It's been about two weeks since the last time I saw you. It's seven thirty in the morning and I'm sitting on this hedge of red bricks that is positioned in front of Special Services building, waiting for my classroom to open. You'd be proud to know that I notice dew collected on the overgrown grass below me. I view this campus in a delightfully different way now because of you. About 50 yards in front of me is the end of Business Education building and leaning on its side is the Hollywood Juniper. It is tilting away from sea breeze, with its tips pointing towards me. On our last lab assignment, Megan and I struggled to locate that juniper because for the longest time I thought it was a cypress tree. Out of respect, Megan invested trust in me, and so leading her to the wrong tree wasted a lot of our lab time and made me feel like an idiot. I'm one plant smarter because of you. Anyway, I'm back in school again, moving forward with fall semester.
As I try to locate C&L building, which I find out a few minutes ago, stands for Classrooms and Lecture, I think of you. I can rememer how articulate you are, the way you explain the corriolis effect, and how your patience and confidence in us makes me feel extremely comfortable and at ease. Your last words to me were "you're a strong student, and althought the school systems are getting harder, you will be successful with what you do, keep going". As corny as this may sound, I will never forget those words!
With the sun beating on my back and class starting in thirteen minutes, an anxious feeling builds up inside me. Standing in front of room C&L 112, I look through the opening on the door and I can see a lot of students sitting patiently throughout the room as the teacher occupies her time on the computer. Thinking that I may be late, I hesitantly open the door to rush in and sat myself down at an empty desk situating at the very front.
The teacher is female and carries a slender, petite figure with medium length hair, blonde and undone. She dresses in a brown corduroy skirt and a white button down shirt that tightly snuggles her body. She seems nice. The clock strikes 8 and she starts to introduce herself. I am having trouble recognizing the name, so I quickly raise my hand and tell her I must be in the wrong class. Checking my schedule again and thanking her, I get out of the desk and exits through the same door I came in. After checking my schedule one more time, this time online at the Watson Hall, I realize that my class actually starts tomorrow. Written on bright pink stick-it note is two different class description both in black ink and printed in caps. In red, a slim line is drawn through M &W on the first class and on top of it wrote "T and Th". The abbreviation stands for Tuesday and Thursday and apparently it was overlooked all along. Neglecting to double check my schedule before the day of class, I had wasted not only nearly 2 hours of the day, but also mental preparation .
Although class doesn't start til tomorrow, my first lesson of the semester is to pay attention to minor details! As I think of this, I think of you.
Monday, August 31, 2009
Sunday, August 30, 2009
garlic infused
An evite was sent to me several weeks ago, but I am opening it today, an hour before the start of the party. As I pull it up, the title reads " A message about END of Summer GARLIC Fest" and before I click on VIEW INVITATION, a long description of the party is written directly below it. It reads "it is hot so come early and bring your swim suite, come hungry and ready to rock!!!! See you all then!!!" At this point, I proceed to view the invitation and inside is the exact same description and following that is another message screaming, "BRING YOUR BEANO!!! All in oversized caps and three exclamation marks at the end. This is getting serious. Continuing on is a menu listing all the possible garlic dishes. Menu: Garlic infused Korean BBQ, misc roasted garlic, brown sugar, chapotle chile BBQ, sour cream bread, spicy marinated garlic, garlic chunk veggie chillie, and finally, garlic mashed potatoes. Immediately trailing that is another message "as my wheels keep turning there will be more dishes added to the list!!! I notice once again, three aggressive exclamation marks. This sums up a small example of what Lori Vu's parties will be like. A food fest would describe it more accurately. I am getting hurgry!
Anne and I arrive at this garlic fest at six thirty, just two and a half hours after the time on the invitation. As I carry the case of Stella Artoise in my hands, feeling guilty for not bringing anything with garlic in it, a nice gentleman whose name remains unknown, abducts the case and swiftly vanishes through the front door. I thank him out of relief. As we approach the open door, the chaos and boisterousness becomes more exaggerated. My excitment level continues to elevate as we pass through the front door.
