(i guess there is a size limit to how much you can include in an email blog post. here is the rest of the text from day 1 that didn't get published)
there's also local flavor. street food vendors selling noodles, fried chicken, bbq on a stick, fruits like pomegranate and mango. i walked to banjasiri park where people were working out on the exercise equipment or laying in the shady grass napping.
grabbed lunch on my way back at a place recommended by mary (madam saranair): grilled chicken & pad thai.
started off the evening with ladies night happy hour with mary and her friends at hemingway's one of the english pubs. buy 1 get 1 glasses of wine, and a few of us got our numerology told by an older american man. he had some affirming insights about my career and family. and i found out my auspicious days of this month.
the rain started pouring down in the middle of our happy hour which thwarted plans to have dinner at a place further down the road. instead we grabbed some flat noodles, papaya salad and massaman beef curry at a restaurant in the mall. the floor of the mall was SF themed! i travel half way around the world and they're trying to make me feel like i'm at home.
day 1: sukhumvit road, bangkok
so here i am! after 20 hours of planes and airports, i finally landed in bangkok at 12:30 am on thursday.
my first confession: this trip is not completely solo. my childhood best friend, mary, lives here with her husband (one of the reasons this was a top choice for my travels). incredibly grateful to land and have a plush spot to crash right when i arrived into a new foreign country.
after sleeping in a little, i took the afternoon to wander around the neighborhood around sukhumvit road, the main market street near mary's apartment. it's a bustling place! there was lots of vehicle congestion when the taxi was taking to mary's last night at 2am. the area is the home away from home to many expatriates and thus hosts many western comforts like english pubs and your typical mall stores like h&m and sephora.
since LA
a year ago today (august 16, 2013), i moved to los angeles. marking the first time in my life i would establish long-term residency outside of the bay. it had been a crazy few days leading up to the actual move. my original target date was august 15. but when remotely searching online listings for months yielded nothing, dad suggested the week before,
why don't we go down there to find your place?
monday morning he phoned me from the kitchen, leaving a voicemail saying,
CJ, CJ, wake up! we have to go. ok, CJ...wake up.
and off we went. the two of us drove down not knowing how long the search would take.
we'll stay until you find a place. i packed a bag for a week.
tuesday morning, i checked the postings again. on craigslist, there was a new listing almost too good to be true. everything i had been looking for at the right price. there were no photos included which made me wary of the accuracy of the description. it had only been posted 30 minutes earlier so i rushed to send a response right away. in the elevator on the way back from breakfast, i got a voicemail from the manager with the exact address of the apartment. we headed there right away hoping to be able to view it.
upon arriving, the manager wasn't answering her phone. stuck waiting around, i walked across the street to check out another vacancy sign posted on a gate. "camille?" a girl asked as i stood on the sidewalk waiting for the maintenance guy of this building to show me the apartment. it was the younger sister of a a high school classmate. she was living west hollywood but happened to be visiting a friend in the area. we caught up for a little bit, and she recommended checking out her neighborhood for vacancy postings.
we made our way to weho only to finally receive a phone call from the manager of the "too-good-to-be-true" apartment to come see the it right away. we returned, and i went in by myself, folder of paperwork and checkbook in hand. i loved it and applied then and there. spent the rest of the day gathering additional application materials. after preparing all the documents at kinko's, we celebrated with sushi and ice cream.
wednesday morning, we checked out of the hotel. the two nights i had initially booked turned out to be enough for the task. i submitted the extra materials, deposit and first month's rent checks, and the place was practically mine. i took my dad inside to get his seal of approval. not that it was required. in our adulthood, i've appreciated that dad [and mom] have let us make our own decisions trusting that they have raised us well enough to make good choices. but i wanted the affirmation because it was not possible without him. it was a mission we accomplished together, in less than 48 hours at that. content in our achievement, we headed home, taking detours at porto's for breakfast and in santa barbara for lunch with my great aunt.
he asked because that's what all the effort was for and that's all he wanted for me. the answer a year ago was whole-heartedly yes as everything seemed to be falling into place as i had hoped. but my heart has broken many times since then. others have said that loss has taught them to live better, love better. but i've been too distracted, too exhausted and too sad to give it a good try. maybe reflecting on the past year is a step. or maybe for right now, it's okay to finally stay still in the grief and just miss him.
why don't we go down there to find your place?
monday morning he phoned me from the kitchen, leaving a voicemail saying,
CJ, CJ, wake up! we have to go. ok, CJ...wake up.
and off we went. the two of us drove down not knowing how long the search would take.
