Technically perfect.
Technical precision. Textbook answer. Too bad neither one will give you a flawless result.
Desensitized
I think there’s something wrong with me. Seriously. My last remaining grandparent finally passed away yesterday…and I feel…fine. Have I become desensitized to death?
Twenties. It’s the time that a lot of people experience a profound loss for the first time in their lives. For parent orientation (that happens simultaneously with freshmen orientation at colleges), college administrators warn parents about the effect death can have on a person, particularly because young people haven’t experienced it before. The college years are often the years where a 19 year old loses a beloved pet or has to fly home for the funeral of his grandmother. Unfortunately, death is one of the few guarantees in life and the older one gets, the more likely he is to lose someone he knows.
I’m in my mid-twenties–fast approaching late twenties–and while I’ve certainly experienced my share of loss and tragedy I don’t think it’s necessarily more than the average person my age (though perhaps I have had more than my share of classmates and peers pass). My grandparents all lived well into their nineties and none died of sudden tragedy, but rather, gave warning signs that it was their time to go. So, no, their deaths were not tragic but any death or loss is still sad, right? Even when you know it’s for the best or that the person lived a long, good life? So why do I just feel…nothing (nothing is probably an exaggeration, but I didn’t cry when I found out. I made the choice to work from home and go to morning yoga and felt a bit…off, but there were no tears, no depression, no heart ache)?
When I was sixteen, my mom came very close to dying. I don’t say that in the melodramatic teenage fashion (“OMG! Did you see that, I almost died?”), but in a very real way. My mother was sick the majority of my high school life, in and out of hospitals for months at a time, in the ER and ICU for weeks, major surgeries, etc… Her first night in the ER, the admitting physician told her she might not make it through the night and called a priest to give her last rites. She made it through, fortunately, but it alerted me to the fact that life is short.
A year later, a friend’s brother died on his birthday. 9/11 happened. My mom was readmitted to the hospital for a stroke.
Fast forward three years to the summer after my freshman year in college. I met a wonderful, very sweet and articulate guy who had big dreams. We had an instant connection, dated, hung out at work all day together before going out to dinner or the beach, then talked on the phone until one of us fell asleep. A couple days before I was set to return for my last year of college, after we both made the easy decision to make a long-distance relationship last, C was in a fatal car accident when giving a ride to his friend who didn’t have a car.
C’s death hit me hard, but I tried to pull it together and didn’t even tell my mother what had happened. I drove down to Santa Barbara for pre-rush week (aka “spirit week” in the sorority world). Surprisingly, the first few days were just what I needed and even though I fake smiled through those first two days (but that’s what sorority rush is all about, right?), I began to genuinely feel better like life would go on and I can think of so many moments of happiness. During an event where we shared what the sisterhood meant to us, I broke down and told the other girls what had happened. The outpouring of love and support is something that I will always look back and reflect on, particularly when the greek system is under attack. The kindness shown to me that night carried through the next days and weeks–including three days later when a girl I knew was killed in a murder-suicide by her jealous ex-boyfriend. I was a wreck but pulled myself together to make it through rush week. Later that school year, another friend passed away. A guy I had known since middle school, one who had enlisted in the US Marine Corps then deployed at the height of our War on Terror. That year, the 2003-2004 school year, I personally knew three innocent teenagers–all nineteen-years-old–who died.
There were others, too, in the next few years that followed. A close friend who had gone to a rival high school lost his battle with cancer during my first year of law school. The following year, another friend died after he was hit by a drunk driver even though he was sober (a day before we had a company staying at our flat in London). Then my grandfather in 2007 (and I had to pull it together–after being told of his death via email–because it was time for finals), my grandmother in 2009 (and I had to pull it together then too, because it happened a day before I went to Southern Cal be a bridesmaid in a wedding), and finally, my last grandmother now (and for once, I don’t have to pull it together, but don’t even need to know because I’m not devastated this time around).
And then there were all those in the last couple of years that I didn’t know personally, but were still tragic losses. My old high school has seen more than its share of tragedy recently, with young alums who have died, or current students lost in car accidents, to suicide, or stupidity on a school band trip.
I can’t help but feel almost numb to it. And I think that means there’s something wrong with me.
