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Salads May Well Remain: On Birthdays and Being Measured
When I was younger, birthdays seemed to be a second Christmas. With food, gifts, guests, and a day of fun and play. But as I grew older, birthdays became less of a celebration than an evaluation. And it's not that I am against birthdays. Salads are very much welcome. Yet somewhere between the greetings, food, and polite inquiries sharpened into social measurement, I feel less like a celebrant than a person pending review. I say this because birthdays sometimes require you to

Marigold Uy


On Rain, Piano, and Fake Candles
There are evenings which arrange themselves so neatly around one’s work that it becomes difficult not to suspect the weather has a mind of its own. I had been editing a collection of light academic, Austen-adjacent short stories: domestic, observant, faintly severe in its manners, and much concerned with tea, weather, illness, and characters who express affection through correction. One of the stories was set in a small English coastal town, and involved the particular betray

Marigold Uy


I Wanted to Be Profound
A Lesson in Balance started one hot summer with a very general idea: I wanted to try writing a dark academia story. At the time, I didn’t have the whole plot yet. I had the atmosphere first. A prestigious school. Fancy students. Academic expectations. A little mystery. A little danger. The usual dark academia ingredients were there, but the story itself was still loose. My first instinct was to look up philosophy quotes. Which, honestly, feels like a very normal starting poin

Marigold Uy
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Salads May Well Remain: On Birthdays and Being Measured
When I was younger, birthdays seemed to be a second Christmas. With food, gifts, guests, and a day of fun and play. But as I grew older, birthdays became less of a celebration than an evaluation. And it's not that I am against birthdays. Salads are very much welcome. Yet somewhere between the greetings, food, and polite inquiries sharpened into social measurement, I feel less like a celebrant than a person pending review. I say this because birthdays sometimes require you to

Marigold Uy
Jul 92 min read


On Rain, Piano, and Fake Candles
There are evenings which arrange themselves so neatly around one’s work that it becomes difficult not to suspect the weather has a mind of its own. I had been editing a collection of light academic, Austen-adjacent short stories: domestic, observant, faintly severe in its manners, and much concerned with tea, weather, illness, and characters who express affection through correction. One of the stories was set in a small English coastal town, and involved the particular betray

Marigold Uy
Jun 272 min read


The Room Has A Story
I recently added floating shelves to my room. Three of them. I do not know if “floating shelves” is the right term, but they are shelves, and they function without a whole architecture of wood. I saved a little more for my hobbies, had extra money specifically for myself, and decided that the wall needed more drama. This, I think, is the danger of having a dark academia room. You add one small thing, and suddenly the room begins developing plot. A minimalist aesthetic

Marigold Uy
May 175 min read


A Sustainable Amount of Aesthetic
I have a habit of romanticizing my life. Not in the grand, dangerous way where I pretend everything is beautiful and nothing is wrong. I am, unfortunately, very aware that life is often inconvenient, exhausting, expensive, humid, and held together by caffeine and spite. I still touch grass, if you know what I mean. And I still know the world can be deeply unreasonable. But I have also decided that if I must wash the dishes, I may as well do it while Bach plays in the backgrou

Marigold Uy
May 145 min read
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