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Dear Friends,

I wanted to write everyone a letter.  I am horrible with good-byes.  I have tried hard to hide it, but I've struggled emotionally with life-changing news.  It comes as a good, great thing--but the celebration comes with the caveat of compilations.  There wasn't any doubt in my mind when I got the offer that I should accept it.  But I know that when I would do so, it wouldn't be easy.

I wanted to write this, because if you are reading this, and you have absolutely no idea what it is about or where I will be in the following months, then I am sorry.  This letter is written in guilt to you.  You are my friend, and while I love sharing funny, stupid things online, I hesitate to divulge in details of my personal life.  I am feeling guilty, because I am guilty of being someone who could wear her heart so openly on her sleeve, yet without enough confidence to speak of it.  I know luck hardly has anything to do with the outcome of our decisions, yet I am scared to jinx myself in my next big adventure.  I am sometimes so self-conscious, that I don't believe in myself enough to boast my aspirations fearlessly.

If you are reading this, and you do know what I am talking about, thank you for understanding my secrecy.  I liken this moment for me as Luke Skywalker training in the Dagobah system, needing full focus and confidentiality.  Although I imagine, there would only be so long I could withhold information for, I hope to make this transition quietly.

Lastly, to those who I am leaving, I am sorry I did not properly say good bye to anyone.  As I began writing, I am horrible with good-byes.  I don't like treating this move as a permanent farewell.  I imagine it to be another stop in the long trip I'm traveling.  I will visit.  Or, rather, return.

See you all, wherever you may be, soon.

Apologies from a hypocrite: thoughts on yellow fever

Dear World,

I didn't always know what it meant to be Asian.  Growing up, the things I knew for certain were simple.  I knew that my parents spoke Vietnamese to me.  I knew we celebrated extra holidays as a family.  But it never occurred to me that I could be different than my classmates by a way of racial background until I was older.  Actually, it's more accurate to say, I didn't know it could mean anything to be different racially until I was older.  Until then, as a kid, I just I knew I looked different.  I had black hair, but so what? My best friend's hair was blonde, and my neighbor had brown hair, and the girl who sat next to me had red curly hair.  More important things to me: I liked my bike. My bike was cool.  Books were really cool.  And the coolest thing, was being able to find people who could share these cool things with me.

My hometown was hardly diverse in the 90s.  It was a newly developing suburb.  It was nice. I look kindly on my childhood to this day.  It wasn't until I reached high school, when I began to meet more kinds of people.  I suddenly began to realize, holy shit--there's been other people like me on the other side of town.  Subconsciously, I made these little connections, like figuring that maybe they went through similar things I had gone through too.  Maybe we could just get each other.  So, a sense of camaraderie grew and I just wanted to be accepted, understood, and to finally be a part of something.  I was on a constant struggle to understand my identity.

But I am skipping a lot of things that lead up to that moment; racial slurs and stereotypes, culture clashes, and self-hatred deriving from confusion--a lot of it.  Because each are its own story to me, I save the detail for a time I can talk about it with justice and with the attention it deserves.  Yet, every time one of those things happened, it had added up to the hope I could make more sense of things.  In retrospect, we were just a bunch of kids who were figuring ourselves out.  But we wanted so much more.

We made stupid rules.  It wasn't like we sat down and wrote ten commandments on being Asian, but it there was sort of unwritten, yet distinctively known set of rules that we lived strictly by.  Example: it was like a sin to wear Abercrombie, especially after they kept slipping with politically incorrect t-shirts like "Two Wongs make it White." Understandable response on our part.  Then, Fast and the Furious came out and I remember the whole explosion with racing cars and JDM imports.  There was really hardly any Asian representation in the media. So we were just scrambling together to try to find out what it was to be us.  It was as if we were only given this defined scale of WHITE to BLACK.  We were that weird gray area in-between to work with and we stayed somewhere in-between, like where breakdancing and basketball would be.

We were always constantly nervous in some way.  But if we were hard on each other, it was because we were hard on ourselves. And to make matters worse, there was the DATING scene.  As if it wasn't hard enough, racial tension had to muck it all up for us and make it even harder.

I always found myself attracted to all races.  In my hometown, there just happened to be a lot of white dudes.  That's just how it was.  There was never a problem that I like-liked any of them until I was older.  Like in any interracial relationship, it was added tension.  The first time I went on a date with a white guy in high school, I felt like I was betraying... something.  I wasn't the only person who felt weird about it, but like others, I couldn't just sit down and explain the entire situation intelligently.  So we made jokes, lots of them. That was how we dealt with the tension.

This is where my apology comes into play.  For a long time, I bought into the hype of hating on interracial relationships.  I have to say this now very generally: interracial relationships.  Even though at the time, I was actually ok with all and any interracial relationships outside of Asian and Caucasians, for me to have that one exception makes it just as bad as having a problem with any.  When I think about it now, I don't think it's justified to say, well white guys who are totally into Asian girls are totally different than, say, latino guys who are into black chicks.  But for a long time, it really did feel justified to have that one exception.

I regret feeling angry.  I've been pretty short-fused towards nearly any politically incorrect interaction with a white guy.  These guys came off like I was some anime character who would squeal Japanese catchphrases in exaggerated immaturity.  They would shout out names of various Vietnamese (if they had it right) food, sometimes even complete expressions for ordering food in Vietnamese, as if culture was a cuisine.  Or they would try to find out my race before even bothering to find out my unique personal interests.  What upset me the most was hearing one-dimensional complements that usurped my humanity to an Oriental object of display or exotic collection for their amusement.  YELLOW FEVER! I'd groan with disgust.  I'm a PERSON, and my upbringing involved more meaning and complexity than these random Chinese character tattoos and those samurai swords on your mantle!

But here's the thing: why was I so spiteful? Why did I have to be so angry? Instead of finding a snarky response to alienate the ignorant, I should've just seen the opportunity as someone who is interested but just doesn't know any better.  Hell, I've been just as confused in my own life.  The more knowledge we spread--genuinely, and not in a heated tirade--the sooner we can move forward as a society.  Anytime I got angry, clammed up, or threw my hands up in disgust, I was just as stuck as the person I was accusing.  We aren't going anywhere with that kind of mindset.

For all the comments I get as an Asian girl who is seen with a white guy, and all the annoying "oh yeah, of course she'd be with a white guy too" expressions--EVEN if I am just having lunch with a coworker--I should know better.  But I let these things happen.  I let this phrase, "yellow fever" be okay, simply by accepting the usage.  How, in our society today, do we still encourage these thoughts? I have tried so hard to defend my relationships in the past--to say WE are not one of THOSE couples, when I should've been defending against the thought of what "those" couples would be on a whole. A couple is just a couple.  Why are we even disputing others' decisions with such scrutiny?

I do think that disingenuous relationships exist.  But I'm starting to feel like the mindset of anti-yellow fever has grown to this crazy monster that applies as disgust towards any time an Asian girl is with a white guy.  I know that there will still be some guy out there who will say politically incorrect things about his interest in Asian girls.  But instead of saying, UGH, WHITE GUYS!  Why can't we just agree on, "Oh man that guy is just creepy!"

World, I am sorry I have been a hypocrite. I'm sorry I've been encouraging Yellow Fever hate.  It wasn't fair of me.  I can be comfortable about myself and my own relationships instead of judging others.  I am going to stop using that phrase: Yellow Fever.  And anyways, it wouldn't be fair to the flavivirus, which doesn't actually discriminate humans by race.

Riding bikes before sunset

Lately, I've been asking myself the same questions that never seem to have a true answer: Have I done right in my life? Am I doing my best? Do I regret anything?  Sure enough, I've been repeating the same albums lately, when listening to music.  As I contemplate on the trials life continues to throw at me, all I can remember is how much more simple everything seemed in my youth.

The earlier the time was, the easier it seemed.  I think beauty can always be found in simplicity.  It reminds us of the better things in life that remain uncomplicated.  They are like the dreams that have yet been untouched by the truth of humanity and its consequent intricacies of greed, hate, jealousy and moral perversion.  It is as if my eagerness to trace back the mess I've made in my life could somehow be sorted out like a tangled ball of string.  So I get lost in the mayhem: here is when I made my first mistake, following which, I lost way of goals, building up to the collection of failures for the years following....

I can't pinpoint exactly why certain songs can call back memories of my childhood. Usually, it's the easy pace of a simple guitar with a sad melody that will bring them back.

When I hear the piano, I hear music of my own; the familiar keys strike back a hard certainty of how things are and how difficult they have become.  But when I hear the guitar, I remember my father's old acoustic guitar; despite its veneer worn with age, it could sing classic stories with such warmth in its didactic timbre.  I remember my brother's rebellious electric guitar and the self-taught lessons-- first learned in secrecy and yet later fueled by the history laid before it.  So, the guitar had set the tone for memories I recall as guidance I had admired lovingly in my younger years.  Even when I hear a new song, the reverberating steel strings can still resonate with the tracks that had shaped me.

