"Good Eye, Klo, Good Eye"

Space In the City

2010-06-28T23:36:00.001-07:00

When you look out and all you see is 180 degrees of blue sky and then another 180 degrees of grape vines growing on rolling hills, you can't help but feel that the world is really big. There is so much space to breath and your busy little brain feels like it can fit a lot of thoughts and an infinite amount of emotion inside. But if you're a city girl like myself (given that San Fran is a town next to Manhattan or Hong Kong), who loves the buzz of people and that I can hear my neighbors singing in the shower, you wonder, how can I have both?

I guess one solution is to have a house in the country, but given that most of us slave away just so that we can have the standard of living that we do in SF, it's not generally possible. Or you can just give up the goat and live in some quiet place with a bunch of green stuff and say goodbye to the concrete all together. But really, I'd need to be near no less than four different awesome ethnic food restaurants, a great place to dance and an array of shoe stores. Because I love the side of my heels clicking on the ground and well, having someplace to wear high heels to, on any day of the week.

But the spaciousness that I'm talking about isn't really about physical space anyway. It's about the space in your head and having room to string thoughts together, or chose to let them go. I taught a yoga class this morning where I made people close their eyes, breathe, and imagine that all their thoughts were like a deck of cards, spilling across their consciousness in the most casual and chaotic way possible. There's all kinds of shapes and numbers and light and dark. There's even a Joker (cause who doesn't have a goddamn Joker in their deck, right?). Then you slowly start to shuffle them together, pushing them together into a pile with that oh-so satisfying way that cards shuffle together; with the rounded corners pointing every which way, and then almost magically, they start to make sense, they start to come together and suddenly, you have a neat little pile. You then put the whole deck in the corner of your mind, where they're accessible, but not necessary in-use. What you've got then is a whole canvas of empty space, of possibility and thoughts that

have yet to come.

I think that most of us have this kind of space very infrequently. Our heads are filled with what we did yesterday, what we should've done yesterday, what we need to do today, and what the hell we have to do tomorrow. If we could find space inside our bodies (both metaphorically and literally), and in our minds, we could have it all. We can be connected to the buzzing hive of humanity that I find so enticing and have the space for clarity and possibility.

The work for me then, is to remember that this space is possible. That I can gather up that deck of cards any time and shuffle them into the corner. I don't need to be at the most adorable little treehouse tucked into amazing vineyards in Healdsburg. And if one of those thoughts strays, and stays in my head, it's totally okay. Because in my head, of course, it'd be the Queen of Hearts.

Unobtainium Obtained

2010-06-21T21:33:00.000-07:00

Unobtainium (also spelled unobtanium) is any extremely rare, costly, or physically impossible material, or (less commonly) device needed to fulfill a given design for a given application. (From Wikipedia)

It seems to me that the key to this concept is that it's impossible. It's oxymoronic in its own definition. Like, more difficult to grasp than

winning the lottery, since all you have to do to have a chance is to buy a lottery ticket, however remote your chances. Whereas the concept of unobtainium rests on the premise that it's an impossibility in our current state of reality. Its value cannot be measured since it doesn't respond to normal market forces (even the unusual laws of the black market) since it cannot exist. (I mean, how much does it cost to stable a unicorn?) Therefore, it's not about whether you have the means to buy/trade for it, instead, it's about changing the reality to which you are accustomed in order for it to not longer be unobtainium.

Even though I saw Avatar leagues after everyone else (and what I thought about the movie is a whole other matter), I find the concept of "unobtainium" fascinating because I fee like several people in my life, including myself, have recently found their unobtainium.

For something like two years, the chef-ex and I had looked for a blue apron for him (for those of you unfamiliar with The French Laundry, they wear signature blue aprons in the kitchen). We even bought something that looked like it might be the right thing but turned out to be the wrong color, length, etc. For something that seemed as simple as a freakin' blue apron, it was impossible to find. Well... (trumpets please) he recently landed a job at The Laundry. For those of us in the culinary world, we all know how dreamy and impossible that is. It's not like he's not talented enough, or wouldn't do a great job there, it's just that...it's THE FRENCH LAUNDRY! More importantly, for him, it was beyond the impossible dream, it was something that he didn't think about because it wasn't really within his concept of reality. Granted the whole stage process sounded super intense and although he's certainly qualified, he was only able to get the job because he applied. And he only applied because he was able to change his perspective. You're right Albert, "Imagination is more important than knowledge."

I'm not saying that anything is possible for anyone; I am a yogi, not a moron. I'm just saying that we don't really know what's possible until we imagine that it is. I bet we'd all be surprised by the result.

Like personally, I want some superpowers. And as I'm writing this, I'm imagining that it's possible (maybe I need to cook up something radioactive- it worked for Spiderman, The Hulk, Daredevil, etc.). I'm probably not going to try to run through walls any time soon. But maybe I'll try for an easier one, like levitating. I'll let you know how it goes.

Inheritance

2010-06-19T22:58:00.000-07:00

All my most annoying habits come straight from my mother. This is pretty much what my last two significant boyfriends and I have all decided. She's neurotic, relentless and will chase you down even if you're desperately asking for some goddamn personal space. She worries about my health, my future, my job, my love life, even my teeth. And she sprinkles a whole bunch of Chinese and Catholic guilt atop everything that she feeds you.

I've been working on shedding this madness for years. And it seems that finally, I've been able to come to terms with how these traits have influenced my life and how to let them go, at least a little. It's hard work, especially because I love my mother so fucking much. She's an amazing lady, despite everything that makes us both a little crazy.

Every fall when the San Francisco air starts to get a little nippy, I start wearing this black turtleneck that I stole from her when I was about 17. It's nothing fancy or special, except that it fits really well and is some crazy polyester blend that no one makes anymore. But I do get complimented all the time when I wear it, which I've always wondered about. Can people tell that I took it from my mother's drawer?

One of my favorite baby pictures is from a birthday party for me and my brother, I was probably 3 and he was about 8. I'm in a highchair with my brother making some mischievous face next to me. My mom is wearing the famed black turtleneck. She's gorgeous (she's always been and continues to be alarmingly beautiful) and smiling and it's clear that she loves us both immensely. I was too young to remember the party, but the image of that photograph pops into my head whenever I'm feeling warm and fuzzy towards her. I love that turtleneck.

