Where have you been?

I've been looking for you. I've checked everywhere. Even when it looks like we're as compatible as ever, you end up finding someone else.

In the beginning, I was nervous. Will I look good? Am I smiling too much? How do I say goodbye? I'd spend hours thinking of how to approach you, and realize that it doesn't matter too much. As long as I show that I am human, you'll respond back. When I finally got to meet you, it wasn't as bad as I thought. We were communicating. I was energized, and you were the same. But you didn't call me back. Well, you did, but it took three weeks, and you told me I wasn't the one. 

The furthest I've travelled to meet you was 2 hours. That's one way. I was willing to have a long distance relationship if I meant I'd have some kind of stability. Again, you rejected me for someone else. I had to keep reaching out for you to get an answer.

I thought maybe I should change some things up. It sounds ridiculous, but I remember wearing shoes instead of sandals for my third driving test and I passed. I passed because I changed my shoes. Everything else was the same.

So, after 6 months of searching for you, I thought I had found the one. This time, I went and bought new clothes. I didn't wear my glasses. I wore makeup. I even told everyone about you. My father knew about you.

Again, I was let down. I thought changing things up would work, but it didn't. In the end, there is someone out there with more past experience. But don't you like novelty? Don't you want a fresh mind, someone who isn't jaded? 

I don't know when I will find out. I feel it's time for me to stop searching. I'll let you find me. 

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.

I feel good

The people. 

Are willing to help.

Me.

Help me.

Believe.

The simplicity of kindness. 

The few people.

Who are willing to help.

Thank you.

For adding more colors.

For your kindness.

I will. 

9 months in the city

It's an unusual entry that will possibly occur again

I'm craving sesame buns and bbq kalbi. I'm craving spicy ramen. I'm done craving. It's 2:29am. The internet is slow. I'll never finish Mad Men and having it pause every second frustrates me. I can't be frustrated at this time. It then started to play again, but for some reason the show changed into another show starring Jennifer Love Hewitt. This is what I get for streaming online and not owning AMC.

People are getting married. 7 years, break up, and after a few months of dating a church boy, she's getting married. She's younger than me. I don't know her. There is no relevance to this story.

This, I am warning you, is me writing at 2:31am now (I can't help but update on the time). I've been home for an hour. We left at 12:30 and the train wasn't working. I walked to 8th ave again. I love walking at night in the city. People are out. I feel safe.

I haven't had a chance to bake or make a decent dinner. This is when I know I'm busy. Before, I wouldn't go to events because I was "busy" and really, that just meant I didn't want to go. Now, when I say I'm "busy" I mean I have no time to relax when I get home. I go straight to bed (or try to watch Mad Men but fail).

I'm reading more. I'm sleeping less. My skin has never felt so disgusting. There are many things going on. I'm not making sense. Can't you tell by my short boring sentences?

He says I do too much, I want too much.

I feel something missing, and sometimes, that worries me. I want something, and it isn't there. I can't actually say what I want (because I can't put a finger on it) but I know I don't have it.

Does that make sense?

Love me, understand me, take care of me, show compassion, show interest, inspire me.

30 hours this week. 30 hours next week? And then I am off on the road. But I won't be writing a book and I won't be on drugs.

I'm looking forward to it, I am, but I'm also dreading it. Expectations, I have too many. And when things don't go my way, I become flustered. Who doesn't?

These short sentences will make no sense to me in seven hours. I'll re-read this, and will apologize to my dazed and confused self, and any readers out there.

This is not normal.

This is an entry that will go on, and it won't end because I won't end it.

I'm writing just because I've been wanting to write for so long, but had no time. I don't have time now, but I'm forcing myself to just write anything. Updates, updates are hard to type up. I find them boring. I like to recreate specific moments, the way I see them.

This entry is not about specific moments. Rather, it is about a mind that has not rested. Reflection is needed. Self awareness.

Don't become those girls who work all the time, and are too busy all the time.

Memories. People. Timeless. Joy. Facebook is a tragedy. Unread messages, glimpses of life. Picking at our curiosity. Our need to compare. Our need to know. We know too much, and too little. We know details, but not the whole. We know your public persona, but not you. We know what you want us to know. Know is a strange word and I really want to say now. We're hiding messages. We seek love. We want to be cared for. We want to belong. We need to belong. Interaction, even if virtual, somehow comforts us. It's a mess, and we've gone into deep. We don't have long chats. We check up on each other and know everything about each other without ever uttering a word. We know with our eyes. We know what you want us to know. Here we go again with the know. It's all a game.

Sleep will come in 10 minutes. Awake, again, at thirty pass eight. Train. Falling in and out of naps. The busy day will come and it will go, and before I know it, I'm here again, trying to watch a show, trying to slow down my day, but it will happen again. And I won't be able to tell you when it will stop.

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.