I didn't grow up in California, but a good bike ride always makes me feel happy again--a simple kind of happiness.  It is the same feeling I had as a child riding through by myself in the cul-de-sac of our suburbs in Northern Virginia.  When we were younger, my brother and I always rode together, but there was a distinct time I remember in-between our youth and older age, when I was still too young to give up my white Huffy road bike.  In the late summer, I would have enough time to ride afternoons aimlessly around the neighborhood, as long as I made it back in time for dinner.  Every sunset ride home, I could smell the barbeque of my neighbors' grill and the soft cool air from the incoming fall would lift the hair in my loose fitted helmet.  Moments like these don't have much of an explanation behind them, only the feeling that comes with it.  These are the good, uncomplicated memories that remind us of a more simple time.

Bobby and I like to ride our bikes to the beach, though we haven't had the time to go recently.  Finally, a weekend wasn't booked, and we both had the idea to go.  It was one of those fantastic moments when we came together with something we both wanted and were met with the satisfaction in knowing it was the same thing.  So, Bobby came to my door on a Saturday afternoon with his bicycle.  We pumped our bikes' tires and set off to go.

The way to the beach from my apartment isn't difficult.  It takes about three or four blocks before hitting the major road that leads to the beach in about 5 to 10 minutes' ride.  The last few minutes before hitting the peninsula is a beautiful downhill slope that overlooks Newport Beach.  Bobby always rides down first, leading the path with such carefree expression.  It is this moment in which I am always taken back.  I see the sun shining proudly over the ocean, hardly a cloud in the sky, and the line of houses behind the Pacific Coast Highway calls for us to follow beyond the horizon for an afternoon visit.

Riding home from Newport Beach with Bobby, I heard simple sounds; the shifting gears of his bike, the rattle of my own over bumps on the sidewalk.  Though the sun sets in a different direction on the West Coast, it felt like the same cool blanket of warm violet over darkened blues.  Once again, I felt happy.  I was coming home with my best friend, and these are our adventures.  Our memories to be shared together; the laughter affirmed by company and the sadness understood by a confidant.  The bike ride was the perfect time to reflect, but for once since a long time, I didn't feel sad to think back on my mistakes.  Perhaps I still don't know what the right answer is, but it sure sounds like the slow and easy slide of a steel guitar in my mind and Bobby's warm call aloud for me to ride beside him.  All I know for certain is that I am on the right way home.

In Friends We Trust

I understand the argument that a girl and a guy cannot be just friends.  It can be hard.  I've spent my whole life hanging out with more guys than girls, and I agree wholeheartedly that it's extremely difficult for a guy and a girl to be just friends.

But I say this specifically: I've hung out with more guys than girls.  I don't mean I am friends with more guys than girls. I don't even think I am friends with everyone in the same way.  I believe that the word "friends" is just complex as the world "love." You can love your parents, your siblings, your significant other, your friends or your even your dog Fido.  So, I understand the skepticism for those who hesitate when I am friends with their significant other.  But, it can happen, just, maybe unconventionally.

I understand that often, the moment friendships become complicated is when friends are confused with something else--be it physical attraction, romantic feelings, or a little bit of both.  But as a straight female, I am honestly going to meet a few attractive men in my life.  This will happen. I also realize that my boyfriend and future husband is going to meet a few attractive women in his life.  That's going to be completely normal.  There are a number of great people in this planet.  I can't stop that.  But, if I think that my man is going to jump at the chance of sexual freedom at any given interaction with an attractive female, either I've got trust issues or he is one perfidious partner.  And neither one of those things can be blamed on the relationships between friends.  Those are just issues between us as the kind of people we are.

I think that restricting yourself from friendships just because of complications is taking the easy way out.  In relationships of the past, I've over romanticized the times I spent with guys I clicked with and made the effort to see--who I weren't "allowed" to see.  It became this special adventure, where I could be this other exciting person I couldn't be with the significant other.  It was a perfect breeding ground for infatuation, and many times, it did end up that way.  I wasn't trusted during these moments, and I didn't feel like I could be trusted.  The secret moments I could slip away were volatile, ready to break through my relationships and explode.

But if experience had taught me anything over time, it had taught me that moments are always what you make them out to be.  I hang out with some pretty cool guys and girls all the time now, and well, that's just a normal thing.  It's fun, and I love my friends, but I really always will be in love with the one I've got at home.  I've become completely comfortable with that, and I've never been happier.

My boyfriend goes on a lot of business trips for long periods of time, and the trips usually take him out of the country.  Yet, I believe our relationship and trust is the strongest out of any others I've ever been involved with before.  Whether he is in town or out, I can be completely honest with him about who I hang out with and what we do, and the same goes for him in reverse.  Being able to that kind of trust is crucial.  It means you're able to have the trust in knowing that you are loved completely for who you are.  I am not a perfect person, I don't belong on a pedestal.  But I try; I know when the line is crossed, and I don't cross it.  Any imperfections I've got along the way are dealt with in honesty. And we deal with them together.

And I know what a lot of people are thinking.  Can you really trust one-on-one time, and even more questionably, can you trust when alcohol is involved?  Well, that's up to you.  I thought about this one for a long time.  There's a moment in the movie, The Five-Year Engagement, that really resonated with me.  When the main characters argue over a bad night at the bar and a make-out session that shouldn't have happened, the argument went something like this:

GIRL: He kissed me!
GUY: You know what? That is a cop out. That is not fair. Yes, he may have been the one who kissed you. But there is a reason that he felt like that was an option. You know that's the truth.

There are obviously huge differences between my friendships with girls and guys.  I don't care what some oblivious girls say, it is not better to go shopping with guys (mainly because they probably are not actually enjoying it the same way you are) and guys are not less drama (especially the ones who are trying to sleep with you).  Sometimes when girls say they are cool with guys and they would much rather be friends with guys then girls, but then they just end up having cocktails and talking about their boy problems with these poor guys, and I kind of imagine this like when Lisa Simpson dresses up Snowball like a baby.

There are exceptions, I get it.  I like to talk about things that generally more guys will understand than girls.  I grew up idolizing my brother. I work in male dominated environments. I totally get it.  But here's the major similarity I have between my guy friends and my girl friends: I do not stand in KISSING DISTANCE WITH THEM.  I don't linger there.  I don't gaze romantically in their eyeballs.  The major difference between my guy friends and girl friends? I am always conscious of not crossing the line between myself and guys.  I love my guy friends, I am proud of them, and I will always try to be their friends despite complications.  But I am never going to forget that it will always be a possibility.  I've learned my lesson here.  Sometimes it was the hard way, but I get it now.   I am not going to lie and say, I love these guys like my sisters. Because I don't.  They're not my sisters.  But that's okay. I'm not going to pretend they are.  That's why it works.

it's been a long time since you felt better

Reflecting on my four years in California, I found some writing that I had stored away from the  first year I moved to Orange County.  For the first time in my life, I had moved across the country to a new state, and for the next four years, I would continue to change so many things about my life.  For a moment, it seemed like life was finally calming down.  But maybe, I'm starting to figure, it was just a temporary lull.  Although my experiences with relationships have happily changed since then (contrast to more recent post), I feel like life has hit me with a second set of change. My reflections with the beach remain the same.  I think this explains the mood best.

---------------------------------------------------------- 4/18/09 1:52AM
A funny thing I’ve noticed lately is that my head has a continuous soundtrack of Jenny Lewis/Rilo Kiley songs playing as background music. I am not sure for how long this has been going on, but I have a funny feeling it has been for a while. Yesterday, acoustic ballads from the Jenny Lewis concert were playing in my mind along to the soothing rhythm of the waves crashing to the shore as Will and I ran back and forth the beach, scooping wet sand with our hands onto our incomplete attempt at a sand castle. The sun was skimming off the water, I could hear children laughing in the background, and then, I remembered how easily troubles melt in warm California weather. 

I always believed that I was I die-hard romantic. I think my past idealistic aspirations led me to a can of whoop-ass, delivered by reality himself. I don’t think I will ever change as a romantic, but instead, maybe I’ve changed to a different kind. Rather than daydreaming of romantic fantasies and ideals, I think I live for the romance in everyday life. I like to believe there is still romance in reality. Yesterday holds a good memory for me in its simplicity. I don’t return to blog and gush about blue eyes, lingering fingertips, or a hope for some monogamous future. Instead, I remember the blue waters, the lingering reflection of the sun before the sunset faded to night, and I remember the restoring hope of enjoying the moment simply as it is. 

My jaded perspective on relationships, especially marriages, brought me back to re-considering what it is I want and how I am going to get there. For a while, I’ve often treated the details of my personal life as something inappropriate to discuss, but the more I take the time to share (slowly, but surely) with the people I love, the more I realized that I am not alone. It turns out that people are more understanding and empathetic than I give them credit for (go figure). Though it should not have been a surprise to me, I discovered that the people who remain in my life care about me. I can take my time. I will figure myself out. I want to see the unspoken details as I live them, not just imagine them in my mind. I’ve lived in a separate world, in a continuous day dream. I don’t want to suddenly live dangerously, but I want to live without socially implicated obligations for a while. I mean to say, I just want to be myself, and to recenter my focus to being me. And I am most thankful to know that my friends will still be there for me.

Last week my other fiddler crab died, probably during my visit back home. A couple of days ago, I made a drive to Huntington Beach to release her into the shore. I walked alone to the waters, and I think to myself. I think about how the crabs were my first friends during my first month here, I think about how transient life can be, and I look around me. A surfer and I smile simultaneously. I put my crab, wadded inside a wad of a kitchen napkin, into a mound in the sand. The waves crash quicker than I anticipate, and as the waters pull back, my crab is already gone. The sun breaks into a million pieces on the ripples in the water, and I can hear Jenny Lewis playing Under the Blacklight in the background.

