Transition Realization #4: Hello Bob

“Well, it was nice talking with you.  My name is Bob.”

Bob?  Really?  Like Bob Harris from Lost in Translation?  I was laughing so hard in my head.  My friend and I had several discussions that I would fall in love in Japan and marry a 40 year old man named Bob and never come back to the States.  But here was Bob.  Not in the streets of Tokyo, running out of cabs to catch a romantic kiss.  But here in Pink Berry, in a suburban promenade mall, with his pomegranate, original frozen yogurt with strawberries, yogurt chips, blueberries, and pomegranate syrup, and I was waiting to get my original frozen yogurt with strawberries, blueberries, mochi, and pomegranate syrup.  The set up of the situation couldn’t be that perfect right?

I had gotten out of work early at 9:30 PM and felt a sudden freedom to do anything.  So here is what I did with my freedom:

1.  I called up D, but he was busy eating dinner with a friend.
2.  I went to Barnes & Nobles, which is my place of solace to roam the book aisles and get lost in the covers and stationary.  I picked up a book and started reading it until closing time at 10pm.
3.  I wanted frozen yogurt.  So I went to Pink Berry alone.  Apparently, this was one of the few places that was still open after 10pm.  I stood in line and started talking and joking around with a few of the people in front of me.  I had a story that I was keeping in mind to write, so all I had was my server pad and my pen and I started writing it in the middle of the line.  When I finally finished my thoughts, a middle aged man in front of me said, “I’m surprised you’re not using your Iphone to type it out.”
“Oh no, I prefer to write with a pen and paper, and the touchscreen bothers me because I start concentrating on the red squigglies and my mistakes rather than just writing out freely.”
After joking about technology and how old we were, he starts talking to me about serving, and gives me advice,
“Make sure the customer never has to ask anything from you.  The moment they ask for another drink, or extra anything, then you’re not doing your job.”
Then it moves on to where I’ve been and what I’ve been doing in the past couple years, and relationships.
“I used to date a Korean woman…”
“I used to date a Korean guy!”
Then he finds out that I’m 26, and he tells me.
“Oh man, you might not know it or feel it, but you’re going to be making a lot of hard decisions right now.  You will change your life completely from what you were doing, into something else, and you have to chose and make those hard decisions now.  You’re not going to be a server forever.”

Thank you Bob.  He had also came alone to Pink Berry, and left with his frozen yogurt.  I have the same qualities that a 40-something year old man has.

D called me back while I sat outside eating my frozen yogurt.

D: “Where are you?”
Me: “Pink Berry.”
D: “What? Laughs”
Me: “What?  Why are you laughing?”
D: “You’re such a fatty.  You went to Pink Berry alone!”
Me: “I wanted Pink Berry!  And you weren’t free!”

It was a habit to me.  Doing what I wanted, without regard to other people, and being able to do it alone.  Even if it is as small as getting a cup of frozen yogurt, I remembered before I left for Japan when I couldn’t even do that.

I have a blog entry from November 6th, 2009 when I made a goal to overcome this:

“I want to be able to be ok with being alone. I don’t want to feel lonely anymore. I want to be able to have the confidence where I can go home by myself and there’s no one around and I can still feel comfortable in my own skin. That I don’t need everyone around me to be happy, that I am already happy by myself with who I am and how I lead my life.”

I have a journal entry from my last birthday in Japan, December 6th, 2012 when I partially accomplished this:

“Happy birthday to me!  Yay.  I think I’m ok with being alone and doing things on my own now.  I went to Nagoya by myself and went shopping, which I’ve always done, but then I went out to a concert by myself too.  It was liberating in a way.  I didn’t have to depend on what my friends wanted to do what I wanted to do… I wanted to talk with other people, but was too shy to do it.  

I want to do at least one thing everyday that I’ve been wanting to do.  not necessarily from my bucket list, but just something that I just have been thinking about doing or something to that effect.”

If meeting Bob and talking to D on the phone at that particular instant, led me to realized that I accomplished a goal that I set out to achieve about 4 years ago, then I need to start being as specific as I was 4 years ago in what I want and how I want it.

Note/Question to self:
So what do you want Nancy?  And how do you want it?