Straight ahead of the door way parks the kitchen island and on it sits all kinds of food, and at a quick glance, I see pasta, garlic bread and garlic stuffed olives. There is so much food that the beautiful marble coutertop is barely visable anymore. The stove is facing the counter on the right side and on it are more delicous garlic flavored food. In a large tin container, I can tell that it is home to the garlic BBQ ribs. My mouth starts to water as I carry on through the kitchen area thinking about one summer when Lori barbequed what I thought was ribs and I devoured it without any knowledge of what it really was, ox tail. And to my surprise, I really liked it although I would never go craving for it. Between the stove and the sink is a corner that is an area designated to mixing alcoholic drinks. I realize that this is where dangerous concoctions are being conglomerated so I decide then to avoid this area at all cost. Investigating further, before participating in the fun, I cruise out the sliding door that leads to the back patio where the rest of the party is disposed. Several young kids are playing in the pool while some adults rest their behinds on the comfortable couches facing the pool and others gather devinely around the poolside, probably wishing they have the guts to join the kids. Usually, after several drinks, it magically alters your state of mind, making you feel overly confident and daring. It's only a matter of how many more drinks until the adults will join the kids in that persuasive pool. I can't wait.
Now that I've thoroughly checked out the scene and like what is going on, I am ready to get my hands and face dirty! Knowing that my main obsession is the barbequed ribs, which is being grilled by the master miss Vu, I control my urge and only pick out some wings, olives and one slice of garlic patty and a bud light that isn't quite cold enough. I sit myself down on an ottiman next to Lisa, facing Anne and Diane, and get my munch on. Minutes later, I set out in search of that barbequed ribs I've been longing for. Returning to my seat soon after with a gigantic rib on my plate, I try with all my might to destroy that thing. Not willing to dig my teeth into it and pull off the meat, I lose the battle. I gave up. After exhausting my little fingers, I pass it over to Arthur who was nice enough to take over.
The sun goes under the horizon and darkness opens over us like a black umbrella. One by one, the adults make their way in the pool and people are at their peek, talking with a louder voice, taking shots of liquor, and making moves to some cheesey 90's music. Crowding around the bar area stands John who is Lori's older brother and with his left arm raising over his head, reaching straight to the ceiling, he holds a mysterious bottle called Phu Quoc. If you're not familiar with the bottle or the name, you'd think it is a bottle of some sort of exotic liquor. It is an authentic fish sauce imported from the island of Phu Quoc, Vietnam. At the top of his lungs, he screams, "who wants a shot"? Reluctant to really find out the exact content of this bottle with a weird lable, Wayne responds, "I'll do it with you". And so the real fun begins. Digital camera in place, the two take a shot of this fishy liquid thing. Wayne takes the shot so smoothly, you could've mistaken it to be Don Julio, While John holds it in his mouth, motioning to vommitt. It does not look pleasant.
It is getting late and I have to make my way over to my brother's house where I will consume more alcohol and eat more stuff so I will say my good byes to the people I know. Once again, Lori's party is hands down, tastey, satisfying, and fun!
Anne and I arrive at this garlic fest at six thirty, just two and a half hours after the time on the invitation. As I carry the case of Stella Artoise in my hands, feeling guilty for not bringing anything with garlic in it, a nice gentleman whose name remains unknown, abducts the case and swiftly vanishes through the front door. I thank him out of relief. As we approach the open door, the chaos and boisterousness becomes more exaggerated. My excitment level continues to elevate as we pass through the front door.
Straight ahead of the door way parks the kitchen island and on it sits all kinds of food, and at a quick glance, I see pasta, garlic bread and garlic stuffed olives. There is so much food that the beautiful marble coutertop is barely visable anymore. The stove is facing the counter on the right side and on it are more delicous garlic flavored food. In a large tin container, I can tell that it is home to the garlic BBQ ribs. My mouth starts to water as I carry on through the kitchen area thinking about one summer when Lori barbequed what I thought was ribs and I devoured it without any knowledge of what it really was, ox tail. And to my surprise, I really liked it although I would never go craving for it. Between the stove and the sink is a corner that is an area designated to mixing alcoholic drinks. I realize that this is where dangerous concoctions are being conglomerated so I decide then to avoid this area at all cost. Investigating further, before participating in the fun, I cruise out the sliding door that leads to the back patio where the rest of the party is disposed. Several young kids are playing in the pool while some adults rest their behinds on the comfortable couches facing the pool and others gather devinely around the poolside, probably wishing they have the guts to join the kids. Usually, after several drinks, it magically alters your state of mind, making you feel overly confident and daring. It's only a matter of how many more drinks until the adults will join the kids in that persuasive pool. I can't wait.
Now that I've thoroughly checked out the scene and like what is going on, I am ready to get my hands and face dirty! Knowing that my main obsession is the barbequed ribs, which is being grilled by the master miss Vu, I control my urge and only pick out some wings, olives and one slice of garlic patty and a bud light that isn't quite cold enough. I sit myself down on an ottiman next to Lisa, facing Anne and Diane, and get my munch on. Minutes later, I set out in search of that barbequed ribs I've been longing for. Returning to my seat soon after with a gigantic rib on my plate, I try with all my might to destroy that thing. Not willing to dig my teeth into it and pull off the meat, I lose the battle. I gave up. After exhausting my little fingers, I pass it over to Arthur who was nice enough to take over.