we'll stay until you find a place. i packed a bag for a week.
i hope it doesn't take that long!a few days earlier i booked a cheap hotel online located at wilshire & western for two nights figuring we could always extend our stay as needed. arriving in the late afternoon, i hopped on my computer, browsing listings, making phone calls and scheduling appointments while he took a nap. later we walked to dinner nearby. over all-you-can-eat korean bbq, we cordially argued about the present-day relevance of labor unions. then called it a night.
tuesday morning, i checked the postings again. on craigslist, there was a new listing almost too good to be true. everything i had been looking for at the right price. there were no photos included which made me wary of the accuracy of the description. it had only been posted 30 minutes earlier so i rushed to send a response right away. in the elevator on the way back from breakfast, i got a voicemail from the manager with the exact address of the apartment. we headed there right away hoping to be able to view it.
upon arriving, the manager wasn't answering her phone. stuck waiting around, i walked across the street to check out another vacancy sign posted on a gate. "camille?" a girl asked as i stood on the sidewalk waiting for the maintenance guy of this building to show me the apartment. it was the younger sister of a a high school classmate. she was living west hollywood but happened to be visiting a friend in the area. we caught up for a little bit, and she recommended checking out her neighborhood for vacancy postings.
we made our way to weho only to finally receive a phone call from the manager of the "too-good-to-be-true" apartment to come see the it right away. we returned, and i went in by myself, folder of paperwork and checkbook in hand. i loved it and applied then and there. spent the rest of the day gathering additional application materials. after preparing all the documents at kinko's, we celebrated with sushi and ice cream.
wednesday morning, we checked out of the hotel. the two nights i had initially booked turned out to be enough for the task. i submitted the extra materials, deposit and first month's rent checks, and the place was practically mine. i took my dad inside to get his seal of approval. not that it was required. in our adulthood, i've appreciated that dad [and mom] have let us make our own decisions trusting that they have raised us well enough to make good choices. but i wanted the affirmation because it was not possible without him. it was a mission we accomplished together, in less than 48 hours at that. content in our achievement, we headed home, taking detours at porto's for breakfast and in santa barbara for lunch with my great aunt.
thursday was for an ikea run, loading up the u-haul and saying final farewells. then it was back to LA on friday with dad behind the wheel of the moving truck, and mom and me driving in the car. over the next few days, we worked to transform my new apartment into my new home. living without electricity and visiting the corner taco truck for sustenance.
are you happy?
he asked because that's what all the effort was for and that's all he wanted for me. the answer a year ago was whole-heartedly yes as everything seemed to be falling into place as i had hoped. but my heart has broken many times since then. others have said that loss has taught them to live better, love better. but i've been too distracted, too exhausted and too sad to give it a good try. maybe reflecting on the past year is a step. or maybe for right now, it's okay to finally stay still in the grief and just miss him.
let's hang out, bay area
some things i wanna do before i go through this next door in life. let me know if you'd like to partake in any of these activities with me. more to be added later.
hiking (anywhere new would be fun)
hiking (anywhere new would be fun)
bike rides
- sf ferry building to sausalito
- ironhorse trail
- bay trail
drink
- weekday ceja outings
- anchor brewing tour
art/culture/etc.
- new exploratorium (adults only on thurs nights for $15)
- oakland zoo
- omca (with off the grid on friday nights)
- sfmoma (before they close for renovation)
i feel it all
my heart wrenches as mom, my aunts, and uncle visit the casket one more time. mom is then the last sibling standing by as the funeral director removes inay's jewelry and places the pieces in her hands. our sobs reach their height as the casket is closed. and it is at that moment my cousin olivia's 2-year old daughter (the youngest member of our entire family) innocently exclaims, "bye, super lola!" and we all manage to laugh through our tears.
----------------
a few months later, many of us are together again...this time shedding tears of joy as my cousin john marries his boyfriend since college. there are few dry eyes in the place...most present at the ceremony have known for a while the sincerity and unselfishness of their love for one another. a nearly perfect celebration of a wonderful couple only tarnished by the absence of my uncle, who refused to come to his own son's wedding.
----------------
these past few months have brought many moments of mixed emotions (hope/grief, happiness/bitterness, excitement/anxiety, etc.). and as opposite as they may be, there has been no denying any of them. no subduing their intensity. no chance of filtering out the good. the only option being to feel it all.
we can work it out
1. we walk down the stairs to the platform of the 16th street bart station. our cousin has dismissed us from her birthday celebration earlier than expected due to the departure of half of the party, too long a wait for a bowling lane, and consideration of our work schedules the next day.
