Blog – Danielle Mariko Lee

January 29, 2023 — Comments are off for this post.

why cooking is more than just a hobby

As a kid, I showed up to school with the same packed lunch every single day: a ham, cheese, and mayo sandwich - and I wasn't really fond of it. The mayo would always make the bread soggy, and that sandwich ended up half-eaten in the trash most days (sorry, Mom).

I just didn't grow up feeling any sort of volition toward food. It never occurred to me that I could go into the kitchen and make a meal I enjoyed. In high school, that ham, cheese, and mayo sandwich eventually reduced itself to a protein bar and whatever $2 taco I could snag during my 30-minute, off-campus lunch.

That lack of agency, motivation, and creativity showed itself during those years. It wasn't just about food; I was prone to bouts of depressive episodes, staying holed up in my room after school.

Fast forward a couple of years. I'm in the last quarter of my third year of undergrad, and the pandemic hits. My college apartment was empty as my roommates stayed with their families; inevitably, I spent a lot of time alone that summer. I could feel my anxiety crawling back in as I was forced to figure out what to do with myself.

It started with scrolling through social media and watching TV. After stumbling upon a few food blogs, I decided to stop scrolling, take all that pent-up energy, and put it into cooking for myself. I struggled through recipes with a blind sense of technique, messing up more than one batch of chicken and staining my clothes with splashes of tomato soup. But it was comforting. I could lose myself in a recipe for hours standing in my kitchen. It became a sort of solace for me in a time of turbulence.

A few months in, I felt more in tune with my creativity. The more time passed, and the more recipes I cooked, the more my skills improved, and a new sense of confidence in myself emerged. It was a process I fell in love with: researching recipes, maybe picking one or two that tested my capabilities, writing down ingredients, going to the store, and then coming home to cook. I started sharing my food with friends and family and became connected to them in ways I hadn't when I was younger.

And when I moved to San Francisco following graduation, I carried all of it with me. In a shiny city with a new apartment and an adult salary, I invested more time in my cooking. In the unexpected challenges of post-grad life, cooking was always there. It's funny; it's like as the quality of my food improved, so did my quality of life.

I can't (at least completely) conflate my life with food; it's not as simple as that. But it showed me that having hobbies and passions could be fulfilling and enriching. It gave me a sense of purpose and movement in life. It became a little personal win every time I followed a recipe from beginning to end. Sometimes, when things feel particularly challenging, stepping away for an hour to do something meaningful lets you return to the people around you with renewed energy.

If you feel like you don't have books you can lose yourself in or the skills to pick up something like running or pottery, just try it. No one is judging you except for yourself. Look for things that sound interesting to you, and you'll eventually find activities that reinforce that sense of richness in your life. It took some time, but cooking became that for me: something I love to do, something to share with others, and something that helps me through tough times. It's a hobby, but also so much more.

Published by daniellemariko in Lifestyle

December 13, 2022 — Comments are off for this post.

in the clouds

I’m on a cloud. It’s dawn. The sun is glowing radiantly, its rays peering through the cracks as if they're preparing to unveil a mystery - one that's long waited to be discovered. I'm enveloped in a kaleidoscope of golden hues, reflections of the sun signaling a new day.

I am laying down, hands resting at my sides and eyes pointed at the sky. I am paralyzed in awe, as if the sight in front of me is holding me and insisting me - willing me - to stay just one more minute. Forget your obligations. Forget your responsibilities. Forget it all. I am alone, and it feels like a trance or a dream.

Time seems to slow down. For a few moments, I am at peace. Then suddenly, I see thousands of images flashing before my eyes. I see myself conquering every fear and every doubt I've ever had. I see myself accomplishing the impossible; I am unstoppable. At first, the person I see is unfamiliar. A stranger. But the more I watch, the more I recognize myself. I am an invincible dreamer up here, in this utopia that projects my zenith. I am overcome with warmth, feeling a surge of hopefulness, optimism, fearlessness. The sun beams down at me, like an affirmation. But then it shines, glares, so brightly that I give in to the urge to look away.

