Sharon is an Asian-American content creator based in Austin.


︎ Info
︎ Work
︎ Newsletter
︎ Contact

December Nights

Since this past summer, as many of you know, I've been commuting to work via bus. I've enjoyed contributing to easing the growing problem of Austin traffic, but at times it's been a point of complaint/inconvenience. I've especially been enjoying this latest season, though.

Since I live in between two stops, if I have time, I prefer to get off at the latter on the way home so that I can walk through the neighborhood instead of along a major street. Since the fall began, by the time I get off work, I've found myself walking in the dark save a few streetlights.

This time walking home, though scorching in the summer, has become somewhat sobering and therapeutic for me this December.

Walking home has been quiet, warm with the smell of casseroles and dinner. Houses that I pass in the morning look different with their Christmas lights on or in the dark, highlighting select portions of the house. Some homes are only illuminated partially based on the brightness of their patio light.

When I walk home, I often wondering if anyone sees me in that moment. It's unlikely that anyone is thinking of me on my walk home. It's dark, and no one can see how the right side of my hair will flip out when it gets humid, and I don't have to impress anyone, because no one cares about my makeup on these walks.

I don't have to say anything or be anywhere, or even look a certain way as I can feel used to during the day. It's me and the faint chirping of birds, minding their own business, and headlights that I step out of the way for. It's in these moments that I'm again acquainted with my old self and the familiar feeling of wishing for more.


There's an intersection that I pass when I walk Shakes at night where the streetlight is surrounded by trees, casting a glimmering pattern on the ground. I like passing under it and feeling the light on my head and sweater. I often look to the yard where twinkle lights are anchored to the back of a basketball hoop to see if the light is outlining the yard.

If Shakes stops to sniff something, I will often check to see if the sky is clear or matte, and what shade of navy it might be that night, or if there is a moon. I've squinted to make out a few stars or planets before, mildly disappointed by the light pollution of living in the city and reminiscing about trips to west Texas.

I've forgotten my fondness of the night-time, enjoying feeling unknown and contrasting this with wanting and being fully known and seen. It's an old feeling that I've forgotten, my friend, the night-time. 

Back to Writing