The General List of Things I've Noticed in Dating

I'm going to write a two-parter.  Firstly, I'll write this for my single friends out there.  Then, I'll write another for those keeping up a long-term relationship. Now, I know a lot of times, when generalizations are made about these things, a lot of the response is negative, such as: "This is the most <sexist/close minded/prejudiced/idiotic> piece of shit I've ever heard."  Well, yeah this might be another one of those piece of shits, but I'll try to keep the post as broad-reaching as possible--even though I'm pretty sure I made up that word.  Unless we're sailing.  Then in that case, I think a variation of that word is real.

For all my single ladies/men:

I don't know why it is that I enjoy dating shows.  Sometimes I attribute it to the slow moving train wreck phenomenon.  Sometimes I try to sound more educated and blame my fascination of character development on my literary background (but who am I kidding, I'm just an English major from a UC who was a pre-med at some point).  The truth is, I just find it appealing.  I get invested.  I find a contestant I really like and I root for him or her.  But in the end, the outcome is usually the same.  The person I like the best always gets booted off the show.  So I was inspired to write about this, because this is also true when I talk to my friends about their relationship.  The girl/guy I like always gets the boot, and the jerk always stays.  So let me share with you what I've learned from dating shows and from my friends' experiences.

Enter: "The General List of Things I've Noticed in Dating"

1. People always distinguish the difference between romantic and friendly interest.  I'm starting off with the obvious, because it doesn't matter how many times people hear this, they will still fail to remember it when they are dating.  I'm going to try to make this one as clear as possible:

• If you are interested in someone, show it.  When you are shy or nervous or self-conscious, you are doing the opposite of being interested: you are just being friendly.  And if it looks and feels like friendly, then it just is.  On the other hand, if more-than-friends is what you're going after, go ahead! Flirt a little.  Care a little more.  It's okay, that is how you feel.
• If you are filling the air with euphemisms, keeping your distance, dancing around the interest, you are only prolonging the inevitable.  First of all, if the feeling is mutual, it has nothing to do with how you approach things.  It really just crumbles down to who you two are. Period.  Any tricks and fancy facades will later be figured out anyways and the fake-chemistry will die out.  So the best thing to do is to give the other person the respect and proper opportunity to let you know what's up and reject you.  If you don't let them have the chance, you are simply not allowed to later accuse that person of leading you on.
• Being nice is not being romantic.  Anyone can be nice.  Friends can be nice.  Acquaintances can be nice.  Hell, your grandmother can be nice.  I hear that sob story all the time, wah wah I was so nice to this person, and I still get the boot.  Well, I'm sorry, that is just moot point.  If I wanted someone to be nice to me, I'm just going to call my Momma cause she always asks me how I'm doing.  And she is the nicest lady I know. Don't stop being nice, being nice is GREAT. But what else you got for me ?
• People legitimately like their best friend, they just don't always like-like them.  So, I've heard a few people get sad that they were the essential best friend to their person of interest, but the feeling was never mutual.  Well, I mean, that happens all the time.  The best friend is legitimately liked.  Bravo--you really were a great person.  I don't necessarily agree with the people who snub their "best friend of gender of supposed sexual preference," but it happens.  It's usually for some lame excuse about how you can't make up chemistry, but you can always find someone you can get along well with, or something like that. I don't know.  It happens.  That being said...

2.  Interest in someone usually means that the person is interesting.  This of course, brings a different meaning depending on each person for how one found is to be interesting, but DUH, interest means interesting.  We're just tacking on the "-ing" to turn the same word into an adjective to describe someone.

• Usually, a person has to be another person to be interesting.  I get that this is another seemingly obvious statement, but again, you'd be surprised by how often this point is overlooked.  Yes-Men are boring as shit.  People who are really agreeable and offering little-to-nothing of their own thoughts are usually ones who fade into the distance.  I don't advise you to pick a fight all the time or to be difficult as shit.  I just mean that if talking to you is like talking to dry-wall, then obviously, you're about as interesting as dry-wall.  Looking like an idiot at least makes you look like an idiotic person.  That's not an excuse to be an idiot, just more of an assurance that the fear of embarrassing yourself or upsetting the other person shouldn't be as big of a fear as not revealing the interesting truth of you who actually are inside.
• There's always something new to learn about yourself.  I mean this both in the deep philosophical way that encourages you to continue discover more about yourself everyday, but also in the way that encourages you to assert yourself to the other person as an interesting, dynamic person.  It's so easy to be fooled into assuming you know what the other person wants, and subconsciously, fall into the trap of continuing to be that ideal person consistently.  Well here's the thing, you don't always know what the other person wants, and also, the other person doesn't even always know what they want either.  So don't fall into the trap of being typecasted in the same role, doing the same routine, or you'll plateau interest-wise as well.  Which reminds me...

3. Your bad side will always be figured out eventually.  Dating has huge, huge potential for tricks and illusions.  This point could be your greatest advantage, but it could also be your worst disadvantage.  I also had the habit of getting caught up in my actions and neurotically trying to decipher the other person's.  Chill.  The truth always catches up, so:

• You can't change who you are.  This means, those blue jeans or those black slacks, whatever.  Just choose the one you like best and enjoy yourself on that date!  If you really think 2 hours spent wrecking havoc on your wardrobe is somehow going to be David Copperfield's greatest trick, we need to bring you back to reality.  The worst thing that can happen is that the person doesn't like your physical flaws, or thinks your style sucks.  Well, whatever, that person is superficial then, anyways.  Or could just be incompatibility.  You guys will figure it out, eventually.  Let those folded cotton T's remain organized in peace.
• Remember that you eventually want them to like you, both the good and the bad parts.  And vice versa.  Here's the thing, if you're strictly thinking short term, then okay.  Forget this point.  If you're thinking more potential long-term, then listen up: all the things your friends told you to hide is bullshit.  Be yourself.  Someone's going to love you for who you are.  And if they don't, then don't try to convince someone otherwise for a short amount of time, cause that's how divorces happen.
• Still, don't be too crazy too soon.  Be yourself, but don't scare anyone away before they even get the opportunity to meet you.  Humans just work well this way in general.  We start with a little appetizer, have some soup, maybe some salad, then we get to the main course.  Movies and books start out with a little introduction, then it builds up before the crazy, juicy part happens.  I'm running out of analogies that remain as general as possible. But I think I got my point across.  But anyway, I don't need to spend too much time on it because...

4. Sometimes, people like the bad side.  I mean, people are bound to like bad sides, so we can't immediately rule yours as their worst idea of one.

•  Imperfections are okay.  I think, often, we're under the impression that selling ourselves to another person is selling the best of something.  Like, the best athlete or the smartest person.  Or the most perfect character or most charismatic.  Whatever.  Say, your person of interest is really business oriented.  Well, if they wanted the perfect business partner, they'd be interviewing for one.  Maybe this person is actually okay that you don't know your stock and figures, and they find it endearing at times.  Maybe this person is okay with that trait being your fault and is focused on something else.
• Sometimes your crazy trait makes things interesting.  In fact, I've been often surprised by the fact that some people continue to put up with the crazy, time after time.  See point 2. 
• Sometimes the other person's bad side matches up with yours.  Hopefully this doesn't work together like gasoline and fire, but hey we all got our "things," right?  Maybe they got something for your bad side and you bring out the best in each other.  Who knows, it's dating!  Let's throw shit together and have fun!  And remember...

5. The better person isn't always the better person in general, just one who is better for you.  Okay, realistically, none of us are perfect, and none of us are completely horrible.  But I feel like a lot of times, we forget the true nature of dating.  It's just the time when two people figure out their feelings and how their personalities match up with each other's.  Then later, you two will get to the life goals and ideals and all that detail afterwards.  But, let me share with you a problem that I have when I try to help people with dating advice.  I, too, forget the main point of dating.  Especially when someone is my friend, I want them to be with the most amazing, perfect person ever.  And sometimes I get carried away with myself and judge the shit out of the person they are dating.  And then I try to find ways to manipulate the situation to help them get what would seem like the best outcome.  But then, in this case, I'm just violating all the rules I spelled out above.  Dating is really nothing other than figuring more out about the person, before it gets too late and you'd have to spend thousands of dollars on lawyers cause you waited too long to figure that shit out.

The only way I think someone can screw up dating is by withholding the inevitable.  The best way to date is to be honest to yourself and the other person.  That is all.

How to be a Douche Bag

Hey Fucks, tired of awesome douchebags being dicks and taking your bitches?  Cry no more, if you can't beat them, join them right?  So forget the good shit you gotta work for, it's all about instant gratification.  Follow these simple easy steps, and oh yeah, don't forget to brag the fuck out of what you've done so people know how much of a bad ass you are.

Step One: Pick something cool you want to be a part of, and milk the shit out of it.  It can be something you just found out about today.  It can be something you saw on Fuel TV a couple of times.  The point isn't how much you know about it, or how how good you really are at it.  Just make sure people can identify you with it.  Wear the gear, throw around a couple of key words, and invite everyone to join you sometime.  Anyone who doesn't talk to you about it or have the time to join you probably doesn't know what they're talking about anyways.  Just start accusing them of being lame, and when they walk away, make jokes about how they probably didn't know shit.  The more you talk shit, the better it makes you look without actually doing anything.  To be a pro, just look and talk like one, bro.