"pittsburg/bay point train in 2 minutes," my brother points out on our right. i look to our left and see, "daly city train in 2 minutes." perfect timing.
as our respective trains approach, we exchange a high five and side hug. small gestures of consolation and comfort to counter the heavy weight of grief in the air this week. we go our opposite directions.
2. buskers begin announcing their performance on the other end of the train car. they are raising funds for some reason or another. as i fiddle with my phone, they start to play a crowd-pleaser. it's the beatles. like many on this train, i've probably heard this song hundreds of times before. but when they get to these lyrics, the words seem to echo in my ears and head...
3. the internet on my phone or nextbus doesn't seem to be working, and so i start my walk home from rockridge bart. i'm stopped in my tracks by something i have never noticed before. four familiar faces in a window with words that remain too true:
"pittsburg/bay point train in 2 minutes," my brother points out on our right. i look to our left and see, "daly city train in 2 minutes." perfect timing.
as our respective trains approach, we exchange a high five and side hug. small gestures of consolation and comfort to counter the heavy weight of grief in the air this week. we go our opposite directions.
2. buskers begin announcing their performance on the other end of the train car. they are raising funds for some reason or another. as i fiddle with my phone, they start to play a crowd-pleaser. it's the beatles. like many on this train, i've probably heard this song hundreds of times before. but when they get to these lyrics, the words seem to echo in my ears and head...
"life is very short, and there's no time
for fussing and fighting, my friend"
for fussing and fighting, my friend"
mayer tuesday
"if i ever get around to living
it's gonna be just like i dreamed
i'm gonna take the love i'm given
and set it free
if i ever get around to living
i'll take the end of everyday
tie it up to every morning
and sail away...
when you gonna wise up boy?
you are hiding in your mind
working all the time
trying to make it better
than you got it
and you've been spending all your time
searching for a sign
that's never gonna look
the way you want it
think you better wise up boy"
on hipsta/gram
"A good image is created in a state of grace, the late photographer Sergio Larrain said. I remember looking at the image on Photoshop when I got home and realizing grace was underexposed and then adding a vignette and stripping out all the color and cranking up the contrast to make grace presentable. It was the perfect moment but not the perfect photograph. Grace needed fakery to become graceful...
you no longer need high-altitude software like Photoshop like I did, no longer need expensive hardware to crash photography’s beauty party. This is the final stage of a revolution, the democratization of what used to be professional photography, and its hippest, most boring propagandists use Hipstamatic and Instagram."
stumbled upon this intriguing essay a few days ago. having been absent from facebook, twitter and instagram in the past 40+ days, it made me question, "what the heck are we doing with these tools?" do they really make the images better? does this filter help to truly capture the essence of this moment?~matt pearce, "shoot hip or die"
even though i haven't looked at my account in a while, one thing i know: i can't say i'm really proud of any photos i've taken via instagram. in fact, i might say that i'm more ashamed of the uncensored banality of most of the photos i have posted. was it necessary to take a photo of my breakfast, stylize it with the valencia filter and share it with fifty of my friends? no, not at all.
i do think it's possible for cell phone photography can be art, but i'm starting to realize that maybe instagram and the like are not my ideal tools for visual storytelling.
reclaim the atmosphere
and today we'll crucify the fear
as love reclaims the atmosphere
be honest in transition when preparing for the feast
send blessings to your critics and careful with the least of these
a hectic past several months.
a hectic past several months.
busying myself in oakland, pacifica, san francisco, napa, santa barbara, nola, motown, vegas, san diego
with bridesmaid duties, happy hours, live music, holidays, football games, work transitions, food (always lots of food) and maintaining important relationships in my life.
the latter especially leaving me thinking, thinking, thinking about if/how/when i did and did not do my due diligence to make sure these people know they are loved, appreciated, understood, and valued.
then the january calm arrived and i guess i expected the stillness to equate to peace of mind. but instead it felt more like holding my breath.
and with february, could it be finally a sigh of relief? clarity (thank you, jm) at the very least.
with bridesmaid duties, happy hours, live music, holidays, football games, work transitions, food (always lots of food) and maintaining important relationships in my life.
the latter especially leaving me thinking, thinking, thinking about if/how/when i did and did not do my due diligence to make sure these people know they are loved, appreciated, understood, and valued.
then the january calm arrived and i guess i expected the stillness to equate to peace of mind. but instead it felt more like holding my breath.
and with february, could it be finally a sigh of relief? clarity (thank you, jm) at the very least.
audacity in love
flipping through my journal last night, i found this excerpt from audacity of hope that i jotted down when i read the book a couple summers ago. our president, the romantic.