The sun goes under the horizon and darkness opens over us like a black umbrella. One by one, the adults make their way in the pool and people are at their peek, talking with a louder voice, taking shots of liquor, and making moves to some cheesey 90's music. Crowding around the bar area stands John who is Lori's older brother and with his left arm raising over his head, reaching straight to the ceiling, he holds a mysterious bottle called Phu Quoc. If you're not familiar with the bottle or the name, you'd think it is a bottle of some sort of exotic liquor. It is an authentic fish sauce imported from the island of Phu Quoc, Vietnam. At the top of his lungs, he screams, "who wants a shot"? Reluctant to really find out the exact content of this bottle with a weird lable, Wayne responds, "I'll do it with you". And so the real fun begins. Digital camera in place, the two take a shot of this fishy liquid thing. Wayne takes the shot so smoothly, you could've mistaken it to be Don Julio, While John holds it in his mouth, motioning to vommitt. It does not look pleasant.
It is getting late and I have to make my way over to my brother's house where I will consume more alcohol and eat more stuff so I will say my good byes to the people I know. Once again, Lori's party is hands down, tastey, satisfying, and fun!
Friday, August 28, 2009
tea for the lady
It's late afternoon and it's moderately quiet out here in the patio of Coffee Bean. No body's around except me, the warm air and an iced cold cup of tea.
As I sit here, looking intensely at this cup in front of me, I notice that it is a traditional plastic cup, clear and round, exposing an orangey red color of the water that sits inside it, filling its way all the way up to the brim. It is just an average sized cup with a clear plastic lid covering the top, closed tightly all around. Scored in the center of the lid is an opening that tightly fits the purple plastic straw. Permanently embosed on the lid near both sides of the straw is a word "Solo" and an image of three continuous arrows pointing at the end of each other, constructing a shape of a triangle. Printed on the side of the cup is 'Ice Blended' and on the left hand corner, in a much smaller font size reads 'The Original'. Stratigically placed to the right of 'Ice' and above 'Blended' is a drawing of a cup of what appears to be a blended cappuccino with whipped cream piled on top. When I go to grab a hold of it, the strength of my fingers put an easeful indentation on both sides of the cup, slightly altering the shape of it. Through the plastic, my fingers begin to get wet and I can feel the cold temperature of the ice crawling into my finger tips. It is a hot summer afternoon.
Zooming closer, I can see water building up around the circumfrence of the cup with one particular area where a droplet is formed and it has gotten too heavy to hang on to the outside wall so I watch it elegantly slither down towards the bottom. I'm feeling hotter and hotter and the cup is appearing more and more delicous. All I want to do now is pull it closer to my lips and drink it. Eyeballing the opening of the straw and within seconds, I go for it, taking a quick slurp and its flowery taste immediately fills my warm mouth. Its immense aroma travels deep inside my throat and up my nose, allowing me to actually smell it. The excess water from the outside of the cup grabs hold of the inside of my palm. I can't control the urge to take another rather large gulp. This time, really focusing on where the cold sensation will move to. Instead of letting it naturally go down my throat right away, I hold on to it in my mouth, feeling the crispyness of its body, allowing it to tossle around and around as it plays with my togue. The perfumey taste retains my interest.
The crushed ice that once afloats the top inside the cup is gradually melting away. It looks like broken pieces of ice berge resting above the water in a fjork. I take another sip, but this time, bigger and longer and the sound of the chopped up ice hits the sides of the cup, producing a familiar sound, like a wave crashing into the side of a headland. The sweat around the outside of the cup pursuades me to press my forefinger against it, drawing two definite strokes in the shape of a letter V. This encourages me to take yet another gigantic gulp and this time, permitting the cold water to drop freely through my mouth and down my throat. I start to reminisce about my trip to New York City in the middle of winter back in 2002 to visit my friends Joe and Take. It was negative 12 degrees and several inches of snow had mounted on top of the windshield of parked cars. My friend Take, goes over to one parked car nearby and heavily presses his finger the windshield, scraping away a letter A, then N then another N and soon he has written two words 'Annibel Slut'. I think it was a nick name the made up for one of us, but I just can't recall.