Spring Tease

The above photos were taken from my android phone. I'm really proud of her/him/it! Winter is over (I don't think it ever really started) and now I get to see another side of New York. No more dark toned michelin man coats, no more Hunter rain boots, and absolutely no more grim faces. Or at least less. Gosh, I'm really not in the mood to write anything decent, but I should update myself on what I have been going through. Me, me, me, me. Gross.

It's been almost five months since I left. Am I a New Yorker now? What kind of question is that? Yes, I live in New York, and I plan on making a living here. But I wouldn't claim to be anything. New York is just another city, with bigger skyscrapers and more people. That is it. I think I've gotten over talking about what this city means and just stopped talking about the city as a whole. Anywhere I am will be what ever I want it to be.

I wrote that three days ago, and now it is back in the low 50's. At least I know that Spring and Summer will be the best times here! I will welcome it with open arms.

I'll write a few quick notes about what has been happening (this is relevant for me when I read this in my 40's and wish I was still 23 and scolding my 23 year old self for being so serious.)

 - Got a pixie cut (really should write an entry on this, very comical)
-  Brother visited!
-  Fran visited (distance is making my heart grow fonder)
- Informational interview with managing editor of Seventeen Magazine headquarters at The Hearst Tower (I wouldn't mind walking in there every day!)
- Progress with the whole assistant photo editor thing (fingers and toes crossed)
- Wore shorts for the first time!
- Assisted 3 photoshoots in a week
- Finished The Hunger Games
- Watched The Hunger Games
- Starting Catching Fire aka The Hunger Games Book II
- Finally renewed my contacts prescription

Sickness talk

The last time I was sick and actually enjoying every second of it was second grade. It seems all of my great childhood memories were in that time. I was 8 or something. We were still living in a studio so my twin bed was in the living room along with my brother's. He had these really colorful dinosaur sheets. I can't recall what my sheets were like, but I'm sure it wasn't as awesome as his sheets since I can't even remember it. It was a school day and I wasn't in school. Instead I was under the covers, one of those thick, heavy, flowery ones. If you have any familiarity with Asians, you know what I'm talking about. There's always some type of pattern with some shade of red. My mother's had a peacock. Mine had huge red and pastel flowers all over. One side of the blanket felt silky so when you run your hand against it it'll smooth it out and everything looked perfect. That was one of my favorite things to do, petting the blanket. At least it behaved and didn't poop.  It seems life was easier with this blanket because now I have an Ikea down comforter with those duvets and life isn't as easy. It's still very warm, but I can't pet it like my Asian blanket. My mother took the day off to take care of me. I remembered my great aunt (that's what I called her, though I really don't know how she was related to me but she was related) came over and gave me five dollars. I forgot why, but I remembered wanting to be sick all the time so I can get more five dollars. Five dollars could have gotten me ten fudge popsicles or ten bottles of lucas. Even though I was sick, if the ice cream truck came by, I'd rush out the door and run after it.

On these sick days, besides blowing my nose and filling up so many plastic bags with my used tissues, I watched television all day. Daytime television wasn't made for kids (I know because they always had soap operas that had stuff my eyes should have not seen as a child) and PBS became my favorite network. I never knew what PBS stood for, but knew that before and after every show, they always thanked me "like viewers like you, thank you" and I'd always reply "you're welcome!" I never watched Nickelodeon or cartoon network because I didn't have cable. I remember I'd lie to the kids at school when they asked me if I had cable. I told me that I had it once, but my father cancelled it because I wouldn't do my homework. Everyone believed it.  I already knew I wasn't a typical kid, but I still wanted to fit in. So yeah, I used to have cable and watch TRL and Rugrats until my parents turned off our 20 inch tube.

Life as a sick child was not a struggle. Now at the ripe age of 23, I'm sick and there is a TV, a huge one actually, but it doesn't work. It sits quietly in our living room and constantly reminds me everyday that I am still poor. But it is quite encouraging because I really wish I can turn it on and watch The Notebook on there. Can you imagine Ryan Gosling's face on a 50 or so inch screen!? I ended up finishing The Catcher in the Rye instead. It makes me wish I wrote more during my teens angst years (what do you call angst in your early twenties? I feel like there should be a clever answer here and then that drum sound to state that it was a joke should play). But then, I wouldn't want to reread any of that because it'll just make me hate myself because I know how annoying I can be.

One thing I kind of like about being sick is my lost of taste and smell. It means I can make anything I wanted and it didn't matter how it tasted, as long as it filled me up. It means not being able to smell urine in the subways or smelling someone's fart, including my own. It means I can put sour cream and onion potato chips in my porridge and not be disgusted by it. But it also means I can't enjoy a freshly made avocado shake/smoothie or homemade angel hair pasta with mushroom and chicken alfredo sauce. I always feel these minor sicknesses happen to make us appreciate whatever that is hurting, more. Like when your elbow starts hurting for no reason and you begin to appreciate your elbow and pray to God that you won't ever mistreat your elbow ever again. I would think of other examples, but you know what I mean. You begin to give that part of your body more attention and tell everyone you encounter to be happy that theirs is functioning properly or at least looks normal. This reminds me a lot about people too, and how when someone gets sick, or gets mad or you, or something different happens to them and it changes your relationship negatively, you begin to focus on them and really appreciate them and wish you had done more and pray to God so many times to undo it all, to bring it back to the way it was before all of it happened.