 

Transition Realization #3: This is Not the Same Place as I Left it

It’s like leaving my house and then coming back to find my mom had cleaned my room and put things where they’re not supposed to be.  Or an older sibling borrowed something, and I have to go and ask for it back to the response of, “What?  Oh, uhm let me find it” but they never find it, and I feel violated that something of mine was literally taken away and lost.  Then from old habits, when I want that thing whether it’s to use it or look at it, the only remains of that object is the dusted silhouette of where it used to be, and only I know what’s supposed to be there whereas everyone one else would wipe the dust away.

One of my greatest fears of leaving the States was that I would be missing from this life that I was born into and lived through up until I was 23.  I would disappear and then everyone will continue their life without me, the world will keep spinning, and everything with everyone will move on, except I won’t be in it. Some non-tragic scene like that, with a camera looking in through the backseat window while I’m looking outside with a nostalgic look on my face.  I’m going through a place that was familiar to me, and a voice over will say, “Robert Frost once said, “In three words, I can sum up everything I’ve learned about life ‘It goes on’.” *Add snarky or life realization comment that I can’t think of right now*

You see, time does some very strange things, especially when you’re gone for a few years.  I always have that smile and give polite nods when I didn’t understand a Japanese conversation when I first started living in Japan, and when someone uses the words “ratchet” or “trolling” here I feel that familiar smile and nod.  I’m not old, but I  feel old when I say “hyphy” and have to explain the meaning of it.

“You know, E-40?  Ghost ride the whip?” I tried to explain using names and phrases.
“uh…what?”  M said, and then I realized that he was gone for 4 years as well and missed a chunk of Nor Cal culture.

When I try to “catch up” with people, I realize how weird it is to explain these stories that have made up my life for over 2.5 years.  I have to explain the long way of “this is how it is in Japan” and “this is why this was so amazing” to me, otherwise, they wouldn’t understand the cultures I was submerged in, or the experiences I’ve gone through.  Sometimes they still don’t and have either an awe of “Wow…you were gone for that long outside of California?” or they would have a look of boredom of “Yah, yah, we get it, you were gone from California.”  Every once in a while I’ll see the, “Yah!  I totally get you!  When I was abroad…” and even though we were in completely different places at completely different times, we were able to connect in our experiences.

In reverse, some people would be explaining their stories of that one time in that one place that I know, and do I remember so and so?  Well now he or she is doing this, and it’s so crazy!  Everyone looks generally the same.  Some look a little older, a little rounder, a little smaller, a little more tired.

The way things are supposed to be, the way things are supposed to feel, they’re generally the same, but something is different.  I’m living in a house I grew up in, but the feeling is different.  I went to my college town and the places are where I left it, but the people inside are different, and the stories overlap the life I lived there.  Even the cities I was born and grew up in.  My family left the one bedroom apartment in Echo Park because the city was gang infested.  We left Monterey Park because of the bullies and inadequate teachers at school, and that one time an ambulance came by our next door neighbor’s house.  Los Angeles was still a raw city.  In some ways it still is, but the old things that I remembered either disappeared or grew.  The gang communities turned into hipster communities and art districts.

What is going on?  I’m trying to grasp at things that I remembered, that I once knew, to find some comfort in my transition back.  I’m beginning to feel that there is nothing to grab but old memories and habits, and I have to let those go too.

It’s time for me to wipe the dust.

Transition Realization #2: Boys trying to be Men and PDA

Getting out of a two year relationship in Japan with a Japanese born Japanese guy, and trying to get back into the dating scene in the States has been mind warping me.  A lot.  I don’t even have to date anyone to see the changes.  I’ll use details from the day I went to Little Tokyo to illustrate.

While I was waiting for the train that would never arrive, there were a group of boys huddled around a pay phone.  You know, a pay phone.  You put the coins in, the money gives you a specific amount of time to talk to the other person on the other line, you dial the number, and you’re connected.  The boys, (maybe they were actually college students, or a little older, but they still acted like boys) didn’t know how to use the pay phone.  But they were loud, and started banging on the pay phone thinking that would make it work, and made a commotion maybe 10 feet (3 meters) to my right.  Then, I hear:

“You had me banging on this pay phone when you didn’t even punch in the number?  You makin people think we crazy!”

They didn’t know how to use the pay phone.  So maybe they were boys, and a lot younger than my generation.  Then I hear,

“Hey, I’m just callin from a pay phone because I wanted to look cool…Yah, I’m in Venice…(no we’re not)…I’ll call you again when I get to auntie’s place.”