Along with that turtleneck and a whole list of neurosis, I've also inherited her smile, her habit of putting her hand flat across her collar bones when she worries, and her undying devotion towards the ones that she loves. She's drilled into me that mistakes are part of life, but when we lie, bad things happen. I've learned that being a really good friend sometimes means flying across the world to surprise them on their 60th birthday. It's from her that I learned to dig your heels in when things are getting difficult and to give your loved ones gifts, even when you can't afford them for yourself. I learned that no matter how much she disapproves of whatever "crazy" thing I'm doing at the moment (piercings, tattoos, performing arts, boyfriends, etc. etc.), she'd rescue me in a second if I was ever in trouble. These are some of the things I've inherited from her.

So here I am, on the eve of Father's Day, and I can do nothing but write about my mother because as much as everyone knows that I'm daddy's girl (and proud of it!), I'm also my mother's daughter. And in her proudest moments (when she allows herself to be proud of the "unconventional" daughter), I hope that she sees a part of herself reflected in me. I hope that she realizes that I am who I am because she's been doing nothing but giving me gifts since the day I was born.

Everyone Needs a Forcefield Now and Then

2010-06-06T19:22:00.000-07:00

Call it survival instinct based on our ability to read body language, call it a cognitive skill, call it intuition, whatever, we all have a sense of danger and when something is just not right. Yet, how many times have we been burned when we knew better than to touch the flame? Sometimes we're just not totally clear on situations and we read it poorly. Sometimes we ignore our own instinct to quit while we're ahead.

I've been working with the public for a really long time. Like, more than a decade. I've got a pretty well developed sense of the creepy. I've been hit on by so many creepy men I stopped counting a long time ago. I can usually hold my own (see post from September 15, 2008). I usually put a wall up pretty quickly and squirrel around the situation. I'm pretty squirmy. But every once in a while, you end up giving people the benefit of the doubt, you trust that their intentions are straight and BAM, you end in a place you don't want to be looking for the emergency exit. Teleportation, a great super power to have at those exact moments.

Yeah, like when the older "yogi" whose wife is on vacation befriends you to "talk about his daughter" then starts talking to you about poly-amory, you 1.Puke a little in your mouth and 2. Start looking for a way out.

What I've been developing for the past few years, however, is a sense of openness, of wonder, and of connection with the world. I should've remembered what my teacher Jane House said when she talked about the danger of being so open when we're walking around out in the world. You don't really want to do a chalk load of heart-openers then walk out into Hunter's Point with no protection for your mind or body. The truth is, boundaries are essential and developing a well-built but spacious container with a healthy and protective outer wall will not only keep you sane, it'll help you flourish.

While Sue Storm (a.k.a. Invisible Girl/Woman) had to absorb cosmic rays in order to develop her powers of invisibility and used psionic waves to create force fields, I really believe that anyone can do it. You see it all the time; we all do it all the time. We sense when people have really strong or large personal space issues; we can certainly repel other people with our own discomfort or dislike. We can make ourselves really small and walk around without anyone truly seeing us. The question, of course, is how to control these powers so that they serve us in the best way. We certainly don't always want to be invisible and it'd be a lonely life if we kept up the forcefield all the time.

So I suppose it's all about being conscious of how you're using your superpowers. I've been distinctly working on how to make my energy bigger, on how to be able to direct it outwards, so as to better serve my community. Maybe it's time that I re-establish my invisibility cloak and control over my forcefield. God knows, you need it as much in yoga studios as you do in restaurants.

Where are we going?

2010-06-05T23:28:00.000-07:00

Make Like a Tree and...

2010-05-15T19:17:00.000-07:00

I've never been the leaver.

It's my M.O. to stay around until things are dead. This is true for parties, jobs, and even boyfriends. I don't like to feel like I've left anyone hanging in the wind, I believe in making things work, in being durable and outlasting whatever troubles come. The problem with this way of living is that sometimes you're the awesome girl who can hang all night but sometimes, you're the awkward one who should've left an hour ago.

I've been finding myself doing the leaving a lot lately. And even though I know it's been the right thing to do, it surprisingly doesn't make it any easier. In fact, it's damn hard. It hurts just the same. You still feel abandoned. You still feel like there's an empty hole inside where once something lived. And I want to just fill it with whatever come my way. I don't think I'm alone.

It happens every day, right? You break up with your boyfriend, you leave your job, whatever. But the thing is, you've grown those things, you've put yourself into them, if you're any kind of decent person, you've invested in these things. And leaving them just feels like you're hanging out in a storm in your underwear. Things are blowing around you and you don't know what to hang onto. It goes against all my instincts to not just grab onto whatever branch comes into my reach. I've been single longer than I have in about a decade. Holy shit.

So what does a girl who loves stable ground do? I like to think that I can just reach my roots really deep and sway with the breeze. I think it's all I can do. Just bend and flex and get tossed around a little bit. It's a lot of work, this staying upright and going with the flow. It feels like you have no control, but I guess in the end, none of us have control over life anyway.

For now, I'm going to work on hanging around when it's right and when the time has come, I'll just make like a tree and...

Can People Really Change?

2010-03-10T22:07:00.000-08:00

I've been thinking about change a lot lately. My life has drastically changed in the last 8 months or so and if you had asked me a year ago if I could imagine being where I am now, I would've laughed in your face.

And I've found myself talking about change to all kinds of people, especially after the sighting of a bumper sticker that said, "Change is inevitable, growth is optional." Love it. But even as I've been sprouting statistics about how you shed about 1.8-2.4 million skin cells an hour and that your skin pretty much renews itself completely in about 35 days (hence, we're always changing), I wonder if it's true. Do people ever really change?

My ex-boyfriend said to me a few weeks ago after what I thought to be a perfectly normal exchange between us, "Who are you?! You're not even close to the same person you were." It was one of those double-edged compliments because I had actually said something really nice. Okay, where do we go from there? Was I really just a bitch when we were together and am a completely changed person now? Am I just able to express myself more openly now that I'm free from the power struggle in our relationship? Was I always a nice person and he just couldn't see it because he was too wrapped up in his own self-judgement to be able to see me? Do people just constantly miss each other completely because we're all too obsessed with ourselves to be able to see other people clearly?

