Remembrance

[mama n' me]

It's been two weeks since my mom's first anniversary memorial and it blows my mind that she's been gone for an entire year.  I had left myself a buffer of a few weeks to sort out thoughts and emotions, but when it came down to it I was one.  hot.  mess.  Especially because Mom's was a week after the 10-year anniversary of 9/11, and those memories revolve a lot around my parents.  I sat down to write about my mom and the waterworks started -- surprising because I thought I was fully resolved that she had truly finished her life and was therefore okay with it all.  But the truth was -- and is -- that I will always, always miss this lady.

When I have bad days, I miss my mom's comforting hugs.  She always insisted that it's okay and I'm still young and it'll work out. 

When I have good days, I miss my mom's celebratory hugs.  I miss her comments on my haircuts and manicures.  I miss her guilt trips over my shopping, until I told her I got a good deal, and she'd say, "Good girl!"  I miss her curiosities over my knitting or sewing or embroidery projects.  I miss the way she said, "turtle," or "squirrel."  I miss her grammatically precise emails, how she always wrote, "perhaps," and never, "maybe."   And her texts.  I miss her laugh.  All the seeming little things that are such huge and gaping holes in my life, now that they're no longer a few miles down the road.

So, you see, I can't have a day that's not without missing some part of my mom.

My coworker saw my puffy red eyes coming out of the ladies room, put her arms around me and let me sob into her shoulder for as long as I needed.  She lost her mom a few months after me, so knew exactly how I was feeling and exactly what I needed.  Thank God for sending angels at just the right time.

As the weekend progressed, we observed the cultural customs.  At the Buddhist temple, we found Mom's photo on the big wall along with all the other people who've died.  Her coordinates are OO-64.  The feeling of being so separated from her was surreal and discomforting.  My younger brother had his mini-meltdown then.  The next day, when the extended group -- family, coworkers, high school alumni, college alumni, NZ alumni -- gathered at my dad's house, was another day of showing up.  I'm so grateful to my cousins who helped with all the food and serving!  My youngest brother had his meltdown then: in addition to mourning and missing Mom, he just found out that one of his housemates was killed in a hit-and-run bicycle accident.  Sadness and shock all over again.

The picture above is one I took of me and my mom at the black sand beach at Waia'napanapa on the island of Maui, when our entire family vacationed there in 2009.  It was our first family vacation since my brothers were kids, and Mom's first year of retirement.  We ate and drank and talked and faught and swam and shopped and drove and watched the sunrise and had a great time.  My SIL later shared that my mom actually said she had fun, that she did things -- like snorkelling -- she'd never done before and never thought she could do.  With all her kids.  At the same time.  How awesome is that?  After a lifetime of work and struggle and never thinking that she could ever rest, I'm happy that she had a couple years to relax before she left us. 

I won't try to wrap up this post in any succint or "lesson learned" manner because the truth is, this sadness and gladness over my mom will ebb and flow for the rest of my life.  I don't know whether that's okay or not; it just is.

Indelilbilities

Last month at brunch, a new-to-me acquaintance noticed the various birdsounds that we could all hear on such a quiet Saturday morning. I learned what a woodpecker sounds like! Later on, in the middle of a conversation, he leaned his head to one side, keen to identify another bird we'd just heard.

"Is birdwatching a hobby of yours?" someone asked.

"Not really," he replied, "or, not by choice: my ex wife was a zoologist, so I picked up a few things from her."

I don't know anything about this person's story -- how long he'd been married or divorced, nor the circumstances around either. But as I thought about what he'd said, it dawned on me just how much our significant others -- whether they be boyfriends or girlfriends, partners, spouses, or exes -- leave indelible marks on us. Indeed, they inject a part of themselves onto (or even into) us -- permanently, whether we know it or not; whether we like it or not. The person I met at brunch will probably always listen to a bird's chirping, and whether he can identify it or not, he'll listen, on account of someone who was a very important part of his life, even though she isn't any more. Amidst the sadness, or anger -- or whatever, like I said, I don't know his story -- of the situation, it was clear that there can also emerge something beautiful. A significant other's touch on one's life doesn't simply end at the breakup.