V-day is for everyone
Cross-posted from oohlalani
February 9, 2010
This Valentine’s Day, I will be spending the extended weekend in a cabin in the mountains, playing in the snow, soaking in the hot tub, and spending some evenings imbibing delicious beverages before a glowing fireplace. No need to envy the romantic implications, however; this will not be that kind of trip.
As my group of college friends embarks on our fourth annual President’s Day weekend reunion, I will also likely be chronicling beer pong tournaments, backyard sledding, spontaneous wrestling bouts between a pair of brothers, and general drunken fiascoes that will undoubtedly unfold during the trip. I know I will have a great time catching up with old friends and making new ones —several new significant others will be in attendance!— so the only thing that might be slightly off is the presence of my ex. Make no mistake… even though some have suggested that being friends may not be a good idea at all, I have no doubt that we will be civil with one another. However, when alcohol enters the picture, he has a tendency to say awkward things, usually in large group settings. I hope to distance myself from as much of this as possible, both figuratively and literally.
I have avoided talking about the ex for several reasons. First and foremost, I don’t much feel the need to look back and remind myself how or why things went wrong. What matters is that I got out, am now taking care of myself more than ever, and am thrilled by my renewed, bright-and-shiny self.
Secondly, I believe that my life has afforded me enough hilarity that will, along with my incessant self-deprecation, provide fodder for many ridiculous anecdotes and observations.
Finally, despite having talked to some friends about what happened, I don’t feel the need to air specifics on a public forum, especially when they involve other parties (I obviously have no qualms about sharing my personal story about flashing the entire state of California, however). Though I’ve made an attempt to remain relatively anonymous in my postings thus far, I’m sure all the pieces will come together one day, and I balk at the idea that I might say something critical and of a personal matter about a generally good person who made generally bad choices. Words published to the internet rarely stay buried long, everybody knows this. Why is it that so many people post things in a fit of passion and rage, only to regret it later?
This post is not necessarily about past relationships, although the topic was bound to come up sooner or later anyway. Given the rapidly approaching love-holiday, I found myself with some reflections on matters of the heart… namely, my experience with love, my expectations, my struggles, and my thoughts on the future.
* * *
In college, many of my friends believed that I would be the first to get married. Whether this was a function of the length or the quality of the relationship, I don’t know… but as more of our friends got engaged, it became increasingly apparent that we just weren’t there, in spite of our many years together. As frequently as I helped my friends scour wedding forums and flip through bridal magazines, it never quite felt real for me, and even wondering to myself, Is this something I’d do for my own wedding? felt so hollow and meaningless… even a little taboo. The truth was that I had fallen into complacency and had forgotten all too quickly what I needed and wanted in a relationship.
What I did know was that all relationships ebb and flow, and with our infrequent fights and similarly easygoing attitudes, I thought that everything would be fine. While no relationship is perfect, I believed that two people in a comfortable, natural state would always find their equilibrium. When I finally began to see that things weren’t normal, I was too embarrassed and stubborn to do anything about it. I didn’t want to come away from the relationship empty handed, and often told myself, You have given too much to give up now. What I gave myself, in reality, was the finger. And then I gave another year.
The day that K got married, I saw how happy her husband was, how he couldn’t take his eyes off her, how he couldn’t wait to say I do, and how proud he was to call her his wife. I was struck by how deeply and obviously in love they were (and are!). It was so eye opening. So obvious. It was such an intimate visual representation of all that I had been missing, that it was simultaneously one of the most beautiful and one of the most disheartening moments in my recent past. I saw immediately that I wanted what they had, this thing that, until now, had only existed in movies that silly females swoon over. Who knew that sort of thing actually existed?
While I’ve managed to revive much of the confidence and spunk that I thought had expired, I’m still not 100 percent. I will have to contend with that sliver of doubt that’s always tapping me on the shoulder, reeling me in, and raining on my parade. This time, it’ll be the, Sure, he likes you now… but will he change his mind tomorrow? Some days, I think a speck of fear is healthy for a couple; the mere idea that one could lose the other at any moment ensures that they never take one another for granted. Most days, however, I know that my fear results from the prior chain of events, and is something that I’ll have to grow out of before long. Yes, I am still a little gun shy, maybe slightly defensive and quick to brush certain things off as “too good to be true.” Either way, I recognize that the key to my own growth and success in love boils down to… well… having faith in love.