As I sit here, looking intensely at this cup in front of me, I notice that it is a traditional plastic cup, clear and round, exposing an orangey red color of the water that sits inside it, filling its way all the way up to the brim. It is just an average sized cup with a clear plastic lid covering the top, closed tightly all around. Scored in the center of the lid is an opening that tightly fits the purple plastic straw. Permanently embosed on the lid near both sides of the straw is a word "Solo" and an image of three continuous arrows pointing at the end of each other, constructing a shape of a triangle. Printed on the side of the cup is 'Ice Blended' and on the left hand corner, in a much smaller font size reads 'The Original'. Stratigically placed to the right of 'Ice' and above 'Blended' is a drawing of a cup of what appears to be a blended cappuccino with whipped cream piled on top. When I go to grab a hold of it, the strength of my fingers put an easeful indentation on both sides of the cup, slightly altering the shape of it. Through the plastic, my fingers begin to get wet and I can feel the cold temperature of the ice crawling into my finger tips. It is a hot summer afternoon.
Zooming closer, I can see water building up around the circumfrence of the cup with one particular area where a droplet is formed and it has gotten too heavy to hang on to the outside wall so I watch it elegantly slither down towards the bottom. I'm feeling hotter and hotter and the cup is appearing more and more delicous. All I want to do now is pull it closer to my lips and drink it. Eyeballing the opening of the straw and within seconds, I go for it, taking a quick slurp and its flowery taste immediately fills my warm mouth. Its immense aroma travels deep inside my throat and up my nose, allowing me to actually smell it. The excess water from the outside of the cup grabs hold of the inside of my palm. I can't control the urge to take another rather large gulp. This time, really focusing on where the cold sensation will move to. Instead of letting it naturally go down my throat right away, I hold on to it in my mouth, feeling the crispyness of its body, allowing it to tossle around and around as it plays with my togue. The perfumey taste retains my interest.
The crushed ice that once afloats the top inside the cup is gradually melting away. It looks like broken pieces of ice berge resting above the water in a fjork. I take another sip, but this time, bigger and longer and the sound of the chopped up ice hits the sides of the cup, producing a familiar sound, like a wave crashing into the side of a headland. The sweat around the outside of the cup pursuades me to press my forefinger against it, drawing two definite strokes in the shape of a letter V. This encourages me to take yet another gigantic gulp and this time, permitting the cold water to drop freely through my mouth and down my throat. I start to reminisce about my trip to New York City in the middle of winter back in 2002 to visit my friends Joe and Take. It was negative 12 degrees and several inches of snow had mounted on top of the windshield of parked cars. My friend Take, goes over to one parked car nearby and heavily presses his finger the windshield, scraping away a letter A, then N then another N and soon he has written two words 'Annibel Slut'. I think it was a nick name the made up for one of us, but I just can't recall.
The water level makes its way down to the center of the cup, decreasing as if it's a swimming pool evaporating its water over a period of continuous hot days. Ice is completely melted off, making the cup look calm and peaceful. As I stare patiently at the cup, I discover a bunch of words printed on the right side and as I turn it to the left, I take notice of more words. It's written in a form of a paragraph, describing something that I don't quite care to find out. It's stuff that appears unimportant. It reminds me of myself writing this thing, the only difference is that the length of my writing is too long to fit in a space so small.
Water is running off the cup, creating a lump of water in the shape of the cup, leaving an imprint of a circle on the table beneath it. I got very curious so I grab the cup, pull it towards my chest and pop open the lid to look inside. The maroon colored t- shirt that I'm wearing reflects the color of the cup almost exactly. As I put my nose up to the cup expecting to smell a sweet flowery perfume, rather, I am stunned to discover an empty smell. As I wait a few seconds before putting it back down on the table, a faint scent of chrysanthemum reaches my nose. I wonder whether the smell would be different if this cup was hot rather than cold.
I take my last consumption, this time from the mouth of the cup instead of the straw. I quickly conclude that drinking out of the straw is much easier and cleaner as it would never spill out the side of my mouth. By now, half of the cup is empty and as I lower my head to look at it closer, through it I can see an image of a woven chair and its chrome arms and in the chair sits no one. For some strange reason, this reminds me of how badly I have to go pee. But I am too lazy to get out of this chair and go to the restroom.
I can't believe I am examing this cup like its life is depends on me. I begin to think that I'm getting bored of this cup, but luckily, my deep concentration gets interrupted by a friend who walks up to me holding a cup of ice tea in his hand. Its color is identical to mine, however, its size is twice as large and fresh ice is swimming mindlessly inside it. I can't help but think I want to stick my feet in the a cold pool. I want to close this note book and walk on out of here.
