But when I would pick it back up, I was reminded of a human being’s resilience and desire to live. In “I Want to Die but I still Want to Eat Tteokbokki” we see a person trying, a person wanting to make sense of how she feels, and a person alive. So she still lives on, but in a different way.

Since then, I’ve gone ahead and purchased her first book, eager to return to her story. May Baek Sehee’s story continue to be a reminder to continue trying until the very end. And for anyone who’s struggling, may you find the help that you so rightfully deserve.

Reflecting on 2025

2025 wasn’t what I expected — not at all. Coming into the year, I had very simple goals. I just wanted to be happy and fall in love. While falling in love eluded me once again, finding happiness wasn’t too hard.

I didn’t think I’d travel so much, venturing to California (twice), Las Vegas, and Japan, all in one year. I believed at least one of those trips would be solo, but the universe had other plans. Traveling with other people had its own set of obstacles, but I don’t think I’d trade those experiences with anything in the world.

They showed me that some memories are best made in company and each trip made me realize just how much I love being in a different city. Though I’ll have to scale back the trips, I’d like to be in a plane at least once a year if possible.

However, life has a funny way of hitting us when we least expect it. As the year comes to a close, I find myself thinking about the next steps in my career. It’s not easy, especially when I’ve become so accustomed to working from home and with the same team for several years.

But, I know that if I want to move forward, something needs to change. And that involves me starting somewhere brand new. Whether I’ll continue writing professional or keep it as a precious hobby remains to be seen, but I’m constantly thinking about my options and where I’ll eventually be headed.

This year was quite possibly the best year yet, but it was also a year that the burn out returned and my world started to crumble at my feet. It’s been frightening, sure, but somehow, I’ve been able to find peace in between. Finding those little pockets of sunshine allowed me to continue pushing forward, even into the great unknown.

Now, what’s planned for 2026? I still want to fall in love. But more than that, I want to cultivate my own financial security, land a job that I can be at for years to come, and continue to scratch this travel itch that just won’t go away. So thank you 2025 for everything. And 2026 — I’m excited for you to finally arrive.

Revisiting Japan – 15 Years Later

The last time I visited Japan, it was in the month of June 2010. Back then I was freshly graduated, equipped with nothing but passion and a dream. On that trip, I accompanied my auntie once again, acting as navigator as we traveled around and attended JYJ’s concert.

The Japan I knew then was still lightyears ahead of its time, had a thriving cosplay scene at Jingu bashi (iykyk), and had a slightly different lineup of stores on Takeshita street. It was a dream to be there, but never in my wildest dreams did I think it would take over a decade to return.

So what was Japan like, 15 years later?

It was… different$—$but perhaps in the best ways possible. This time around, I went as an adult with my siblings. I wasn’t tied to any curfews or being underaged. If I truly wanted to, I could head out at 11 PM for a solo adventure of a lifetime. Although I ultimately didn’t, I could have.

By some twist of fate and Godsent coincidence, two of my good friends ended up planning up their Japan trip around the same exact time as mine. Practically the same dates and the same cities, so we were able to meet up several times in Osaka and Tokyo. They provided a safe place to destress from my family.

Though many things felt familiar, I got to experience many things for the first time. It was my first time staying in a hotel room by myself, the first time going to Universal Studios Japan and Disney Sea Japan, the first time traveling with my mom’s side of the family.

Though there were some ups and downs, but ultimately, I loved the experience. It had a mixture of family bonding, adventuring with friends, and quiet moments that I got to have all to myself. Yet if there’s one thing I regret, it’s the fact that this trip felt like such a blur.

Ten days might be adequate for others, but for someone whose trip got hijacked (started planning as a solo trip until siblings asked to come along) it felt like I couldn’t do everything I set out to do. There was also the additional experience of small little arguments that needed to be resolved on the spot before the rest of the trip derailed into a heated mess.