I doubt that Valentine’s Day itself will affect me much, if at all. I won’t reminisce over past V-days, nor will I place hopes on future ones. To be frank, I plan on wasting my day away on the mountain, teaching one of my friends how to snowboard, and maybe trying a jump for the first time. Sure, I am a big softy and I will likely experience those warm, fuzzy feelings when I witness the couples exchanging glances the day of. And okay, I’ll be honest, I had brief moments of curiosity, anticipation, even panic, about this overly emphasized day… but it’s all behind me now. I will be sending out some cards this year– to the besties mostly, for being such amazing girlfriends to a deflated woman in need of some real love and laughter over the past year. <3 you beeches! 
Birth Order and Relationships (Part I–The Parents)
I am the eldest child in my family which means I am an ultimate people-pleaser, particularly when it comes to pleasing those who hold a position of authority. I play by the rules, am early to everything, get my work done on-time and have a tendency to be very serious and an obsessive control freak. I am a constant perfectionist and classic over-achiever.
(By contrast, middle children often tend to be the peacekeeprs of a situation, more indecisive and have a less defined personality; youngest children tend to be more adventurous than their siblings often engaging in extreme sports or dangerous activities, tend to be funnier and better actors,procrastinate and have a rebellious streak; only child? then you might exhibit signs of extreme eldest child or extreme youngest.)
Our personalities are generally shaped during our young, formative years. But as humans, we also continue to develop and evolve. Think back to your high school days and the friends you shared everything with, then fast-forward a few years to your sophomore year of college when you come home from Christmas break and found that you grew apart from your high school friends. They changed, you changed. Despite the promises that you would be “best friends forever,” the truth of the matter is, sometimes you out-grow your friends.
Although I still hold many of the firstborn personality traits and will likely never shake most of them, I can still work on developing into the person I want to be. Yes, I’m still a perfectionist. When faced with an impossible task, I still say “Sure, I’ll do it,” then race around like mad to complete it.
But I try to be less of a people-pleaser (because that sometimes ends with me sacrificing my own happiness) and less serious. I married a youngest-child (which, not surprisingly, is one of the best birth-order matches for a relationship–every person is born with attributes and flaws, having opposing birth-order allows you to compliment each others attributes and diminish each others’ flaws) who has taught me to relax more, enjoy life and take things less seriously (more on birth order and marriages to come in Part II).
Unfortunately, in gaining my own life, in getting married to a wonderful man, in trying to pursue my own happiness I seem to have…well, I seem to have pissed off my mother. She was so used to a docile daughter who said “Yes, ma’am” and “No ma’am” (okay, no I didn’t actually call my own mother “ma’am”), who agreed to pick up her brother from school, who got straight A’s and took all AP classes while juggling a million activities, who did everything she was asked without complaint and without argument. (No, I was not a saint, there were a few arguments, but they all ended with me crying and her winning. So very different from the arguments she has with my brother where he wins, she gives up or loses.)
When I got married there were certain things I didn’t want because of their high expense. I didn’t have floral centerpieces at the reception, I handmade my bouquets with the help of my fabulous bridesmaids, I baked cookies for the favors, I didn’t have a traditional sit-down dinner. The list goes on and on of all the things I did “wrong” at my wedding, at least according to my mother.
The thing is, my husband has taught me not to care so much. My mom was angry, she was passive-aggressive, she is still making comments about things that I did wrong. But for the first time, I didn’t care (well, not much…at least not enough to get back in line and do what she wanted). I wanted to keep the wedding under the budget my husband and I had set. I wanted the wedding to be fun for everyone and have enough room at the venue for a dance floor. I didn’t need fancy flowers at the tables or a DJ. And in the end, I was happy with how the wedding turned out.
In my mother’s eyes, though, I’ve changed–and not for the better. I think she fails to see that my becoming more independent and less of a people-pleaser is a good thing. Although it might sound conceited, I really am a very nice person so I’m generally going to be pleasing people anyway. I just don’t want to do it at my own expense anymore. I can think for myself, have my own life, and really grow as a person. I’m working on addressing the flaws of my birth order, not my strengths. But, because she no longer has someone who will agree with her all the time and do what she says, I’m not the same sweet daughter she once knew.