White & velvet blooms
My heart is racing and Beating out of control pulling me out of my much needed sleep this morning at 5:45.
It's been a year since I had two over grown bamboo trees removed from both sides of my garage. I've replaced those bamboos with red climbing roses, mini white roses to soften the red, and bordered with rosemarys. This year I was ready to share my space with a friend, Ann Bench, who also became my first Roomate. From fall to winter to spring to summer and soon back to fall, it was a fun year filled with blossoms and blooms.
The close-to-a-year of roomating consisted of occasional cookings, monkey cakes, confiding in each other, watching chick flicks, girl talk, mud run, church, work out, gardening, and tea time, my roomate and I are really parting. She is making a move to Utah, where she will live with her nana, and it is where she will be pleasantly surprised to find the man of her dreams was waiting for her in Utah all along. She is making the right move and her future is looking bright. I wish her all the best and look forward to visiting there soon!
Sunday, July 5, 2009
It's the 5th and I'm still alive
Sunbathing, reading, and a bike ride is a typical day in Newport Beach, but the Balboa peninsula aims for a temporary facelife every 4th of July. Door to door partying, bike parades, parking tickets and heavy crowds of people pushing their way into local bars and restaurants, are just a few distinct characteristics of such a day. It's madness. It has become nothing more than a faded memorie to me. But this year, I intend to bring this memorie back.
First step to accomplishing my goal this year is a 3-mile bike ride through a huge park that separates me from Lori Vu's party. BBQ, pool, waterslide and beer pong can all be found at her 4th of July party, or any time of year for that matter. Hours worth of beer pong and disgusting shots of liquor, I hop on my beach cruiser, giving full control of my safety to the gaurdian looking over me, I set sail, headed homebound, legally drunk.
That was the last I remember of the 4th. There were no fireworks, no Newport Pennesula, just a another chance to take a jab at living life in a much smarter way. Thank goodness.
Sunday, June 28, 2009
My life changes after blogging
Just a few days shy, the end of this month of June will mark my first month of blogging. So far so good. I love this thing. It's more than just a place to write about my thoughts and the goings-on in my life, it's made an impact on how I live my life - on a daily basis. More than ever before, I look forward to living each day and becoming more aware of how the each day effects me personally.
Saturday, June 27, 2009
call me
The first cell phone ever invented was in 1973 by a former employee of Motorola, Dr. Martin Cooper. It weighted 2.5 pounds, that's nearly the size of an average cantaloupe. The invention of hands free phones was to give people the freedom to communicate. The freedom to move around, the freedom to talk whenever and where ever. Thirty years later, a cell phone weights as little as 2.8 oz - with features that include Internet, organizer, navigation, and so on so forth. All this was done to give us our 'freedom'.
Today is my lucky day, my work day ends earlier than usual. Motivated to be getting out of work, I grab all the things I need to take home and rush out of there. Weekend, here I come! Driving home with AC on and radio turn to Jack FM, I am feeling good. By late evening, my cell phone is no where to be found. It is not in my purse, or my book bag, or in my car. Come to think of it, it is definitely hanging out in my work cabinet. For the first time, my Blackberry is free of me.
Back in the days when I had everyone's phone numbers memorized, from my mom's to my dad's to all of my friends', even the next door neighbor's. Phone numbers were to be memorized - in our head. Sitting in front of Facebook, mind-boggled, I search for any familiar phone numbers that will lead me to my phone. My brain is dead. And I am doomed - for the weekend. My cell phone has gradually become my brain.
It's been exactly 46 minutes since my discovery of this missing phone and I'm already pulling out my hair. I am frustrated as to how cell phone invention can really give us the freedom. It has more than anything, become our biggest authority, the thing we 'answer to'. They control us.
Today is my lucky day, my work day ends earlier than usual. Motivated to be getting out of work, I grab all the things I need to take home and rush out of there. Weekend, here I come! Driving home with AC on and radio turn to Jack FM, I am feeling good. By late evening, my cell phone is no where to be found. It is not in my purse, or my book bag, or in my car. Come to think of it, it is definitely hanging out in my work cabinet. For the first time, my Blackberry is free of me.
Back in the days when I had everyone's phone numbers memorized, from my mom's to my dad's to all of my friends', even the next door neighbor's. Phone numbers were to be memorized - in our head. Sitting in front of Facebook, mind-boggled, I search for any familiar phone numbers that will lead me to my phone. My brain is dead. And I am doomed - for the weekend. My cell phone has gradually become my brain.
