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.
Sunday, June 28, 2009
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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