No, you do not look cool because you didn’t even know how to use the pay phone.  You’re lying to who I’m assuming are your parents, which makes you lose your college status.  So you are more likely a high school boy.

While I finally got on the train that arrived, I noticed the eyes following me, and the backward glances, and double takes.  I know that I was getting these looks because when I would look up I would notice these boys looking at me on more than one occasion.

Guys seem to be more obvious with their intentions through their looks, whereas I was used to the quick glance and the quick walk away in Japan.  Maybe there were a few double takes, but everyone would walk on their own way without having to worry about the other person.  Unless they were all extremely drunk.  I guess some things are the same.

Boys are more abrasive here.  They’ll whistle, they’ll honk their horns and laugh as they drive past you, not caring about the amount of sleaze they interrupt the air with.  I was so used to the small talk, and the small encounters.  The laissez faire actions where, it’ll go as far as it can go, and if it can’t go any further then it’ll stop.

I met my date in between getting lost and trying to find the Japanese garden.  When I met him, he wanted to give me a peck on the lips.  In public.  Without hesitation.  He wanted to give me a kiss because he wanted to without thinking about anything else.  Do you realize how wonderful and beautiful that action and thought is?  For two years, I had to convince my ex to not care about the people around us.  I wasn’t strong enough to break his cultural barriers, because even in those times when he had to leave, and I wouldn’t be able to see him for a month or two at a time, he would still pause as I was leaning in, look around, and still be looking around when he finally gave me a kiss and then rush away to the train.  There was always a certain distance between us, and I felt that I was always running towards him but he kept stepping back, afraid of what everyone else would say.

But seeing my date in the middle of the street in a public area, with me saying, “Hi!” and him replying, “Hi” back.  He slipped a hand on my side and leaned towards me to give me a 1 second kiss with his eyes only on me, but closing his eyes slightly once our lips touched.  Or maybe it was only my eyes that closed slightly, obviously I can’t see what he’s doing for that split second.  “How are you?” he asked as he stepped back.  “Good, and you?”  I replied.  “Good,” he answered.  (ESL teachers abroad will understand).

While we rode the elevator up to the 4th floor he came closer to me, and I was surprised.  I felt a slight tug of old thoughts, “We shouldn’t be this close!” but then I realized, this isn’t Japan, and let the bubble pop between us.  We exited the elevator, and were walking towards the locked doors of the Japanese garden, and he clasped his hand around mine, and I squeezed his hand back.

Even though these 1 second gestures and actions are so simple, and seems so common here, I was waiting for so long to feel freely wanted without hesitation.  I understood that the rules of the games changed while I was in Japan.  I told myself that it was something that I should follow since I was living in a foreign country, and for me to fully integrate into Japanese society, I had to deal with these cultural matters.  Their principals of behavior became my habits.

I didn’t realize that part of the loneliness I experienced in Japan was because of a standard I didn’t like to hold myself up to, but sacrificed that part of myself to maintain my relationship abroad.

But this isn’t Japan.

Transition realization #1: This isn’t Japan

I went to Little Tokyo with the objective to see a Japanese rooftop garden with a view of LA skyscrapers, which was one of my favorite places before I left for Japan.  My nostalgia and homesickness increased in the past week for my Nippon home, and I thought that visiting a familiar place would help lesson the feeling so that I could concentrate on what I have to take care of now.

Even before I set off to see the Japanese garden, I was already feeling old habits rise to the surface.  I arrived at the train station early, only to find a late train.  Not only was it late, the train disappeared.  I waited for the next train, which was supposed to come 30 minutes later, but that train was also late by 10 minutes.  I was thinking in my head, “Arrived early, one missing train, one late train, did someone commit suicide?…oh wait, this isn’t Japan” and kept repeating to myself, “This isn’t Japan” so that my nerves would settle from the untimelyness of the schedule.

I finally got on the train, and was hoping to sleep for the hour train ride, but couldn’t.  I noticed eyes looking at me, but it wasn’t the same look of, “Oh she’s a 外人 (gaijin = foreigner),” and I could rest easy without being disturbed.  It was more of the look of, “Oh…it’s a girl…”  I gripped my handbag on my arm, put my backpack underneath my legs, left my sunglasses on (even though the day was starting to turn to dusk), and faced towards the window so that I would avoid all eye contact from anyone on the train.