Example: Yeah I saw Shaun White do a couple of McwhateverTwists on X Games at my brother-in-law's house cause he pays for ESPN and I come over sometimes.  Anyways, I got a Custom, you know, from Burton. It matches the Monster cap I wear with my Hurley logo tee I wear just to make sure people get that I do extreme sports.  I hang my board on the wall in the living room of my apartment, so everyone can see it.  Anytime someone comes over to chill, we hang out right there.  I don't even have to know what the fuck I'm talking about.  Shit, I don't even have to go snowboarding.  As soon as they look at the board, I'll just immediately talk about Mammoth.  "You go to Mammoth yet this year, bro?  You should come with us sometime, we'll all just rent a place, drink beers, have a good time.  Oh you can't go? That's fucking lame man, how come every time I try to get all of us together to go, y'all are mad flakers on me?  Fuck that shit.  I'm going to get my carve on, you know grind some rails bro, you know, 360s yeah, fuck yeah right? Fuck yeah."

Step Two: Make sure everyone knows how awesome you are by making everything else look bad.  Anything is fair game.  If you know that someone else does that thing you identify yourself with to be cool, talk shit on that person.  Instigate the fuck out of them.  Really challenge them and evoke the shit out of them.  I like to bring it out on people on facebook or when we're all hanging out.  But mostly I like facebook cause it gives me time to think of a proper comeback, or at least google one.  I'll ask an open question, most of the time beginning with a passive-aggressively negative comment that makes it look like I know what I'm talking about like, "Fuck man, where can I get some actual good surf around here--anyone know of a spot?" or "These conditions are for fucking amateurs, man, where there fuck am I supposed to go around here, drive all the way to <insert name of impossibly far, but good place here> ?"  Raise your hands up in disappointment, give a smug chuckle or laugh or two for dramatic effect.  Wait for it, and one of two things will happen: (1) people will agree, win for you. (2) someone will speak up and prolong the conversation, also win for you.  If this happens, this is the perfect opportunity to bring attention to yourself by ways of Step One.

Step Three: Be all about the bitches, but always blame the bitches.  When you do something, brag about how the bitches love it.  Brag about how many bitches you met and fucked from doing it.  It could've been that the bitch was piss-ass drunk and depressed as fuck when she met you, but that's some minor details no one cares about.  As long as it happened more than once, even if it was just twice, you can claim plural form: bitches.  I go by the "5 Second Rule."  If she gave you more than 5 seconds of her time, fair game.  Brag worthy.  If she didn't care for you, blame it on her.  Fuck girls, they're all bitches anyway.  Bitches be whack like that, they don't know what they're talking about anyway.  Are they giving you shit? Blame it on the drama girls like to bring.  Don't bother asking them how they are feeling, or hear them out, just drop the ho cause she's whack.  Moody. As. Shit.  You got all these other bitches wanting you anyways. Ain't nobody got time for that.

And finally, when you can combine these three steps, congrats.  You're a fucking pro.  Lemme give you an example.  I go to Mt. High with my buddies, right? We drinking beers at the bar, keeping it low-key because the conditions are whack and I'm above that icy shit right? Over it.  Anyways, we make sure all our gear is spread out on the table like we've been shredding it all day so we need it to dry next to our sick Custom boards, we talk and laugh really loud cause bitches love that.  Bitches love looking at us.  Any chick who's like, a 6 and above, are going to be your typical "PRINCESS" and like it when a guy talks her down a little bit, show her who's boss. They love bad boys so just be a dick. She'll probably play hard to get, but that only means she wanted you.  Some girls are gonna be a bitch about it, but like I said, 6 and above are total Princesses.  They're sluts and they're too into themselves anyways.  But bitches want it.  Nice guys finish last.  Remember that.

Confessions

I have always been emotional person, and it had always led to me to problems I later come to regret.

Even when I don't vocalize my thoughts, my expressions are always obvious and apparent, so people quickly learn that I wear my heart on my sleeve.  When I am sad, I am very sad. When I am angry, I am very angry.  Most of the time, when I'm happy, I am excessively enthusiastic and bubbly--which is how most people see me.  But I don't believe this is for a crazy, deeply complex meaning.  I am just very expressive of my emotions.  I rarely hold back.

I've been told often that I care too much about what people think.  I've also been told that I should work harder on filtering the expressions of my emotions.  I've been advised to have a better poker face.  These are the thoughts I always return to when I emotionally crash.  And when I say I crash, I really do find myself in a seemingly dark abyss that I'd build for myself and dramatically crawl into.  After a while, it becomes nearly impossible to get myself out, as I regret myself the deeper I dig, which only fuels me to hide even further.

(Excuse my excessive use of figurative language, I've been drinking wine.)

In any case, I find myself hiding because in these situations, I've used up all my energy and I just need somewhere to go.  You see, I'm not really an extrovert, though I can come off as outgoing.  I actually think my outgoing facade only comes from the fact that I am so aware of the people around me, from being a silent and self-conscious sponge, soaking observations of my surroundings.  In my people-pleasing tendencies, I try to play up what I think people want.  But then I get tired.  And when I'm alone, I regret my over compensation.  I second-guess my actions, and I think... that probably wasn't want people were wanting in the first place. I was wrong.

What makes me feel worse is knowing that my attempt to make everyone happy can be seen as selfishly done to feed my own ego.  Well, fuck.  I honestly do it because I have this heavy fear looming over me that it is my fault if people aren't--for whatever reason-- satisfied with shit, and I keep trying to do something, thinking that if I do it, I can make it better.  I don't do it because I want to go around feeling like the best. I don't think I'm the shit, I just wanna get rid of your bad shit.  You know what I mean?  For whatever reason, when I feel like I'm falling short of something, I feel like I'm not doing my job.  I admit, there are only a few times when I can actually look at the other person, or the other side of it, and honestly say: I recognize that everyone contributes, it's not only you or only me.

I suppose tonight marks another point in my life when I fall into a sharp decline.  But, I believe, it is within good reason.  I have actually been underestimating all the people around me by consuming myself with ways of not letting them get hurt--but realistically, within reason, they will be fine.  I will be fine.  I have actually been behaving in my own selfish efforts in manipulating situations to avoid negativity when in fact, it had been me all along who could not handle unpleasant moments.  I'm the one who's shouting to cover awkward silences. I'm the one who bends over backwards just to avoid feeling guilt or sadness with someone else.  I am the one who cannot handle the inevitable reality.  I haven't been helping anyone. I was only thinking about myself.

There's always that cliche message: help yourself before you can help anyone else.  In my emphatic efforts to share myself and my emotions, I had been bringing about a roller coaster dynamic to the environment: if I was happy, everyone would have to be happier, but when I was sad, I was bringing everyone else down with me.  But I think I can be more mature about things.  Maybe I can help myself by doing that, rather than just thinking about myself all the time.

There's Like, Love, and The Piano

For a summer, I was a piano teacher.  Mind you, I don't announce this as a declaration of my abilities to play the piano, but I can at least say that I've played for a long time in my life and I at least knew enough to teach.  I was hired unexpectedly at a music store as an unsuspecting customer perusing the sheet music aisle.  I was a substitute first, but quickly after, I was assigned my own students in my own dedicated studio room.  It was a tiny room, with just a piano and a chair for me to sit on, but it was perfect.  By the fall, I transferred universities and decided the commute was too far for a casual part-time job.  Looking back on these times, I realize I took these things for granted.  Now, I can't help but see exactly how much I miss playing the piano.  It was a part of me, and as much as I was too stubborn to admit it when I was younger, my parents were right.  Music has been a big part of my life.

I stumbled upon Erik Satie on YouTube earlier this morning, and immediately felt a bittersweet tinge of happy sadness, like the feeling you get when reuniting with an old friend.  It has actually been years since I last played the piano, even though I have that electric keyboard hiding under a dust cover in my apartment.  Since we needed to put my baby grand in storage for space, my father tried to encourage me to continue playing on the electric keys.  I have been stubborn, claiming I didn't have the time, and that I had school and work and anyway I was stressed out enough as it is, let alone have any time to stress myself further trying to practice the piano.  My father would just tell me, one day the piano will come back to you, and you'll understand how much it will mean to you, how music can be like medicine to whatever ails you. He didn't say much else, he would just leave it at that, like it was just the simple truth, waiting patiently for me to discover it.

I am guilty of taking many things for granted, not just the piano. I've always had the trouble of being a Jack of All Trades, never being able to decide on which I had the passion for to truly love and master.  I had the extreme fortune of having supportive parents who lent me their patience as I tried gymnastics, tae kwon do, ice skating, ballet, jazz, tap, skiing, swimming, on top of different instruments including flute, cello, viola, drums, guitar, bass, ...you name it.  My fickle love carried on to short-term relationships with pets as well: fish, frogs, lizards, hamsters, cats and dogs.  Let's not even forget my career choices, which lead me to art school, biology, English, and from pre-med to engineering.  I know we're all allowed the leeway to discover ourselves, but sometimes I wonder if I just nearly over did it.  I mean, really, how long does it need to take for you to realize you like something?