It’s sad, really, that her reaction to my personality and my brother’s are so vastly different. Because my brother’s always been rebellious, she brushes off his attitude and says “Well, that’s just how he is.” But for me, even though my “rebellion” is nothing even close to anything as bad as the things my brother has done (even though I’ve been on this earth ten years longer than he has, I really was a “good” kid, a “good” person) it comes as a shock to her. And because my mother is a taurus, don’t think for a second that she doesn’t come right out and tell me I’ve changed. Oh, and because she’s Chinese, she’ll do it in a passive aggressive way, too.
Alfred Adler, founder of the birth order effect theory suggested that firstborn children have it the toughest compared to all siblings, generally. I think most firstborns would agree.
I got a JOB!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Totally self-serving announcement here:
After a year and a half, I have finally earned my first full-time long-term employment. And the even better news? It’s basically a dream job for me.
The pay is crappy, the commute isn’t the best, but I am THRILLED.
After dealing with the terrible economy, being largely unemployed for the better part of 18 months, working for shady attorneys who didn’t pay me, having a check bounce on me on my wedding day, having my heart broken after too many interviews, I have finally landed a job. And like I said, not just any job, but basically my dream job!
It’s for a non-profit organization (it was always my goal to go into public interest), involves research and writing (which I excel at), and is basically the intersect of all things that interest me (International law, public interest law, health policy, legislation, human rights and developing nations…this job is literally everything I’m interested in).
So after months of complaining, L is finally going to get a break from my daily whinings, from my weekly, “Can you look over this cover letter?” and monthly, “Help me over-analyze this e-mail from a prospective employer.” Honestly, there were times when I got down about the economy, my relative lack of experience, and the sheer number of cover letters and resumes I sent out without any positive results. But I stuck with it and sent out dozens of applications weekly–something finally stuck.
In Misery, I mean, Missouri.
Did I say my New Year’s Resolution was to post once a week? *ahem* I think what I really meant to say was that I was going to post once a month. Yes, that sounds much more like something I would try to commit to…
Today is a special post because I write to you from Missouri. Fort Leonard Wood, Missouri to be exact which, unfortunately, is much less exciting than say St. Louis or even Kansas City. Yes, I am on an army base right now, stuck in what is essentially a hotel room (kind of like an Extended stay, though, since the room came furnished with a refrigerator, microwave and two-burner stove) with eight books (I’ve already finished four of them and I have a full week before I can return to California!), my laptop, a few DVDs and a TV whose remote control doesn’t work. What better time to update this blog?
I am “stuck” in this room because my sole purpose in coming out here was to help my husband on his drive out to middle-of-nowhere Missouri so he could do some army training. I am, thankfully, taking a flight back on Monday morning to California. Although I will miss my husband desperately (he’ll be here for another few weeks) it is quickly becoming apparent that I was NOT meant to be a stay-at-home wife, homemaker or army wife (despite my obsessive compulsiveness with cleaning and love for all things cooking/baking). I am trapped, without a car, currently without military ID (still haven’t gotten around to getting that which means I can’t leave the base because I might not be able to get back on), and with no cash so I can’t even take a taxi to anywhere interesting on this army base. Incidentally, this ginormous army base where they issued us housing in the far corner, over two miles away from the nearest point of civilization on this base, also known as the PX, also known as the postal exchange, also known as a food court.
Not that I’m complaining or anything. I’m very happy to be able to spend some time with my husband this week (really, I am, despite the fact that all of last night he spent doing army homework and tonight he has to go back out after dinner for “icebreakers”) even if it’s just an hour or two here and there. I’m also super glad I was with him on the drive out which was by far one of the scariest drives of my life. We had to stop in New Mexico because of highway closures right after we nearly got into an accident after skidding out on a piece of ice. The roads the next morning in Texas and Oklahoma were even worse and we skidded out, once completely off the road. We saw semi-trucks that got stuck, multiple abandoned cars that had skidded out, a semi towing a snow plow on the side of the highway, and a couple accidents including one particularly bad one with a rolled-over semi in a snow bank on the side of the road. Scary, scary, scary.
But as happy as I am to be with my husband instead of two-thousand miles away, as happy as I am to spend a week with him to shorten our time apart, I also realize that marriage doesn’t eliminate my independence. Tying the knot doesn’t mean that I lose my single self completely. I still have my own life, my own activities, my own work. And while I absolutely love being with my husband and I miss him like crazy when we’re apart, I’m still looking forward to being back in California even if it means being on my own for a few weeks.