"eventually i wore her down. after a firm picnic, she drove me back to my apartment, and i offered to buy her an ice cream cone at the baskin-robbins across the street. we sat on the curb and ate our cones in the sticky afternoon heat, and i told her about working at baskin-robbins when i was a teenager and how it was hard to look cool in a brown apron and cap. she told me that for a span of two or three years as a child, she had refused to eat anything except peanut butter and jelly. i said that i'd like to meet her family. she said she would like that.
i asker her if i could kiss her. it tasted of chocolate.
we spent the rest of the summer together. i told her about organizing, and living in indonesia, and what it was like to bodysurf. she told me about her childhood friends, and a trip to paris she'd taken in high school, and her favorite stevie wonder songs."
two years of torture
our last evening in the big easy. if there is anything i learned in the few days visiting, it's that this city lives and breathes music. we're still amused by how saturday night started with soothing folk music, went to a lively new orleans jazz ensemble and ended up at a reggae band dance party. and this all happened barhopping from one side of frenchmen street to the other.
we needed one last nola-style live music fix before heading back to california.
we head down toulouse, past bourbon in an effort to flag down a cab. indie music artist toro y moi walks by going the direction we have just come from. after he passes, we look at each other and laugh knowing that frances interviewed him last year before he became "big" and landed on the line-ups for sxsw and outside lands.
we see cabs passing by down other streets, but it takes a while before one comes to the corner where we decide to wait. finally, a cab slowly approaches and the three of us climb into the backseat.
we needed one last nola-style live music fix before heading back to california.
we head down toulouse, past bourbon in an effort to flag down a cab. indie music artist toro y moi walks by going the direction we have just come from. after he passes, we look at each other and laugh knowing that frances interviewed him last year before he became "big" and landed on the line-ups for sxsw and outside lands.
we see cabs passing by down other streets, but it takes a while before one comes to the corner where we decide to wait. finally, a cab slowly approaches and the three of us climb into the backseat.
frenchmen street, please.
it is quiet as he turns the car around and pauses to let other cars pass.
look how nice i am. i let everybody go ahead.
we smile at his odd opening line. i try to make conversation.
busy tonight?
monday night is probably the slowest night in new orleans.
he flips on the radio and turns left onto decatur street. a DJ is recapping songs recently played.
ooh wheee! "two years of torture." that song has to be about a relationship! have you ever been in love? if you have, you'd know it's torture. you know the comedian christopher titus?
he had a tv show, right?
yea, a long time ago. anyway, in one of his stand-up acts he says something along the lines of "if you've never considered murder, you've never been married. if you've never considered suicide, you've never been divorced." HA! ain't that the truth?
he gets distracted because we have arrived at our destination and his pack of cigarettes has fallen behind his seat.
frenchmen street. you've got the whole strip ahead of you.
we pay and get out of the cab. as i'm shutting the door, i try to leave him with a final word.
he gets distracted because we have arrived at our destination and his pack of cigarettes has fallen behind his seat.
right here is fine.
frenchmen street. you've got the whole strip ahead of you.
we pay and get out of the cab. as i'm shutting the door, i try to leave him with a final word.
thanks and don't torture yourself!
oh well, you know...being in a relationship is torture...but being alone is torture too!
"to be alive at all is to have scars" ~steinbeck
a quote in the book. a scene in a movie. most of all, the bright fushcia phalaenopsis flowers in full bloom for the first time since the orchid was gifted to me by the girls as a "get well" gesture. all subtle daily reminders that it has been quite a while since my incident last summer and i have yet to provide a full reflection on that time.
i hinted and promised that i would do so in a past entry, but every attempted draft didn't quite capture everything i wanted to say about it and it was too easy to keep moving forward.
for most of my life, i have been lucky enough to be blessed with relatively good health. this incident was probably the single greatest threat to my health. yet since the injuries were minor, the incident itself quickly became a surreal memory. after all, the next night i was surrounded by laughing friends and family in my childhood home. back to work the following tuesday. camping on catalina island only a week and a half later. then hiking through the andes the next month.
the other reason for my desire to put it in my past: resentment.
i resented being a victim. i admit that i withdrew from gchat and other social networks just to avoid being asked for nth time hearing, "how are you feeling?" people were only asking because they cared, but i grew weary of rehashing the state of my injuries and recovery. i didn't need any additional reminders of what happened. i was witnessing the everyday miracle of wounds healing and turning to scars.
