on airports.

We stood at the airport curbside, hugging and kissing, me saying goodbye to him yet again, him getting ready to hop onto yet another plane.  A surprisingly smiley airport worker (they're usually so grim and miserable) saw us and exclaimed, "You two must be newlyweds the way you're acting!"  I blushed; too much PDA, perhaps, but who cares, he was leaving and I was sad.  And secretly I was excited to hear that comment. 

When we first met, I told him of my unwillingness to be in yet another long distance relationship.  For inexplicable reasons, the past few guys I have dated have all been from afar and I was tired of it.  Absolutely sick of the airports, the flights, the coordination, the long periods of time apart, the horrendous mobile phone bills... so I said, no, no more of that.  He looked at me and said I was stupid.  He didn't understand how I could ostracize myself from so many possibilities simply because I wanted my future partner to come from within a particular geographic vicinity.  But I just dismissed his arguments and stood my ground.   I figured I wouldn't see him often and that I wouldn't make the effort to, either. 

But he kept returning.  And he kept returning.  And he kept coming back, staying longer, and together we made more memories, shared more laughs, until one day I realized that the only person I wanted to get to know more was him.  He became worth the hassle, distance and all.

So here we are.  I still hate airports.  I still vehemently dislike being in a long distance relationship, but I am immeasurably happy with him.  And now I have a reason to smile to myself because when I think about him, I am reminded that every now and then it might be worth it to be wrong.

always in a never.

Yes, that's it, an always in a never.

I read this line and I remember.  I remember why we were drawn to each other:  he was always there to serve as my proverbial chalkboard.  A someone to trade ideas with, to discuss and indulge in superfluousness that has no purpose in this world aside from fueling the complicated souls of two beings.  This line, it means something to me, it resonates, but I can't place the sentiment.  I'm at a loss to describe these thoughts that have been swirling in my mind, convincing me that an avalanche is soon to follow.  But it's quite alright.  I'll let it fall.   Tonight I'd like to be doused in white.

It's because they have never seen you, he says.  I would recognize you anywhere.

This line.  This line is a cliffhanger because I wonder if he is the only one who has seen me - not all of me - but that part of me that has been hidden from all other beings.  The part of me that is only visible to eyes that have been searching; the part of me that his eyes were created to see; the part that I have never known until I saw it reflected from within him.  

There we thrived.  In a space that was limitless, without boundaries, because our world existed beyond the outskirts defined and marked by the banalities of daily existence.  And while our bodies were ever-bound, shackled by chains we proudly dragged around, polished, and exploited, our thoughts, our complexities, our ruminations remained separate.  They were the vaporous tenets that bolstered and buttressed our world:  one full of air; light, but decadent, a slight bitterness to balance out the saccharine.  Perfect, because it was never truly real.  It only existed because we existed, but when that fell apart, everything crumbled into ashes along with it.  Was it ever really there?  I only believe in its potential existence because of the ripples I feel on the odd occasion that remind me of vague memories, of a nostalgia that is too embedded within me to be doubted, but too ubiquitous to ever be truly possible.

And I think to myself that this was the price we were always destined to pay by our snobbish rebuff of all things sturdy and obtainable and palpable.  We lived in a world that we could never cling to with strong grips and longing fingers.  We thought that it was enough to hide ourselves from the fate of the secular life; that instead of strong grips and longing fingers, flowery words and endless sentences would suffice.  They were not.  Eventually he failed me, and I him, as our written apologies lacked the gloss and luster they once possessed as we sprinkled them across the pages of our time together.  But, mostly, we failed each other when we permitted ourselves to create this hollow sphere to begin with.  Bubbles will always burst and when one falls from the celestial skies onto hard concrete - no matter the preparation - there will be breakage.  Of bones, of beliefs, of promises.  

Maybe I was a liar.  Maybe I was a dreamer.  Maybe the two are just two sides of the same exact coin, but I've stopped wanting to be flipped.

giving thanks.

While there is no snow in Southern California where I reside, and nor is it ever freezing here, it does get cold and glum.  Lately my mood has been a bit somber to match the weather; not at all unhappy, just not as cheery as I normally am when the sun is out and there's heat and warmth on my skin from the sun's rays, as opposed to those I've been absorbing from my space heater.   :/

In addition to the delicious food and family time I was able to enjoy these past few days, the weekend did not pass without my remembering the importance behind the holiday:  giving thanks.  There are many, many, many things in my life for which I'm thankful and that cheer me right up when I'm feeling somber.  Here's a rundown of the not-so-obvious items:

(1)  My family finally uniting and putting up a Lakers-themed Christmas tree after not having one for several years now due to sheer laziness.  We're lame, I know.