The case of the heater

Here are two stories. My mother's co-worker, an immigrant from China, turned on the kitchen faucet and had no idea how to turn it off. This wasn't a fancy faucet either. But I guess she didn't have such sinks where she came from, so this contraption became her enemy, and she was not winning the battle. She ended up calling 9-1-1 because it was an emergency. Her sink was overflowing, and if she didn't stop it, her whole house would flood! The firefighters came and turned off the faucet. How? He twisted the knob to off.

Story two: This man (my father's friend who's also from a foreign land) didn't know the that red lights meant stop and green meant go, so every time the light was red, he would drive and wonder why people were honking at him.

I was shaking my head when I heard these stories. How can anyone not know how to turn off a faucet or understand that red means stop? Isn't that universal? "Give me the greenlight" means go right?  Come on, people!

And rightie tightie, leftie loosie. I've never actually typed that out, so it looks really awkward and cute at the same time. If I turn something towards the left it will loosen it and if I turn it towards the right, it will tighten it. That's exactly what I did to our heater. It started getting cold in the apartment so I tightened it because it was loose. The next day, my roommate layered up before bed (sweatpants, sweater, three blankets). Usually, he'd don his Harvard t-shirt and basketball shorts. The day after that, it was just unbearable. I walked around the apartment wrapped in a blanket, and spent the majority of my time in the kitchen or restroom because those were the two hottest spots. It was frustrating. How can our heater break? If ours is broken, that means everyone else in the building is freezing their toes off too! I went back to the source and turned the knob tighter. It was still cold. I googled and youtubed "how to fix a broken heater" but I didn't have the advance tools, and the heaters looked different from mine.

I called our super (I'm his favorite tenant).

"Yeah, it's really cold. Our heater is broken," I told him as he walked in the apartment.

"Really? It should be working. Which ones?"

I pointed to our room. "There, and in the living room."

He kneeled down and starting turning the knob towards the left. "Look, it was closed off. You have to loosen it so turn it to the left." He went to the living room and said the same thing. "It should start heating up in 20 minutes." And he left.

The poop story and how a kitty changed a life

And then there were two. Two needy, breathing mammals. Lexy came in a Zappos box and left in a legit pet carrier. This time, he, I mean she, is plumpier and I hope happier. The last four days has been hell for her and her owners. The internet said to place her in a small room with her food and litter box. We didn't want her to urinate in our bedroom. We didn't want to walk around smelling like kitten droppings so we avoided the closet. And we didn't want our brand old 50 inch television that might have the possibility of working to not work at all. Our tiny black and white restroom became her new home. After this new piece of information, we moved the litter box, her green rice to riches food container, and her furry self to the restroom, closed the door, and went about living our lives. I felt like a tiger mom punishing my daughter because she didn't take off her shoes in the house. That night,  the cat's constant meowing joined my roommate's snoring. And that continued for three nights.

"Have you seen the restroom yet?" asked my roommate one morning. I was snuggled under my comforter, ten minutes past my alarm.

"You should look," he said eagerly.

Last time the cat peed on the white towel, knocked over my tree oil face wash, and destroyed our soft  toilet paper. I knew it. She had taken down the shower curtains! I knew those plastic hooks from Ikea weren't going to last.

To my relief, the shower curtains were still hanging.

"She shitted all over the tub," my roommate said. I pulled the shower curtains open and immediately pulled them back. There were little pebbles of poop on the right side of the tub and in the middle was a fat one in a shape of a wishbone. I knew it wasn't a big deal, at least it wasn't human poop, but this was bad. Poop is poop.

I can never be a mother. We decided to split the task: I pick up the small poops and he picks up the wishbone poop. It was a fair deal because there were more small poops. There has to be a better word than poop right? It's starting to sound too cute. Poop.

And that was the end of it. I didn't want to pick up shit every day and I didn't want the white towel to turn yellow. Lastly, I was tired of having to hide our toilet paper and needing to collect the right amount of toilet paper before I sat on the toilet. The cat wasted a week's worth of toilet paper and that was the last straw.

That night, a kind lady responded to our craigslist ad (it was in the for sale section for $65, changed to $35 when no one responded, and after the poop tub incident, it moved to the free section). Her and her kids came over, met Lexy, fell in love with her, and left with her and the 3.5 pound bag of friskies cat food. Never have I ever seen a kid so happy.

In the end, I realized that I really am not a cat lady or any kind of animal lady and if kitten poop freaks me out there is no way I can handle cute baby poops. During one of my uproars, I confidently and dramatically told my roommate "Remember how we shouldn't have regrets? Well, my biggest regret is getting this cat!" and I take that back. Because of this cat, we both added happiness to a child's life. We provided this kitten with a loving home, and overall, Lexy taught me that I should be careful next time before I allow anyone/anything in my life because when I realize it isn't working, I can't post it on craigslist and have someone else fix my problem.