So it's okay to remember not just specific incidents or trips and occasions but also the mannerisms and phrases and other points of fact that were created in my relationship with DC. For my part, I know that among other things, certain news topics will prick my ears more than they would have before I knew him. As my running improves I'll remember that he's a runner, and how he got me out with him a couple times, and now I finally understand a bit better why he enjoys it (though I don't stray as far as to put the two together in a "what if" scenario).  Of course, I hope that as he remembers us, he'll be okay holding on to some of the things he learned from me, or that we discovered together, or that we simply made up and laughed at between ourselves -- but if he doesn't, that's okay.  No, I won't obsess or imagine -- I stopped doing that long ago! -- but the big takeaway is that I don't have to stomp out or feel bad about memories like I thought I had to or was supposed to.

That revelation stayed tucked in a shallow recess of my heart for nearly two months; I was reminded of it again when I went through my Post Secret ritual last week, during which I came across a secret that touched me for both dumb and profound reasons.  It read: "Our relationship left me listening to country music and believing in God.  You changed me.  Thank you." It resonated with me for obvious reasons, but particularly because for a nanosecond I hoped that it might be DC's secret (not gonna lie), whether published or not. But -- and more importantly -- this secret reminded me that it's okay to have changed or been changed by someone in a way I might not have imagined or expected.  And also because it brought me beyond forgiveness.

A lot of people (and books, and blogs) say that forgiveness is the point where you're no longer wishing that person ill but where you truly want their happiness. Admittedly, it's a big jump to make, especially if feelings of anger and betrayal have been engendered by the breakup. In my case, there was anger and confusion and fear and pain -- many of which were first-time feelings -- and, however briefly, I did harbor ill will towards DC.  Then there was the hurdle of my own ego: to realize that I was not the best thing that ever happened to DC hurt my pride more than my heart.  When I allowed myself to dwell on the injury to my pride it dragged my heart into the fray, which in turn led me down the path of regretful reminisces.  Learning to love myself and protect my heart meant admitting out loud that DC wasn't the best for me, either. This was scary because our relationship was so good in so many ways; it also challenged my faith to trust that God was preparing me for a better, future person.  Though it wasn't exactly a straight shot, I made the leap to forgiveness sooner rather than later (according to trusted friends, who, unlike me, had been there before). It was faster, cleaner, easier for me because my heart of hearts had always wanted -- and still wants -- the very best for DC.

But there's another leap: from forgiveness to gratitude. For all the breakup cliches I've heard, I like the one that says you should leave a person a little better than you found them. DC did that for me, and I'm certain I did that for him.  For me, gratitude is that place where I can thank DC for having been a part of my life. I am well favored and blessed that that relationship was such a good one. I can leave it saying not only, "Good-bye and God-bless," but "Thank you."  Which is pretty huge.  And though it took me a while to get here, and I'm not sure if I'm entirely "there," I at least know that I'm on the way towards a future relationship that will be much, much better than I can imagine. 

There's lots back there, in just the past few years.  A lot of it's good.  A lot of it's bad.  I'm okay with both.  I'm okay with glancing back now and then, knowing both are there and a part of me.  So I let myself glance.  But I don't go back there, I don't live back there.  I live here.  Now.  I look forward to tomorrow.  And it doesn't have to be a secret.

Onwards!

Alive and living

Last week I was finally able to get a hold of my Japanese parents.  They are fine; the earthquake-tsunami didn't affect their part of Japan (in fact, a lot of people are fleeing towards their area).  I discovered, through Facebook, that the other people I know in Japan are okay, too.  So I feel a certain amount of relief. 

Things are still bad in Japan, though -- as they are in Christchurch, Haiti, New Orleans, Libya, Afghanistan.... you get my drift.  And even here at home. My bro and SIL, driving to and from Mammoth and Las Vegas this past weekend (respectively), told me stories of heavy traffic due to so many car accidents on account of the rain -- and, sadly, the general on-the-road malaises of  impatience, road rage, or outright negligence. My SIL described driving past one scene in which she saw people moving the limp and dangly body of a motorcyclist, and a young woman, apparently the driver who'd struck him, squatting by the side of the road, huddled over and crying into her phone.

"One moment you're here, and the next, you're not."

My prayers are for hurting people and hurting nations, and my hope is in a God who is not only bigger than, but who is  indeed Creator of all:

God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble.