On a theoretically level, the universe is changing all the time. Nothing is ever the same, but the processes just take so much time relative to our lifespan that it all feels the same. I mean, some stars are dead by the time the light has traveled far enough for us to see them. In some cultures, time is circular and not linear, are we just all chasing our tales?

I really want to have some incredibly deep and meaningful answers to this question, but I just don't. On some level, I want to believe House (as in the TV show) and just believe that people don't change- that they lie and adapt their behavior but are actually incapable of change. But in my experience, I realize that I've changed, my friends have changed, life changes all the time. I can barely keep up with the changing that's happening around me right now.

I guess if I were forced to to put it simply, I believe that it's all true. There's a certain part of us that don't change; call it your soul, your true self, your ego, whatever, but there is something in us that stays the same. But it's our ability to let that shine out that changes with time and space. I know it's super yogi and corny, but I really believe that the work for all of us is to tap into real honesty and let ourselves be who we are.

If You Want to Get Something Done, Ask a Busy Person

2010-02-25T00:28:00.001-08:00

My tennis coach in high school was highly neurotic. He believed in winning, winning winning and hitting your opponent with a tennis ball as hard as you could because it was unlikely they'd get it back over the net if you did. He had a 10+ year undefeated league championship team with 3 State wins in his division and he was the devil. But he did say to us once, "If you want to get something done, ask a busy person." For my own sanity, I've pretty much forgotten everything else he ever said to us but I've never forgotten that. It rings in my ears at the oddest times. I think it's because I see a lot of truth in it. A person who has a lot of free time probably isn't too gung ho about getting whatever you need done; they probably don't have a lot of fire under their butt. I sound terribly judgy- I know.

I'm pretty much not happy if I don't have a million things going on at once. Even when I have free time, I'm busy doing "free time" things- reading a book, making cookies, trying to "finish" reading magazines so that I can recycle them. I love and hate this compulsive need to be productive. It sounds totally neurotic...it kind of is.

In different epochs of my life, this drive, this need to be productive has been either really useful and effective in helping me towards my goals, or they've driven me and whatever boyfriend I had at the time completely insane because I could focus on nothing else but getting stuff done. And this drive to push forward, to check things off lists and get them off the radar, it makes me wonder about not only what I'm running towards but what I'm running from. I mean, anyone who has this distinctive goal driven orientation is leaving something in their wake, right? When it's no longer about the process but the completion, when you forget what the movie was about but only that you watched it, then what's the point?

As I'm entering another really busy period of my life, I'm trying to re-examine this drive that's both served and hindered me. On the one hand, I'm so incredibly happy to bask in the glow of productive action, but on the other, I want to make sure that I'm not just whizzing past things on my way to the finish line. Smell the roses and all of that. I like to think that I've grown up a little from high school, and that I'm learning to have some patience, and to look around me and enjoy the view a little (at least without checking off "Enjoy view" from my to-do list). At least for right now, I feel like my drive to do a lot of things come from the invigorating sense that life is just too short, that I'm trying to take advantage of the time that I have. Or maybe it's just an excuse for my insane behavior. Either way, I'm loving the action, and I'm getting a lot of stuff done.

Reflections on a Decade Past

2010-01-01T18:49:00.000-08:00

2010. So much happened in the last decade, it does feel mighty significant that it's over.

Let's see... we had the first foreign terrorist attack on American soil since Pearl Harbor, we elected a Black president, we're having the worst economic conditions in something like 80 years. It's been a big one, this decade.

For me personally, I've had 3 big relationships, each of which has taught me a lot about myself. It's been a decade of long term relationships and very little time alone. But really, who wants to be alone? That's a question I ask myself a lot these days. I'm figuring out what it means to be single and not to feel alone (quite a feat, I think).

From the first, I figured out that as much as I consider myself a Feminist (with the capital 'F'), I can still fall into the trappings of an emotionally abusive relationship. I have the tendency to belittle myself and allow someone to dictate my behavior and happiness. I put myself in a subordinate position because I was blinded by romantic notions of self-sacrifice and the trappings of emotional blackmail. Wow, I still can't believe that it was me in that whole escapade. I guess without those relationships, you don't know how far you can fall. It was a great big black hole, that one. Just sucked me in and I couldn't find my way out for much much too long.

The second taught me that friendship and love doesn't equate a healthy relationship. It taught me that it's necessary to see someone for who they really are to love them in the right way. You can't will someone to be the person you want them to, no matter how clever you are at convincing them of it. I learned that compatibility and view of a shared future life is painfully but honestly important. It taught me that it's possible to love someone but that your paths still diverge and even reasonably good relationships should end when they're supposed to.

I'm still figuring out what I've learned from the third. So far, I think that I've realized that even if someone thinks they want to spend the rest of their life with you, you might not want to spend the rest of your life with them. It sounds so obvious, but when someone you care about and love tells you that they may say or do a lot of things that are "wrong," but one thing they'll never do is leave you...well, it's excruciating to chose to be alone instead. It's easy to say that the future is uncertain no matter how you look at it, but to toss yourself off the edge without a net is a whole other matter.

I've been lucky in a lot of ways. My path has led me to things that I love: restaurants, intellectual pursuit, yoga. Life has bestowed some of the most amazing friendships upon me. I continue to be in awe of the friends I have, how amazing they are, how it's possible that they love me as much as I love them. There are some remarkable human beings out there and the fact that our paths have crossed and intertwined are beyond me. It's certainly nothing I can understand with my head.

I'm working on saying "adieu" to the last decade and starting to look ahead. I've said goodbye to an awful lot of things. I've burnt the sage, I've ritualized the shedding of things around me. I'm looking at my new skin and wondering if it's thick enough to endure the decade ahead. I have a lot of hope. I hope that I will feel more comfortable in my skin this decade. I'm hoping that I'll be able to be my true self, or at least keep working diligently on getting there. I'm hoping that I'll be able to welcome change and adventure with an open heart, regardless of whether it brings pain or pleasure.

In the words of the Rolling Stones, "No, you can't always get what you want. No you can't always get what you want. No, you can't always get what you want, and if you try sometime you find, you get what you need."