(2)  Attempting to get Caelan to put an ornament on said tree; she didn't care for it and ended up breaking a pretty glass ornament instead!  Still, it was adorable to watch her try (sort of) and I love knowing that there is now a little one who is still plenty young and impressionable enough to believe that Santa Claus could be real.  Also, having a chance to kiss the little Caebear always works in cheering me up.

(3)  Having my old computer reformatted, spruced up, and all of the cords eradicated, minimized, or organized.  It's so much faster & neater now; almost feels brand new.  Better yet - having a man in my life who seriously enjoys doing this techy stuff makes my asking him for help all the easier.

(4)  A new skin cleanser, Cure Natural Aqua Gel, that is sheer amazingness.  I rarely rave about beauty products, but this one removes layers of dead skin in about a second flat, all painlessly, and I'm still wondering how that is humanly possible.  If there is such thing as magic in a bottle, this would be it.

(5)  Learning how to wax my legs at home and avoiding the $65 fee my esthetician charges.  Fairly simple, fairly painless, and a hugeeeeee cost-saver!

(6)  Seeing my sister happy in her new (and gigantic) home.  "I love it," she says, and I love knowing that she loves her big purchase (no pun intended).

(7)  Learning how to argue fairly and productively with Daniel.  Arguments and spats are bound to happen and I'm grateful that I'm learning how to handle them in a manner that doesn't lead to unnecessary drama.

(8)  Introducing Daniel to a new and non-fancy sushi restaurant, Shiki, that he absolutely loves.  It's nice to know that I can give him more and more things to look forward to here in SoCal.

(9)  Winning the pot at our family card game competition!  Too bad this wasn't the one that actually involved money, only poker chips, and I lost at the one involving real currency.  :(

(10)  Having a countdown.  Just a few more weeks and we are off on our first international vacay together.   Whee!  I love it here, but I'm ready to leave this country.

Hope you all had a wonderful Thanksgiving, as well!

sad sorrows.

There's a photograph of a small girl standing with her family as they prepare to embark on a day trip somewhere.  She is standing in front of her father, with his hands resting on her shoulders, with her head down, staring at the ground.  Everyone is smiling, happy, posing for the camera, and at first blush, one might think that the camera just caught the little girl at the wrong moment.  But, look at another nearly-identical photograph and one would quickly realize that the little girl was simply sullen, intentionally refusing to smile for the camera, intentionally aiming to appear unhappy.

She refused to smile for the camera even after her father spent several minutes coaxing her, asking her what was wrong, attempting to cheer her up.  But she was angry about something and though she cannot remember what she was angry about, she distinctly recalls feeling adamant, stubborn, and proud.  She wanted attention.  She wanted her father to spend a few more minutes coaxing her.  She wanted the world to stop moving and to slow down to her pace, only to continue when she was ready to proceed.  If no one wanted to indulge her, she thought, then she wouldn't indulge anyone else (herself included) and she refused to have fun that day, no matter the cost.   

But, nobody cared about her.  Everyone went about their day, had fun, and now, the only memory she has of that day is one that embarrasses her.  For all her effort and pouting - she obtained absolutely no benefit, just another wasted opportunity to have a good time.

* * *

"Maybe you don't know how to appreciate people enough," he said.  He has a way of speaking to me that no one else has managed to achieve.  He speaks in simple terms, but his lines are biting and sharp.  He causes me to listen, to reflect, and most times, I end up pushing aside my ego to admit that his observations are accurate.  Yeah, maybe I don't know how to appreciate people enough.  Yeah, maybe I've misconstrued unconditional love to mean unconditional patience, but they surely are not the same thing.  Yeah, maybe I've abused the kindness I've been shown.  And, yes, it is absolutely time for me to stop being that girl who ruins a perfectly great picture because she doesn't know how to get over herself in order to put others first.


That little girl is all grown up now, but she sadly hasn't matured very much in certain respects.   She's not quite able to agree that just because she truly is the center of someone's world, bestowing that honor upon her does not require them to move, breathe, live by her directions and demands.  She is barely starting to realize that the people who support her, who are there for her, are not the ones she is ever allowed to be mean towards; they only take her cruelty because they care, but with each reoccurrence, the concern depreciates at a more alarming rate.  She's finally truly understanding that famous Emily Bronte quote she has loved for many years - "Proud people breed sad sorrows for themselves" - because her pride has caused her to wallow in her own self-created pools of sorrow too many times to count.  And, she is a lot tired of that life.


The question that begs to be asked, and hopefully can be answered, is:  how does she stop?

bandera.