I turn and roll over, dropping my gaze and facing downwards. Immediately, my stomach churns. I am staring at the ground, where the force of people and nature together is controlled by reality. At the basis and foundation of my hopefulness is a place where everything seems to go wrong, a place full of uncertainty and unrest. I shake my head. I don't want to go back. I start to turn back, back to utopia, but then I pause halfway, feeling the sun on my back. At this angle, the light and the warmth are comforting. It's a reminder that everything down there works out in an unexpected way. On the ground, the beauty comes from those with unique thoughts, ideas, dreams, and desires - those who emerge from the chaos stirred by negativity and confusion and cruelty. And despite it all, the sun still shines, even on the days with the darkest of nights.

My head is in the clouds while my feet are on the ground. It's not a matter of living as part of one or the other. I am a dreamer and an optimist, but I am also a realist. I live each day with goals, ambitions, and desires; but I also live with an awareness for the human nature that shapes reality. I am grounded by the people and the experiences that have carved the story of my life. These two places are the coalescence of how I react, grow, learn, and love.

Published by daniellemariko in Creative

Tags: writing

July 31, 2022 — Comments are off for this post.

my first time …

I love San Francisco. It's my first home away from home. It's the setting for my post-grad story as I grasp this new life that's entirely my own with both hands. The feelings after graduating from college can be all over the place, and are bolstered with a sense of freedom that can be either invigorating and stressful (usually, it feels like both at the same time). But it's also exciting; moving to a new city also means new places to go, foods to eat, and people to meet. Here's a list of 10 of my first experiences in the city to celebrate one year of living in San Francisco.

My first drink

Zeitgeist: I moved from my college apartment in San Luis Obispo to San Francisco - there was no time in between. My dad took the train from Fullerton to meet me in San Luis Obispo, volunteering to drive the U-Haul carrying everything I owned into the city. To celebrate my first day in the city, my dad took Brian - my roommate - and I to Zeitgeist, a dive bar / beer garden around the corner from our apartment. I love coming there; the staff are friendly, the drinks are cheap, the food is good, and they host live music on Wednesdays and Sundays (which is the best part).

My first meal

Farmhouse Thai Express: A year ago, the city was a little quieter than it is now, with COVID restrictions just starting to ease up. Farmhouse Thai opened a few pop-ups in the city (including the one my dad and I went to in Lower Haight) that were takeout-only as a way to support the restaurant and its employees. My dad wanted to try the Little Lao set, which was a pandemic special filled with sample-sized portions of appetizers and entrees normally available at the main restaurant. My favorites were the Hat Yai Fried Chicken and the samosas. I recommend checking out their main restaurant in SF; you're guaranteed to eat some good Thai food.

My first hike

Land's End: When Brian and I moved to the city, we spent our first few weekends being tourists in our new home. Located in the northwestern part of the city, Land's End is characterized by its rocky cliffs, ocean views and Cypress trees. This is part of why I've grown to love San Francisco; nature is so accessible. In just a few minutes, you can disconnect from the bustle of the city. We walked along the Coastal Trail, which takes you toward the Golden Gate Bridge. You can see the ruins of Sutro Baths and even three shipwrecks just off the coast. Afterwards, we treated ourselves to a meal in Inner Richmond - my favorite part after a hike!

My first park hang

Dolores Park: I looooove Dolores. We came during Pride Weekend after just a few weeks of living in SF, and it was the first time I witnessed how people come together at the park (yes, we really do just sit on the hill for hours at a time). The best part is that everyone is just doing whatever they want, which makes for great people watching. That summer, I'd walk over in the evenings after work and sit by myself with a book and a blanket, and then rally together a group of friends to drink, eat, and catch up on the weekends. It's a space that you can make your own, while respecting that everyone around you is doing the same.