Post-It Note Possessions

2009-12-12T23:58:00.000-08:00

One of my best friends is doing her MFT (Masters of Family Therapy) and she told me about an interesting exercise they did in class the other day. Her professor gave them all color coded post-it notes and they had to write their top 5 stuff on them. They had five post-it notes for their top five people, another their top five activities, possessions, etc. Then he asked them to start eliminating a few of those things (1 from people, 2 from possessions, etc.). Then he started coming around the room and randomly taking post-it notes from people's desks. From some people's desks, he took all but a few of their post-it notes, some he took none.

Needless to say, it was a rather intense experience. Not only were you asked to think of your top five people (ouch!), you had to quantify your life in a very specific way. Then you were helpless as those things are taken away as you watch other people unscathed by the wrathful power of God. Clearly, this exercise mirrors life and asks you to experience loss in a particular way, probably giving different people a sense of relief, jealousy, anger, detachment, etc. And all the while you realize that they are post-it notes, they're little pieces of colored paper which have little resemblance to the real thing.

This made think, however, about the meaning that we imbue on all kinds of things. This from the girl who still has most of her undergraduate papers and three years worth of Wine Spectator tucked away in the closet. For a while, I told myself that my graduate work might necessitate that I refer back to my undergraduate papers (because I must've been so amazing a researcher that there's gems in there for me to borrow?). Then I piled a bunch of sheets and towels on top of them and pretended that they were serving as a linen shelf. Better than having them sit in the very bottom of the closet, right?

It's now been a full ten years since I've graduated and I've never opened those boxes except to look at what they were when I moved the last time. It's true that I haven't really had a reason to get rid of them. They're perfectly fine where they are even though they take up quite a bit of space. But it's also true that I've attached a whole mess of personal identity onto those papers. They represent the self-searching me who discovered gender and race theory, of the girl who went from a pretty typical Asian American SoCal girl with hair down to the elbow to one who was politically active, who had tattoos, piercings and was into the performing arts. In those papers are the first semblance of the seeker that I would become. My belief that the world could become a better place, that there is personal agency and possibility for some sort of social utopia, that's all squished together in a couple of file boxes underneath those sheets and towels.

And now I'm thinking that it's time to throw them away. The thought of it makes me wince. Because detachment is hard, and giving up anything that has served you for so long is hard. And it means that I'm admitting that she's gone, the person that I was when I first begin to discover myself has moved into the past, only to live in the memories of my friends and family. Moving forward is difficult and letting go is excruciating. I suppose that hanging onto the past is even harder, since it no longer exists.

One of my yoga teachers told me last week that getting rid of stuff only hurts when you're doing it, once you do it, you're given a sense of enormous relief, of spaciousness, of weight being lifted off your shoulders. There may be grief, since all loss, no matter how minuscule, is matched with grief and sadness. But once that's finished, there will be room for the present. And we all need plenty of room for the present because there is so much waiting to fill our hearts and minds.

So I'm going to do it, I'm going to take those file boxes and recycle them. Maybe they'll be made into other things: paper towels to wipe up a mess, or a paper bag to carry someone's groceries, or another cardboard box to hold the identity of someone else.

My Surreal LIfe

2009-12-07T22:36:00.000-08:00

"Can you ladies help me?" she cried.

She was wearing pajamas, and a felted overcoat, and slipper shoes. Her hair was a mess, she held a plastic bag of squishy stuff in one hand and a pillow in the other. She was crying hysterically. My first thought was that she was homeless. But then I realized that I was standing in a hospital parking lot desperately sucking on a cigarette with a caretaker who was on a break. Maybe she'd broken out of the psyche ward.

She needed a ride to her doctor's office, which was a few blocks away, because the Emergency Room where she'd been waiting for four hours had somehow messed up her in-take and she'd been in a horrible car accident several days before and her son and daughter-in-law had dropped her off and gone back to Big Bear and she had possible fractures to her cervical vertebrae and several hematomas on her legs. What?! Neither of us had access to a car and she didn't like any of our other suggestions. She started walking away and the caretaker and I looked at each other and started feeling terrible. We looked at her limping through the rain and both reluctantly tried to think of what to do. Then we saw her pick up her cell phone and next thing we knew, she told us that her doctor would meet her back at the Emergency waiting room. She just needed help getting there.

So the caretaker and I took her things, each held one arm, and helped her through the pouring rain and into the Emergency Room. I gave her my hand, which she took hungrily, and helped her into a chair. I looked her in the eye and told her that it was going to be okay. I held onto her hand as she told us a garbled story about a car accident on a curvy mountain road and thinking that she was going to die. I noticed a rather large triple diamond wedding ring. She showed us a gigantic swollen knarly mess of an upper thigh and I started to believe her story a little. It didn't matter at that point whether or not her story was true anyway, I believed that she was in pain and needed me to sit there and hold her hand. She kept calling us "angels" and saying that her doctor would be right there.

It really wasn't that long until her doctor wandered in,maybe twenty minutes, but each moment seemed so full, it felt like hours. The lady pointed her out and I ran over to get her. The doctor didn't seem so enthused or even very concerned about her. The caretaker and I called out "good luck" and "good bye" and walked back to our little sheltered space beneath the parking garage. We lit up another pair of cigarettes and each took long drags. We chatted as if we were friends. We finished our smokes down to the filters. Then we walked slowly back into the hospital and back to our lives.

Is the universe mysterious or are we just dumb?

2009-12-05T22:36:00.000-08:00

So it's ridiculous to actually believe that bad things always happens in three's. Besides the fact that it's not possible to prove other than with some anecdotal evidence, in the absolute, it's difficult to really classify things as good or bad. Things just happen and they may seem bad at the time, but ultimately, it's simply what happened.

I've spent a lot of time recently thinking about the way that the world works and considering whether or not there's a plan for us. Not really in a "predetermination" sort of way (I really can't swallow that my life has already been written somewhere like a crappy Indy dark comedy) but simply that the universe is constantly coming together around me in a way that has pushed my life towards a certain path, and that it will continue to do so. I am going to go right out there and say that releasing the control that I've always hoarded for myself has been liberating. And rather than leading to inaction, it's led to me move with more clarity through my life. Don't get me wrong, I don't think that I have things figured out, quite the opposite; it's just that I don't need to figure it all out, it's all coming and my job is just to receive it. To be truly open to opportunity, love and life is a really hard thing. I'm just trying to get out of my own way.