An open letter… to Indian cuisine
Dear Indian food,
I had the pleasure of experiencing your spicy, flavorful goodness for the first time yesterday evening, and want to know this: Why have we not met before? Why were your restaurants so hard to come by in my college town? I am kicking myself for not finding you sooner.
Friends have touted the wonders of naan, the robust curries, the delicious buttery sauces. Menus that I have encountered in the past listed appetizers “deep fried to golden perfection.” Was this not enough to draw me in? How was I so blind to your advances? Surely, I have no one to blame but myself.
When I finally made the leap last night, I decided to buy several dishes to share with my brother. Not out of the goodness of my heart, mind you, but solely that I may try more than one of your menu items. Yes, I’ll admit it: my efforts stemmed purely from selfish decadence. I bought Chicken Tikka Masala, Chicken Makhani, garlic naan, and onion naan. To be completely honest, I would have purchased more if I knew you were going to be so savory.
Please accept my most profound apologies, Indian food, as I was completely oblivious to your presence until recently. I will do my best to make up for lost time and overdue meals, and promise not to neglect you again.
With sincerest love and gratitude,
LC
Glancing back and looking forward
Happy 2010! A slightly belated Happy New Year post, yes, but please don’t be sour, as I have been extremely busy making the most out of my new decade! I think I’m doing a bang-up job so far, which bodes well for the rest of the year. I am abuzz with anticipation and excitement about what 2010 may bring, but am also staunchly aware that I am not to sit idly by and watch with speculation and hope as the world unfolds before me. The most important lesson I learned in 2009 is that I can always rely on myself; anything I want to achieve starts within me and as long as I am active in pursuing my goals, everything will come together accordingly. Gone are the days of passive caution and quiet hesitation. Gone are my tendencies to put myself last, because goodness knows I’ve done that quite enough. I am a different person this time around. Let’s see what I can achieve this year.
2009 was a good year. I adopted a dog, bought a sexy car, traveled with my best friends, and finally gathered the courage to remove myself from an unhealthy situation. Last year tested my patience, resolve, confidence and perceptions of self-worth. Sadly, there were moments that I did fall under, but with the support of my friends, I was able to leave it behind and emerge even more bright and shiny than before. Thank you all for everything <3
I can’t speculate as to what 2010 may have in store for me, but I have already made a strong effort to seize my days. I have managed to try a new restaurant every week, made new friends, signed up for another 5k, and purchased a springtime flight to New York… and could not be more excited. This has been a robust start to 2010 and I cannot wait to push it further and see where I end up. Hopefully someplace sunny, with white beaches and a nice surf…
Happy New Year!
So it is officially the new year, and I must get on my New Year’s resolution of writing every day. Except, I have modified said resolution to writing once a week. I mean, really, no need to get overly ambitious. It’s like how people make all these crazy (and by crazy I mean super ambitious) resolutions, but quickly get discouraged because they can’t achieve their goals. Whenever I have a project due or something big to plan, I start small and take it one step at a time (or try to, anyway); dealing with the small makes it more manageable. Perhaps by the end of 2010 I’ll be up to once a day, but for now I’ll be content with writing four times a month.
So here we are — a new decade. 2010. The first year of the “teens” (is that what we’re going to call it? Our generation really got screwed being born at the end of a century. We got the eighties and the nineties, but then two decades of “what on earth do we call this decade?)
I think us fellow quarter-lifers have a lot to celebrate in this past decade. Most of us twenty-something individuals have probably accomplished (or, more accurately, seen more milestones) in this past decade than we will ever see in one decade again.