i resented that it seemed to prove the misperceptions of oakland. there was no thought of the why. just a matter of fact: "that happens there." in my own mind, i've vaguely explored the root of it all. see it as a sign of desperation during these tough economic times and a reflection of the tension that is a common symptom in a rapidly gentrifying city.
and yes, one does eventually come to acceptance of it all. so much so that when the kind southern woman from the insurance claims office calls me months later to hear my story, she is in shock and full of sympathy while i chuckle in my explanation of how silly a circumstance i put myself in.
aside from a revival of humor, the greatest thing about acceptance is the ability to revisit even the toughest moments with a lighter heart.
i remember when i opened my eyes to my dad, mom and brother standing over me in the trauma center. i immediately started crying. like every other time in my life that i have cried, my dad delivered his standard mantra, "be strong." i know he went out to the waiting room and translated my tears to my friends as an expression of the pain i was feeling. it was true my head was throbbing from the concussion, but my tears weren't for the pain. they were for my parents: that they had to see me like this, that i made them worry. my mom especially has already spent too many hours in hospital waiting rooms for my brother, for my dad, and in this one particular instance for me.
my pushy attending nurse scooted my family out of my room citing the strict two visitors at a time rule. ignoring that rule, the girls somehow snuck by my nurse and visited my room all at once. i remember smiling and telling them, "my favorite girls in the world!"
some of the dearest people in my life comforted me that night and the days following. thank you, all. after the open wounds and resentment have long gone, it's the memory of the love and blessings received that still resounds.
i hinted and promised that i would do so in a past entry, but every attempted draft didn't quite capture everything i wanted to say about it and it was too easy to keep moving forward.
for most of my life, i have been lucky enough to be blessed with relatively good health. this incident was probably the single greatest threat to my health. yet since the injuries were minor, the incident itself quickly became a surreal memory. after all, the next night i was surrounded by laughing friends and family in my childhood home. back to work the following tuesday. camping on catalina island only a week and a half later. then hiking through the andes the next month.
the other reason for my desire to put it in my past: resentment.
i resented being a victim. i admit that i withdrew from gchat and other social networks just to avoid being asked for nth time hearing, "how are you feeling?" people were only asking because they cared, but i grew weary of rehashing the state of my injuries and recovery. i didn't need any additional reminders of what happened. i was witnessing the everyday miracle of wounds healing and turning to scars.
i resented that it seemed to prove the misperceptions of oakland. there was no thought of the why. just a matter of fact: "that happens there." in my own mind, i've vaguely explored the root of it all. see it as a sign of desperation during these tough economic times and a reflection of the tension that is a common symptom in a rapidly gentrifying city.
and yes, one does eventually come to acceptance of it all. so much so that when the kind southern woman from the insurance claims office calls me months later to hear my story, she is in shock and full of sympathy while i chuckle in my explanation of how silly a circumstance i put myself in.
aside from a revival of humor, the greatest thing about acceptance is the ability to revisit even the toughest moments with a lighter heart.
#minorspoileralert: there is a scene in "50/50" where jgl is in the hospital crying to his mom (played by anjelica huston). she attempts to comfort him while the medical staff unapologetically orders her to retreat to the waiting room.i spent a greater portion of the movie laughing, but i couldn't help tearing up a bit during that one scene. i realize later that my reaction was strong because it was incredibly real to me.
i remember when i opened my eyes to my dad, mom and brother standing over me in the trauma center. i immediately started crying. like every other time in my life that i have cried, my dad delivered his standard mantra, "be strong." i know he went out to the waiting room and translated my tears to my friends as an expression of the pain i was feeling. it was true my head was throbbing from the concussion, but my tears weren't for the pain. they were for my parents: that they had to see me like this, that i made them worry. my mom especially has already spent too many hours in hospital waiting rooms for my brother, for my dad, and in this one particular instance for me.
my pushy attending nurse scooted my family out of my room citing the strict two visitors at a time rule. ignoring that rule, the girls somehow snuck by my nurse and visited my room all at once. i remember smiling and telling them, "my favorite girls in the world!"
some of the dearest people in my life comforted me that night and the days following. thank you, all. after the open wounds and resentment have long gone, it's the memory of the love and blessings received that still resounds.
himyf (ep. 2)
the year 2035
kids, as i was saying, this is the story of how i met...joseph-gordon levitt.