My first bookstore

Community Thrift (does that count?): A thrift store on Valencia in between 17th and 18th, Community Thrift is my go-to destination whenever I'm feeling stressed. Their book section is extensive, and refreshed regularly with newly-donated books. There's something about picking out books that have already lived nine lives in the hands of others that makes me feel more connected to the stories. I always find books that I wouldn't have otherwise read, like a memoir about Oliver Sacks (Insomniac City) or a once-a-day creativity journal (1 Page At A Time). They stock the ends of the bookcases with new arrivals, so that's my first stop whenever I come into the store.

My first farmer's market

Ferry Building: Going to the farmer's market at the Ferry Building is part of my weekend ritual. Every - or almost every - Saturday morning, I'll take the F bus line (the one with the vintage streetcars) down Market Street and walk down to the Embarcadero. I love wandering through the lines and lines of vendors, picking out fresh produce or grabbing a bite to eat. The first time I went to the farmer's market, it was nearly 3 pm and it was just about to end. I went to Midnite Bagel, and they gave me three bagels for free. The farmer's market is one of my favorite weekend activities; I highly recommend checking it out.

My first festival

Outside Lands: Outside Lands typically takes over the Polo Field at Golden Gate Park during the summer, but in 2021 it was pushed into October because of COVID restrictions. It fell right around Halloween, so everyone was sporting their costumes. I dressed in what I told myself was an 80s-inspired outfit, but I just wanted an excuse to wear big hoops and my beige pants (not that I even needed one). It was one of my first music festivals, so I only committed to Sunday. I wanted to see Kehlani and Rufus du Sol (surprisingly, my top artist of the year). The festival had pop-up shops, art installations, and a cannabis garden; it was so much fun.

My first espresso drink

Four Barrel Coffee: Anyone that knows me knows how much of a coffee connoisseur I am; I admit, I'm a bit picky when it comes to espresso. One of the only oat milk cappuccinos that I think is worth the $6 in SF is from Four Barrel, a neighborhood coffee shop on Valencia (and also a 5-minute walk from me). They offer pastries from Neighbor Bakehouse, display local artists' works on the walls, and only play music on a record player. I come here once a week in the morning before I start my workday as a way to treat myself and get out of the apartment.

My first trip outside SF

Yosemite National Park: When I moved to SF, I had never been to Yosemite. In August 2021, my friends and I decided to introduce me to the park on a spontaneous day trip. It was my first time going on a hiking trip since moving out of San Luis Obispo, and I was in need of a good dose of nature. It was just after the height of the wildfires that year, so it was dry. But we ended up doing a few hikes, including the Lower Fall Trail which had a view of Half Dome. It's on my list to go back and hike up Half Dome; there's still so much to the park that I haven't explored yet!

My first brunch

El Techo: The only rooftop bar in the Mission, El Techo serves Latin American street food. On a rare sunny summer day in SF, a few friends of mine from college met up with me for brunch. The sky was so clear that we could see downtown, and it was the perfect way to kick off my first summer in the city. We started with a margarita pitcher, and then ordered the Chicharrones de Carne to share as well as several other brunch plates. El Techo has great dinner and happy hour menus, but I think their brunch is my favorite - it's so good.

Those are ten of my firsts in SF - and there are many more where they came from. Every spot I mentioned is also one of my personal recommendations for the city. I truly love this city, and I can't wait for more experiences as I start my second year (we just renewed our lease) as a resident here!

Published by daniellemariko in Lifestyle, Posts

Tags: san francisco, sf

July 15, 2022 — Comments are off for this post.

why i love reading

When I was a kid, I loved summer breaks. I went to the community library once a week, spending hours fawning over the aisles of books. I'd slowly scan the spine of each title, pausing whenever one caught my eye. If it passed my unspoken test, I'd add it to the stack in my hands. The books would pile up one by one until I'd have to strain to peer over the top, which was my signal to give in and head to the checkout.

