Days of My Life

We are so often plugged in--to our smartphones, iPods, laptops, etc. Sometimes it's a way to defy--or cope with--loneliness. Instead of just walking or waiting alone, we plug ourselves into our devices to look like we have something to do other than stand around in solitude. Contrastingly, sometimes it's a way to create your own bubble. "Leave me alone. I'm listening to music and doing something important as I avert eye contact with everybody." Regardless, we have become so constantly plugged in that we've lost a considerable amount of sight of the outside world. Even if that is the purpose of plugging in, we need to reconnect with the community and pay more attention to our surroundings, be more aware of and courteous to others...by unplugging every once in a while. By being plugged in, we risk missing out on many things--from hearing a friend say hello in passing to recognizing someone needs help onto the bus (I actually experienced this the other day), fr...

In my Chinatown home, I always had a cup. That cup was for water, milk, juice, and sometimes even soup. That cup was a Styrofoam cup. It was disposable, it was clean, it was temporary. I halfheartedly rinsed the cup before each use, haphazardly tossed it into the fridge afterward, and heartlessly threw it away after a week or two. I thought I was cool for "getting a new cup" every week. And then today at work while picking from six communal espresso cups, I realized that having your own, permanent cup somewhere is a sign of your belonging and permanence there. In the cupboard above the sink is an array of company mugs with their respective owners' names printed on them. I don't have one yet, and actually prefer to use one of the six communal, anonymous espresso cups--whether for coffee or for water--for now, because I don't know my condition of permanence here. I suppose that having your own cup is analogous to committing to the company. But I never felt imper...

(a continuation of  "Life and Lemons" ) ...But no matter which lemon you pick, it's only a matter of time before the rind turns wrinkly, the flesh turns dry, and the yellow turns moldy. Because everything, no matter how fresh, juicy, plump--and full of potential--it initially seems, comes to an end, and that is the sour reality. And that is why, while you must be aware of and heed limits, you don't just stop picking. Once your basket has emptied of the best lemon(s) you have ever picked, once your glass has emptied of the best lemonade you have ever squeezed--you smack your lips and "mmm" in satisfaction of what you just had, rub your hands together and "hmm" in preparation of what you can have. And you go out and stand in the middle of the down-sloping hill again, bracing yourself for whatever tumbles down from the top. Why don't you simply accept that what you just had was the peak of your existence and stop hogging up space on that hil...

Sometimes, life gives you an empty bucket. Other times, it throws lemons at you like tennis balls out of a machine. Just when I thought I had an empty bucket, I encountered a great lemon: fresh, plump, bright yellow lemon. "This'll make for some great lemonade," I thought. I began to squeeze the lemon, indulging in every drop of cheek-tingling, tangy juice. All of a sudden, another lemon rolled toward my feet, and my eyes steered away from the one I was already juicing to the one I could be juicing. Surely, I couldn't squeeze both at once, because I have only so much focus, time, and effort. I couldn't immediately stop juicing the first one because I had only started. At the same time, I couldn't simply let the second lemon--just as fresh, plump, and bright yellow--roll away right before my eyes. I wanted to take full advantage of both lemons. I wanted to juice the first one and to pick up the second one. I wanted to keep and savor both, but the problem wa...

I believe I have finally reached the calm that I had frantically been seeking for several months. I have finally taken opportunities which stood right in front of me and pursued what I know or suspect I want. And I'm in a better place (not that I was in a bad place to begin with, don't get me wrong) because of this. Not until recently did I truly learn the significance of the following cliches: The first step is the hardest step. You never know until you try. The first step really is the hardest. There have been too many great opportunities I have passed up simply because I was too reluctant to fill out an extensive application, too lazy to write a cover letter, too comfortable to consider a change. But once I decided to get myself over the seemingly impossible hump, all the open doors became much clearer to see. It really isn't difficult to revise your resume, to email HR, or to do anything. The hardest thing is just to get yourself to do it. Surely, the comfort zone ...

I miss the chase. I miss chasing and being chased. Looking at one old photo in particular reminds me of the several times in the beginning he said, "I'm going to chase you." I thought, "Psh, okay. You've already got me anyway." Maybe I shouldn't have adopted and demonstrated that attitude so quickly. Perhaps I should have just let the chase and the subsequent excitement persist. But what difference would that have made except maybe slightly prolong the duration of the whatever-it-was? I can't expect to be chased--though chaste, I can expect to be (bad joke, sorry). I also can't chase just to chase, because that would leave me breathless. Additionally, though I know it's the 21st century and I do have slightly feminist views, I often feel immodest in my pursuits. Initially, the excitement and uncertainty will entice me, but eventually, it is the same uncertainty that pulls me back. Okay, admittedly, the former uncertainty is one of whether ...