45 Days

I've been meaning to post about how everything is going in New York, but I wanted to wait until the forty fifth day. If you were to ask me this question, the answer will depend on when you ask me. If you had asked me that today, I'd say "The weather has been warmer than usual. I wore sandals this evening to the laundromat which is 3 blocks from my apartment (yes I need to actually go outside my building to do laundry). It felt like an episode of Friends except that I wasn't Rachel and there was no Ross, but there was a laundry cart! And did you know that you can pick how many minutes you want on the dryer? A quarter for 7 minutes. 3 quarters is enough to dry all my clothes!" On bad days... well, I've been thinking about it and I can't really recall a seriously bad day. The only time was when I went to Uniqlo orientation and the lady dismissed me because I didn't have my passport. I sat on the subway with a pouty mouth and my head down, feeling almost like a sad Korean drama.

I can say that every day here has been different. There's actually reason to have a daily journal because I won't be writing in the same things. Oh shucks, too late for that now. In the 45 days, I signed a one year lease to an empty apartment that I'm sharing with one of my great friends from home. I found a part time job as a sales associate for Uniqlo (I just tried the heattech scoop neck shirt today and oh-em-gee it's always toasty and I love it). I'm getting real world experience of what it's like working in a magazine office. I've stepped inside Spin Magazine's office (sadly they decided to not hire any new spring interns). In the 45 days I've had many opportunities and misfortune. My 2012 schedule is still in the air as I'm waiting to hear back from shootdigital and Men's Fitness. In the 45 days, I've baked ciabatta bread, crack pie, brownies (twice in four days). Thanks to Phimy, I've had numerous nights of fun times and numerous mornings of hang overs. I would go on, but most importantly, in the 45 days I've been here, I've been constantly moving.

You know how when you apply for college, they always want to see how well you adapt to new environments? Well I don't even know why I typed that last sentence, but I can say I've adapted very well. New York City isn't very different from any other places I went to. Even when I went to Korea, I didn't feel estranged. Physically, there are differences. People are always around me whether I like it or not. I don't have my car to shield me from the rest of the world. When I want to go somewhere, I hop on the train, and become involved in other people's lives for a few seconds before my stop. In New York City, they take out the trash three times a week, meaning that three times a week, you'll see piles and piles of garbage bags on the curb. The buildings aren't as high as I imagined them to be, the people aren't as "aggressive" and it isn't as chaotic. And I have to say, I honestly suck at blogging because I never have a focus. Sorry.

Now to answer the question: how's life in New York City? Life is being lived.

In this moment

My friend texted me saying "Life is crazy." Why? "Idk I didn't think I would ever hear back from anyone" and it made me realize that I haven't actually reflected on this life of mine. Because it really has been CRAZY. Crazy in the best sensible amazing awesome way. There are two types of crazy. The "My ex-gf was fucking crazy"crazy or your friend's reaction when you tell the story of you sitting on the subway and realizing Ryan Gosling is next to you and you both engage in an intimate conversation about which power ranger was your favorite and he gladly adds his phone number in your phone and decides to hold your hand as you both step off the subway to lead a life of eternal bliss and she responds with "O-M-G that's crazy!" My crazy is the latter. To a certain extent.

I love that feeling when things are happening. Anything, like even getting an email a response from someone, that sense of communication that life is moving forward because I hate feeling stuck and I am the most impatient person. I like for things to happen all the time. There has to be change and movement.

Does that mean that I get bored easily? No. It just means that I can't settle for something that I'm not happy with. For example, my internship during the summer was a blessing. Not only was I paid a good amount of money,  but I contributed to the sales team and felt like I did a lot of good things there. The work wasn't hard and my colleagues became my friends. But after 6 months, I knew I couldn't stay there long because I didn't see myself there. I thought to myself that when someone asks me in five years "so what have you done so far" I don't want to have to say "I've been working at that place that I interned for." Period. The end. I don't think I like straight lines. I tend to get from point A to B by visiting J and saying a quick hi to L and sometimes sadly approach Z to have to get to B. And I think that's the story I want to tell. Jeez, I'm all about stories huh? It probably goes back to freshmen year in my music cluster where my professor asked everyone "What is the meaning of life" or something along that line. And he said "stories." As in, life is all about stories. Every time we talk to someone, we are telling a story. Everything we do is a story. There's a beginning, middle, end to everything we do. Think about it. When you come home and your roommate asks you how your day was, you tell her a story about your day. The action of you walking in and your roommate asking you a question and you replying is a story. Beginning: You walk in. Middle: Roommate asks how you're doing. Ending: You respond by telling her your day. Everything is a sharing, communicating. And that leads me to the eulogy written by Steve Jobs' sister where she states "We all — in the end — die in medias res. In the middle of a story. Of many stories." Okay that was kind of depressing and does not work well with this entry, but there you have it.