Buddhist nun Pema Chodron writes in The Wisdom of No Escape: and the Path to Loving-Kindness, " Life's work is to wake up, to let things that enter into the circle wake you up rather than put you to sleep. The only way to do this is to open, be curious, and develop some sense of sympathy for everything that comes along, to get to know its nature and let it teach you what it will." Maybe it's the nature of people, but I've found that lessons almost always come with "bad" things. When things are good, when we're comfortable and nestled deep in our cubby holes, there is very little learned. It's only when we venture out into the unknown, the dark place, meet our shadow or stand at the edge of our abyss that we're forced to confront ourselves, and realize that we didn't know a thing at all.

One, two, three, always in a row. Maybe it's because we're looking for it, or because it's the natural rhythm of the universe, or because we've smoked too much crack, but it sure feels like when you've experienced two difficult situations, there's a third to come. Otherwise, you're just waiting for the other shoe to drop (damn it, I actually said that to someone the other day).

I think it's just because three is all I can take, because if there were more, I'd keel over with the weight of it. I'd have to crawl underneath the covers and actually never come out again. But for now, I feel pretty safe, I think the universe knows that I've confronted more dark spaces in the last little while than I have in a very very long time. I've teetered on the brink and not fallen in. Thank you, lesson learned.

Truth and Honesty

2009-11-27T00:25:00.000-08:00

I watch a damn lot of crime drama. You name it, I probably watch it. And on many of them, somebody will say, "You know how to pass a lie detector test? You tell the truth." Ha ha.

But what if the truth is something elusive, something that you don't even really know for sure? How do you pass a lie detector test then? I've been asking this of myself a lot of late and well, it sucks. I'm not a lier, have never been a lier. As a kid, we had small punishments for mis-behavior but the only thing that we ever got spanked for was for lying. Honesty was a really big thing in my household. Congrats Mom and Dad, I think it took.

But I think that a lot of the time, people don't even know that they're being dishonest, particularly with themselves. Looking at ourselves honestly is really difficult, maybe because we all want to think that we're special, that we're goddamn snow flakes, but in the end, what we want isn't that different. We want love, security, comfort. We are all individuals but we're also just drops of water in the ocean, all floating around together trying to make sense of things. To understand that we're all human, limited and imperfect is hard to swallow. To know that we're not much better than the next guy really sucks. For the most part, we're all decent human beings, trying the best we can.

And what if the truth hurts us and the people we love? What do we do then? I want to believe that all of our happiness is connected, that by making ourselves happy, we'll make others happy and vice versa. But what if those two thing can't coexist? What do you do then? Do we sacrifice ourselves? Do we dare ask to be happy? They say that the truth sets you free, but it sure can feel like a prison; isolating, instilling fear and putting you on the edge of a cliff.

Beware what you ask for because the truth can be liberating, but it can also be a Pandora's box. All kinds of stuff you didn't know existed just comes flying out and you can't stuff it back in. There's no unscrambling scrambled eggs.

So I find myself pushed out of an airplane, with a parachute that may or may not work. I find myself flying through the air feeling the wind rushing past my face so fast I can't even think. The earth is so far away that I can hardly tell that I'm rushing towards it. I'm just hoping that I remember to pull the string when the time right. Because everyone who's ever jumped out of a plane knows that it's not the falling out of the sky that can hurt you, it's suddenly having to stop and finding your feet on the ground again.

Service with a Smile

2009-11-21T18:33:00.000-08:00

Everyone's a critic. First it was Citysearch, and now it's Yelp. Everyone's got something to say and we all believe that our opinion matters. If you've spent any time reading Yelp reviews, you'll know that they are frequently contradictory. No matter how many stars a restaurant has, there will be someone who hated it, thought it was "over-rated," got a crappy server, crappy food, crappy parking, whatever. Yes, I have heard very convincing arguments about aggregate surveys and how there is probably some truth to the ratings if 500 people thought it was good and only 10 thought it was bad. But does that mean that those 10 people were just wrong about their experience? That they really actually had a good time but just "thought" they had a bad time?

In my years in the restaurant industry, I've come to realize that every dining experience is a meeting of multiple parties. You both bring with you a lot of history and baggage. There are infinite reasons why people eat out. They're on a hot date, a blind date, they're celebrating, they're too tired to cook, the want to be seen, they just want to be removed for their life for a couple of hours, or maybe they just really want some fried chicken. Restaurants, too, have a lot of different inspirations. Some restaurants are open for prestige, for glory, for passion, or for money. There are places that offer a lifeline for its immigrant owners, there is almost always a culture of feeding and nourishing. So given that both parties come into the experience with the most simple of contracts (I want to eat, you want to feed me), what goes right and what goes wrong?

There are always a lot of unspoken and unconscious expectations, on both sides. As a restauranteur, I can say that any good restaurant works really hard to set the stage for a good experience. There's a lot of care in getting the best ingredients, making an appealing menu (that's both challenging and reflective of the chef and appealing to the diner), choosing an appropriate wine list, training servers, educating ourselves on etiquette, thinking about appropriate presentation, etc. A lot of work is being done in preparation for people to come and eat, something that they've done thousands of times, and will probably do again soon- like in the next 12 hours.

This is not to say that it's not the restaurant's fault if you have a bad meal and we've done all this work. The work is only a part of the equation. There's also all the unpredictable things on our side: purveyors who send the wrong ingredients, someone calls in sick, someone has a hang over, someone's dog died, your server had a bad day, is having a fight with their boyfriend, was called in when they were supposed to be going to a concert, etc. We're all generally just trying to do our best (yes, there are just crappy servers and crappy food too). And even if we're operating under the best possible circumstances, things always go wrong. It's why some of us love the industry, nothing is predictable. You're just fighting to make it a good night.