I arrived at Union Station, and started to walk to Little Tokyo.  It takes about 15 minutes of walking to get there, which is not a problem for me since it takes about 20 minutes of walking to get to the train station from my old apartment in Japan.  But while I was walking in my short t-shirt/dress, that provocativeness incurs a different type of reaction in the States.  Also the hobos lined up on the streets don’t keep to themselves most of the time.  I always teased my Japanese friends to honk at cute girls they see in Japan (which never happens) since it’s normal in the States, but then actually hearing these honks unsettled my already jagged nerves.  I took safety for granted, and didn’t prepare myself for the reality of where I was, despite the fact that I was walking through a police district.

I finally arrived in LIttle Tokyo and saw familiar streets from the years before I left.  I rushed through a small shopping area in order to get to the Japanese garden, but instead got distracted by the familiar products and foods and Japanese characters (meaning the writing system, but also the cartoon characters), and slowed my pace to absorb it all.  The inside of one store was filled with Rilakuma and Hello Kitty stuffed dolls, and I looked inside to see if they had any Sentinmental Circus items (which they didn’t) and found items I would find in a Daiso or 1oo円  (en = yen = money system in Japan) store (both similar to the 99 cent stores in the States).  The cashier looked like a scruffier version of my old student who is planning on studying in the States this Fall.  I thought to myself that if he had grown up in the States, he would look like him.  He might turn into him in a few months.

An おみやげ (omiyage = souvenir) store was nestled between the beauty and stationary stores, with restaurants spotted all around.  I would think that Japanese tourists would be elsewhere besides Little Tokyo if they were in Southern California, but maybe おみやげ was the actual name of the store.  There was a public karaoke set (if this was in Japan, I doubt anyone would participate) in the middle of a circular stage just outside of a mochi ice cream shop.  A little Asian boy, I would guess about 4 years old, was singing an English song, followed by a white couple singing “Baby it’s cold outside.”  I went inside the mochi store and talked with the Hispanic cashiers, and felt so comfortable just talking that I found that I couldn’t stop talking.  How easy English was to me, and how willing I was to make any kind of comment.  I bought the plum wine and green tea mochi, held the mochi on a styrofoam rectangular platter like a server, and walked out of the store to hear an elderly woman singing an Italian song.  I walked away and her voice faded into the crowd as I was looking for the Japanese Garden.

I got lost.  I was looking at my GPS on my smartphone and followed the street signs.  Oh yah, there’s street signs in the States for every street.  That should be normal, and it should make finding the place easier.  I was still lost.  And ran into another homeless guy.

“Do you have 50 cents to spare?”
“No, I’m sorry”
“Girl, with a voice as sweet and innocent as yours, someone’s gonna snatch out that food from your hand!  Yo food’s gonna be gone! I tell ya that!”
“heh, heh…”

I found my way around and finally found the plaza to the Japanese Garden.  I headed up the stairs and saw Korean restaurants directly across the Japanese restaurants, and the majority of patrons in this plaza were Korean.  I remembered two days before I left Japan there was a rally of Japanese people with hateful signs saying, “We don’t want Koreans here!  Koreans get out!”

I went up the stairs that would get me to a set of doors I would have to get past to finally get to the Japanese rooftop garden (on the 4th floor…buildings in Japan reach higher than that).  There was a man and woman just past the second set of doors, and I tugged on the right door to open the first set.  It was stuck.  I made sure the sign said “PULL” and not “PUSH” and tried again.  It was still stuck.  I tried the left door.  Stuck still.  I asked the Korean workers outside how to get in, and they told me,

“It’s close after 7pm”
“aww…”
“Do you have a code?”
“no..”

I walked away, and moved on.

I somehow knew.  Although I wanted to find a place where I can satisfy my Japanese soul, this place wasn’t Japan.  This place wasn’t even Tokyo.  I wanted to find some slice of life where I wasn’t living through the stories I had to tell, some place where I can still experience even a little bit of Japan, but this wasn’t it.

And I have to accept that.

True Stories

(Note: The way to say “older sister” in Khmer is “mum”, like the British way of saying “mom”.
My dog’s name is Keyona
I call my mom as Ma)

Mum has been vacationing in Italy for this week, and I’m not at home as often as before because I started working.  I usually walk Keyona every day, but haven’t had as many chances to lately because of the weather, and also I didn’t make the time for it.  Keyona gets depressed when people leave home for a long time, and she gets really antsy when she doesn’t have some kind of physical activity.  When she gets depressed, she usually doesn’t eat.