There was something so exciting about getting sucked into a book. I'd look up after spending hours indulging in a story, feeling like no time had passed. As a kid, it was especially easy to bury my nose in the pages and forget about anything or anyone else. I felt a particular affinity toward fantasy novels; I loved getting lost in worlds entirely different from ours.

As I grew older, that interest started to dwindle. I stopped making time for reading; instead, I let other things take priority, enticed by the new experiences and people I met in college. I broke out of the bubble I created as a kid, distracted and thriving in all the stimulation that comes with college.

Then the pandemic hit. It cut us all off from our social lives, which meant I had plenty of time on my hands. In an unfamiliar world, I started searching for new outlets to manage my anxiety and fill my time. Naturally, it led me back to reading.

But with my cell phone always within reach, my attention span was cut short. After picking up and putting down several books, I eventually settled on one that had been sitting on my shelf for a while (Artemis by Andy Weir). Once I reached a particular spot in the book, I returned to the familiar feeling of being pulled in by the story. There's a sort of ease to it; you find yourself turning page after page without even realizing it. Finishing a book always brings a sense of accomplishment in knowing that you finished what you set out to do.

I have a newfound appreciation for the idea that there's more to books than just stories. Reading is a safe retreat for me now. It's an outlet for my anxiety, a source of inspiration for my creativity, and a community with friends that read and swap books with me. At the end of the day, I just love stories. I love characters. I love books. Books unlock an infinite number of worlds and experiences you've never had before, and there's something special about the privilege of having the time to get immersed in them.

If you've ever thought about picking up a book, do it. Spend 10 minutes a night picking up that book beside your bed. Get lost in each story, finding bits and pieces of yourself. I hope it can benefit you as much as it has for me.

Published by daniellemariko in Posts, Reading, Thoughts

Tags: artemis, books

September 11, 2021 — Comments are off for this post.

this is water.

As humans, our views tend to be enduring. Rarely do our opinions shift. But every now and then I'll stumble upon a piece that makes me take a step back and consider my outlook on everyday life.

It sounds dramatic, but then I read and watched David Foster Wallace's 2005 commencement speech at Kenyon College. It was an assignment for a class, but as I listened, I was drawn to his words. His commencement speech is atypical; he pokes fun at the conventional format and clichés often brought up to a graduating class. He addresses the realities of life after college when you are suddenly thrust into the adult world.

If you’re automatically sure that you know what reality is, and you are operating on your default setting, then you, like me, probably won’t consider possibilities that aren’t annoying and miserable.

But if you really learn how to pay attention, then you will know there are other options. It will actually be within your power to experience a crowded, hot, slow, consumer-hell type situation as not only meaningful, but sacred, on fire with the same force that made the stars: love, fellowship, the mystical oneness of all things deep down.

Not that mystical stuff is necessarily true. The only thing that's capital-T True is that you get to decide how you're gonna try and see it
Wallace, 2005

Wallace says it's easy to operate on a default setting. It's easy to live with the belief that the world is supposed to cater to your needs and to your feelings, and anything hindering your progression throughout your day is an inconvenience. If you really think about it, there aren't any experiences in your life where you weren't the absolute center of it. Other people's thoughts and feelings have to be communicated to you, but yours are immediate and real. This is our default setting, "hard-wired into our boards at birth." But it's rarely spoken about because it's considered so abhorrent in a social context.

He uses the example of having to go to the supermarket after work. You're tired after a long day but forget to get groceries earlier in the week, so you're standing in the check-out lane. And suddenly there's a lady screaming at her kid in front of you. Maybe you begin to feel impatient. In that situation, it's easy to automatically become annoyed or frustrated. Because they are taking up your time by making you stand in this line longer than you feel is necessary, so now you can't beat the evening traffic to go back to your home.

