Online Log
Last Updated 24.10.31
Sweeter Studio
SARAH WONG
Graphic Designer | Zine Maker | Illustrator
sarahewongdesign@gmail.com
LA-area designer, working since 2018. Loves literally every piece of art they see, full of tattoos, always learning and growing.
Contact for resume and PDF portfolio.
Has Worked for
A Noise Within Theater
Vietnamese Film Festival
Laguna Playhouse
Brannan Center
Loves
Matcha Lattes
Tattoos
Colored Foil
Fun Earrings
Dungeons & Dragons
Evil Clowns
CONTACT
Even when I can’t sleep, I still dream. I dream of kissing strangers and going to the beach. A couple months ago, my friend and I went to the beach in San Pedro. I wanted to see the Korean Friendship Bell and climb on the Sunken City overlooking the ocean. Wind with the scent of salt whipped our hair across our faces as we made our way through the city.
I was heartbroken at the time and woke up every morning wanting to cry. Desire is a funny thing, as it is always that which is just out of your reach. I sat on a broken concrete slab, longing for times past, for relationships broken. The ache of wanting is universal–a teenage girl wishing the popular senior will look her way, the young man wishing for the times he spent with his ex-girlfriend, and me wanting to put back the shattered pieces of my relationship back together.
Sneakers pounded against graffitied pavement as children climbed over the remnants of the Sunken City looking for half empty bottles of spray paint. Couples sat together staring out at the blue and yellow waves lapping against the shore and friends played hip hop music out of their wireless speakers. It felt like a place of disorder and youth. The graffiti was layered on top of each other. Names on names on names. The occasional spray paint murals had been rudely infringed upon with words slashing across them in bright red. I sat on a slightly lopsided piece of concrete with my friend, under the equally lopsided palm tree and we talked. We talked for a couple hours of sadness.
There was a time when everytime I went to the beach I inadvertently saw a dead animal. Dead seagulls, a beached dolphin, that sort of thing. The ocean seemed to hate me. The acerbic water burned my every orifice whenever I swam. Washed up kelp caused rashes and sand invaded every corner of my skin. I disliked the ceremony of preparing for the beach, having to find towels and sunscreen, and coordinating with your friends and family which identical lifeguard station you were at. It seemed like too much effort for diminishing returns. Eventually the curse of finding dead animals stopped, but my trepidation remained.
Beaches which are cold with rocky shores are preferable to me. I like wearing a jacket and sneakers, climbing across the boulders and exploring abandoned driftwood. I think sitting in the Sunken City felt more like the northern California beaches I loved.
Tonight, I cannot sleep. I tell myself a love story about a girl who falls in love with a demon. I’ve been telling myself this story for years, of the girl who ends up in hell and finds a new and strange life in the ecosystem of Dante’s Inferno. The demon she loves is a fallen angel with black wings like a raven. He has horns like a ram and has a face so pretty it rivals anything the girl has seen on Earth. I go over this story in my mind, fleshing out the details without once committing anything to paper. It’s a silly story, but it brings me comfort when I wish for the safety and adoration of a partner.
Why did you give up on us? When did you first start falling out of love with me? I was a hinderance to your idealism, your dreams of what a relationship should be. I wish everyday that you’ll realize I was valuable and come crawling back to me with apologies and flowers. I know this is more about you than me but I can’t help but feel betrayed.