And now I'm in the story and I am the author. I'm no longer going through the motions (and I'm glad I have motions to go through) but now the motions and going through me. I just thought that would sound cool by switching it around, by saying that I am now in control.

If you haven't noticed, I'm talking on a high right now. I feel like I'm on cloud 9 (seriously, there has to be a better expression to express my euphoria at this moment). And why am I so over the moon? Because things are happening! Leaves are falling! People are moving! Rain is falling! Sun is shining! Subways are moving! Music is playing! Everything is functioning correctly. Leaves should be falling now. People should constantly be moving. The rain should fall. The sun should shine. The subways should move. And music should always be playing. It's that moment where you begin to realize that you're glad certain things happened in the past because if it didn't you wouldn't be where you are at this moment. I'm glad I didn't get that copywriting internship. Maybe it was a good thing I decided to take Vietnamese class instead of Spanish. And to go even further back, I'm extremely blessed and thankful my parents sacrificed everything for me to be where I am right now. In this moment, I feel infinite. In this moment.

I blame Steve Jobs

In his commencement speech at Stanford University, the man said:

"Your time is limited, so don’t waste it living someone else’s life. Don’t be trapped by dogma — which is living with the results of other people’s thinking. Don’t let the noise of others’ opinions drown out your own inner voice. And most important, have the courage to follow your heart and intuition. They somehow already know what you truly want to become. Everything else is secondary."

Though I've always seen life in this light (special thanks to the American media) Steve Jobs gave it a stamp of approval. The man indeed put a ding in the universe and he's certainly inspired me to venture off, to stay hungry, to stay foolish. And foolish I am to be flying off to New York for an internship that pays significantly less my current one during this economic situation.

I am exchanging stability for uncertainty, income for experience, cars for subways, cardigans for coats, and LA for NYC.

I know. I've already written an invitation to myself: Welcome to the I'm-going-to-NYC-to-follow-my-dreams club. And it's not really following my dreams, it's more creating myself and figuring out what I'm made of. I really don't know exactly what I want to do, but I only have an idea. Remember my rant about me being super spoiled? Well, this will break that mold. My vague plan is to have the internship, work part time during the evenings and Fridays/Saturdays and explore New York Sundays. See, I've got it covered. I've got 3-5 months to make something out of nothing.

As for my parents, they don't understand it, but they're letting me go. My brother recorded it all so I got to be Kim Kardashian for twenty minutes. I really wanted to type out how the conversation went, but it's on film, and yes, I'm lazy again. However, after the confrontation, I wrote this draft on my blog:

Guilt. Nonchalant, Almost careless. Go and try. It's such an American thing. My father doesn't know, and I know he will only worry about the housing crisis. I, too, worry. It's selfish of me, but by me staying, what will that do? Progress is not made.

going to new york in two weeks.
lonely. sad. letting go. money situation.
mother supportive. not yelling.
moved on to car problems.
cardboard dividing the room.
mom mad she threw it down.
my own reality show.
don't wear heels.
my brother recording it all.
"why leave for a lesser income?"
major counts.
3 months will go by so quickly.
bring cats over.
she already bought a plane ticket.
her boyfriend lives there.
why leave when things are so good?
let her do it for 3 months she'll come back.
my mom silly, playing and patting his face.
how much is it?
enough. it's enough.
experience over money.
why?
caught on tape.
sound silly but let's see how it is.

sadness. a new chapter. prove them wrong. i'm so hopeful and i know it won't be so good.

Yeah, if you understood half of that, I congratulate you. Overall, it turned out to be one of the best conversations I've had with my parents. Instead of yelling at me when I proclaimed my plans, my father said in a calm voice, "But that's so far. I'll be sad."

I'm spoiled and it is rotten

My tolerant mother has taken care of me for twenty two years and never received an income or even a promotion for her magnanimous efforts of raising a poor Vietnamese speaking mercurial daughter. With great admittance, I am a spoiled brat.

After I turned 18 and went off to college, I really thought I was a true adult. But I found myself going home on weekends shamefully so my mother could do my laundry. I wake up past noon and next to my bed will be a plate of perfectly cut up gauva accompanied by the greatest concoction ever: salt, pepper, and cayenne pepper. It's truly a Vietnamese thing (the dip and the motherly behaviors). I figured this type of behavior would diminish by the time I turn 21, the age where I can legally drink, rent a car, buy a car without a co-signer, buy a house without a co-signer, and gamble. How come when I turned 21, all I did was drink until I couldn't anymore? I should have gone and rented a car!