Then there's what the diner brings with them. Their expectations are a huge part of it. They're there for a meal, but often they have a dozen reasons why they are where they are. Maybe the wife just had twins and is going insane. A romantic night out is going to keep from her shaking the baby. There are miserable couples, there are "in love" couples, there are incredibly awkward couples and I haven't even mentioned families (oh god, the holidays are approaching!). All these people have an idea of what they're expecting (or dreading) that's been brewing in them from way before they even thought of the meal or entered the restaurant.

This is how we meet.

It's not difficult to see how regardless of the preparation, of all the good intentions in the world, everyone is not always going to have a good time. I can honestly say that I want everyone who comes into the restaurant to leave happy. But sometimes people don't really want to have a good time, their misery is too much to take and they want to spread it around and they pay you to take it. And yes, sometimes one of us is having a bad day and don't want to oblige you. It's not perfect, but that's the way it is. It's the nonverbal contract. It happens every time you step foot into a restaurant.

For me, I will continue to try my best to make the people who come into the restaurant happy. I will live with the fact that sometimes they think I'm a "cold Asian hostess with a shrill voice." (Thanks, Yelp!) I will try my very best to meet them where they are, despite my inability to control the circumstances that put us both there. I do this because I believe in nourishing people, in knowing my regular's quirks and favorite tables, in feeding people and giving them an experience that has the potential to make their day better than it was before they stepped in the door. I believe in meeting people where they are and hoping that they will do the same.

The Traveler

2009-11-08T19:53:00.001-08:00

Do We Ever Outgrow Highschool?

2009-09-05T00:56:00.000-07:00

Feeling like you don't fit in, worrying about what people think about you, trying to find your niche...these are all feelings that are normally thought of as highschool-age dilemmas. Vivian Paley, a kindergarten teacher at the University of Chicago Laboratory School and prodigious author on children and learning did a study showing that by the age of four, kids already separate themselves into a hierarchy of those who fit in, the ones who are included in games, who have the parties that people want to go to, etc. and those who don't fit in, the ones who can't play hand-ball with the other kids, lie to their parents about not wanting to go to parties, etc. Four.

I'd like to think that we grow out of this juvenile behavior. After all, I've definitely seen "nerd" become Gods in college when they find the right place to be. They go from awkward kids who study a lot to suddenly being the cream of the crop. Girls flock to their superior intellect, think their nerdiness is cute, see a secure future ahead, whatever. But is this just an illusion? Do we ever really grow out of the feeling that we're not quite cool enough, that other people are not-so-silently judging us and deciding that we aren't going to be invited to the party with the jumping castle or a real arcade version of Street Fighter? (Yes, I actually had one at my 16th birthday party.)

And doesn't this just continue on at work? No matter what kind of job you have, from the hippiest non-profit to the most corporate of law firms, it seems to me that hierarchies still exist- it's just the criteria that changes. And I wonder sometimes if even that much changes. There's still the undefinable "coolness" attribute. No matter where you go, there are always the "cool kids."

So what's a girl to do? I've never really wanted to be cool, I am even less interested in that now. But when people consciously or unconsciously develop a sense of exclusivity, it's natural to respond. It's how hierarchy works, they step on top of you in order to let you know that there is a bottom. Do I change my behavior, the way I dress, throw a couple of dinner parties? I don't think so.

So far, the only thing that makes sense to me is to enjoy the view from wherever I am. It's actually liberating to just understand that I am who I'm supposed to be. I'm going to treat people with respect and equanimity. I'm going to be a dork and a nerd.

I think it's the next "in" thing anyway. Just look at the kids on Glee.

What''s Life without Eating?

2009-06-07T23:19:00.000-07:00

My cousin and her boyfriend were recently over for a dinner. She's getting a Ph.D. in Chinese medicine and always entertains us with stories about her program. She told us about a woman in the Bay Area who has such strong chi that she supposedly doesn't eat. She only sucks on one seed a day and drinks one cup of tea. In Autobiography of a Yogi by Paramhansa Yogananda, there's also a story about a woman who learned how to live without eating. Okay, so it sounds totally crazy. And I'm pretty open-minded to crazy.

What did ensue, however, was a lively discussion about what the world would be like if food wasn't necessary. What if we were all able to live from absorbing the energy that surrounds us. What changes would ensue? In the short term? In the long term?

I've been thinking about this and since my world is based on food and eating, and personally, I think that the world would fall apart. So much of our culture (and by "our" I mean most of the world's known cultures) is based on food and eating, the world as we know it would disappear and instead of visions of enlightened beings, I envision dried up, vapid, annoying people without any lust for life.

Not only do we spend an immense amount of time growing and producing food, a good part of our daily lives are spent buying, preparing and storing food. Billions of people are employed in food production. And culturally, food is a way of giving, of loving and often the center of family rituals. Politically, nations rise and fall from their ability to feed their own people, of their ability to sell their goods. What would be the same?

There is an argument to say for free time. Think of how much free time we'd have to do other things if we didn't have to eat. How much less time would we spend on worrying about eating too much, eating things that will eventually kill us, or even eating too little?

Would China be even more aggressive if it wouldn't have to worry about feeling more than a billion people? Would countries that are immobilized by famine actually be able to spend time building infrastructure that would enable them to become m ore active members of geopolitics?

I suppose I'd have a lot more time on my hands since I would be unemployed.

In the end though, all I can think about is how terrible the world would be without pizza, dim sum, fresh baked cookies, or coffee ice cream. I like sharing amazing meals with friends. I like cooking for the people I love. I love to eat the food that the amazingly talented chef boyfriend cooks for me. Personally, if I were choosing a super power, the last one I'd go with would be absorbing energy from the freaking universe so that I wouldn't have to eat.

Breakfast of Champions

2009-04-19T21:36:00.001-07:00

Strawberries from the Farmer's Market and Vanilla Ice Cream.

Yes, I Am Scared of Redheads

2009-03-22T19:28:00.001-07:00

Approximately 2% of the world population has red hair. It's a result of 2 copies of a recessive gene on chromosome 16 resulting in a change in the MC1R protein.