Therefore we will not fear though the earth gives way, though the mountains be moved into the heart of the sea,

though its waters roar and foam, though the mountains tremble at its swelling....

The nations rage, the kingdoms totter; he utters his voice, the earth melts.

The LORD of hosts is with us; the God of Jacob is our fortress.

-- Psalm 46:1-3, 6-7

I am acutely aware that life itself -- not to mention health, food, clothing -- is a gift.  Undeserved.  Fleeting.  And what do you do with a gift you know you don't deserve?  You take it and run with it, all the while giving thanks.  So while I mourn and pray and do what I can, I also celebrate that I am alive.  And though my very existence is just a speck on this earth, I believe that every speck matters to the Creator.  Regardless of the scale, then, having the gift of life means taking the responsibility to live the best life I can live, in the time that I am given to live it.

Same same but different

owdy. It feels good to be back to blogging after nearly two weeks' hiatus. Rest assured, though -- not blogging doesn't mean not living! There's been a lot going on, as you may have heard.  Some things are settling in to place, while others are just beginning to spin.  In a good way.  I like the anticipation of new adventures, new projects, new horizons.  And through it all, continuing to change, grow, discover myself -- and being okay with who I am.

Here were are at Monday again; hope it's a good one for you. Let's keep on keepin' on!

Sifting for truth

You know what happens over meals.  And, from all of my recent goings out with different friends, you can deduce that a lot of it's been happening.  I'm talking about conversation.  Talking.  Catching up.  Sharing.  Dreaming.  Worrying.  Giving and receiving advice.  Joking.  Complaining.  Praying.  And, listening. 

I'm the type of person who needs to talk things out.  With friends or with myself or with God.  And then I journal about them.  And then I read books about them.  So there are a lot of voices swimming inside my head.  Some my own, some not.  Some positive, some not.  I find myself continually sifting, sifting, sifting through all of these voices with the sieve of Truth.  And questioning: what is Truth, exactly?  How do I know it when I see or hear it?   How do I actively pursue it?     

For me, Truth is the Word of God.  And lately, a song -- an old favorite -- has popped into my mind that reminds me to listen for a still, small voice that often gets lost in the noise of my everyday day-to-day, yet -- if I allow it -- has the power to transform my sometimes stormy sea of thoughts into sweet, still waters.

Voice of Truth

Oh what I would do to have
The kind of faith it takes to climb out of this boat I'm in
Onto the crashing waves

To step out of my comfort zone
To the realm of the unknown where Jesus is
And He's holding out his hand

But the waves are calling out my name and they laugh at me
Reminding me of all the times I've tried before and failed
The waves they keep on telling me time and time again,
"Boy, you'll never win! You'll never win!"

But the voice of truth tells me a different story
And the voice of truth says, "Do not be afraid!"
And the voice of truth says, "This is for My glory"
Out of all the voices calling out to me
I will choose to listen and believe the voice of truth

Oh what I would do to have
The kind of strength it takes to stand before a giant
With just a Sling and a stone

Surrounded by the sound of a thousand warriors
Shaking in their armor
Wishing they'd have had the strength to stand

But the giant's calling out my name and he laughs at me
Reminding me of all the times I've tried before and failed
The giant keeps on telling me time and time again,
"Boy, you'll never win! You'll never win!"

But the voice of truth tells me a different story
And the voice of truth says, "Do not be afraid!"
And the voice of truth says, "This is for My glory"
Out of all the voices calling out to me
I will choose to listen and believe the voice of truth

But the stone was just the right size
To put the giant on the ground
And the waves they don't seem so high
From on top of them looking down
I will soar with the wings of eagles
When I stop and listen to the sound of Jesus
Singing over me

I will choose to listen and believe the voice of truth

 

Who or What is your Voice of Truth?

Order of the Towel

DC and I just finished a 10-week marriage preparation course.  The couple who taught and facilitated class has been married for nearly 43 years!  Since then we've met two other couples who've been married that long (at DC's church, and his neighbors); plus, our parents are going on 34 and 37 years, and my namesake and her husband celebrated 55 years of marriage last December.  We are encouraged!