who is he?!? you know who he is. he's that actor from "inception" and "(500) days of summer," those classic movies of mine that you like to watch on the vintage dvd player.
well, your aunties and i are fans. that is why when we heard that his online arts collaborative was having a show in the city, there wasn't much debate about if we would attend. a few weeks before the show, i bought the tickets from a curt box office attendant who thought the show was general admission. it worked out well though because our random assigned seats were not bad at all: a third of the way back from the stage and one seat away from the center aisle.
the fear that the celebrity wouldn't live up to our idea of him completely dissipates in those first few seconds. the three of us are taken aback by the fact that we are actually in the same room as him and (as your auntie frances put it) that he is "as cute and charming in person as he is on screen."
after playing a few short films, he introduces the next segment of the show: the tiny stories collaboration. it's exactly as it sounds. writers contribute 1-2 line stories and artists make illustrations to accompany them. in some cases, they turn these tiny stories into tiny films with animated art, music and sound effects.
he jumps off the stage to choose people from the crowd to provide the voiceover for a couple stories. instead of picking people who are screaming for his attention, he tells us that he will be taking "recommendations" from other audience members on who should get a chance to read. at first we are excitedly pointing at each other but as he approaches our row, we completely freeze.
in our star-stricken state, he selects two people and returns to the stage. considering our mediocre seats, we cannot believe that he even came that close to us.
the first girl who reads is good. she's kinda irritating but adds personality to the story. he is slightly disappointed with the gentleman who reads the second story. in search of a new reader, he jumps off the stage again and walks down the center aisle scanning the crowd. determined not to miss a second photo opp of him 5 ft away from us, i whip out my camera to the ready-position.
focused on getting the shot as he approaches again, i don't realize that bev and frances continue to point at me to be chosen. he gets to our row and looks directly at me and says, "you with the camera!"
before i know it, i am on stage with him reading a story in front of 700+ strangers.
obviously, he is not your father. at the time, though, there were a lot of people that wished that he would be the father of their children (myself included). also at the time, i still didn't know that your father would be your father. that he would be the one to really make my dreams come true.
vintage photos
my project focused on the story of how my grandparents (my dad's parents) met during wwii. my grandma was among a group of people who were caught publishing underground anti-japanese literature. as a guerilla, my grandpa coordinated a mission to rescue them from execution. talk about filipino-american history.
doesn't my brother resemble my grandpa?
considering submitting one of these to the sartorialist. any thoughts on which one? i've got a few more here too.
diving for hearts
"so i peeled off my skin,
just slipped right in
and i become alive
'cause down here there's no fear
there's no cause for panic1. on many fair-weather days since march, i've tried to get out to do laps in our apartment complex pool. i'm not the most-skilled swimmer, but i enjoy it. it brings me a peace of mind that [i am ashamed to admit] i haven't felt with other loves (i.e. running, photography) lately.
there's just bright cold calm
yea, i feel no harm
this underwater feeling's abandon and it fires my heart"
what do you think about when you swim? it's funny...since i always swim outside, i have a similar mantra as when i run: "i'm tracing a thin line between the ground/water and the sky." the concept somehow humbles and calms me at the same time.
as i got to higher number laps during one swim session, i started thinking about what i was doing at that age. lap 22: f-in 2-2, graduation, london, ibiza, philippines. lap 23: first job, moving to oakland, presidential election. then as i got past 26, i started wondering where i'd be.
2. hawaii seems like a dream. the last afternoon we were there: even in the rough waters behind our ewa beach vacation rental, i was so content clinging to a boogie board off-shore, looking across the water towards honolulu with a rainbow hovering above pearl harbor and the sun setting behind me.
3. it's quite often that i have to explain to people that i am allergic to fish. since dad has been helping with a family friend's tuna business, it's been a more frequent occurrence. my dad has recently come up with an entertaining new twist to the explanation which he used over father's day dinner on sunday: "she's allergic to fish because she used to be a mermaid. she can't eat her own kind."
4. dad drops me off after dinner and i settle into my sunday night with a manicure session. coincidentally, my cousin tweets the name of an opi nail polish color. they always have fun names for their nail polishes. i contemplate using the new blue/green color i picked up at a japanese beauty shop in hawaii. i check the bottom of the bottle to see what it is called: memaid's tears
it's 9am in the philippines
i imagine my mom is still jet-lagged from her flight and my dad has made his way back to manila from bali.
the house in merville filled with relatives, food, and sadness.
aloha from hawaii!
well-dressed man
i don't expect anything less than snazzy tonight. i wonder what color suits he will wear this time around.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)