I can say with confidence, I've definitely calmed down.  I don't know how accurate it is, to say this, but I have always attributed a lot of self-discovery to my move to California.  It is a nice thing to move to another state at the age of 21.  You've got a couple of years under your belt, and you're old enough to legitimately try things under your own accord and with full responsibility.  By the time I moved here, I knew what things I tried I didn't like, and even though I was still finding exactly what it was I did like, I had a better guess at what it would be.  After being here for some time, I had started to narrow down my interests to surfing, hiking, snowboarding, swing dancing and climbing.  Because these weren't things I fully dedicated myself to back home, my boyfriend at the time perhaps felt it was another phase, powered by the energy of thrill-seeking for something new.   And considering my track record, I'm sure many people felt the same way.  But something was different.  I didn't really need to defend myself, I just laughed it off and continued doing what it was I liked to do.  And you know what? I'm still doing it.

So the problem is, and always seems to be, finding the time to do all these things.  The nice thing about my self-discovery was that I found what it was I liked.  Great.  But then a new problem arose.  I'm not a rambunctious little kid with parents who'd just drive me around and support me anymore.  I mean, my parents are still supportive, but now I'm my own adult, going to lectures, work, and oh yeah, I'm a lady. I date.  So then there's another person, potentially in my life too.  Now how was this going to work out?

I was just as fickle in my single years as you'd imagine I would be.  Aside from my past long term, the infatuations and short-term relationships I encountered were all exciting, but quick and short lived.  And they were always at an extreme.  I dated a dancer, I loved dancing and I went all the time.  I dated an athletic nut, I would always be out doing that too.  All these things were part of me, but they were not all of me, and eventually the initial sparks would die out, leaving only the ugly truth that we just weren't right together.  This wasn't me.

I remember sitting with my cousin at a bar during the last tumultuous not-really-relationship I was dealing with.  I needed her there with me, because I just knew something wasn't right.  This not-really-relationship was, going to end-if-it-even-ever-started fling.  And so my cousin asked me, as she usually did, okay, what are we going to do about this? Can I introduce you to a friend of mine?  And then the profound, seemingly simple question: What do you like? What do you want?

And usually, when someone asks this question, a typical answer is something like, I want someone funny, or some kind of cliche personality trait.  But I don't know what it was, maybe I was just sick and tired of bouncing back and forth between all these infatuations, I answered it by interest for once in my life.  I said, okay. Obviously, I'm looking for someone I am attracted to, who is nice, can take care of me, can take care of himself, yada yada yada... that's a given.  But specifically, I want three things, at least. First, I want to be compatible with him in music. I dated too many guys who cannot stand my country, and you know what, that's a part of me.  I love country, so what? I get sad when I don't hear it for some time. And I want us to respect each others' taste.  Let's be realistic, we're going to be in some long car rides together, music is going to be played a lot in our lives. We can't argue over this over time.  And you know what? I come from a musicians' family, that's it. We're going to be lovers of the same music.

Okay, she nodded her head.  What's the second thing?  I found that I really like to do these outdoorsy things. I want someone to do these things with.  I want to admire him for being really good at these things. Is that silly? I mean, I will not have a lot of free time in my life, so I want to be able to share my free time with the person I love doing the things I love, right?  So you know, outdoorsy is a must.  Snowboarding, hiking, surfing, climbing, that sorta thing, but okay, he's got to have that adventurous edge too to try new things and the things I like, like swing dancing (I know that's kind of off-beat but you know, I like it).  But I also just want someone to be healthy in this way, take care of himself and his body.  I think I'd eventually feel sad and constricted by a couch potato.  That's not a good feeling.

I think we can do these things, she thought.  And lastly?  There were three things? Okay, let's face it. I'm a nerd. I grew up being a nerd, you can put lipstick on a nerd but it's still going to be a nerd.  So I'd like someone who can be an honest to goodness weirdo with me. And okay, he doesn't have to recite every random sci-fi fact, but he's got to at least have liked Star Wars on his own, and won't button mash his way through video games.  Basically, I can be cool at parties, I can be cool for short periods of time when I go out, but when I go home I'm going to need to go to full nerd mode. And that has to be okay.  It has to be okay if I just want to stay in and read. I have to be able to talk to him about the allegory behind a movie we just watched, and he can't think I'm being stupid for wanting to read into the satire.  He's gotta be nerd-compatible.  Smart. You know.

The funny thing is that, my cousin didn't need to fish through her friends to help me out.  Not long after, I found what I was looking for.  Honestly when I was younger, I would've thought the concept was a cheesy hallmark idea, but you really do need to start with yourself first before you can love someone else.  And in return, if you can love someone who loves you for who you know you are, you can be yourself while loving this person who you know you honestly like, and who definitely appreciates you back.  I met my boyfriend at a rock climbing gym, with both of us doing what we both like.  I think that's awesome.  And of course, when I finally met him, I knew and I just kept loving him knowing that this was the right one this time.  And you know what? I still am.

There were so many things in my life that took so long for me to understand exactly what it was I liked.  And when I realize that discovering it was really just awakening a love I had inside all along, it's unstoppable.  Maybe I took a long time, but I think it was worth it.  This is me, this is who I am, and I am keeping it going by continuing to love.  But now that we've reached to this final IDEA, I still have to address something: why did it take me so long?  What was the missing piece I was looking for?

Piano.

When I was a kid, picking up all these hobbies and interests and pets, I loved the infatuation of something awesome, great, new, and exciting.  What killed it for me was when the thrill was over, and all that's left is what it really is.  Now, I think everyone has their own way in life, but I think my way, is that I want to do things with purpose. I want to do what I believe in is right. I don't want to just continue doing something just because I can.  I want to continue doing it because I love it.  Some people have the argument in saying that nothing is really going to be fun.  Getting better at something and continuing it in the long haul always takes work, discipline, and perseverance.  Okay, I think that's true, and I do maintain that belief with certain things in life.  But when it comes to my passions, when it comes to things that make up who I am by my own choice, I don't believe this is my way.  I always want to continue something that, despite the dimming excitement and the ending of the "honeymoon phase," I find meaning in the work and the practice.  I want to be connected by it.

Most of the time, this is easy to discern the difference. You try something, you grow tired of it. You drop it.  You try something you still like after a while, the affection grows with you despite the hurdles.  Okay, that's easy.  But what if you began something that was great but never steered you wrong? Like, there was no obvious moment to say: Wow, I overcame an obstacle to maintain my love for this!  Let me explain with piano.  My relationship with the piano has never really been crazy.  My struggles with stage fright aside, playing the piano wasn't that much of a problem for me.  In fact, many times, even when I didn't practice that week, I would just sight read the hell out of my sheet music and lie to my piano teacher and say that I had been.  Most of the time, she had no idea.  My dwindling interest with piano had nothing been short of my inability to earn a growing trust with it.  For me, enduring practice wasn't difficult because piano was hard for me, it was the opposite.  I'm not saying I'm a genius, I definitely had my errors to correct during practice.  But the main battle I had in fighting for my interest with piano was that it just... was what it was.  I didn't really know why I did it.  I just did it.  It didn't do me wrong, and I just let it quietly slip away. I took it for granted.

I never had an a-ha moment in which I thought about what playing the piano meant to me.  No one really does that, especially when they start something as a child.  No kid really questions why they like balloons.  They just do.  So I carried on in my life just kind of carrying this notion that I knew the piano but I never had a Hollywood magical moment with it, so whatever.  I did it, but I didn't think I loved it.  I think we do this often with the good things in our life.  We let these good things slip through the cracks while we grow distracted with something more exciting.

When I heard the song today, something hit me.  You see, Erik Satie was one of the last composers I spent some time with before my hiatus with the piano.  His music wasn't anything I played to show off with, by any means.  Often times, I'd work hard with drills and try to perfect the smoothness of my arpeggios and strengthen my fingers to reach for long, changing chords.  One of the last things I worked hard to achieve was to play cross-rhythms, getting one hand to play tuplets and the other in quarters and vice-versa.  I did it to perfect my technique. It was part of progressing.  But when I played Satie's Gymnopedies and Gnossiennes, I was playing for myself. I wouldn't think, I would just move my fingers to the emotions I felt the songs carried.  It was like getting lost in the imagery of a poem, where the mind is traveling in a metaphysical space between reality and wherever it is dreams were made.  In this space, the bad things that happened in life didn't exist.

So, I felt this moment again listening to the song this morning.  This is when I truly began to miss the piano, maybe the first time I had ever missed it this strongly. I suddenly realized, I had a secret I wanted to tell, and this was a feeling that could only be expressed between touch and the music that only my piano could understand.  And I wanted so badly to tell it.

Negative on the negging

I absolutely despise any form of negging.  For those who don't know what negging is, it is basically when a guy verbally undermines a woman to make her more vulnerable to him, usually mixing back-handed complements with passive-aggressively insulting banter to twist things into their favor.  Usually, the idea behind this is that if you shake up someone's confidence and work into their insecurities enough, you would have the upper hand and could manipulate their attention to your favor, especially when they try to work harder to fill that oh-so-empty hole you created by crushing their poor soul. (note the mocking tone)

Gross.

I'm going to be honest, I don't really know when it works.  But I'm guessing it works in situations involving deep rooted insecurity issues to begin with.  I don't think negging actually works, I think that when it does, it just happens to fall in line with one's need for self-validation.  Fortunately, when you neg a girl in most situations in a sober setting, you are simply an asshole and people hate you. As they rightfully should.