It's crazy to me that for as long as the institution of marriage has been around, there is still so much to learn.  Some of the important lessons during our MPC were:

• The myths or romantic ideals about "finding your other half" or someone who "completes" you are totally false.  If (God forbid) anything happens to your spouse, you have to be a whole person on your own.  It's not same-same, but like-like.  You and your partner are not carbon copies of each other.


• In regards to parents, rather than, "We haven't lost a daughter, but gained a son," or vice versa, each set of parents (or more) needs to recognize the new couple on an equal level with them as fellow marrieds.  That was pretty revolutionary for me.  The Bible says that, "For this reason [marriage] a man will leave his father and mother and be united to his wife, and they will become one flesh" (Gen 2:24).  In our cultural tradition, however, marriage is not simply the union of individuals but their families as well.  I'm still pondering this one.


• Conflict resoution and good communication needs to be practiced in ALL relationships!  I will be bringing many of the points on love languages, learning styles, intent/action/impact, the five c's (compliment; coach; confront; confess; closure) etc. to the way I interact with my friends, family, and associates.


• Our relationship to each other will grow stronger if we work on having strong individual relationships with God.  He always comes first.  DC and I have always known that and cultivated that in ourselves and one another.  I like the idea of getting to know more couples, at different age groups and stages of marriage, for advice and support.

We also had a segment called, "Getting Your Sex Life Off to a Great Start" (GYSLOTAGS)!  Perhaps a bit shocking for some, but I appreciated the frank nature of the conversation, the acknowledgement that sex is a part of married -- and family -- life, which should be prepared for and enjoyed.  There is even a book by the same name!  Sex Ed: Marriage Edition is totally different from the junior high school version.

A professional wedding planner visited us with tons of advice and information.  I found this very educational, especially since we haven't really made any plans yet!  It's fun to read wedding blogs and see inspiration boards and amazing photos, but it's an overwhelming (to me) amount of work.  Although the course itself is designed to prepare for the marriage and not just the wedding day, it is good not to underestimate the task of having a nice and memorable wedding.

On the last week, there was a Q&A session with other married couples from the church, whose personal stories drove home the fact that marriage is not "happily ever after."  One story that particularly struck me was Mr. M's.  He told us how the metaphor of a tandem bike really doesn't adequately describe a good marriage because the image is of only one person steering; at one point in their marriage, his wife got off, and he didn't know what to do.  Since then, he learned to think of his marriage in terms of a dance: there are times when their steps are exactly the same,when they are complementing or mirroring the other's steps, and when he and his wife may be doing their own separate moves; yet they remain unified on the dance floor (in the marriage).  I'll remember that story each time I see the tandem bike motif on wedding invitation suites.

Finally, we were given our "diplomas": handtowels.  They are to remind us to serve one another.  I chose this geometric weave, which will always remind me of India, where one of our instructors was born and grew up.

["don't throw in the towel; pick it up and use it."]

One of the first things that DC and I got on the same page about when we got engaged is that we would like our preparation for marriage to be led by and pleasing to God, and a witness to our friends and family who don't yet know Him or who are far from Him.  I like that the MPC covered a lot of different yet real and relevant topics, and love that it is regularly offered by my church to educate and encourage, and come alongside to grow couples and families.

Liberty Loot

Even before our London trip, blogland was abuzz with news of the Liberty for Target collection.  There was a lot of anticipation in the air, and sadly -- sadly -- I gave in. 

It was the first weekend after returning from London.  I got up early and hightailed it over to the local Target.  They were still putting up the displays!  But I managed to nab a couple of items.

Later, I went to a couple other Targets, 'just to see what they have.'

[liberty loot]

By the end of the day, here's what I'd collected: a couple of dresses, garden gloves, notebooks, a canister, a couple of girls dresses.  Oh, and a pair of rain boots that I'd asked my brother to pick up, 'just to see.'

[liberty boots]

And when I looked at all that I'd 'scored,' I realized that I didn't need nearly any of it.  I'd just got sucked into the hoopla.  And it really bothered me because I like to think that I'm cool and utilitarian and minimalist and above the hype.  When, really, I'm much more easily influenced.