It's been exactly 46 minutes since my discovery of this missing phone and I'm already pulling out my hair. I am frustrated as to how cell phone invention can really give us the freedom. It has more than anything, become our biggest authority, the thing we 'answer to'. They control us.
Friday, June 26, 2009
check it
Tradition has it, for any type of special occasion, there's registry available from Home Decor stores to Baby Stores to Department stores. Gifts are being selected and bought from a check-off list. It's fast and it's safe.
My best friend's sister, Jessica Lavin is a young mother of two, lives in Oregon and runs a business called Bohemia Yarn Co.. She sews baby slings, diaper bags, and other baby necessities, as well as knit baby booties and hats (you name it), from yarn she spun and dyed herself. She's incredible and her work is immaculate. She's hands down, talented.
This Sunday is my friend Melissa's baby shower and I refuse to pick something off a check list. I want to take on that challenge and see if I can get a gift that she will like. So instead of checking another item off a list registered at Babies R Us, I opted for a more personal route, Bohemia Yarn Co.. With 6 days to spare, my order (a baby sling and a little wool hat) arrives at my house. It is the most precious thing I've ever seen, both the sling and the hat were done perfectly. I am happy.
Registries are convenient. I definitely like it. But only when I want to play it safe. Gifts in my opinion, are met to show how much I know that person and how important they are to me. I look forward to refusing another check-off list. It's risky and possibly time consuming, but fun!
My best friend's sister, Jessica Lavin is a young mother of two, lives in Oregon and runs a business called Bohemia Yarn Co.. She sews baby slings, diaper bags, and other baby necessities, as well as knit baby booties and hats (you name it), from yarn she spun and dyed herself. She's incredible and her work is immaculate. She's hands down, talented.
This Sunday is my friend Melissa's baby shower and I refuse to pick something off a check list. I want to take on that challenge and see if I can get a gift that she will like. So instead of checking another item off a list registered at Babies R Us, I opted for a more personal route, Bohemia Yarn Co.. With 6 days to spare, my order (a baby sling and a little wool hat) arrives at my house. It is the most precious thing I've ever seen, both the sling and the hat were done perfectly. I am happy.
Registries are convenient. I definitely like it. But only when I want to play it safe. Gifts in my opinion, are met to show how much I know that person and how important they are to me. I look forward to refusing another check-off list. It's risky and possibly time consuming, but fun!
Monday, June 22, 2009
mini adults
Kids come in all shapes and sizes - some are loud, some are smart-alecks, some are rude, and others are rebels. They are kids. And kids are annoying. As adults, we try to keep them from adult conversations, adult parties, practically anything adult related. It's sad.
It's a beautiful afternoon and we arrive at Plant Motif's design studio just in time to put a few plant arrangements together. Samuel, who turned 10 in February, is the oldest son of my oldest brother, rolls up his sleeves with the intentions of helping me -design. Hesitant to let him help (as if it's a priveledge), I suggest that he help clean and keep things in order around the studio. Now that's a great way to keep him distracted. He is eager.
As I zone out of reality and into my artist mode, I struggle to get the design just right. He comes up behind me, with both hands on his lower back, he softly says, "I like the placement of that plant, it looks good right there. Maybe we should add this here for balance, he would continue". Suddenly I'm no longer stuck. His suggestion enlivened my creativity. He saved me.
Although kids do come in all shapes and sizes, they are a lot like us. My nephew samuel and other kids alike are not just a kid, they are the smaller version of us - adults. So lets be patient with them and help them grow.
It's a beautiful afternoon and we arrive at Plant Motif's design studio just in time to put a few plant arrangements together. Samuel, who turned 10 in February, is the oldest son of my oldest brother, rolls up his sleeves with the intentions of helping me -design. Hesitant to let him help (as if it's a priveledge), I suggest that he help clean and keep things in order around the studio. Now that's a great way to keep him distracted. He is eager.
As I zone out of reality and into my artist mode, I struggle to get the design just right. He comes up behind me, with both hands on his lower back, he softly says, "I like the placement of that plant, it looks good right there. Maybe we should add this here for balance, he would continue". Suddenly I'm no longer stuck. His suggestion enlivened my creativity. He saved me.
Although kids do come in all shapes and sizes, they are a lot like us. My nephew samuel and other kids alike are not just a kid, they are the smaller version of us - adults. So lets be patient with them and help them grow.
Sunday, June 21, 2009
he loves me
I see my dad at least a couple of days a week, yet it's only once a year that I think about him. And it happens to be today.