This trip back to Japan had its pros and cons, but it felt like the right time to go and the perfect way to distract myself from everything going on in life. It wasn’t perfect, but it was just what I needed and I think that’s all I could ever ask for.

I think it was essentially, not just for me as an individual, but for us as a family. At the end of the day, we’re never going to be this age again, free to travel and explore without a care in the world. Soon, we’ll have our own little families to worry about. So exploring another country together, despite the obstacles we faced, was much needed and something I’d consider doing again.

Japan definitely isn’t like it was 15 years ago. That version of Japan is long gone and only exists in my memories. But the Japan now is still full of wonder, still miles ahead of the rest of the world, and still a place I’d like to visit over and over again.

“Glass Heart” Review – A Series That Broke Me In The Best Way Possible

After an entire month of writing, I thought that my next post would be a reflection of sorts. But well, here we are. In my defense, a review is somewhat of a reflection, right?

Leading up to its release, I had seen ads for “Glass Heart” all over Instagram, but never really dove too deeply into what it was or the story it would tell. So when I clicked on it on Netflix, in essence, I was going into it blind – and it far exceeded anything I could ever imagine.

It begins with Saijo Akane, played by Miyazakui Yu, being booted from her previous band on the day they were supposed to perform at a festival. It’s devastating news, especially when her debut was right in front of her. As if the weather reflected her current state, it started to pour, the festival was canceled, and while people were leaving, Akane and her drums were pushed to the ground. However, there was fight in her yet and she gave an incredible performance in the pouring rain.

Fast forward a few years and she’s continuing to pursue her dreams. But she’s reached the end and after failing yet another audition, has accepted her fate and is ready to leave her dream behind. Although fate had other plans and here enters Fujitani Naoki (Satoh Takeru), a genius musician, who seeks out Akane to join his new band. Together with Takaoka Sho (Machida Keita) and Sakamoto Kazushi (Shison Jun), the quartet form the band TENBLANK.

It’s not all smooth sailing from here on out as the band runs into several obstacles. But through sheer willpower, their love for music, and the bond they’ve formed together, they’re able to overcome it all in awe-inspiring fashion.

It is not everyday that I meet a series that resonates in my soul. By the end of the first episode, I became invested and once TENBLANK completed their first performance together it took everything in me to hold back the tears.

“Glass Heart” is more than a drama about music. It’s a story about chasing your dreams, finding where you belong, and the acceptance of love; whether that love is from yourself or from the people around you. It’s a series that digs deep into your soul, whether you like it or not.

While it’s emotionally resonate, I do not think it was the perfect series. Certain conflicts and storylines felt a bit clunky or resolved with a bit too much ease. These technicalities could very well prevent “Glass Heart” from receiving a perfect rating. But when you look at the heart of it, it’s perfect across the board. Everything from the acting, cinematography, and music scenes set the mood and truly brought the series to life.

To me, “Glass Heart” is a series that made me realize my shortcomings. It made me contemplate whether I’m truly happy in my life and if I’m okay leaving behind certain dreams for comfort and stability. The show always made me wonder if I did all that I could. “Glass Heart” made me feel emotions that I thought would be better to leave unanswered or locked away. So I am thankful that this drama came out when it did.

Sometimes, you come across a movie that’s like a magic spell and transforms you in more ways than one. To me, “Glass Heart” is that film. I’ve fully fallen underneath its trance and I’m not sure if I’m willing to wake up from it. But one day, I will and when that day comes, I hope just like TENBLANK, I’ll have been able to live a life free of restraint and living out my dreams.

Dear July 2025,

I remember the Julys that came before you: just as hot, just as unbearable. However, something made you special. I can’t really put my finger on it. Perhaps it was my desperation. Perhaps it was my need to rediscover writing as a hobby, instead of a job. Perhaps it was my need for a dear friend. And maybe, at the end of the day it was all of the above.

I don’t think I could ever commit myself to writing such deep, personal pieces for an entire month ever again. And I’m sure you’re shaking your head, because you know that’s probably a lie. But I will deal with the ramifications of that when the lie becomes true.