Ma teases Keyona, and says, “Keyonaaaa, do you miss mum?  Where is mum?”  and Keyona perks up her ears and immediately gets up.  “Keyonaaaa” her tail wags a little stronger each time Ma says her name, “Where is mum?” Keyona tilts her head to the side when she’s trying to figure something out.

Ma: “I think she misses mum.”

I don’t know if that’s completely true or not.  Keyona can’t talk, and she really moody for a dog.  She probably isn’t eating because some of us aren’t home.  She’s probably not eating because she wants people food.  I’m never 100% sure why she does the things she do because all I have are barks, whines, scratches, and tugs from her little canine mouth to get a hint of that she wants something.  But Ma seemed so sure that Keyona misses Mum, therefore Keyona is not eating.

We make up so many stories in our heads.  We use our past experiences, emotions, and actions, and we also use what we interpret from other people’s experiences, emotions, and actions, to form a story that is true to us.  Does Keyona really miss Mum?  Maybe.  But Ma was so sure that that was the single reason why Keyona wasn’t eating that she didn’t consider any other options for an explanation.

For this case, I thought it was cute.  Keyona’s a dog, and all she does is sleep, eat, play, and sniff flowers when she goes on walks.  But what about other situations that aren’t so minor?

The other day I was in a rush to prepare for a presentation and also complete a writing assignment that I hadn’t finished for my class.  I was putting everything in my backpack when my mom comes to me saying, “The car alarm is going off.”  I listened carefully while I was shoving everything in my bag and said, “No it’s not…”

“Yes it is, hear that?  The car’s beeping”
“Ok ok, wait, where are the keys?”

And I could have sworn I had the keys right where I thought they were, but they weren’t, so I was rushing even more so to find the keys, and took everything out of my bag with a really stressed out look on my face.

“Look at your face, you’re so angry!  I hate it when you make that face at me!”
“What?  I’m trying to find the keys!”
“You don’t have to get angry at me about that!! That’s your fault!”

I was trying to wrap my head around what she was saying and was still rushing with everything, I finally found my keys, went to the door, opened it, and the car alarm wasn’t going off.

“It wasn’t our car.”
“Yes it was!  I’m heard it go off!”
“It wasn’t going off when I got there.”
“Because it turned off on it’s own!”

If you couldn’t tell by now, my mom is really stubborn.  Hence, I’m a little stubborn too.  Maybe more than a little since I’m self analyzing myself, but we’re both stubborn women.  For a quick second I calmed down, because I could feel the anger boiling up from my mom, so I stopped myself and said in the most non-irate voice, “I’m not angry at you, I’m stressed and I have to rush and couldn’t find my things, but I’m not angry at you.”

“But those are your things to worry about not me.”

And I left the house to go to school.  I don’t know what story my mom made up in her head when she saw my face, but I could tell it wasn’t the same story going on in my head.  I had to stop myself and tell her something that was true to me for that situation at the time, so that she has more details added to her thoughts, so that our imagination were matching up as closely as possible.

I believe that we all make up stories in our heads, and yes, those stories are true to us.  But when the situations involve another person, or possible multiple people, we have the responsibility to share our side of the story to the people involved.  Communication is so vital to have true thoughts.  It doesn’t have to come out as accusations or blame, but as long as we tell something, whether it is our emotions and feelings which are the most difficult thoughts to explain, or what another person’s actions made us think, if we keep all those thoughts to ourselves, then we’re all only living in half truths.

“I’m not angry at you,” now Ma knows that the face I made wasn’t directed at her.
“Keyonaaaaaa,” I still don’t know about my dog.  But she still wags her tail when I play with her.

Don’t be afraid to tell your thoughts, because it’s better to let your truth out and have a more complete story, than having your imagination play with your truth.

Speech #1: Icebreaker

(Note:  I roughly said all of this, maybe not as eloquently, and probably more nervously than I wanted to, and had to cut it down because of time.  Saying it all in front of an audience who is actually listening to me is very different than writing to an audience who I can’t see.  I’m glad I get to practice public speaking and get feedback on my speaking abilities.)