The realization that I've yet to seriously grow up occurred one morning before I went off to work. My morning routine is trite and amazingly lazy: wake up at 6:35, drag myself to the restroom, pee, brush my teeth, wash my face, attempt to comb my hair, give up and tie it in a ponytail, change, and go to the kitchen. All of that takes an impressive ten minutes. I'm independent during those 10 minutes. On this particular morning, I slipped on a black dress because I didn't feel like using my muscles trying to squeeze into my fitted pants. As I walked into the kitchen, I stood by the cabinet, waiting for my mother. "Chờ đợi một phút" she says as she places bags of fruits and a napkin in my black lunch pail. "đồ ăn nóng" she says as she hands it to me. She basically told me to wait a minute and that the food is hot.  I grabbed the handle, thanked her, grabbed my car keys, put on my black flats, and walked out the door. My mother loves to watch me as I leave, and I always wondered if I'll do that when I become a mother.

She runs back in the house and comes out with a strip of stickers, the same one she uses to clean up the cat hair on the floor. Though my brother and I bought her a lint/pet fur roller, she prefers the stickers because she has more control and it's more effective, she claims. And there I was, standing in the walkway with my arms stretched out like scarecrow as she patted the stickers all over my dress as if I was going through security. "Mèo lông" she says. It means "cat fur" a word she's been using since my brother brought home Blue and Willow a year ago. My black dress was covered in tiny orange cat fur. In that moment, I imaged a helicopter aiming it's spotlight at me standing there with my mom on her knees intricately patting the stickers all over my dress, reporting to the news anchor "breaking news, a 22 year old woman is delayed from going to work because of apparent cat fur on her dress. Her mother is quickly ridding of the contamination."

After a minute, I told her it looks good and that I couldn't see the cat fur anymore. I thanked her, and casually walked towards my car. I place the lunch pail in the passenger seat, put on my seatbelt, turn on the engine, and drive off with NPR on the radio encouraging me to donate money for their Fall drive.

My best conversations are with strangers

In the past two weeks, my best conversations have been with strangers. During the off hours of my yard sale, I chatted with a man in crutches who happened to stop by because he was taking his weekly stroll to Main street. We jabbered on about the sport of fishing and renovations going on in Alhambra. Everything boiled down to the simple answer "It's the bad economy." A few hours before, Mohommad came by again looking for a water boiler, the one that whistles when its ready. He had stopped by earlier that morning to pick up five dollar speakers (my dad had them in the garage for 10 years). I forgot what we talked about, but it felt like I've known him for years. But out of all the conversations I've had with these new faces, my 5 minute meeting regarding vinyl application printing turned 2 hour meeting about the idiosyncrasies of life with the Femi is my favorite.

"Hi, are you Sami?" I asked the man at the front desk. "Ah, yes it's Femi," he responded with a huge smile. I loved his Nigerian accent.  I showed him the samples we wanted for him to print, and he laughed the whole time because I really was very ignorant about the printing process. "That," he pointed to a poster of three dogs' butts in bikinis, "that was a strange project. These customers invented diapers for dogs. I tell you, Americans love their pets! Where I come from, he feed them and had them to eat the bugs around the house, but we don't sleep with them. If you want to make money, work in a business with pets!"

It's a great conversation when you can't pinpoint exactly how you got to the topic. We went from talking about dimensions and cost of the printing to talks about education, dating, life mantras, technology, tailoring, and many other topics. When I drove back, I kept trying to think how we even went off topic. Most conversations I have with vendors are direct Q and A's. How much will this cost? Do you know how long it will take? How long have you had this shop? With Femi, stories seem to sprout and we both were inspired by each other's recollections.

Femi was born in Nigeria and came to southern california when he was 24. He studied at Cal State Long beach and transferred to UCLA majoring in some type of Health field. I was surprised at how many things we had in common. He also worked in Alhambra for 10 years after he graduated. Well hello, I'm from there! At first, I thought he was just being a great businessman, telling me what I wanted to hear. If that was the case, he was a great businessman. I was reassured that he was simply conversing to converse when he mentioned the Chinese Islamic Restaurant on Garvey. How can anyone make that up? I've always driven by this restaurant called "Chinese Islamic Restaurant" and I couldn't understand how that worked. I didn't know Chinese people knew Islamic people even existed.

"My daughter lived in the dorms for one year and moved out because of me. All the friends she met there lived in mansions in Beverly Hills! I told her I couldn't go and buy her a new BMW. Meet new people!" His daughter, who is now 33 years old working with clinical social worker something (I'm not very good with medical professions) in Nevada.  She's married to the greatest guy on Earth (he cooks, cleans, takes care of the baby, does chores, and anything you can think of that men never enjoy doing. And he does it without her nagging him. )

"Her boyfriend in college was a bad one. He had no job and no respect. He would drive her car, drop her off of school, and go somewhere. I said, if I'm paying for this car and the insurance and this kid is driving it, I will not allow that! I ask her, Honey why are you dating this guy, you deserve so much better." He looked at me and asked "How old are you?" His daughter was 24 when she finally broke it off - 6 long years.

"You are young. I learned that I couldn't tell her what to do. She will learn herself, from her own mistakes," he said expressively, his arms motioning towards his chest, "She did not listen to me. But I knew if I stopped nagging her, she will eventually learn on her own."