To some people, 33 doesn’t seem like much. But to me, it feels doubly important and I’m glad you were here with me during this transition. I know that younger me would be proud — that he would be smiling in admiration. It might not be the start of the book that he always dreamed of, but it’s a start, right?

So when you start to live in the past tense, I want you to tell him something. Remind him that it will all be okay. Tell him to take pride in his work and that writing has meaning, even in a world that’s turning to AI. Tell past me that he to keep writing, even when it gets hard — and it will get hard.

Doing something like this has helped me to rediscover a passion for writing that I thought I had long forgotten. That I have emotions left in me still. It won’t be too long before August turns to September, and the moment I blink, I know 2026 will be just over the horizon. But July 2025, I can’t thank you enough for being here.

So that’s that. We’ve finally reached the end. It’s bittersweet, but also rewarding to see how far I’ve come. From talking about my MBTI to my all-time favorite song, and even the yellow blanket that I decided to leave behind — you took it all in stride.

July 2025, you won’t be forgotten anytime soon (you will be eventually and you can blame me then). But thank you. I love you. And now, goodbye.

Sincerely,

Me

P.S. Thank you to everyone for reading along. Whether you were with me from the beginning, or joined towards the end. Thank you from the bottom of my heart. I won’t be writing every day any longer, but I will continue to upkeep this blog for as long as I can. So I end now with a line from “2:59 a.m.”: Thank you for being alive today.

Color-full

One of my favorite novels ever is “Colorless Tsukuru Tazaki And His Years Of Pilgrimage.” When I opened the book to decide whether I should buy it, I was struck by the first line: “From July of his sophomore year in college until the following January, all Tsukuru Tazaki could think about was dying.”

At the time, I was in a dark place and I completed related to this one line. It captured my feelings to the T. And while that feeling has faded, it still remains as one of my favorite books.

It follows Tsukuru Tazaki as he embarks on a journey to visit his old group of childhood friends – people that ousted him from the group completely without telling him the reason. These friends all had some color in their name; Ao (blue), Aka (red), Shiro (white), and Kuro (black). Even his friend that he met at university, Haida, contained a color (gray). Then there was Tsukura Tazaka, colorless.

As he met with his childhood friends, he learned about the reason why they had unceremoniously dropped him from the group and what they’ve been up to since. I won’t spoil too much, but he learned that one member of the group accused him of a horrid, life-altering act. The rest decided that Tsukuru would be the scapegoat to protect that friend and to ensure they can heal from the traumatic event. They chose Tsukuru because they believed in his emotional strength and that he would be okay with the sudden ban. By the end of the novel, he finally finds the closure he needed and finds that he isn’t so colorless after all.

Even in my extroverted moments I saw myself as colorless — just like Tsukuru. I never saw myself as the main character, nor did I have the traits to become one. I erred more on the quiet side, a constant overthinker, and more listener than yapper. In a room full of reds and yellows and blues, here I was, colorless Dyllan just happy to be included.

A few years later, I stumbled across a song by the K-Band LUCY titled, you guessed it, ‘Colorless.’ This song talks about wanting to erase the colors that have wounded us, leaving behind a blank canvas that we can paint new colors over. For several months I had this song on constant repeat at all times of the day. It offered solace to my wounded soul and brought resounding comfort amidst the heavy silence.

After years of soul-searching and wondering if I was ever enough, of believing I was colorless, I think I was able to find a tinge of color hidden away deep inside me. Though I know and realize that I’m not completely healed — there will always be days when I just feel unworthy of it all — I know that good days are sure to follow. Maybe not the next day, but eventually.

When I look back on “Colorless Tsukuru Tazaki and His Years of Pilgrimage,” as well as LUCY’s ‘Colorless,’ I see how my past self reacted — so scared, sad, and alone. In those moments of remembrance, if I could, I’d offer him the biggest hug possible and tell him that “everything will be okay.”