Which kinda got me thinking how the blog world is incredibly inspiring, but is, simultaneously, incredibly consumer- and collection-driven.  At least for someone like me, who is like a naive little sponge when it comes to all that visual stimulation.  I love looking at it, but it remains a cyber-world that I haven't yet been able to bridge with reality (despite all the 'normal people' photos and home tours).

So... I went back to the reality of my Liberty loot, chose a few items that I knew I'd like and wear, and returned the rest.  I ended up with one dress, one girl's dress (which, in XL, fits me like a tunic, or a very very short dress, if I am so daring), garden gloves, and a tie for DC.  Oh, and a random recent rainy day made me keep those rain boots after all.  And it was delightful to run up to my office, nearly late, without fear of getting wet or slipping.  So: worth it!

These days I have also limited my blog intake, especially as I try to find my voice again as well as my own inspiration.  There's a place for it on the screen that I appreciate greatly, but with SoCal weather and, more importantly, the right attitude, inspiration abounds all over the place.  And I'm out to get me some!

Winter in L.A.?!

In a rare moment of looking up from my knitting on the way to work this morning, this is what I saw:

[snowy city hall]

Though it might not seem like it, this is a very typical sight in L.A.  I should've snapped a pic with all the white unmarked vans, the trailers across the street, police officers directing pedestrian traffic, and crew members in cargo shorts holding wires and all kinds of equipment. 

Turns out a lot of filming is done at City Hall; I guess it's nondescript enough to pass for any number of real or imagined civic buiding.  Do you think it was purposely designed for this dual purpose?

Jury servcie

[ETA photos]

What I like:

• The new(er) one day, one trial system


• I always learn something new


• Fulfilling a civic duty


• Seeing our legal system at work, firsthand


• Two 15-minute breaks; 90 minute lunches


• Being able to take the bus to the courthouse


• That the system works!

What I dislike:

• Waiting to be called to selection panel


• Harsh flourescent lighting


• Being treated like I'm stupid by attorneys


• Unreasonable fellow jurors (more a frustration than a dislike per se)


• Not being able to knit


• How time-consuming the process of the law is

I like jury service.  I don't really get those people who really hate it (though I can certainly understand if their employer doesn't pay) and do their utmost to get out of it.  I'm more likely than not to remain on a panel, simply because -- in my opinion -- my life experiences are not so dramatic or traumatic to have led me to form any biases, at least in the cases with which I've been involved.  So I sit where I sit, answer the questions, and don't try to fight it.

Because I wasn't able to bring knitting needles into the courthouse, I brought a book instead.  Which made me remember: I adore reading!  I got through about 60 pages of Ann Patchett's Bel Canto.   I'm glad to have rekindled my flame for the written word, but, rather ironically, at the end of the day, I'm not so sure I want to finish reading this particular book.  After thinking about what I'd read, it dawned on me that 100 or so pages into the book, I am not particulary engaged with any single character, nor am I very interested to discover what happens at the end.  Do I carry on and finish what I started, or do I read something that may be more enjoyable?  Or do I just go back to knitting?!

  

In addition to the reading, my further treat was a nice lunch for each of the days I served.  I went in to Little Tokyo twice for ramen, which was perfect because the days were cooler and overcast.  On the first day I went to Kouraku -- haven't been there in a really long time.  Then, on Friday, I went to Daikokuya, and added a small beer to my order!  The superior bowl of ramen I had confirmed why I no longer go to Kouraku.  (It's a bit more expensive, but the portion is a bit bigger, too.  And the taste is vastly better.)  I also discovered that there is another Daikokuya in Monterey Park, so it's on my list of places to go. Yesterday, my last day, I went to Philippe's in Chinatown.  My French-dipped turkey sandwich was okay, but, as famous as it is, I didn't think Philippe's was all that.  I also discovered that I don't like walking around Chinatown: it's really old, and a little stinky...But I was glad to be out and about for an hour and a half in the middle of the day.

As much as I don't mind the actual service, there's a staleness about being in a courtroom all day, and a sense of having been plucked from real life.  After three days, I'm happy to be back at work and my routine.

Taxing times

My life of late can be described in one word: transitioning.  But I thought that -- since I'm doing so much of it anyway these days -- I'd unpack that a bit more for ya.  Which is to say, I've mostly been:

• packing (to move and to travel)


• moving (boxes and boxes to DC's garage)


• cleaning (with toothbrush and cotton swabs, too)


• traveling (tons of walking and photo-ing -- post coming soon)


• unpacking (it's not so much stuff after all!)