The relationship between me and my father is very unique. There is always a special, unspoken bond between me and him. He cares about me. He cares about me more than my brothers even. I remember the day when he helped me with my science project (earning me first place) and another day when he helped me build a 1920's Ford automobile out of cardboard for a class project (again, one of the best in class), another day when he took my car to the auto shop to get a tune up, and another when he spent hours under my kitchen sink installing a water filter for me (and my roomate)...I can go on and on. Clearly, my father is a caring man. But I was always yearning for more.
Coming from a family of five and being the youngest to two older brothers, I am more than qualified to be daddy's little girl. I want to be daddy's little girl. I remember seeing little girls running up to their daddies, hugging them around the neck and kissing them. I wish that little girl was me.
Observed by many countries, this day is designated to honor our fathers and is celebrated on the third Sunday of June. This year, it falls on Sunday, June 21st. This day reminds me how badly I want to get closer to my dad. The kind of closeness that most girls share with their dads. I just want to hear him say he loves me.
The relationship between me and my father is very unique. There is always a special, unspoken bond between me and him. He cares about me. He cares about me more than my brothers even. I remember the day when he helped me with my science project (earning me first place) and another day when he helped me build a 1920's Ford automobile out of cardboard for a class project (again, one of the best in class), another day when he took my car to the auto shop to get a tune up, and another when he spent hours under my kitchen sink installing a water filter for me (and my roomate)...I can go on and on. Clearly, my father is a caring man. But I was always yearning for more.
Coming from a family of five and being the youngest to two older brothers, I am more than qualified to be daddy's little girl. I want to be daddy's little girl. I remember seeing little girls running up to their daddies, hugging them around the neck and kissing them. I wish that little girl was me.
Observed by many countries, this day is designated to honor our fathers and is celebrated on the third Sunday of June. This year, it falls on Sunday, June 21st. This day reminds me how badly I want to get closer to my dad. The kind of closeness that most girls share with their dads. I just want to hear him say he loves me.
Saturday, June 20, 2009
blog me please
As if living in a world where technology is at its peek, offering several different avenues (facebook, myspace, twitter, just to name a few) of getting connected with friends and family from half way across the world isn't enough to keep us socially enabled, there's blogging.
When texting became popular and everyone was doing it, I was reluctant. No way was I following that trend. I was adamant about keeping phone calls more personal; hence no texting. A few years later, I find myself upgrading my cell phone plan to include unlimited texting. Goes without saying, if you can't beat them, join them. And I did.
So what about blogging? I secretly love blogging as much as I'd like to deny how addicted I am to facebook. I've finally agreed to a new way of communicating, or shall we call it 'connecting' or better yet, lack thereof. So don't call me or text me or email me, blog me.
When texting became popular and everyone was doing it, I was reluctant. No way was I following that trend. I was adamant about keeping phone calls more personal; hence no texting. A few years later, I find myself upgrading my cell phone plan to include unlimited texting. Goes without saying, if you can't beat them, join them. And I did.
So what about blogging? I secretly love blogging as much as I'd like to deny how addicted I am to facebook. I've finally agreed to a new way of communicating, or shall we call it 'connecting' or better yet, lack thereof. So don't call me or text me or email me, blog me.
Wednesday, June 17, 2009
van and vaan
Let's put all that innovative ways of communicating aside, my cousin is officially in town and we are about to really connect. Oh my, trapped behind this bright screen, the world of online communicating, has depleted my desire to just get out. How I've forgotten how it works.
Van Truong, who is the daughter of my dad's younger brother is just seven months and seven days older than I am. Growing up with two older brothers and no sisters, my cousin naturally became my best friend, practically soul mates - to the extreme of being telepathically connected. There are countless times when we can sense each other's traumatic experiences. This is no joke. Needless to say, we share the exact same name - first, last, and middle initial. To tell us apart, she goes by Van number one and I go by Van number two. The double 'a' that appears in my name now is an accidental (seriously) occurrence.
My cousin is scheduled to arrive from Las Vegas at 2pm with her girl friend, Michiline, which I later find out whose birthday we are celebrating. Since they are only staying for less than 24 hours, we are under subtle pressure to meet, greet and say good bye. This is where facebook could've come in handy. Just send me a simple wall post and call it a day.
After exchanging numerous text messenges, a couple of which is misconstrued, I make my way over to Shore Break Hotel in Huntington Beach to pick them up - this is around 7pm. Between the hours of 7pm and 3 in the morning, we had hit several different venues including Tantulum, a fancy restaurant in Long Beach, a mid-night cruise in Long Beach Bay, a bar off of Main St. in Huntington Beach, a manic photo session back t the hotel room, then to wrap it up, dunking our feet into the freezy ocean - at 3 am. It was so much fun!