I know now that my life is filled with some color, some form of joy waiting to be discovered. And moving forward, I’ll continue to hold onto hope that my days will be full of color.

Note: for those wondering what LUCY’s ‘Colorless’ sounds like, here it is.

Ground Beef, Tofu, And Bean Sprouts

Like many Asian grandparents, mine have never written down their recipes. They have always been adamant about the ‘if you want to learn, watch me do it’ method. And when they would introduce measurements, it would always be a pinch of this or a cup (tea cup to be exact) of that.

As a kid, I never had an interest in learning how to cook. I stayed outside the kitchen, waiting for the finished smell to waft into my bedroom. Once that scent appeared, I knew it was time to feast on my grandma’s pancit or grandpa’s roast beef. Through their food, I found sustenance and sometimes, love.

Moving away for a semester, however, taught me the importance of knowing how to cook a meal — other than ramen, rice, or a simple breakfast of spam and eggs. While figuring out what I could cook myself, I decided to pick up ground beef, tofu, and bean sprouts — onions too, but not necessary.

It was a simple enough process; get a pot and cook the onions first. Then, add in the ground beef and wait until it browns. But just before the brown sets in, toss in the tofu and bean sprouts, give it a good mix, then allow it to cook until ready. Within a total of fifteen minutes of cooking, the dish would be ready to eat.

When I took the first bite, I thought I was a genius. I, at 20 years old, had cooked myself a meal for the first time. It’s nothing to brag about, but it meant something to me. Though simple, it had everything from much needed protein to the addition of (some sort of) greens.

Although I’ve learned how to cook a few more meals since, the combination of ground beef, tofu, and bean sprouts (along with onions!) has always remained a part of my arsenal of recipes. I’ve tweaked it over the years to include sprinkles of pepper and multiple splashes of shoyu (soy sauce). And although the presentation is far from heavenly, it looks just as amazing to me, even a decade later.

When I cook it, I travel back to my time in Korea and how I learned how to survive. I recall that things don’t need to be complex nor do I need anything fancy to be happy. And I’m reminded that it’s often the simple things that make the biggest impact and stays with us longest. A bowl of ground beef, tofu, and bean sprouts (don’t forget the onions!) atop a bowl of rice is sometimes all I need.

Yellow Blanket

Like many kids growing up, I had a blanket that stayed with me for over two decades. Technically, it was a thin yellow sheet, but I used it as a blanket all the same. I knew nothing about how it came into my possession or who provided it, but it was always there.

My bed sheets and pillow cases would change every five or so years, but my yellow blanket always remained. Even when I was given a comforter to use during the chilly 70 degree Hawaii winter weather, it always served as my first layer of warmth.

I even took it with me when I studied abroad in Korea. It watched me look over material for my Korean class, prepare tirelessly for midterms, and probably even sighed as I climbed into bed after my first night out of drinking. My yellow blanket saw me transform from a child to an adventurous — as well as lovestruck — college student.

When it was time for me to head back home to Hawaii, I felt that something had changed in me. The person I saw in the mirror was not the same person who arrived. And in a way, I felt that returning home signaled a brand new chapter of my life. So, as a way to symbolize this, I left my yellow blanket behind. It took me days of thinking and mulling the decision over, but once my mind was set, I usually follow through — even if it turns out to be a mistake.

The few years that followed, that’s what it felt like: a huge mistake. Though symbolic at the time, it later felt like I discarded a piece of myself. The yellow blanket that used to be my greatest companion had been tossed aside, just like that. The blankets that came afterwards never felt right nor did they hold the same warmth. I was guilty as charged, but there was no one I could ask for forgiveness from. I’d sentenced myself to a life without my yellow blanket — a choice I made myself.