Every morning I ask myself two questions, because without these two questions there would be no purpose for getting out of bed.

Why am I here and what will I do today to help or change what I’m doing or experiencing now?

The time I started asking myself that first question was while I was attending University of California, Irvine for my bachelor’s degree.

Every day I would ask myself, Why am I here?  And I would have the same response each time:  I don’t know.  I didn’t know why I was at UCI, and even though my anteater mascot and zot zot chant should be appealing enough to keep attending college, I honestly didn’t know what I was doing.  I didn’t have a clear goal, other than to get my bachelor’s degree.  And day after day, after so many I don’t knows, I was tempted to drop out during my 3rd year.  But I stuck on, because that was what I was supposed to, I was supposed to get a bachelors degree to get a good job after school, and have a stable life.  Was I a good student?  I can confidently say no I was not.  Instead of dropping out of school, I spent my whole 3rd year hooked up to two flat screen TVs with 7 other of my good friends at the time playing Halo until the sun rose the next morning.  On occasion we stuffed ourselves with all you can eat wherevers, wiped out on beach waves, and picked up random activities that we could only get away with as college students.

Finally in the summer of 2009, I got that piece of paper which is still resting in a manilla envelope tucked somewhere between my tax files and immunization cards.  I moved back home, and worked at Hollister as a sales representative on minimum wage and was a volunteer reading mentor at my old elementary school.

That’s where the second question came into play.  What will I do today to help or change what I’m doing or experiencing now?

I decided to stretch further than the boundaries that I was setting for myself at the time, from the boundaries that was being dictated to me at that time.  I reached outside of California, and went across the Pacific Ocean to teach English in Japan.

Why Japan? It was far enough to push me outside of my comfort zone, and far enough to put me somewhere where I had no idea who was living there, I didn’t know the language, and what was going on.  I had to be able to leave the life that I was told I was supposed to have, to leave everything and everyone I ever knew and grew up with, and start off on ground zero in a place that I only knew through anime.

Why was I in Japan and what did I do every day to help or change what I was doing or experiencing?

I was in Japan to teach English to kids, from infants to adults.  I had always thought about what being a teacher for kids would be like and I wanted to travel and see more of what was outside of my suburban bubble.  I wanted to be independent, I wanted to be okay with being alone, and make my own decisions without being influenced by other people’s emotions and decisions.

I worked hard.  The only time I became comfortable living in Japan was sometime after the 2 year mark, and most things started to become a routine and feel normal.  I stopped crying from not having something familiar in my life, and I started to laugh at all the experiences I was creating, and found people who became my family.

Although I did find opportunities to help and change my life and what I was doing every day, my “Why am I in Japan” started to fade away, because I was achieving all the points that I had set out to accomplish.  I looked down the path I was on 5 years down the road, and asked myself if I wanted to forever be an ESL teacher working 12 hour days in Japan.  My answer was no.

I didn’t renew my contract, and decided to go to Cambodia.  Why?  My family was born and raised in Cambodia, and ever since high school I had always wanted to volunteer at an orphanage there.  Since I wasn’t sure of what my life would be like after I left Japan, I figured I might as well do something that I had always thought about doing.

And I did it.  I volunteered in Cambodia for one month, and spent another two weeks in Thailand.  I met relatives who I’ve never met before in my life, and it’s a really strange feeling to know that these strangers were my blood relatives.  My father came from California and met me in Cambodia, and he met up with his cousin in Bangkok who he hasn’t seen in 40 years.  I was taking care of kids who lived near garbage dumps, and who couldn’t go to school because they were either too poor or had no way to get registered and get to school.  Kids who would be coming to the day care center with sores and scabs all over their body and would have no underwear, and no shoes.  But they had the biggest smiles I’ve ever seen.  My original why of why I wanted to go to Cambodia was transforming to me wanting to stay and take care of these kids, to know my family, to know my culture.

But I was a volunteer, and the jobs offered in Cambodia wouldn’t be enough for me to pay off loans, so I needed to go back to California to find a job and pay off as much debt as I could so that I wouldn’t make money a factor in my next destination.  I needed to be able to take care of myself first before I could take care of other people.

