Everything will be alright

Over and over again

Oh balls.

Call me a contradiction. I'm contradicted in my dreams, my views of the world, what I want to be and where I want to be. I want both sides of the story. I want to be there, but I want to be all the way over here. I want money but I want freedom. I want to keep moving, but I want a home. I want to write, I want to photograph, I want to share stories, I want to be inspired and inspire.

And again "Do you know what happens to the girl who wanted everything (at the same time)? She got nothing."

I hear this mantra almost daily because I bring up my needs and wants daily.

As the thigh and drumstick are frying in the pan, I think of the moments that have occurred and how I feel about them. I wrote the above paragraphs two days ago, and now I continue this afternoon as I wait for my lunch to cook.

I'm easily influenced (as in if I was hesitant to do something, and someone convinces me to do it, I'll end up doing it). For example, I read this passage:

"For us, the biggest takeaway in this whole adventure was learning that possessions and obligations are the tethers that keep you grounded in place–unable to take that perfect job, great opportunity or grand adventure when it comes your way. Freedom from debt, a bit of money in the bank and a streamlined existence mean that you can bend and sway with changes and opportunities. True wealth is control over your time and how you spend it."

But true wealth is control over my time and how I spend it. This gives me plenty to think about. 

In a year, I'll be somewhere else, probably, and I'm not sure if that is a good thing. Commitment issues? Running away from something? Looking for something? I envy those who can stay in one place, build their relationships, and are happy with where they are. 

I am insatiable. 

That terrifies me.

9 months in the city

The Dandelion

This is for my dad

My co-worker handed me the white boxcutter. It looked like a stick of peppermint gum but had the texture and weight of a beer opener. Of course, a red square with the words UNIQLO written in white capital letters sat at the end of the razor. It belonged to them.

I took the tool, retracted the sharp blade, and sliced through the tape. I felt cruel destroying this box even though it has consistently excelled in storing perfectly folded linen shirts. The sharpness of the razor sure beats my well inked blue Bic pen, which will stick to it's role of transcribing the daily sales goal and whatnot.

This utility knife felt familiar. I have seen it before, piles of them actually, in all different colors, though I mostly remember orange and dark grey. They appeared less polished, lighter because it was molded plastic and not metal. More used, with strips of packing tape holding the blade in place. These segmented blade utility knives rested in our monochromatic filing cabinet with its charcoal colored drawers and handles. It was located in our dining area between my dad's homemade alter and a twin sized bed. My dad found it on the side of the street and insisted to carry it up a flight of stairs just so it can consume more space in our already crowded two bedroom apartment. It became home to the knives, old VHS tapes varying from home videos to Paris By Night concert series, usb cords, and other tangled electronic items.

I never knew why we had so many of of them. I've never seen my dad cut anything at home. Then,  for some reason, at that moment of me breaking down the box, it occurred to me that he used them for the same reason. He opened a lot of them at the shoe warehouse where he worked.  Here I was, doing exactly what my dad has been doing and still is doing for 15 years. I'm living what he still is struggling with now. He has been working there since 1997. That was his way of making money to support his wife and two kids. He had left the comforts of his homeland and his family, replaced a camera with a knife, and abandoned a huge house with a backyard full of jack fruit, gauva trees, and all sorts of fruits and vegetables for an upstairs corner two bedroom, one bathroom unit in an apartment that looked more like a motel.

I can't help but make comparisons and wonder if I'll be in the same shoes. Has he succeeded? His two kids are college graduates from outstanding universities. One has a good job, and the other is still searching. It's hard to say. His goal was for us to have an education and pursue any occupation we wanted, and raise our own families and make enough money to support them. In that case, he has succeeded.

But I feel that if he knew what his daughter has been doing - working at a store, moving boxes, using razors like he did - he would be mad.

"I didn't come here so you can work like that," he would probably say.

But Dad,  I understand your struggle now. I used to ask you why you were always tired all the time from work. Why you sighed and huffed and only sat in front of the computer every time you came home.  I now do the same. I'm now somewhat living your life and barely getting by (except I have no one else to support except myself). I don't want to repeat that step.

I will get out of there. It's just a step I need to take to get elsewhere. Lucky for me, I have you and mom for support. And lucky for me, my family is in the same country and I can visit them any time. Lucky for me, I have the opportunities you never did.

It doesn't end on the razors as a comparison. I'm also picking up furniture from the street. I'm taking an hour to buy toilet paper because I need to compare and find the best value.

I moved to NYC by myself to pursue a dream, as you did when you left Vietnam. I know it's a bit farfetched comparing my journey to yours, I can't help it. You've inspired me to do this. And I can't let you down. I came here for a reason and when I go back home, you'll be living in a house with a backyard full of fruits and vegetables. And when I get home, I'll throw away all of your razors.  You won't need them anymore.

I wanted a job but I got a haircut instead

Taken by my brother at the High Line in NYC. Why so mad!?

I decided to hold on to the sheet protector in my hand, making sure the images of Michelle Williams, Tao Okamoto and Jessica Stroup were in his sight. Thank goodness I wasn't in his shoes. I showed him three different looks because honestly I didn't know which one I wanted. I knew for sure I wanted to be able to tuck hair behind my ears (I kept stating that over and over along with the hand motions of tucking hair behind my ears) and I wanted it to still look feminine. Before the cut, I also showed him my "NO" sheet, which coincidentally were full of Asian women in their mid-40s. I should have illustrated it better with a huge X on all the images. I kept pointing at the bad sheet, and shook my head saying "No, not this. This is bad. No." He nodded, and before he started, he left for a minute and returned with a style book. He frantically flipped the pages and pointed to a sample. I gave him a look of doubt, and he took the sheet from my hand and examined it. "Okay" he nodded.

And before I knew it, he was snipping my hair. Short. And it kept getting shorter. And shorter. For some reason, when he was done, I told him to make it shorter. It wasn't a huge change for me, since I basically always have my hair tied up anyways.

My observant roommate and friend was surprised that I was rather... dull during the cut. "I thought you were going to cry." Nope. I thought I would feel lighter and clarity will overcome me. I seem to always miss the boat when it comes to epiphanies and life changing moments. I didn't feel like a brand new person. It's just hair. I just happen to currently be having short hair. Another interaction I seem to have when people first notice my hair is "That looks so good on you. What made you do it?" I'm not sure if I believe them or not, but I take the compliment anyway. My answer seems to disappoint them when I say "Thanks. Nothing. I just wanted to cut it." Typically, for girls at least, cutting more than 12 inches of your hair is done strategically and usually occurs during a great moment of transition and a need for a new start, i.e. the ever popular breakup, getting hired/fired, a death.

It shows how much I've changed. I'm still dramatic over things, but I seem to be very calm when it comes to bigger changes. The old me would have freaked out with the short hair, and plaster the message all over whatever social network that's poppin'.  I've become quite calm about such big issues, and I'm not sure if I like that or not.

However, my enthusiasm comes out when I apply for jobs. I'm passionate about my career choice and I've never been so hopeful and hopeless. I hate transitions. I can't fathom transitioning to the working world. Everyone I've spoken to just happened to fall into their careers. They never planned it. As for me, I've planned it, and I've had my eye on it since college. Doesn't this give me an advantage? Perhaps from this adventure, I'll end up somewhere unexpected and I end up loving it. For now, am I too eager? Should I apply the old advice to the singles of "Don't go looking for love, it will find you"to my job hunting? I'll wait for a job opportunity to find me and want me. Bull.

I guess in the end, cutting my hair did symbolize something. I wanted a shift in how things were. Getting short hair replaced getting a job. Good enough for me.