Bandera is one of those restaurants that holds many loving memories for me.  It was my go-to restaurant for a few years for just about everything from girl fab fests, to date nights, to let's-just-grab-drinks, to a suitable place to bring parents who were visiting from out of town.  Good food, relatively affordable, no corkage fee, and a boisterous atmosphere I can only describe as being not quite as stuffy as an old-time steakhouse, and mixed with a hint of a modern wintry cabin.  Dimly lit, lots of wood, the scent of meat in the air.

It has been a few years since I've been to Bandera, but for my friend Jase's much-belated birthday dinner, I figured it was as good a spot as any.  He has never been there and because I've made it a point to avoid dining at new establishments without Daniel's presence, I wouldn't be violating that personal pact of mine.  Win-win for both of us.



[Beef ribs, ordered off-the-menu, with spinach and mashed potatoes.  Really basic, but still highly recommended.]



Anyhow.  Bandera.  The site for many lovely conversations, laughs, and over-stuffed bellies.  Amazingly enough, the restaurant was still jam-packed with patrons, even though reservations were for 9 pm on a Wednesday!  My tradition of having positive experiences at Bandera remained intact and Jase and I had a wonderful time catching up, chowing down, and enjoying all Bandera has to offer.   I have known him for what feels like forever, from the days of our youth when we had braces and our parents drove us around to sporting events.  I couldn't help but admire the progression of our conversations throughout the years, from college choices, to career choices, to future spousal choices (one of the subjects that came up during last night's dinner; gasp!). 

The older I get, the more I have learned to truly appreciate the simple things in life:  time to relax; a good meal; great friends; wine.  Those days of  debauchery and waking up confused and lost are numbered, and I suspect that there are only a handful left.  I'm reserving them, saving them to be doled out carefully.  To be honest, I didn't think I would attain this sense of peace and calm during my mid-twenties, nor did I think that I would actually like this lifestyle.  If I am really honest, I will admit that I'm only able to be in this state of mind because I'm finally in a steady and healthy relationship - one that is undramatic and one that actually works.  Yippee.


I can't wait for more of the same to keep on repeating itself. 

the box.

The last I heard from him, he was getting ready to move.  I had some, a lot, of his things at my place still and realized that I needed to send it all to him.  He didn't want anything, he said, but neither did I and in that situation - it was only decent to send it all back.  He could figure out what to do with his own possessions; they never were mine to disregard.

Truth is - I wasn't quite ready to send it all back.  It's one of those things that I always thought I would have more time to wrap my head around.  I still missed him, or the idea of him, I can't be sure, but I missed something.  There was too much bad and ugly towards the end, so much so that I forgot about the long period of time that was filled with so much good.  I wanted to use his belongings to remind me of all the wonderful things about him.  But I didn't think he wanted to give me his new address, which is what I would've needed to buy myself a little more time.  So on the last possible Saturday morning, I went around my apartment grabbing what I knew to be his and packed it all into an old generic cardboard box.

It's not like I intentionally packed with haste or without care - I just packed without emotion.  I was on a deadline.  It was the only way to do it.  No time to tissue wrap and polish things off with pretty little ribbons and bows.  I tried to be as thorough as those few minutes allowed me to be.  I remember pausing when it came to including a note, some kind of cover letter to explain.  Should I, should I not, and if I did, what should it say?  He deserved a lot of words, I felt, but I didn't want to give him any more words, I felt.  In the end I scribbled something nondescript.  I can't remember what it said.  Maybe it was a sentence, maybe it was two, but I know it was objective, purposeful. 

Of course I forgot a few items.  Things that were placed in locations I didn't think to look; things buried under other items of mine; things that were accidentally hidden.  I wish I would've done a better scrub, but alas, hindsight.  I can't remember the trigger, but at some later point in time he highlighted for me the irony of it all: the few items he actually wanted back were the exact ones I forgot to send.  Figure that.

It is sad, really.  In that moment I fully realized that it had been quite some time since I had been happy.  More poignantly, in that moment I fully realized that it had been quite some time since I made him happy.  For even when I tried, I could never seem to do right by him.  Maybe I just didn't try hard enough, I don't really know.  I suppose in the end it was fortuitous that I did not invest that much time into packing his belongings.  Because, frankly, there really is no benefit in spending a second longer thinking about a man who always reminded me of my failures.  And, I'm glad I didn't.

on photoshop.