It requires little effort to take on this default setting - that you are the center of the world - when you are experiencing the mundane, frustrating, and boring parts of your adult life. But what Wallace emphasizes is you have no idea what people around you are experiencing in their lives. When you are aware enough, you can choose to look at these situations in a different light. Because maybe you are the one in their way. Maybe that lady is going through the worst imaginable experience in her life right now, and she's yelling at her kid right now because it's bubbling up and bursting into the moment right in front of you.

Our society promotes this mindset. Society pushes the idea of personal freedom, letting us, as Wallace puts it, "be lords of our tiny skull-sized kingdoms, alone at the center of creation." But real, true freedom means having enough consciousness and awareness to choose how you construct meaning in your experiences.

So what does it mean to break away from our default settings? Wallace admits that this is a difficult thing to do. There are days when you won't want to put in the effort and there are days when you just can't. Wallace speaks to his own experience, saying that an academic education actually enables his tendency to over-intellectualize, and get lost in the "abstract argument in [his] head." He misses what's going on right in front of him.

There are these two young fish swimming along and they happen to meet an older fish swimming the other way, who nods at them and says “Morning, boys. How’s the water?” And the two young fish swim on for a bit, and then eventually one of them looks over at the other and goes 'What the hell is water?
Wallace, 2005

Wallace shares this anecdote in his speech to demonstrate what it means to diverge from the default. Living with knowledge means living with your eyes open, knowing what's right in front of you. It means reminding yourself of the true realities that exist around you and considering how your perception of the world isn't necessarily everyone's perception. It means to live with discipline, awareness, and attention. It's reminding yourself "this is water." And it's putting those ideas at the forefront of your daily consciousness.

Published by daniellemariko in Reading

Tags: commencement, david foster wallace, kenyon college, speech

September 11, 2021 — Comments are off for this post.

coming home

It was the middle of the afternoon. I watched the sun glare off my mother's black car as she rounded the corner and slowed to a halt in front of my freshman dorm. Just two months earlier, I crossed the threshold from adolescence and started my first year of college. It was my first time going home.

I adjusted the awkward grasp on my duffle bag and clambered out of the shadows towards the car. As I stepped out of the cool air, I felt a bead of sweat slide down my forehead. I sighed, wiping it away with the back of my hand as I settled into the backseat. I was mentally spent, having just finished my last final exam. The car pulled away from the curb. I closed my eyes, the rumble of the engine lulling me into a deep sleep.

When I awoke, we had reached the outskirts of my hometown. The sun was low in the sky, hovering just above the horizon. We were driving along the beach. I rolled my window down, greeted by a gust of cool air. Stretching my fingers wide, I felt the breeze swirl around my fingers. I inhaled deeply, the salty air overwhelming my senses.

Hues of red and yellow and orange danced across the sky, stretching further and further until they gradually faded into blues and purples. The clouds clustered together, chasing the sun further into the ocean. Birds circled overhead, their shadows dotting the sky.

As the road curved away from the beach, feelings of familiarity washed over me. The longer we drove, the further we entered into suburbia. I watched my childhood pass by as we got closer and closer to my house. Resting my elbow on the window sill, I took in the swings of the park I spent hours in as a kid, and the houses of friends I grew up playing in. It was comforting.

By the time we turned the corner onto my street, the moon steadily rose into the sky, casting a dim glow. The car slowed and settled into the driveway after the long six-hour drive. As the hum of the engine cut off, it became still. I paused for a moment. I got out of the car, looking up at my childhood home. The stress of final exams was long forgotten, replaced by a blanketing sense of calm. I smiled.

I was home.

Published by daniellemariko in Creative

May 30, 2020 — Comments are off for this post.

feeling like “less”

Quarantine is tough. My baseline, during what I considered “normal” life just two months ago, was having a routine: work, school, and gym. I craved organization and careful planning; my day-to-day schedule grounded me. My life wasn’t characterized by much more on a day-to-day basis other than the places I needed to be and the people I needed to see. I was constantly working towards the future - the next grade, the next work assignment, the next career move, the next appointment in my calendar.