Well, I came home from work today with the strong impulse to write about negging, because I have had, yet another, day of mean boys.  It's partially my fault; I chose to work at a male-dominated environment and there will always be that one asshole in a group of anything.  On the other hand, it just totally sucks to have to deal with this type of egotistical, misogynist macho-man behavior.  Hey, I'm a person too.  And I'll tell you what, MOST GIRLS DON'T LIKE ASSHOLES.  The unfortunate thing is that most assholes insist on being one, and brag about their "achievements" the most, making push-overs believe that the asshole strategy works.  And when a girl like me tries to tell an asshole to stop being a jerk, you know what happens?

I'll tell you what happens: the assholes think I am being jealous.  They think I am dying for more attention and that I must need them to give me more of some kind of a special treatment.  They think I'm being a princess about shit and I can't handle any form of negativity.  Of course, they're thinking the problem is ME, not THEM.  When I stop talking to them, they think I am just giving them the cold treatment, and I'm still playing a part of their cat and mouse game.  They think I'm into the drama.  This is when they continue to think their negging works.

Well this is complete horse shit.

Most of the time when this happens, I start to say something back, not because I'm falling for this stupid negging trap, but because as a human who is being emotionally evoked, I will have an unhappy response back.  And when I start to get quiet, I am simply past the point of being able to tolerate the negativity and I just do not want to talk about it anymore.  As much as I don't want to admit it, a lot of times, these moments really do hurt my feelings.

Contrary to popular belief, the girl you think that's getting all this attention doesn't always solicit it herself constantly.  You don't have to shut her down all the time thinking that it makes you a better man than the rest.  Look, when I am at work, dudes have their reactions to a girl walking around and most of the time it's positive attention.  But that kind of shit just happens.  I just have to deal with it in my own way in a way I believe is not malicious or awkward.  If you don't want to shower me with attention, that's fine. That wasn't even my intention in the first place.  But the alternative isn't to shoot me down.  The alternative is just to be... (surprise!)... normal!  In fact, I would prefer it if you talk to me like gender-less being.  I actually prefer to engage in conversation--excessive complements unnecessary.

Honestly, most of the things that guys say to me, whether they mean to neg, or subconsciously try not to feed into (what they think is) my need for attention--is still pretty douchey even if you take our genders out of the picture.  I just don't understand this machismo persona some men take into giving me this kind of shit.  If you really need to take out some aggression or prove some kind of male dominance, take it out on someone who cares.  Let's just have a normal conversation without your need to prove that you are better than me or your belief that I'm just some girl who is in dire need of your validation.

Honey, it's been a while

When I thought about it, the last time Eric spoke to his younger brother, Will, about anything remotely personal, it ended with one question and a swift punch to the face.  It was on a humid summer night in Baltimore, outside of Will's first run-down apartment downtown.  They stood for a while in silence under a flickering street lamp.  Eric's breathing grew louder and louder as his blood boiled with impatience, until he finally clenched his fists and focused his stare at Will's expressionless face.

"When the fuck're you gonna grow up already and own up to yourself as a man?"  Eric's calloused knuckles immediately slammed against his brother's cold cheekbone, with arms relaxed and right fist flying at full force.  Will fell to the ground and didn't say a word.  That was the end of it.  Later, they would meet again for family gatherings with just enough small talk to fill the air, but for the next few years, they would not speak as brothers.

Being the oldest son in a family of six, Eric always took himself on as the most responsible sibling and had spent most of his time and attention dedicated to his work, his wife, and his kids, living in the quiet suburbs about fifty-five minutes west of the city.  He did nearly exactly everything his parents wanted him to.  Graduated from Ivy League, got a high paying desk job, and married a quiet Vietnamese wife who would later stay at home to take care their two kids.  Eric didn't speak much to anyone else in the first place, aside from his parents and three younger sisters.  So, nobody really noticed that any friction had happened between the two.

But even I didn't know the story either, until a couple of years later, when Will got completely shitfaced at the bar.  We hadn't spoken in a while, and I was in town for winter break.  I thought we were just going for drinks to catch up, but instead, he really dropped a bomb on me that night.

"Elie," His head bobbed with a hiccup, and I pushed his glass of water closer to him, but he didn't look up.  "Do you remember that one fight we had? I don't even remember what it was about.  I swear it was about soup.  Didn't you cook me soup because I was sick, and I said... I said I hated it.  You cried, and you didn't know this, but Eric found out.  God, Eric was so pissed, he thought I completely disrespected you.  So that fight, that story, was because of you, isn't that funny?"

"Sure, but I don't know what you want me to do about it," I sighed, and with my arms rested on the bar counter, I leaned forward.  I tried not to make more out of the story than it needed to be.  I didn't want to make a big deal out of it, but I kept wondering, why me?  "I don't get how it's all related to Hannah.  I mean, unless she's--"

"Look!" His face suddenly shot up to make eye contact with me, but he was still wavering side to side.  "I know you guys, well it can be complicated, and. I. Well. Anyways. She really likes you okay?"

"Okay."  I stopped talking and caught the bartender's attention to close my tab.  I didn't want to talk about it anymore.  His drunken state of mind was an insult.  Will was completely silent as I signed the bill and put my credit card back in my purse.  For a second, I thought he could've been completely passed out on the counter, but I was so angry that I didn't want to check.  I thought of turning around and saying something to him--anything--to keep up our long supposed friendship of nearly twenty years.  I thought of being mature.  But being that Hannah is my cousin, and this conversation was brought about because Hannah and Will decided to fuck each other behind my back, well yeah.  I wasn't in the mood to be mature at the moment.  If he wasn't going to be mature about it, neither would I.

I didn't fully understand my anger then, I just knew that I was.  At that moment I walked away, and like Eric, I didn't speak much to Will the next few years.  Will didn't even try contacting me once.

Those years of silence were always funny to me when I thought about it.  Growing up, Will had been my neighbor.  As kids, we used to sneak out of the house early morning to ride our bikes down the cul-de-sac and to jump them off sidewalk curbs.  We fought as kids over the stupidest shit, and it would always come back to bonding again over pulling pranks on the neighborhood.  When we got older, he got in over his head.  Went to a lot of parties, charmed all the girls, slacked off.  Somehow, through enough ass-kicking from Eric, and a daring admissions essay appropriately derived from his rebellious risk-taking nature, Will surprised us all with his acceptance letter to John Hopkins.  He stayed in Baltimore.  I studied out-of-state.  We started falling out. We caught up once in a while, but we lived on with our lives.  No major details.  So this is how his engagement would be a surprise to me.  Correction: this is how their engagement was a surprise to me.

They never officially told me about it.  I found out through a Save the Date card, after bumping into Eric.  A business trip in St. Louis for a national conference brought us together.  Eric's client needed a financial adviser for the budgeting, I was flown over to cover the press release.  During the complementary luncheon, Eric tapped on my shoulder at the coffee bar.  He asked how things had been going. I thought the conversation was going well until the mood suddenly shifted. His face relaxed into a serious expression.

"Had you talked to Will since the invite?" He asked coolly, almost as if he knew my response, but was patiently waiting for an unsurprising confirmation.

"What invite?" I responded.  I realized then, Eric chose his words carefully.  The invite.  He must have known there were no conversation, no moment, in which anyone truly spoke to me.  If I could feel any more like the butt of a joke, I stood there dumbfounded, blinded in what felt like deep in a bull's ass, covered in the pure shit of it all.  I rushed home from the airport with anticipation in discovering the pink envelope with a red doily insert.  The moment was surreal.  I was confused when I read the card: save the date for our wedding.  Was this really from the same Will who insisted he would never be tied down?  And I hated the question that followed, and I hated it for haunting me for the months following: Why Hannah?

My memory rushed to the moments Will and I rode in his first car, the windows down.  We'd bicker over stupid shit like the directions to take and which way would get us there faster. In the end, he would always end up taking his way, a special way he wouldn't speak of during our arguments.  It would be a left or right turn to a back road, while we were arguing about two other, completely different, highways.  The road would be one he knew I'd never been through before.  It would always take us somewhere off track completely, but there was always an unspoken reason.  I would look outside and see that the road led us to a scenic cliff, the perfect view of the moon, or rocky dirt path that wasn't marked on the map.  He'd turn up the volume of the radio loudly, with his favorite song playing, while screaming, "I'm what?"  "You're impossible!" I would scream back.  He wouldn't turn over to look at me.  He would just continue to look straight on the road, and a slow, sly smile grew from the right corner of his lips.  He always said he only liked driving that car with me, or no one else.  Only I knew why.

Everyone was under the impression that Hannah and Will decided to rush into a full blown wedding without the whole hoopla of that Vietnamese engagement party--the kind where everyone would wear their áo dài with presents covered in red velvet fabric, eat roasted pig and be fake-happy--was because all that shit can get expensive and exhausting, but whatever.  I knew the truth was that Hannah's parents are ridiculously traditional and would not allow for Hannah and Will to live together unless they were married first.  Even if they were already in their late-twenties.  So they married under a year after they started.  Their parents were okay with the rush, since we were all family friends (at one point) anyways--and hurray--neither of the two were marrying outside our ethnic community so why don't we all celebrate before they change their minds like Elie over there who's now dating that mi trắng from New York.