I realize how easy it is to let all that time go by and how much of my cousin I've sincerely missed. I wish it was like this all the time. I wish Facebook never existed.
Van Truong, who is the daughter of my dad's younger brother is just seven months and seven days older than I am. Growing up with two older brothers and no sisters, my cousin naturally became my best friend, practically soul mates - to the extreme of being telepathically connected. There are countless times when we can sense each other's traumatic experiences. This is no joke. Needless to say, we share the exact same name - first, last, and middle initial. To tell us apart, she goes by Van number one and I go by Van number two. The double 'a' that appears in my name now is an accidental (seriously) occurrence.
My cousin is scheduled to arrive from Las Vegas at 2pm with her girl friend, Michiline, which I later find out whose birthday we are celebrating. Since they are only staying for less than 24 hours, we are under subtle pressure to meet, greet and say good bye. This is where facebook could've come in handy. Just send me a simple wall post and call it a day.
After exchanging numerous text messenges, a couple of which is misconstrued, I make my way over to Shore Break Hotel in Huntington Beach to pick them up - this is around 7pm. Between the hours of 7pm and 3 in the morning, we had hit several different venues including Tantulum, a fancy restaurant in Long Beach, a mid-night cruise in Long Beach Bay, a bar off of Main St. in Huntington Beach, a manic photo session back t the hotel room, then to wrap it up, dunking our feet into the freezy ocean - at 3 am. It was so much fun!
I realize how easy it is to let all that time go by and how much of my cousin I've sincerely missed. I wish it was like this all the time. I wish Facebook never existed.
Sunday, June 14, 2009
back to school
Preparing for my first day back to school was always exciting. I would get new binders, papers, pencils, a box of 64 color crayons, basically, my backpack was filled up with everything new. If I was lucky and if my parents can afford it, I would be treated to a new hair cut and a couple of new outfits. Oh, and for class orientation, classroom visit, and school pictures, they would even go with me. Going back to school was just plain exciting.
Years and years and years later, what was once excitement converted into fear. Requiring a great deal of pep talk and self encouragement, I forced myself to meet with a counselor, which turned out to be painful, more so than a visit to the doctor's office. Although it was the kind of pain that didn't physically hurt, it came in the form of shamefulness, the kind that was powerful enough to keep me out of school for as long as it did. I over came it. I met the counselor, face to face.
This day and age, enrolling in classes is designed to be super convenient, everything is done through a click of a button. Considering the significant amount of years that I was out of school, this was not so convenient. The good old days when we used to call in on the phone, punch in our desired class number and there we would have it, class enrolled. Those days are gone. Nonetheless, I managed to get myself enrolled in a class for the summer. It's all coming back to me.
No new hair cut or outfit, just a few very very expensive books, my first day of class remain far from excitment.
Sunday, June 7, 2009
running through mud
When it comes to trying something new, like riding a bike for the first time or even having a taste of gooey duck sashimi, it is never easy or motivating and we are left with our natural instinct to back out – it’s just easier. In my case, it was signing up for a 10k Mud Run – way back in January.
Having never run a marathon or even walked one, the thought of doing a 10K obstacle course that entails two 5 foot walls with mud on both sides, a quarter mile swim across a muddy lake, crawling through tunnels, major inclines and to top it off, crawling in mud –marine-style, is down right intimidating. Even the hot (hot-looking, that is) marines couldn’t motivate me for this one. I’m a dead duck.
The day arrives. What in the world did I get myself into? Anne, who roped me into this mess will never hear the end of this. And I will never hear the end of it from Janetta, who I in turn roped in. “You can do it,” I would tell myself. Just think hot marine, I would tell myself some more. It’ll be fun!”
3 hours worth of driving, a Campendleton t-shirt, and a peanut butter Power Bar later, we are at the start of the race – well, as far forward as four thousand runners will allow. I am still trying to keep cool and making conversations to hide the fear. It seems as though my fellow friend runners were doing the same thing. The race begins slow and steady, following the lead of other runners before us like a school of fish. Before we knew it, it was just a quarter mile from the top of the hill. I couldn’t believe it. At one hour and fifty minutes, we are high-fiving marines (yes, the hot ones) and hearing screams from the crowd. And by the way, the marines, were hot! Wow, it wasn’t so bad. It was actually fun!
A couple of weeks have gone by and I’m stilling thinking about it. I will be the first to be on that sign up sheet, which will be in January, 2010! If you are reading this, you are coordinately invited to join me and the team.
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