Femi began telling me about his first girlfriend, who he wanted to marry, but couldn't because of racial issues. He didn't want to be with a mother-in-law who disapproved of him because of his color. Now, at the age of 55 (I say add 5 more years because colored people age sp gracefully) he's living in Long Beach and his girlfriend lives in Cincinnati. He dreams of ending his career at the sign shop and wants to open an adult daycare center.

"People now are very selfish, that is why relationships don't last. You have to gain trust, and that takes time. Find someone who will be patient to grow with you. Be secure, independent. You both can have your own lives but don't be selfish. Give to give, not to expect something in return. All you want is love in return, right? What else do you need?"

He began to laugh when he gave an example of what he meant. "I love football, so I go to bars to watch it with other fans. She calls me on my phone, so I step outside to talk to her." He put his hands over his ears and speaks into it like a phone "I'm at the bar watching the game right now."

"See, instead of accepting it and asking me what I'm doing and how the game was, she told me to go back inside and to call her when he is done. So I call her later, but she was asleep because of the time difference." He began doing a texting with his hands, and with a laugh, said "And so I texted her "honey  I'm sorry I called so late I will call you tomorrow!"

"You need to know how to live your own life. When your partner is gone, you don't need to talk to them every second and know exactly where they went, who they went with. You need to trust that they are living their life and you live yours. This trust, it does not start at the beginning. You gain it, and it takes years."

Maybe his wrinkles aren't apparent not only because he has great genes, but of his whimsical, some might even say illogical look at life. "Don't worry too much. What will happen will happen. I never stress because I know things will be good. Have faith, embrace the cultures of life, and form meaningful relationships."

My stomach began to growl and I realized lunchtime had passed an hour ago. A customer walked in, which was my cue to end my talks with Femi. I thanked him, grabbed the airplane acrylic models, and walked out the store. If it takes 2 hours to get a quote from Femi about a project, I'd go back and do it all over again.

"In my experience, the worse high school is, the better your adult life seems to be."

Thank you Alia Shawkat (I only recognized Jack Black and Zooey Deschanel, sorry) who posted this on Rookie Mag (aimed towards teenagers - I'm 22).

Alia Shawkat writes: "In my experience, the worse high school is, the better your adult life seems to be."

Lesley Arfin writes: "You might feel at times that you are ugly and disgusting and unlovable. Some of you might feel as though you are beautiful and hot and cool and awesome. Know this: When you’re in your 20s you go through, like, a time machine of opposite days."

After reading these posts, I began to formulate my fate. It seems like most outcasts in high school turn out to be beautiful, successful ducklings.  Haven't you seen the Maury show where the nerdy buck-teeth skinny girl turns into a sex kitten (and sometimes an exotic dancer) and she's there to tell her high school crush,"Look at me now, bitch."

From looking at Facebook, it does seem to be the case. Total nerds, weirdos, anti-athletes are now working their way towards medical school, attending grad school, or even owning their own business. The rest are extending their high school career through their 20s, getting drunk with the same clique of people, and having a mediocre lifestyle in their hometown. Of course this is not true for everyone, but that seems to be the trend.

It scares the cow out of me because I don't know where I stand. I had a good high school experience. Of course, if I knew this conclusion that most of the writers have concluded, I would have gone back and forced myself to hate high school.  I can't say I was an outsider, or the strange girl who never talked in class and always had a book in her hand. But I wasn't the popular homecoming queen with the buff football boyfriend. I was an AP student, a yearbook nerd, and a highly enthusiastic (it makes up for my lack of talent) volleyball player, and highly emotional teenage girl with a social appetite. By looking at this, it seems I will fall into the "mediocre" category and that terrifies me. I'm starting to find that I'm becoming less social, and just less of everything I used to be in high school. Is that the affect it's taking? Am I slowly morphing into an outcast? Well, maybe I'm a step behind and this phase in my life now is my high school phase and in four years, I'll blossom into a beautiful butterfly. I'm trying my best to make myself feel better, sorry! I like extremes, and I really hope to goodness I can achieve that and break this pattern of mediocrity.

Lastly, I'll end with a positive note to everyone who might kinda sorta feel what I feel (if you understand, please inform me because even I don't know myself).

Dan Savage writes:  Sometimes the problem isn’t who you are, despite what you’re being told by everyone around you, but where you are. And sometimes the solution can be as simple as finding a new place, a better place, the kind of place where a kid like you can thrive. Your place is out there. Go find it."

Thank you Mr. Savage!

This also inspired me and you can read the rest here.

"All I can say is, take risks while you can. Believe in yourself, search for your happiness and experience new things. You have the money, you have the time. Don’t waste any of it."

Regardless, don't let this scare you. Don't evaluate your high school life and think that is how your entire life will be. You're constantly in control of your life. As for me, I need to stop making up excuses for my current ailment and stop putting the fault onto others. I don't necessarily know what I want, but I do know what I don't want. I don't want to have to write another entry like this again!