I, apparently, am not the only one who is scared of redheads. There is some evidence that red hair and green eyes were thought to be the sign of a witch, werewolf or vampire in the Middle Ages. In the UK, "gingerphobia" or "gingerism" has been compared to racism and a family there was forced to move twice after continually being harassed for being red headed. There's even anti-red head crime as a 20-year-old red head was stabbed in the back for being a redhead. There's an articlefrom BBC News if you're interested (the English are serious about their red head-hating). While I do have an irrational fear of redheads and have since childhood, I did not know that I was being a bigotted bitch and contributing to such a nefarious cult of redhead haters. There is even an anonymous redhead hater group you can join online. I mean, it's become somewhat of a joke among my friends and while we speculate that I must've been beaten up by a red-headed bully as a kid, I really didn't know where it came from. I have my quirks and I figured that my discomfort around redheads was just one of them.

This is not a baby- it's the devil.

But I suddenly remembered something. As a child growing up in Hong Kong, instead of the boogie man, you were sometimes threatened with the "redheaded, green-eyed" monster. Like, "you better eat your dinner (do your homework, practice your piano, etc.) little Jenny, or the redhead, green-eyed monster is coming to take you away." I'm serious.

My first instinct is to say that it must have come from an anti-colonial sentiment based on the presence of European colonizers in China and Hong Kong. Europeans were frequently referred to as "ghosts" and the history of European colonization in Hong Kong and China is certainly long and blood-stained. But... people in Hong Kong kind of loved their colonizers by the time I was around. In terms of popular image, the late 70's and early 80's was a great time for Europeans in Hong Kong. Hong Kong natives took real pride in their cosmopolitanism, their ability to blend European fashion with Chinese aesthetics. They loved French food and soccer. At every turn there was denigration of mainland China and their misguided communist beliefs. Was this hatred a throwback from earlier times? Was it actually racism of the Irish transferred to the Chinese from their British colonizers?

Nonetheless, I am very uncomfortable around certain redheads. Generally, they're one's who are very fair-skinned, have the bright red hair, freckles and yes, green eyes (I am a terrible person). Luckily, my fear of red heads doesn't actually disrupt my daily life nor do I go out of my way to harass them when we come into contact. I don't cross the street so as not to be close to them (frequently, anyway) and I'm sure that if I got to know a redhead, I would happily claim them as my token redheaded friend.

What I came to understand, however, is that I never realized that just like every other racist, sexist asshole I've heard in interviews who say "It's just not right, having a Black man be the President," or "It's just nature, women take care of babies," I didn't take the time to investigate this fear I had. I didn't think about it or consider that my redhead hating could affect other people, or that my decisions could be based on something as artificial as the color of someone's hair.

I guess what I learned is that fear, instilled at an early age sometimes goes beyond reason. And it's our job, as free-thinking adults, to overcome these fears through rational thinking and tolerance. Discomfort isn't always a bad thing, it's actually a sign of growth. I realized that sometimes, you overcome your fear and realize that witches are people too.

Over Sharing

2008-09-28T22:13:00.000-07:00

A friend of mine writes an intensively personal blog and I'm always amazed at how much he's willing to share over the internet. After all, anyone can read it. It seems so vulnerable to me, the sharing of personal stories and sometimes he writes gut wrenching bits that wow me. You can check it out. His name is j.beaman.

On the subject of "over sharing," J. talks about how the sharing of personal baggage actually makes it liveable. It made me think of certain post-structural theorist who say the same thing. In Excitable Speech, Judith Butler attacks the sticky issue of hate speech and how it's complicated by power (BTW, this is probably her most "readable" work. You don't actually have to have a background in post-structural theory to understand what the f*ck she's talking about). Gayatri Spivak also discusses it a lot in relationship to post-colonialism (I've never read anything by Spivak that was easy, but that's just me). Essentially, they posit that speech does carry with it a lot power, but through use and intelligently dissecting words and language, it's possible to either re-appropriate or to untangle the words from their power source. For example, the term "Black" has been reclaimed by the African American community to reflect their history and even show a connection towards a global identity. In the U.S., it's no longer a pejorative (or politcally incorrect) to use the term "black" when referring to a person of African descent. This is actually one of the foundations of post-structualism, but I digress.

What I really wanted to say was that I think for many of us, this happens naturally. We share stories that hurt us a little with people around us (someone was rude, your boss gave you a hard time, etc.) and it makes us feel a little better. We generally hug bigger secrets to ourselves because it leaves a big gapping hole in our chest to pull it out. We share these things only with the "inner circle" because it seems safer. They are less likely to turn it against us or are more likely to recognize the significance that these stories had in our lives, changing us profoundly. And in sharing, I suppose it actually makes the wound a little more manageable. I believe that talking can be a method of healing.

As I've gotten older, I've definitely gotten better at telling people about how my 16 year old boyfriend beat the crap out of me. I've done my work though, I've written countless journal entries, I've performed about it in theatre classes, I have an undergraduate degree in Women's Studies. But there is nothing like the look on people faces when I tell them about the time he grabbed me by the hair and slammed my face into the armrest between us in his car. And I would be less than honest if I didn't recognize that there's something narcissistic about the shock value. This is where the problem of "over sharing" comes in. You open the door and things aren't always pretty on the other side.

There's a certain amount of deserved attention when personal tragedies come out. But it's complicated, this business of sharing. You don't necessarily want sympathy, because their sympathy (or the need for there to be sympathy) makes it seem like you were pathetic at some point and no one in their right mind really wants to be pathetic. But then again, you were pathetic, that's what makes it a personal tragedy.

The first definition for "pathetic" in the New Oxford Dictionary is: arousing pity, esp. through vulnerability or sadness : she looked so pathetic that I bent down to comfort her."

And then you say things like "Oh no, it's fine, I'm over it." You say that so the tension between you and whoever you're telling is relieved and everyone feels a little better. Because if you're not "over it," then everyone will be awkwardly wondering what's supposed to be said. And I suppose that the sharing generally does feel a little like popping a pimple, a little release of pressure. Of something a little rotten coming out. And the more you do it, the less it hurts. It can be ugly business, this sharing.

Admittedly, it's generally very different for men and women. We come from a culture where sharing between men is faux pas. But even if it's more acceptable for women to share, there's still a sense of weakness that you can't escape. However unreasonable, however much therapy you'd gotten to understand that it was beyond your control, however much your life has gotten past that point, you still feel shitty, man or woman.

It can be a lot to put onto other people.