• arranging furniture (still not entirely sure about it)


• knitting (and frogging...)


• laundry (loads more to do!)


• weeding (my respite)


• lining shelves (love the grip stuff)

And most recently, sending off my taxes (and cutting a fat check).  It's never a fun time of year for me.  But it's overanddone, huzzah and *exhale*. 

Well then.  Back to my list of actvities.  I hope you're not too taxed these days.

Hunt for housing

When I moved in to my current apartment, my then-roommate handled everything.  Her brother had found the ad in the paper; she and her mother called, went to see it, and spoke to (i.e. schmoozed) the manager; there was another appointment so that I could see it; and within the next week, we'd signed the lease.

Three and a half years--and three and a half roommates--later, I've learned a lot about living with another person.  After deciding to part ways with my current roommate at the end of January, embarking on finding a place for just me has been exciting indeed.  I admit, however, that there has been a pretty steep curve to climb in regards to apartment searching, and there have been days where I felt on the verge of a major stress rash.

In retrospect, I do regret asking My Supernova to start the serious hunt with me on my birthday.  What a tiring--nay, exhausting--day!  Though we knew the area we were searching in well, after a while all the addresses and phone numbers blurred together.  We looked at nearly a dozen places, with no good leads.  In fact, we saw quite a range of apartments and met a variance of personalities in the way of managers and owners.  The biggest lesson I learned was that as much as I am trying to prove myself a good tenant in order to "win" the apartment, I also need to make sure that the place fits my needs well beyond the basics of space, location, and budget. 

Though I was online obsessively, the physical search took about two weeks.  Still, it was a stressful two weeks, in which I felt like I aged a year!  In the end, I found a place that I think fits the bill.  It's a one-bedroom apartment (I thought I could live in a studio until I saw the ones available), which gives me some room to separate living, sleeping, and eating.  Locationally, it's less than a mile from my current place--which means change, but not drastic change:  I am still on the same bus line and still within easy reach of my parents' and brothers' homes.  Also, the owners are local, and seem both easygoing and attentive.

The lease is signed! 

I've been packing and cleaning my apartment (which accounts for by absence from blogging) and doing my best to enjoy my remaining time there.  And, I'm getting ready for a spring break trip (planned long ago).  Lots to do by month's end!  

I am really looking forward to living on my own again, yet I know that I don't always take well to change -- even that of my own doing.  So there will be many lessons to learn and many ways in which to grow during this next season.  Wishmeluck!

Hardly tabla rasa

I heard someone, somewhere, say that Inauguration Day would be like January 1st all over again: it starts from here.

But I like how my pastor, on the Sunday prior to Inauguration Day, prayed for both then-outgoing President Bush and President-elect Obama.  As historical as this election has been, and as unprecedented as the first week's Executive orders have been, it's important to remember that the slate doesn't get wiped clean simply because Obama is President.  He enters office in the midst of many complicated and ongoing domestic and international issues.  And even as one who is not entirely sure at all about "how it works" in Washington's political machine and culture, I am sure that no huge changes will happen overnight:  Gitmo's not gonna close tomorrow, our troops in Iraq won't be pulled out anytime soon, the economy's not gonna bounce back immediately.

I don't mean to sound like such a downer.  In fact, I do have a lot of hope.  Though I don't see the start of Obama's administration as Day One, I do see it as a new chapter, starting on a new page.  And at this new chapter, I am finding myself reading about policies, appointments, and, yes, even First Lady and First Daughters fashion, with much interest--despite past failed attempts to become politically aware.

I think that a huge part of this is that, more than any other world leader in recent history, the Obama family is one in which the people can really see themsleves, from J.Crew to BlackBerry to blogging.  That's pretty cool.  Another part of it, for me,  is that I'm now soundly in my 30s:  working, living, paying off debt and forking up taxes all on my own.  And I feel that what's happening in my city, my state, my country, and around the world affects me more--and more immediately--than they did even just two years ago.  That's cool, too.

So I join a lot of my fellow Americans in a sigh of relief:  it's over, he's inaugurated, it's begun, he's at work--he's our President.