But that’s the thing about life, sometimes you make a certain decision, and you just have to live with it. It took me a while, but I learned to accept that my yellow blanket is now gone, never to be seen again. And while that may be gone, when I look hard enough, there are many more reminders of my childhood self littered around my home, just waiting to be found and reminisced over.

Despite the regret that followed, I do believe I’d make the same decision, over and over again. It was my final goodbye to my semester at Sungkyunkwan University. It was a goodbye to the Dyllan that came at the start of the semester. It was a goodbye to one chapter of my life, while looking forward to the many more to come. To me, that decision felt right.

Truth be told, I haven’t thought about my yellow blanket for a long while. As I thought about what to write next, the memory of it suddenly resurfaced, and like a long-lost friend, greeted me with a quiet warmth only a memory could offer. My yellow blanket might not physically be here, but its very presence still lingers — and I’m fine with just that.

The Yellow Room

I attended a private university in Hawaii. At the time, I was more adventurous and had an abundance of courage to spare. When I first started filling out college applications, the one I ended up going to was my second choice. I chose it mainly because of the small class sizes and the higher chance of making friends with international students. As someone who dreamed of moving abroad, I wanted to form connections with people from across the globe, and this university had the best opportunities to do so if I did decide to stay on island.

After getting my acceptance letters and considering which school offered the best scholarships, I mailed my intent to enroll and the rest was history. All that remained was orientation and my university life would begin.

The school I attended had two separate campuses: the Kaneohe campus, which was home to all the students pursuing science or nursing, and then the Downtown campus which offered courses for everyone else. Being part of humanities and majoring in English, I naturally had all my classes downtown, only steps away from the heart of Chinatown.

The entire “campus” was spread across multiple different buildings, surrounded by a wide variety of restaurants. This was never ideal for a broke college student on a budget. Still, we indulged in the delicious eateries downtown had to offer.

On some days I’d order the green curry from Fort Street Cafe, other days my friends and I would walk over to Bishop Street Cafe, where I would walk out with a carbonara in hand. Towards the end of my college career, there was the choice of noodles from Murakame Udon. And one of my personal favorites was the hole-in-the-wall right next door to the lounge with a Korean ahjumma that served the best kimchi fried rice I had ever tasted.

But money doesn’t grow on trees, and as delicious as these restaurants were, most of the time, I ate on a budget. So to soothe my hunger and the pain of an empty wallet, I’d constantly go to the Yellow Room, located right at the front of the university lounge. I fondly recall buying their $1 musubis that held me over as lunch or a small snack walking to the bus stop to go home.

The Yellow Room was owned by the sweetest Korean couple who always recognized their regulars. During mid-terms and finals, they always seemed to provide a source of strength with their food and smiling presence. They seemed like the kind of people you’d expect to grow old with their shop, a couple I could visit again in the future.

However, after I graduated, my university relocated its Downtown campus to Aloha Tower. As the students transitioned over, Fort Street changed from a bustling hub of youth and dreams to practically a ghost town. After visiting the area, I learned that the Yellow Room closed down and the Korean couple that kept me fed over those four years suddenly disappeared. Though I didn’t know them personally, I still cherished their presence and how they fed all us starving college kids.

Life happens, years pass, and I’m suddenly in charge of buying groceries for the household. While waiting in line for a bag of chicken, behind the sushi and Asian food section I find the Korean couple from the Yellow Room.

I greeted the husband first while he’s bringing out bentos of food for people to choose from. I pull down my mask and say something to the effect of “Hi, I’m not sure if you remember me but..” The look on his face changes completely, excited to see a past regular. We exchange simple small talk and as he goes towards his wife, he points at me and she flashes a bright smile while asking how I’ve been. It was a surreal moment that still brings a smile to my face to this day.

Even now, we keep our interactions brief — a casual hello, a head nod, an occasional smile and “How have you been?” But even then I’m reminded of my college days. I will forever be able to recall visiting them at lunch or on my way home. And although I’ve grown up and the Yellow Room has shut down, that wonderful couple, and the memories, still remain intact.