Don't get me wrong.  I'm not being bitter.  I love my boyfriend Tim, but I know what people are saying.  It's true, when we were kids, Hannah and I got compared... a lot.  Everyone was asking: Who got better grades? ... Who played the piano better? ... Who's cooking was better? ...you know, those sort of cliche Joy Luck Club type questions.  But the difference between Hannah and I always started here.  She cared more about what was more expected of her.  So she followed suit.  At some point, I fell off the face of our family rumor mill, because I decided to piss everyone off and do my own thing.  Facing my own existential rediscovery at the ripe age of 9, I fantastically found the world of sports through Monday Night Football in our living room.  As my obsession grew, it made things a lot easier for me because Hannah automatically won everything in the wife-contest realm, and it made everyone lose interest in what I was doing and they stopped talking about me.  Nobody likes an Asian girl in sports.  Especially the Asian relatives.  The only people who ever appreciated me were my cousins, brothers, including Eric and Will.  That's how we all grew close.

But don't get me wrong.  My parents were fine with it, and they were the ones who gave me the extra nudge to accept my scholarship to Indiana University to chase my dreams of sports journalism.  Hell, that's where I met my white boyfriend, as the relatives call him.  Unintentional on my part, but I don't have any complaints. There weren't many Asians in my journalism courses, let alone in Indiana, which is what most people fail to note.  Meanwhile, if I stayed in Maryland, there would've been a better chance of me finding a proper Vietnamese husband, I get that.  So maybe that's why Hannah's parents were more apt to send her on a fast track to pre-pharmacy programs locally at the University of Maryland.  Way to fight the stereotype, Hannah.  While Hannah and I began close as cousins who met up for every holiday for family gatherings, our differences only made us more distant.  She didn't even tell me she ran into Will during their undergraduate years in Maryland without me.

So, of course I had my suspicions that her request for me to be her Maid of Honor had a hidden agenda.  I had enough free time as a freelancer to not have the excuse of being "too busy," and I was already traveling a lot.  What difference did it make to make yet another trip to Maryland?  It might also have been a mixture of guilt and familial obligation that pushed me forward, but I went with it.  Hannah didn't need me to do much anyway except to stand in for the bridal shower, bachelorette party, and the main wedding weekend.  Tim and I flew in town for the weekend.  It wouldn't be the first time my family met him, but for some reason everything seemed like a bigger deal in contrast to Hannah.

When we first arrived to meet everyone in Maryland, Hannah would smile widely as she presented Tim, Elie's boyfriend.  Elie, you know, Will's old neighbor.  When he used to live in that quaint home, outside of Baltimore.  Those years.  She has a boyfriend. It's Tim.  We're so glad you're here, Elie and Tim.

"The truth is, Elie," she'd say often during the wedding planning.  "I really needed you.  I've always needed you.  Remember when we were kids, and it was just you and me as girls at Grandfather's? Everyone else were boys?  Remember flag football?  Your brother would always pick Danny, Joseph, Ricky, and John all the time? I was always last, remember?  It's like that one Thanksgiving, when you won the spot fair and square for 2nd captain and you chose me first.  You chose me first."

"Sure," I agreed, after hearing the story yet again at the rehearsal dinner.  Those past few events we held in honor of her royal brideship were awkward.  There were a few forced bonding moments like the ones brought about by the flag football story.  It was as if we didn't have enough good memories so she could only repeat the same mediocre anecdotes that ended with cheesy one-liners.  The one chance I had at getting a break with alcohol would have been her bachelorette party, but she insisted we all go on a spa day as girls together with the bridal party.  Realistically, she only spoke to me once or twice during the whole thing.  Her colleagues flocked around her like a bunch of undead zombie Dodo birds, nodding their head and squawking, Yes! Yes! Sometimes I felt like I didn't even know her.

"So, your speech.  Let's see it," she grinned deviously, almost eerily, like she expected the worst from someone who knew her fiance so well.  I looked around to scan the room.  The rehearsal dinner had been slowly ending, with a few people continuing to leave quietly and politely.  Hannah and I found ourselves at an empty table with no one paying much mind to what we were doing or saying.  I took out my phone, and thumbed through a few notes.  I handed Hannah the phone.  She hesitated for a slight moment before snatching the phone from my hand.  She giggled, and I couldn't tell if it was another forced effort, or if the power she had as a bride to order me around made her giddy as a school girl.

"Oh," Hannah started to tear up as she scrolled down the note.  "Oh!" Her tears grew to an overflow, and as they poured over her rosy cheeks, she stood up immediately, dropped my phone on the table and excused herself.  Once again, I turned around to scan the room.  Interesting how in a room dedicated to her, no one noticed the bride run frantically to the restroom.  Ironic.  So I ran after her.  For a girl who never had to run a lap in her life, she was damn fast in heels.  I lost her down the hallway of the restaurant.  I finally made it to the door and barged in.  Hannah was sobbing over the sink.

"Hey Hannah," I walked over to her. I put my hand on her shoulder gently.  "You know, I was kidding.  You were really just reading lyrics to a Willie Nelson song.  I'm sorry. I thought you'd laugh over it or something, I don't know. It was stupid. I'm sorry."  Hannah took deep breaths to give herself a chance to speak.

"Well," she gasped.  "It was very good."  And she continued to cry harder. I looked around the bathroom in anxiety.  Where the hell was I?  The counter was made of marble.  The restroom--mind you--smelled like a pleasant bouquet of spring flowers.  There were silk dupioni curtains around the mirror.  Hannah must have noticed my concerned facial expression.  She gasped through her sobs again.  "I know what you're thinking."

"What ply these embossed paper towels are made of?" I suggested weakly.  My jokes become immediately awkward when someone is under emotional distress.  I heard Hannah choke on air softly.  I hoped it was from a chuckle.

"I know that these past few years haven't been easy," Hannah finally started to calm her breath.  She straightened up and looked at me.  "Between us, I mean."

"Hey, it's cool," I tried to reassure her, but I wasn't exactly sure what she was hinting at.

"I know that after a while, when we got older, we didn't talk very much, especially after you moved to Indiana.  But I swear, I didn't know that much about you and Will, but all I knew was whatever you told me.  But he sounded... like a great guy.  So one day, it was like, I don't know, fate or something.  We were all at a party in Baltimore, right across from this street actually, and wouldn't you know it? We had mutual friends.  Outside of you.  Anyways, you know that feeling, when you meet someone and ... it just clicks?  I'm sure you had that feeling when you met Tim--everyone loves him by the way--and anyway, I like, had no idea that you even knew Will, or I mean, that he was your Will, but I mean, he wasn't even really your Will, right?  I mean."

"Yeah," I reached my hand out to rest it on Hanna's shoulder for what assurance I could give her.

"I love him, you know?" She gasped, and it turned into a laugh.  She dabbed her eyes with the fancy paper towel.

There was a pause from me.  I did not know for how long I had this pause.  What could I tell her? Would I tell her everything I had been keeping inside me for this long? That I was worried they were rushing into things? That I knew them both, and I knew how they were both so different?  Will was the person I grew up with, he was literally the boy next door, and if that Will was standing here in this bathroom at this given moment, he would laugh.  He would have just laughed at how ridiculously overpriced and yuppie-centric this place was.  She had no idea the feeling of loving someone for so long, as a brother, as a friend, as the person you learned and grew together with.  She met Will at a party on a drunken night and somehow, now they are supposed to be in love?  All I could think of was how much I wished she could give me one true trait Will had that she loved, rather than he fit the bill of the perfect, handsome, well educated, well-to-do husband.  She doesn't even know a damn thing about football.  Is this what happens when we grow older? We fall apart and interview a spouse to marry, and mask it all with the facade of fate and destiny?

"Yeah," was all I could make out.  It came out with gritted teeth and unrelenting guilt.

"The thing is," Hannah continued.  "I'm standing here with you, here, and I'm looking at you like an idiot. I waited for your response like you had an answer.  Like you had been this secret lover all along that he had been pining for.  But that's ridiculous.  Did you know," she paused to laugh.  "I thought you were going to pull a Julia Roberts on me and try to ruin my wedding?"

"I'm going to be honest with you Hannah," I finally spoke up.  "I am not here to push you at the alter and make out with your fiance."

"You see," Hannah's voice softened and her eyes lowered with sincerity.  "Will and Eric don't talk anymore.  And I think it's because of me."

I quickly remembered the story, and with my own guilt, I immediately responded, "No, I don't think it's you!"

"No, it has to be." Hannah shook her head. "I know Will met with you for drinks that one night to try to talk to you about us.  He told me.  But what you don't know, is that the party we met at was actually a couple of years ago.  Everyone thinks we've only been together for nearly a year, but we couldn't tell anyone the truth.  Anyways, ... I never met him before that party, right? So he was going on that night, telling me about some girl he and his brother were fighting about.  You know Eric.  He always fights for what he thinks is right.  He never thought I was right for Will.  He doesn't even go past small talk with me.  I always thought there was another girl.  Someone else meant for Will.  I came in at the wrong time and interrupted everything selfishly."  Her eyes widened, like there it was, the truth of how we felt finally laid right there in front of us, and it was blinding us.  I was her concern all along?

