I cook, I wander, I write the small things down.

I'm Rez. I grew up between two kitchens — my grandmother's, which smelled of rice and patience, and my mother's, which smelled of whatever she had decided to invent that week. I write from somewhere in the middle.

This journal is not a magazine and it is not a brand. It is a drawer, slightly organised, of things I wanted to keep: a noodle cart I think about too often, a field I got off the bus for, the week I finally moved my desk to face the window.

I don't post on a schedule and I don't chase trends. When something is worth keeping, it lands here. That's the whole deal.