I'm a Recent Grad, I don't Need Money

Great message, horrible lyrics. But sometimes, that's what you need to get the point across. It makes for a really good sing-along when I'm applying for internships. I really do look to my left and my right while I edit my cover letters. 


And I'll just turn it off when my parents walk by. 


Jessie J- Price Tag (anyone else think of Fergie?)

It's not about the money money money
We don't need your money money money
We just wanna make the world dance
Forget about the price tag
Ain't about the uh cha-ching cha-ching
Ain't about the yeah b-bling b-bling
Wanna make the world dance
Forget about the price tag

Just Ask Yourself

It's a strange mood. I think listening to Death Cab's Two Brothers On a Hotel Bed is not helping my mood. Maybe it's also the emptiness of this room. I'm thinking about the future. Please forgive me if I go off on tangents and begin babbling like a five year old. It'll be my first (of many?) rants.I should be content right now; recent grad with a job. When I say job, I mean I get paid. It's actually an "internship" but it feels like a job. And I love it here. A lot. There is potential for being a real employee. While others would be ecstatic about such an opportuniy, I'm not. The practical (hah), cautious me would intern here for as long as possible until it becomes a full time job. But for some reason (I'm blaming all the brainwashing from inspirational speakers) I can't go on and do that.

As a kid, I've heard from so many speakers/adults/teachers/mentors to always follow your passion. They say "Do what you love." You know you love your job if you answer yes to this: If they didn't pay you, would you still work there?

And from a realistic standpoint, the job economy is so bad nowadays, that having any job is good enough. Others have told me that I should find a job, work on my hobbies on the side, and when I make enough money, quit, and pursue that hobby. This really makes sense and it is the smartest route. That's also the easiest route.

I see a long road ahead of me. I see many stories of attempts and failures. I hope to one day look back and be able to tell a story of triumph.

Here's inspiration for you all:
The point is, I can’t tell you how to succeed. But I can tell you how not to: Give in to the shame of being rejected and put your manuscript—or painting, song, voice, dance moves, [insert passion here]—in the coffin that is your bedside drawer and close it for good. I guarantee you that it won’t take you anywhere. Or you could do what this writer did: Give in to your obsession instead.


And if your friends make fun of you for chasing your dream, remember—just lie.

Commentary on DCFC's Tourist just for you

On our drive back from Westwood, I took the initiative to over annoy my driver. I heard it before, but it didn't stick with me. But that was a few months ago when I was a few months younger. Now Death Cab's You Are A Tourist will be on repeat a lot this month. Some old fans might hate this because it's just too... positive! My comments will be in parenthesis, and when I say comments, I mean stupid, strange words that will make you raise your eyebrow. Imagine a lot of gusto! And raised arms! And random sounds in between as I try to explain this song to you.


When there's a burning in your heart
An endless yearning in your heart (YES!)
Build it bigger than the sun (the sun is so big, wow go for it!)
Let it grow, let it grow (grow as big as the sun, if you can!)
When there's a burning in your heart
Don't be alarmed (don't be scared, yes you can have aspirations and desires!)

This fire grows higher (YES IT DOES!)

When there's a doubt within your mind (don't doubt, how dare you!)
Because you're thinking all the time (remember, thinking is only intended for do or die exams)
Framing rights into wrongs (no, the cup is half full, bro)
Move along, move along (American rejects)
When there's a doubt within your mind (negative pops up, crush it, erase it, don't give it attention!)

When there's a burning in your heart (again)
And you think it'll burst apart (it's too good to be true, don't let me jinx it)
Or there's nothing to feel
Save the tears, save the tears (stop being such a negative nancy)
When there's a burning in your heart

And if you feel just like a tourist in the city you were born
Then it's time to go (fuck, this is my favorite line, hi hi ) 
And define your destination
There's so many different places to call home (there is, got me thinking, gone gone)
Because when you find yourself the villain in the story you have written
It's plain to see (you are the sole controller of your story, write a great one, be a hero)
That sometimes the best intentions are in need of redemptions
Would you agree?
If so please show me (okay, i don't really care much about this part)

This fire grows higher
When there's a burning in your heart (fire! grows! higherr!)

Shut up and get going!

    Namsan Tower, Seoul, Korea 2010

Wednesday, you are cruel. It's ONLY 11:03. This will be a quick blurb. I'm not going to think about what I am writing, rather, I will be writing anything to pass the time.

My co-wo made a folder on her laptop titled "Future Wedding Ideas" or something familiar to that. Like always, I'm browsing Wedding photographer's site to seek inspiration. Most of the time, it makes me feel "sucky" and annoyed, envious, and also joyful of their success. I told my co-wo and she was surprised also, at my conclusions of the characteristics of photographers I've stalked so far: 20s to 30s, believer in God, married/engaged. Yay, two more to go for me!

Last week was such a high for me. It was full of potential! And that fire is slowly dwindling away.