But I agree with J.. Sometimes you share because you have to; because you hope that one day you can tell the story and it won't bring with it a bunch of contradictory, inappropriate, overly psychoanalyzed, or just plain icky emotions. Or maybe you tell it because it's yours to tell. And sometimes, that feels good too.

Where Are You From?

2008-09-15T22:54:00.001-07:00

Where are you from?

It seems like such a benign question. It's one of those questions you ask during the first uncomfortable minutes of small talk when you're trying to seem friendly but not nosey. "The weather's been [insert adjective] lately, huh?" "How do you know [insert friend/acquaintance/host of event]?" or "What do you do?" (although I think that this last one goes into dangerous territory requiring nuanced delivery as to not seem douchy or like you're trying to figure out how important they are). But "Where are you from?" is a loaded question when you're an Asian American woman. At best, it's some benign middle-aged couple who has an interest in traveling and Oriental art. On the other end of the spectrum, it's some rice chasing frat boy who has visions of school girl outfits. I'm not the first to talk about this phenomenon. Lela Lee came on the scene in 1998 with her short film "angry little asian girl, first day of school" and her blog and comic continue to be popular. Anna from Sepia Mutiny has a great post about her run-in's with other immigrants who "WAYF" her and how she bristles at the question. As for me, I think that having been in the restaurant industry for more than a decade adds a slightly different slant (pun intended) to WAYF situations.

Once, while I was a server at a trendy Pan-Asian restaurant I got the "Where are you from?" followed by "What is your name?"

"Karen."

"No, I mean your real name."

I did a double take. They were somewhere in the middle of the mal-intent spectrum. They were a group of middle-aged white folk, the men were slightly balding, their belts squeezing their middles upwards so that the crater of their belly buttons were slightly visible through their shirts. The women had their traveling clothes on, button down shirts in pastel colors, hair glued into place with aerosol hairspray.

Now, we're in an awkward situation. I could act like a human being and say "Karen" again firmly, but they're going to see how offended and appalled I am, and either be really uncomfortable for the rest of their dinner or decide that I'm rude and tip me nothing. Now, I want to own up to something here. I have another name, a Chinese name. It's on my birth certificate along with Karen. But the insinuation that "Karen" wasn't my real name, to assume that it was some sort of fictitious character made up to allow me to "blend in" with English speakers was appalling. I wasn't shaking my ass on a pole and telling them my name is "Cherry Blossom," why is "Karen" so unbelievable as a name? I couldn't force myself to give them what they wanted.

I'd like to say that I straightened my spine and asked them what the fuck their real names were, how the fuck their Winnebago handled and gave them some tips for getting rid of those extra 60 pounds, but I didn't. I smiled and with my best " I'm not a scary foreigner but just an LA Valley girl" voice and said, "Oh no, it's really just Karen."

I'm not saying that WAYF situations are always malicious or even insulting. They are mostly awkward and confusing, blended throughout with misunderstanding and feet in mouths. There's usually a little ignorance, but no purposeful inflection of pain. However, there is usually an imbalance of power (and I'm not even talking about the incendiary issue of American racial politics). I mean, when your boss, or teacher, or boyfriend's parents WAYF's you, there's power involved. You are limited in your response both by civility and by real consequences. This is true for every single customer that walks into the restaurant where you work. It's just part of the business. Not everyone gets to be satisfied with the interaction. There won't be any learning of racial sensitivity.

I've been asked "Where are you from?" dozens of times. You'd think that I'd be used to it, that I wouldn't bristle with resentment and drip indignation. Sometimes, I feel like I have grown kinder and more understanding. I even answered with sincerity when a man accosted me in Rainbow Grocery yesterday asking for advice on stir-frying. But there's this movie I play in my head, of my small fist connecting with sculpted jaw, of lips bouncing and jerking across teeth as spit flies out of mouth. I'm smiling and there is applause. I play this scene in my head whenever I remember the Marina scum frat boy who actually touched my face and asked "Where do I get a hot Asian babe like you?"

Good Eye, Klo, Good Eye

2008-09-14T17:33:00.000-07:00

I manage a restaurant. And there was this line cook, who worked briefly with us, who said very solemnly to me once, "Good eye, Klo, good eye."

We had, by this point, figured out that he was a compulsive liar, knew very little about cooking (he'd asked one of the day cooks for a scallion cutting seminar), and made for staff meal, awful and sometimes inedible salads (think tablespoons of ground cinnamon dumped into delicate, fresh lettuce leaves). On this particular day, he was mangling molten chocolate cakes as he was cutting them out of the ramekins and while some were passable, some were not. The one I was looking at appeared as though it had not only been massacred with buckshot but a small land mine had also gone off to maim its face, leaving it sad, bleeding and asking for change in front of the O'Farrell Street Garage.

"I can't serve this cake," I said.
"Oh, what's wrong with it?"
"Look at it."

He looks at it, and he looks at me. And I'm starring at him, hoping that I won't have to actually explain that when people pay $8.00 for a dessert, they actually want it to not only taste good, but also look nice. There's an uncomfortable pause. Then, for a moment, I think he may actually be embarrassed that he put it in the window in the first place. I'm looking at him beseechingly, hoping that a glimmer of understanding will pass between us. Instead, he looks at me like I'm a genius and says, "Good Eye, Klo, Good Eye," and took it away to be replated.

Of course, this has been a continuing joke in the restaurant since he left (and really even while he was around). I've been told by a surprising number of people that I have a "good eye" both in jest and in earnest and I never know how to take it. Because it can mean a couple of different things. It can mean "You are very observant, pay attention to detail and diligent at your job." Or it can mean "You are a micro-managing, obsessive-compulsive psycho who should think about something other than what angle this fork is facing." I suppose both are true sometimes and I'm learning to live with that.

On some level, I actually do think that I have a good eye; not for things like interior design, which I am hopelessly bad at, or arranging flowers, which I really feel that I should be good at, but am not (I actually make the supermarket flowers look even worse than when they lived in plastic wrapping). What I realize is that my ridiculously long stint in higher education and my prim, proper and overly organized Chinese mother has given me tools to look around me and notice things. Now whether or not these things are interesting to anyone other than me is definitely questionable. I guess we'll see.