I've never really used Photoshop and thought I'd ask Daniel for a quick lesson of just the basics.  He started off by informing me that Photoshop is like an advanced version of Paint.  "You've used Paint before, right?"  I shook my head -- nope, not really.  He was shocked and must have asked me at least 5 additional times if I was serious about not having previously used Paint.  While I know of its existence and have used it here and there on occasion, I can't say that I ever spent any meaningful time using that program. 

My favorite "photographers" (defined very loosely) all seem to have their personal aesthetic and I admire them all.  I find myself falling prey to the allure of their photos and style.   I think to myself that if I could glean inspiration from this one and that one, then cobble and crib them all together, I'd be able to come up with my own look and feel.  But the more Daniel and I toyed around with different effects and styles and techniques, the more I realized that the version I gravitated towards the most was the original, unedited, one.  And then it dawned on me:  that is my aesthetic.  Natural, pure, untouched.  I'm not a big fan of trying to make things appear different from what they really are and much prefer to work on ensuring that my reality is precisely how I'd like it to be.  This mantra obviously applies to more than just photographs. . .

Besides, my primary goal is simply to capture memories and moments that may otherwise be forgotten by my faulty mind.  And when considered from that perspective, there really is no need to doctor anything.

* * *

I suppose you could say that I ate berries in the canaries this past weekend.  :)  I also ate the most amazing Japanese strawberry and cream croissant.  Seriously - it was very good.

the light.

For the past ten minutes my eyes have been glued on a distant street lamp that keeps flickering on and off.  I'm in my office, looking down from a high vantage point at the city beneath me, and of all the thousands of flickering lights I see below -- this one has managed to catch my eye and captivate. 

It's sporadic.  The light goes on, then off, for a few minutes, seconds, at a time.  On occasion it spurts back on with quick successions of effort, like an epileptic attack, like a resuscitated heart.  I hear a faint buzzing noise.  I wonder if the bulb is dying, if there is a short circuit somewhere, but mostly, I wonder if this one dear street lamp is simply a fighter, unwilling to give up even when the circumstances suggest that come tomorrow night, this interesting exchange of darkness and lightness will be no more.

It's silly, I know, but I find myself rooting for this street lamp.  I want it to keep shining.  The part of the street that has been darkened by its failure bothers me -- it's as if there's a little less hope in the air.  So please, little guy, keep beaming, figure out a way.  I'll check back with you tomorrow night.  Don't let me down. 

the covet list (celine one-piece).

Maybe it's because my birthday and the holidays are coming up, but there are sooooo many items I am coveting.  And even though it's much too cold to even consider wearing bathing suits right now, Daniel and I have a trip planned to a tropical location coming up soon.  This Celine one-piece is beautiful and would be perfect.  I want.

the covet list (victoria beckham).

I am always finding random pictures online of items I love and covet.  Rather than storing them in my personal collection, I thought I'd start sharing them here instead.

Victoria Beckham makes questionable fashion choices at times, but for the most part, she is absolutely one of my fave style icons.  I adore everything she is wearing in this picture, though her satchel is a bit too boxy for my taste.  But the dress is lovely -- just a few inches longer and it would even be work appropriate!

the red pumas.

I paused and looked down at my red Pumas kept near the front door.  For a second, I thought to myself that I shouldn't put them on, but I went ahead and slipped my feet in them anyhow, opened the door, and snuck into the night.  He was waiting for me to arrive.  And while the pretense was innocent enough, I'm sure we were both just kidding ourselves to uphold the roles of social decorum we had perfected over the years.  My heart was hurting; my head was a mess; he was company on a chilly, lonely, night.  The ingredients were there and I was hungry.

"I like your shoes," he said.  I smiled.  Of course he would - they were kind of awesome.

I didn't know then, but that night was certainly a turning point in my life.  It was the night that started a spiral of occurrences; mostly negative, all memorable.  It ended friendships, forced me to make involuntary decisions, and turned my life to the current course that it's on.  I learned what it felt like to disregard another's feelings to save my own.  I learned what it was like to prioritize myself above all others.  I learned that I could do both much too easily, suffering only a few moments of hesitation that were easily overpowered by a mountain of self-preservation.  

And when I snapped out of it, finally realizing the error in my ways, finally acknowleding that I was clinging onto something temporary while forsaking something potentially permanent, I again found myself pausing at yet another front door - this time at one that was entirely unfamiliar to my eyes - before slipping on my red Pumas for the second time that night.  I headed home.  I then engaged in honest, painful, conversations.  I owned up, confessed, but I've never fully recovered.  Whereas most of memories fall to a soft blur with each passing year -- this one remains crystal clear.

* * *

A few years later, in a completely different place, with an entirely different man, in a seemingly different existence, he told me that he purchased a pair of red Pumas.  I smirked.  "I had a pair once upon a time. . ." 