I came back to Rancho Cucamonga last November, and it’s been strange.  I don’t think any 20something year olds look forward to moving back in with their parents, especially after having a life of our own.  Thankfully, I finally found a job as a server, and although my ego is yelling at me that I have a bachelor’s degree, if it’s only temporary and it’s helping me get to where I want to be, then it doesn’t matter what the title is, that job is helping me achieve a goal.  I have one class here in creative nonfiction because I had always wanted to pursue writing in some way.

But why am I here and what will I do today to help or change what I’m doing or experiencing now?

I’m only 26 years old.  I’ve met incredible people and have had amazing experiences in my life.  I’m not planning to stop.  I believe that being in my 20s means that I can absorb and have every experience, whether or not the decisions I make are smart or stupid, and whether or not I do the right things or make a million mistakes along the way, that’s the best thing about being in your 20s.  One day when I’m old, for the stories that I can’t quite explain, I can say I was young and I had no idea what I was doing, and that’s the best excuse I’m waiting to use when I get old.

I also know that I’m a straightforward person, and my experiences make the most sense to me, however I don’t know how to make myself make sense to other people or weave an intricate story that they would want to pass it on to other people.

So why am I standing here?  And what will I do today to help or change what I’m doing or experiencing now?  Even more specifically, why am I in Toastmasters and what will I do today to help or change what I’m doing or experiencing now?

Before the printing press, and before stories could be written down, people’s lives were being told by word of mouth and only the best storytellers’ story would be passed down.  The princess in Arabian Nights depended on her storytelling ability to save her life every single night so that the prince would come back wanting to hear more instead of killing her.

Napoleon Bonaparte once said, “We rule men by words.”

I know that I have my own story to tell.  I know that I have my life to tell.  Whether it be through writing or public speaking, or even in a daily conversation, I want my story to be heard, because without my stories, and without being able to clearly tell my story to another person, that person will never pass my story on, and my story will be kept within my own mind and heart to the grave.  I would like to believe that I can rule men and women through my words, but I need to form a base for my words to be strong enough to take off on their own.

So why are you here, and what will you do today to help or change what you’re doing or experiencing now?

What do you mean exactly?

“I miss you.”

Did you know that there is no direct translation of “I miss you” in Japanese?
You can say:
寂しいです = sabishii desu = “I’m lonely”
会いたい = aitai = “I want to see you”
Or different variations and combinations of those phrases and words.
But there is nothing direct to the English feeling of “I miss you”

In Khmer there is a direct meaning:
Bong nirk oun = boy to girl or older person to younger person = “I miss you”
or
Oun nirk bong = girl to boy or younger person to older person = “I miss you”

In French there is no direct meaning, but the feeling is similar:
Tu me manques = “You are missing from me”

I much prefer the French phrase.

But what does it mean exactly, “I miss you”?
Or even, “You’re beautiful”?

There is a great depth behind the adjectives and verbs, but can you accurately describe how deep those words mean specifically to you and the other person?

“I want to bury my body into the warmth and protection of yours, but since you’re not here, there’s an empty, cold space waiting for you to come back”
– (I miss you)

“The glittering of your eyes shine through your glasses that rests on top of your cheekbones, which rise higher with your tiny, big smile”
– (You’re beautiful)

Words are words, but the connection with the other person can be grander if you don’t let those words stand alone.  Words can get lonely too.

(C & D: This is not a note directly to you, but you guys made me think more because I was teasing D and then I was about to tease C, and then I just started thinking a lot.)

Thoughts and memories

According to Google search on “habit definition”, this is what pops up:

hab·it

/ˈhabit/

Noun A settled or regular tendency or practice, esp. one that is hard to give up

My worst habits right now are my thoughts.  The downward spiral that gets triggered when I hear the particular name of a person and they both share similar profiles, which in turn leads to a roller coaster of memories.  Like how my manager’s name is K, and he’s a skinny, tall, Korean, just like my ex from college.  My immediate reaction being, “Really?” and having a smirk on my face remembering stupid things the ex-K did while the new-K is training me at my job.  The worst is when they both share those same boyish qualities and I actually remember why I was with the ex-K for so long, and then when I try not to smile I end up looking confused or maybe I’m just thinking really hard, because I AM working.  When the new-K comes close enough to me, not close enough for any barriers to be crossed between a manager and employee, but he comes close enough to where I realize how much I had forgotten the physicalities of the ex-K.  And for any of the other ex-anyones actually.