It wasn’t until shelter-in-place that I started to consider why I devoted so much energy into my future. With my schedule stripped and my routine gone, I questioned my motivations. What was I even working towards when the future seemed uncertain? What or where did I turn in a time of stress? I wasn’t sure. The answers to those questions were the baseline of my passions and my interests, and my ambitions, but somehow I lost sight of what that meant.

Writing was important to me. I found comfort in writing my thoughts down and sharing my ideas - whether it be in a journal or on my blog - but I lost interest in the midst of my daily grind. So when quarantine started, I turned to other writers, picking up Less by Andrew Sean Greer. I bought it on a whim two years earlier, having gone through half the book in a few sittings but nonetheless neglecting to finish it.

The main character was a nearly fifty-year-old man named Arthur Less, who spent the majority of the book running from a fear of confronting his past. He dedicated his life and identity to his career as a novelist but felt inadequate and unvalidated. His ex-lover was getting married, and he decided to travel the world and avoid the wedding. In the span of 250-or-so pages, Greer builds a story based around the passing of time, the vulnerability of the human heart, and the experiences of an American abroad.

To my own surprise, I identified with some of Arthur’s struggles. He questioned his role as a writer, having built his identity around it. When Less was young, he felt inspired by the more experienced, high-achieving novelists around him. He was doe-eyed. But as he grew older, he became jaded, living in the shadow of other people, caused both by his own self-doubt and as a result of rejection from others. Writing itself was no longer something that brought him happiness.

I realized, when reading this book, that I owned a similar fear. I became so forward-thinking that I lost sight of where my ambitions were rooted: my passion for writing. When I entered the latter half of college, I reached a point where my personal interests became the basis of my professional curiosities. I was challenged and constantly forced to find new ways to become a better writer, and I looked towards those in the industry for advice. But I had lost my way. My identity had shifted from my love of writing to the pressure of finding a job, and it led to feelings of inadequacy. It took quarantine to slow me down, hold me back, and remind me why I was driven in the direction I was heading pre-quarantine.

I am a writer, and now in quarantine have returned to it for myself - not for anyone or anything else. It’s my passion, my interest, and my solace during a time of uncertainty and anxiety and stress. And once quarantine is over, it will continue to center my professional ambitions.

Published by daniellemariko in Professional, Thoughts

Tags: andrew sean greer, college, less, quarantine

June 20, 2019 — Comments are off for this post.

Nostalgia: the end of another year

I spend a lot of time thinking.

It's a way to check in with myself, my thoughts, my feelings. It wasn't until I came home, breaking out of my college bubble, that I had people who told me that I always seem to be in a state of stress. Whether it be tied to academics, social life, work, or finding a balance between them all, I become easily overwhelmed.

Being someone who's an overthinker naturally leads to a lot of self-reflection whenever the end of another year comes around. It’s another milestone, another step, towards the end of my college career and a reminder that I'm darting towards some sort of unsure future for myself.

Nostalgia is defined as a wistful longing for some sort of past memory or moment associated with a sense of happiness. It can be tied to really anything in the past whether that be a person, a place, or a thing. But the key point is that it's usually unattainable or irrevocable — because it's in the past.

Sometimes it's harmful when you break out of the nostalgia and get caught up in the moments, things, or people that used to be tied to happiness. Now, perhaps, those things evoke feelings of regret or sadness at the memory of their loss. It's easy to get tangled in a web of 'what-ifs' with the past and conjure up all sorts of scenarios out of touch with what is already a reality.

I spend a lot of time turning my head into the past out of a fear of that uncertain future I mentioned earlier. And I don't think this mindset, this pattern, is all that uncommon. A lot of people struggle with it to some degree - young or old, wise or not.

The way you can turn this into a beneficial reflection is by tweaking how you frame the past. It's good to look back on yourself and your decisions and your experiences because it allows you to learn and grow — from them and within yourself.