"Hannah," I laughed from relief.  "Oh Hannah.  You know, Will has a choice.  Every day he has a choice to not be with you.  But he is.  Look at where you are now.  He chooses you every day, and for the rest of his life.  It'll be fine.  Everything is going to be okay."  I reached in to hug her. And as we did, I thought of my own thoughts and how I suddenly answered them so simply.

"Thanks, Elie," Hannah began to cry again.

"Hey, it's fine, don't let the nerves get to you.  This is not the night to get cold feet!" We smiled silently, letting this moment settle in.  How could all these years of silence finally lead up to this moment of understanding?  I breathed out before letting go of Hannah's embrace. It felt like a sigh of relief.  As we walked out of the restroom and through the hall, I began to notice that nearly everyone had left, except for Will--and wouldn't you know it--my Tim.  They were both talking casually at an empty table, but quickly turned to our attention.

"Hey, is everything alright?" Will rushed to Hannah.  She nodded and laughed off how nerves of all the planning were just getting to her.  He held her closely for comfort.  "Oh, before I forget!" He suddenly exclaimed.  Will rushed over to a table across the room and ran back with a box wrapped in Sunday comics paper.  He handed it to me.  "It's for you.  Open it later."

"What is it?" Hannah suddenly asked with curious eyes.

"Oh, it's just an inside joke," Will propped his right arm across Hannah's shoulders.  He squeezed her in this way.

"No, open it now," She nervously laughed.  I looked to Will, and he shrugged his shoulders.  Without realizing it, my hands started unraveling the wrapped box.  I threw the paper to the floor and found a brown packing box.  I lifted the flaps slowly, carefully, unsure of what kind of joke Will and I still shared.  I reached into the box and felt the cool touch of a porcelain bowl.  The familiar red color, with its yellow border and rigid square patterns, chrysanthemum flower design and Chinese characters.  I never really took a moment to look at this bowl before, but I didn't even ever understand this bowl, or the meaning behind it.  Whenever I see this particular design, it brings a certain feeling back to me. A familiar feeling that I don't understand, I only come to know.

"Oh?" Hannah exclaimed in confusion.  "You gave her an old phở bowl?"

"I found this while I was moving," Will stated finally.  "Funny thing, Elie left it at my house one day, but I used it anyway.  Well, anyway, it's old. It's really her parents'."

"How did you know it was her's?" Hannah asked. "I see that bowl everywhere."

"I don't know," He paused and put his hands in his pockets.  He looked up, out somewhere, to the corner of the room thoughtfully.  "I guess there are some things you don't forget."

"Thanks, Eric," I reached over to hug him quickly.  It was the first hug I'd given him in years.

"Well you two, I guess we'll be seeing each other in the morning, so we should get some rest," Tim smirked.  "Can't be late for tomorrow."

The four of us walked to the entrance of the restaurant, where the host had been waiting for our final departure.  He held the door for us to walk out.  Standing outside, we all said our good byes, and gave each other hugs, the usual.  Tim rose his hand for a taxi to take to our hotel.  I watched Will and Hannah walk to their car.  They laughed in the fading distance.  And without realizing it, I smiled.  Tim nudged me gently to let me know the taxi had pulled up.  He leaned in the window, spoke to the cab driver, and opened the door for me.  Together, we sat in the back seat and I leaned my head on his shoulder.
 
"Tim," I began.  "Is it alright we're taking our time?"

"Of course," he chuckled.  "What's wrong?"

"I don't know, I guess Hannah really shook me up tonight.  You should've seen it.  Emotional madness in the restroom.  What's all this about 'the one?'  What am I missing?"

"How do I explain?... Well, you know I'm not that much of a romantic...."

"That's fine, go on," I took his hand. I began to yawn.  It was a long night.

"The way I see it is, there are great people out there and there are horrible people, and chances are, we will eventually meet some or one of each in our lives. That happens all the time.  Most of us just don't pay much attention to it.  We let the good ones slip away, and the bad ones stay without fully realizing the full extent of what we've done with each passing chance.  Meanwhile, I knew one day I would have my day.  My best day. That's when I met you.  I saw that you were my one lucky blessing, you were so good to me and I appreciated that so much that I just couldn't let you go. So, I do my best to treat you right, give you back the good fortune you lent to me, only because I feel like you deserved nothing less."  He paused.  "The only smart thing an idiot like me ever did in his life was to not let the one good thing in his life be the one that got away."

"Did you rehearse that one, or was that just one you had been thinking about for a long time?"

"I felt it, I knew it for so long, but it didn't make sense into words until this moment,"

"Well.  That was the most romantic thing I've ever heard," I smiled, and slowly drifted to sleep.

The Right of Pedestrian Way

When I was in Seattle this past weekend, I drove a rental car with unforgiving blind spots.  Knowing how bad of a driver I can sometimes be, I backed out of my parking space inching very slowly with warning.  There's not much I can see in gloomy, rainy Seattle weather, so when I heard a loud squeal, I slammed the breaks with extreme worry.  Luckily, I saw that no one was hurt.  Just an angry and worried family walking by.  Guilt hit me immediately from their stares.

But then, I reconsidered the situation.

I understand that pedestrians ultimately have the right of way, but I'm only a human driving a limiting car.  When I thought about it, I couldn't fully push away my wonder over the assumption they held of their authority as pedestrians.  While I was trying my best to be careful, what if I was someone who wasn't and had backed out quickly and recklessly instead?  There is no way to predict if a driver will be cautious, and it is dangerous to assume that one will be mindful for the safety of others.  I realized then, the family must have seen me, but had continued to walk by, assuming that I could see them and would stop for them.  Their angry stares were the kind to say, "I expected better from you."  But what can we expect from strangers?  In this world, we can only assume so much responsibility from others.  Our safety begins with our own selves.

I don't think we stress enough in life how accidents don't just happen.  I know that when my parents walked with me behind cars when I was a child, if they saw a car backing out, they would stop my brother and I until the car came to an actual complete stop--and acknowledged our presence--or until the car finished backing out and continued a safe distance away from us.  The question I wanted to ask the family behind me is, why did you keep walking and risk the chance of endangering yourselves with a moving car? Don't assume you have to trust me, trust yourselves.

In life, why do we assume certain things with authority, without fully putting into account our due diligence?  For instance, if someone with position gives advice, would you accept it blindly or would you continue to get a second opinion?  Would you do your research to see if the facts support what was said? Don't people make mistakes?

There is a phenomenon: we do not know what we do not know until we know that we do not know what it is that we don't know (whew!).  So when we make decisions in our lives, we cannot blindly accept that a given person is honest, helpful, and well-informed.  In fact, sadly, some people reveal that they are the opposite.  But when all is said and done, can they take the biggest blame from you when things go wrong?  Or did you take the time to hold yourself responsible and try the best in your power to be as best informed as you can be?  Just because you have the right of way, doesn't mean you will always be yielded from incoming danger.  True, accidents don't just happen, but they do happen.  So what are you going to do about it?

Lose-Lose Conversations

I always think it's awkward when I try begin a nice conversation with someone, but instead, that someone offers a quick jab that seems... just relevant enough to be nonchalant, but comparable enough to leave an impression of "Oh yeah?!? Take that!"  I always hear a record scratch in my head when this happens.  It's never my intent to solicit this type of response.  I've heard this enough times in my life to stop and note aloud humorously, albiet truthfully, "Hey, this isn't a contest, okay?" And with a grin, I move on.  Unfortunately, this happens in ways outside of conversations, and in those cases, there's hardly a chance to address the awkwardness in a friendly manner. So then it just continues to happen. And then it just gets weird.

It's everywhere.  Sometimes it's just that annoying person on a social networking site.  Sometimes it's a relative or a coworker, who passive aggressively tries to one-up with achievements and possessions.  In any case, it's kinda immature, right? It's like saying, "I'm incapable of finding intelligent meaning behind life, and instead of of appreciating what I have, I have to find simplistic associations like 'Me good, you bad.'"

Elementary annoyances aside, the true point of this is just that experiences can't be compared in a quality check of which is better.  There's even the instance when I'll share frustration with my life, and someone will say, Oh yeah? You think your life is bad? Mine is worse, and this is why.  Or they'll respond with a, You don't know until you experience what I am experiencing.  And even worse, You'll never know how bad it can be, and I'll wear this badge of honor for bragging rights that I did. I'm wiser than you because I have this chip on my shoulder.  If there's something that really gets me annoyed, it would be the fact that, as if things in your life weren't hard enough, someone has to be there to shoot you down and say what you're going through is invalid and well, now you just feel even worse.  Fun times.

Well here's the thing.  Good things and bad things in life are relative.  When someone is going through with what seems like the hardest battle, it really is... for them.  We're only equipped with what we have and know.  It's completely moot point to compare what someone else would do or have done in a given situation, because then it would actually change the situation completely.  So my achievements or hardships now means something different than someone's later or before.  Why can't we all just share our lives without getting awkward and competitive about it?  Because right now, it's such a lose-lose situation.  If I join in on this passive-aggressive cold war, there's no end.  The alternative is that I just sit there and hear someone yap on as I roll my eyes over how immature they're being.

Hey people out there, I have a suggestion.  If you're feeling like you have to prove yourself to someone, I've got a shortcut.  It goes like this: recognize that your proof to someone isn't validated until you see that they see you in a certain way.  So what's it to you? Just believe that you don't have to prove yourself to anyone, and instead, fill that need to convince others by directly convincing yourself.  Have some composure why don't you?