Or how about when I hear a certain song and I time warp into a place when summer starts to burn my skin in the salty air with the dry sand giving an ashy cover to my bare feet.  All those drives with the windows down and sunroof open letting the wind blow through my hair (and my determination that one day my hair will be flowing like a glamorous movie star, not draping across my face like the grudge girl) with no destination in particular but to enjoy the day pass by with the company in the car.  The nights with the off-tuned singing and “I know, right?” conversations and dancing until my back is damp and I’m hoping the sweat marks don’t show through my clothes.

Those nights.  The long nights where I wish I could disappear into and the next day wouldn’t come.  The responsibilities would be put on pause and I didn’t have to worry about anything else but what I’m going to do in the next minute and who can come along for the experience, and how many new faces I can remember for the next time I happen to cross their way.  And when everything is quiet and still, I constantly look up to the dark canopy of sky to try and and find burning streaks of light.  I’m always waiting to yell out “I SAW ONE!” and then forget completely to make a wish.  I have so many wishes to make.  Like for the shooting star when I was standing on the bridge over a frozen lake in the middle of snowcapped mountains.  Or the other shooting star I saw when we were all huddled up trying to keep each other warm but still looking up enough for three of us to catch the same star.  Then the other time when I’m shifting over on the concrete floor to get closer to you and I happened to turn over to see a white line cut across the sky.

“Our lives are the sum of our memories.  How much are we willing to lose from our already short lives by losing ourselves in our Blackberrys, or our Iphones, by not paying attention to the human being across from us who is talking with us, by being so lazy that we are not willing to process deeply…But if you want to live a memorable life, you have to be the kind of person who remembers to remember.”

Joshua Foer – Memory

I get lost so easily in my thoughts and memories.  Sometimes I have to say “stop” so I can concentrate more on what I need to do.  But those triggers that I haven’t found yet keep popping up.  Damn you emotional and memory guns.

I’ve been staring at this screen for an hour each day for the past few days.

I have no idea what to post.

matters of the heart.

A specific conversation sparked a link to help me mend leftover matters of my heart that I couldn’t quite grasp (those matters of my heart are here, there, and over there).

I used to make a lot of decisions based on someone else, especially concerning boys.  I did it in college, and even after promising myself that I wouldn’t do that again, I did it again.  And maybe a handful of other times that I don’t really think impacted me in as a significant way as my relationships.  I would argue that it was because of love.  Although, if I were to go to therapy to release the rest of these confidential thoughts, it would probably be analyzed as a need for attention or my internal drive to want to please other people.  However, I am not a credentialed psychologist, and I’m not one for rigid, technical explanations.  That’s why I went into the social sciences and not … the other sciences.

Anyway, back on track.  So these decisions that I had made for someone else made it extremely difficult for me to figure out my existential, meaning of life and what path I should go on, or some kind of cliche about life, because I continued to follow someone else.  So I continued to stay with those boys because of my lack of wanting something for myself.  I only wanted someone, despite that other person not wanting to be with me in the same way that I wanted to be with them.  I forced my brain and my heart to follow something that it didn’t want in the first place.  There was always an invisible shield that I couldn’t get past, because it’s freaking invisible, and I had no idea it was there.  I could only feel that something wasn’t quite right, like I was the negative end of the magnet trying to head towards the other negative end of someone else, and I kept being pushed away because I couldn’t understand the mechanics of what was actually happening.  It wasn’t working, but I refused to believe it.  Damn, I really should’ve paid more attention in my science classes.

The moment I started realizing that these relationships weren’t going to work was when I started making more decisions for myself.  I stepped off their roads onto my own, and created my own opportunities to fill the spaces that I was forcing them to fill.  The more I chose which way I wanted to go without regard of them, the more certain I was that they weren’t the ones for me.  They were the squares to my heart, and didn’t quite fit.  I tried cutting them down to my size, and they in turn tried reshaping me to fit them.  We couldn’t let ourselves be ourselves, and we couldn’t let each other go to be ourselves.

Note to self:
Nancy, when you are conflicted with matters of your heart in the future, walk your own path for a few strides, and if that particular person can walk beside you with each footstep, then you know that you’ve found your missing piece.  If not, then keep going.  You’ve walked alone before; it’s nothing new to you, and you know how to live your own life better than anyone else.

(Note to D:
Thank you.  Although my message to you probably didn’t support the conversation at the time, it formed the links for these realizations to occur.)