But that only comes as a result of knowing you're growing up and out of the past, instead of letting it hold you back and lingering on what you can't change. Instead, in my experience, it helps to use a lens of appreciation for those moments and what they may have given you at that time.

Maybe I'm a bit dramatic. But if you can identify these feelings within yourself, it makes you that much more of a person for being able to build a sense of self-awareness and trying to change how you frame your mindset in regard to the past, and subsequently the present. You don't want to miss out on what's right in front of you, and that’s something I have to remind myself every now and then.

Published by daniellemariko in Thoughts

Tags: college, nostalgia, Tidbits

February 17, 2019 — Comments are off for this post.

the inspiration to write

Where does my inspiration to write come from? It's difficult to explain. When I take a moment to step back and look inside myself and the type of person I am and what makes me tick, I consider how other people feel and function in their everyday lives, whether it lives in their conscious selves or not. How you operate on a day-to-day cadence ultimately shapes the perspective that carries you throughout your actions and interactions with others. What and how I write, at the core, is based on that idea - because how can you make observations and statements about life and the people around you unless you have some sort of self-awareness?

Published by daniellemariko in Tidbits

Tags: Tidbits

November 30, 2018 — Comments are off for this post.

the time i (almost) became a child actress

It was midnight. The faded, worn-out tiger stuffed animal that I had been clutching for five hours was forgotten on the floor of a now-empty classroom, once filled with dozens of children, a production crew, and equipment. It was just a prop, but one that was the defining piece of my role on the set of Entourage at the age of seven.

Season 4, Episode 7: "The Day Fuckers." In this particular scene, the classroom was supposed to be a backdrop for Jeremy Piven, who would burst into the room greeted by the mess caused by dozens of unruly children. I was surprised by the amount of work and attention to detail that was dedicated to shooting a single scene of a TV show. Each and every element was important in creating organized chaos. Bright lights in every window to create the illusion of daylight, cameras positioned at different angles, and crew members scattered across the set. I was supposed to be chasing my brother who was running across the room, throwing the tiger stuffed animal at his back. It seemed like a simple task at first. But then I did it for five hours straight.

This was one of my only jobs during my time dabbling in the entertainment industry as a child. A year prior, I had been discovered in a mall when a woman with a fervid smile handed me a flier and requested to speak to my parents. In my parents’ eyes, it was a unique opportunity to explore a potential career as an actress. My immediate distaste at the idea of acting was evident the next day as I shoved the flier at the bottom of our trash can. But after some back-and-forth with my parents, I found myself in front of a camera two hours later, reciting the lines to a Reese's Pieces commercial.

From there, I worked with my management to book a couple of odd jobs. I had head shots taken and a website set up, and started taking acting classes. My mom would drive me to Los Angeles on Wednesdays, toting me in the back of our minivan as I worked on my homework. My management was located on the same lot where shows like Wizards of Waverly Place and Suite Life on Deck were filmed. I remember running into David Henrie and David Deluise on my way to the office one day, completely starstruck after having just spent the weekend on my couch watching the show.

Besides Entourage, I booked a job with the show Heroes. Season 2, Episode 1: "Four Months Later." In the scene, Hiro, played by Masi Oka, was trying to convince Kensei, played by David Anders, to save a village that was burned down. As extras, we were supposed to be villagers, and spent the day walking in a huge circle around the actors to create the illusion of a long line of people walking behind them. I vividly remember loving my experience in hair and wardrobe, getting dark makeup smeared across my face and my hair thrown into a messy ponytail. As a kid, I loved sitting in the trailer, staring into the mirror and watching the quick transformation into a different person.

I booked these jobs around 2007. I was only seven years old. Sometimes these experiences feel like so long ago that I forget to appreciate them, but it's surreal to watch the episodes and catch glimpses of myself as a kid. While I *don't* think acting is for me anymore, it will always be something to look back on.