Life.  It's humorous at times.

sunday books.

Today is Sunday and I'm at work.  It's nothing new, but sometimes I wonder why I volunteer for certain assignments.  These days it feels as though I've involuntarily turned into some type of clutch-hitter, and though a part of me is drawn to the intensity of the moment, when I am afforded the luxury of catching a breath, I realize that the "intensity" probably aged me a few years.  Ironically, in order to stay focused, I have to allow my mind to wander.  Often times my mind wanders and lands on creating a list of coveted items.  And though I covet 304839483 different items at any given moment in time, today I am especially desirous of these luscious, glamorous, books:

[they say never judge a book by its cover, but with these gorgeous books, i'm judging.]

I read a lot every single day, but it's usually for work.  It gets increasingly difficult to finish a novel unless it's very riveting and captivating; I no longer have patience nor time to muddle through boring works, even if they are highly regarded and redeemed.  The two unfinished novels currently stuck inside my bedside drawer are (1) Elegance of the Hedgehog and (2) Anna Karenina.  Both are exceptionally well-written, but so trying to absorb after a long and exhausting day at work.  Perhaps if I displayed them with this rustic and simple bookshelf, I'll feel more compelled to read a few pages in bed each night instead of playing Bejeweled with Daniel.  Tough choice.  

[truly tempted to see if D can make this. . . ]

pancakes and poker.

Most of the time, I feel very "adult" with the numerous responsibilities, obligations, and duties I take on.  There are, however, the occasional unplanned moments where I allow myself to be a kid again and where I forget about propriety and appropriateness.  I love those moments.  At 10:30 at night, Daniel spontaneously proposed making pancakes and playing cards.  I immediately went to the pantry to see if luck was supportive of our impromptu plans.  It was.  I found a box of pre-made pancake mix, Daniel added some water, threw some butter into a pan, and several minutes later, made each of us a stack of delicious pancakes to complete our night.

[I had mine with a little medley of fruit.]

[And because Daniel doesn't eat fruit, he just made himself a huge stack of goodness to compensate for the lack of pretty colors.  :)]

[We opted for poker.  I won!  I cleaned him out after making a statistically-unwise choice of calling his all-in bet when he had two pairs to my one.  But I picked up a King on the river and ended up beating his two pairs with my higher set.  Talk about luck.]

the cliche.

[note from daniel on the bathroom mirror]

I'm blow-drying my hair, staring at the bathroom mirror, looking at my freshly-scrubbed but tired face.  I'm running late, as I am most mornings.  Most days he's still warmly snuggled in bed when I'm up and about, still enjoying the remaining days of his limited "freedom".  But today he was feeling particularly productive, and he was up with me, making coffee.  "Can you please choose something for me to wear today?" I shout.  He comes into the bathroom a few minutes later carrying one of my many black dresses and holds it against me, still on the hanger, assessing whether he likes it or not.  I laugh.  "No, not that one - that dress barely covers my ass; I can't wear it to work."  He takes it away and comes back a few minutes later with a different (and appropriate) black dress.  "I like it," he says, so I put it on, then quickly run a few comb strokes through my damp hair.  He hugs me from behind.  "You're pretty," he says.  I smile.  I can't wait until the day is over and I can return home to him.

In those gentle moments, I forget precisely why I am so tired, why I was running late yet again.  Because the mornings are extra brutal and painful when, for the previous week, night after night I've been up to the wee hours of the morning working on an assignment that's new, challenging, perplexing, but exceedingly frustrating because there's no manageable way to do it all in the time period allotted.  So I sacrifice sleep, energy, coordination, all the while consoling myself by believing that it's just temporary.  And while I am often reminded of how tough my life can be in certain moments, he always counteracts all the negativity by reminding me of how lovely it is, as well.  


I no longer wake up in the mornings muttering expletives; instead, I roll over, tap his arm, and place myself in that comfortable nook I've grown accustomed to for a few minutes before it's time to really get up.  I no longer return home to an empty and vacant apartment; instead, I return home to a lit apartment that's full of (usually fatty) scents from whatever he has cooked during the day.  Though I am still perfectly content with entertaining myself with only the silence of my thoughts, still perfectly fine with being my own best friend, I've realized that by opting for that solitary life, I rarely laughed, rarely smiled, and while not lonely, it felt a bit. . . unfulfilling.  I can't really identify my favorite thing about him because I don't think that it is a trait or a characteristic to which I can readily point; it's that he has changed me by just existing.  And whether he initially set out to do so or not, I owe him very much for proving to me that I am more than just a cliche.