Personally, in this decade I: turned 16 and learned to drive a car (not something particularly accomplished, but an important milestone in one’s life, nonetheless), worked at a multitude of jobs (mostly of the retail/waitressing/I-hate-my-life variety that every high school/college student should be subjected to), I graduated high school (class of 2002, baby!), graduated college (class of ’04!), ran marathons (a note of advice: the SF marathon is not a good one to start out with), turned 21 and could legally go to bars (though as I hit 21 i found that I do not actually like alcohol and quit drinking), got into law school (and went through a personal crisis of where I was going to go until Notre Dame came calling), worked at my first non-I-hate-my-dead-end-customer-service type job (I found that I truly love the law, thankfully), got my first apartment (and my first non-school owned housing at that), lived abroad, traveled to new continents, traveled to foreign countries (all by myself!)graduated law school (2008), had my work published (hooray for nerdy law journals), permanently left home, passed the California Bar (thank God), got my first paying legal job (hooray!), learned how to scuba dive (and swim, sort of), got a house (ugh…property taxes), fell in love (and, of course, had my heart broken), and to celebrate the close of this decade, got married!
I’d say that it’s been a very busy and fairly accomplished decade. Although it makes me a little sad that I will never see this many milestones again in a single decade, I guess that is what growing up is all about. As you grow older, particularly in the younger years (I’m talking pre-elementary school, people), you achieve all sorts of things in a short amount of time. First teeth. First words. First steps. Everything out there is a wonder. Later in life, those milestones come farther and farther apart. But, perhaps, each of those milestones become bigger. Yes, a first tooth is exciting. A baby begins to talk. A toddler takes his first tentative step and learns to walk. But these are things that every person will experience (well, most, anyway). Not everyone graduates high school, goes to college, passes the bar, etc…
So what do future decades hold in store? Well, I’m hoping this decade will bring me: My first permanent paying employment (hopefully!) that comes with health benefits and a retirement plan, a first anniversary (hopefully a silver and golden anniversary lie in the far future), a publication in a non-nerdy-academic journal (a goal for this year), completing my first century ride, watching the 49ers win another superbowl (come on, it’s been almost twenty years!…and yes, I realize this has nothing to do with me achieving anything, but just thought I’d throw that out there), travel to more new countries and continents I’ve never been to, live abroad (again, and perhaps in a non-English speaking country this time), learn to speak a language other than Spanish, become fluent in a language (and not lose my fluency like I did with Spanish), get my own health insurance (instead of running around without it like I have been), have my wisdom teeth extracted (ugh…but I suppose it’s a rite of passage), maybe get an LLM degree (note the word maybe) and, perhaps, have a baby (although that one is still up in the air). Although not as exciting as graduating from three different schools and getting married, I suppose there is still a lot to strive for and look forward to this decade!
So here we go. Let’s make the most of 2010, the first year in this brand new decade.
Breaking News: Group mentality stifles sense of adventure
I recently made a personal commitment to go out after work at least once a week (don’t worry, I have already called the press about this). Previously, I had felt uncomfortable with the idea of going out alone since I’m such a social creature. If I’m not out with friends, feeding off their energy and laughter and having a good time, I had thought, why bother? And so this mentality stood, throughout my college years, lasting well into my days uncovering the mysteries of post-grad life.
Several weeks ago, I realized that I most definitely should go out alone, not to fill a void in my life and even not to meet new friends, necessarily (though I’d welcome it if it were to happen); I should do it just because I can. After all, I’m not the kind of woman who requires a gaggle of hens to follow her into the bathroom, so why should I wait for others to come around before I venture out to discover new restaurants and hangouts?
Further, why is there anything wrong with a woman who goes to a restaurant by herself? I mean, people have to eat. I’m sure that the need to gather in groups has anthropological roots (safety in numbers– especially effective when warding off pelvic assailants on the dance floor) but I don’t think women should close themselves to the world just because they don’t happen to have a partner in crime to share in their adventures.
Yet as much as I believe this, I did not allow myself to attend that single-people-holiday-dance-mixer because my newly single girlfriend decided she wasn’t ready to mingle yet. Maybe you should reconsider, I said. Think of the potential entertainment value of such an excursion! Sadly, my powers of persuasion are a bit rusty. Despite my anticipation of watching awkward, middle-aged spinsters and divorcees get drunk and try to dance to the latest Lady Gaga songs, I just was not brave enough to appear on the doorstep of the lion’s den without a friend in tow.
Not to worry… one of these days I’ll grow a pair and write about the crazy mixer I crashed, or the strange pick-up lines I encountered at a speed dating marathon. Until then, you’ll just have to sit tight and make do with entries that follow no rhyme or reason. Or you can do what most normal folks do this time of the year: spend time with family and friends and eat until you can’t move or breathe. Happy Holidays!
