A Chicana in England: Thoughts on Transgressions

I wrote this piece years back, while living in London, after reading a prompt on personal stories of transgression. I wrote it, but never did anything with it.  While trying to reorganize all my computer files, I found it and decided I was ready to share it. So here it goes:

First off, the word ‘Chicana’ is one I absolutely despised. I hated how it sounded, I hated saying it and most importantly I would never dream of using it to describe myself. By definition, a Chicana is exactly what I am. I have Mexican parents but born in the United States. I was born and raised in California, the place that is, and will always be, my home.  Because of my strong feelings against the word Chicana, I always identified as simply ‘Mexican American’. It was a title that I felt fit just fine. I was a bit of both. Mexican culture has always been prevalent not only at home but also around the communities I’ve found myself in. It was always quite easy to be Mexican American. The cousins I grew up with were in the same situation; there were always plenty of students in my classes that used hyphenated identities to identify themselves. I was just another kid in California who lived in a mixture of cultures.

When I began university, being Mexican American was suddenly not fitting anymore. My university was only 45 minutes away from home (where in California that is no distance at all) and only 15 minutes away from San Francisco. The university felt like a bubble in the middle of, what I always thought was, all the glorious California diversity. I often found myself being the only Mexican American in my classes. In fact, I was often the only person of color. Where had everyone gone? All the kids I grew up with? And where did all these people come from? What had I done differently to get me there?  I couldn’t identify with my classmates in the most basic ways. Being Mexican American wasn’t fitting anymore. The phrase, Mexican American, to me anyway, implies that you are both Mexican and American. That you can almost go between being one and the other. Like you can switch off your Mexican-ness when you’re in school in order to fit in with all the Americans. Unfortunately, it doesn’t work that way.

After taking classes in education and ethnic studies, I realized that I wasn’t alone. There isn’t an appropriate representation of people like me at the university but there are some of us out there.  It was nice to know that there was a community of students who shared similar upbringings and were dealing with similar shocks about the lack of representation of our people in higher education. It was then that I realized how fitting the term ‘Chicano/a’ was. Being Mexican American was not suitable because it’s not about dual identities, but rather one very specific one. What people like me do is live in a constant straddle between our Mexican upbringings, away from Mexico, and American society and culture. Chicana is just the right word for the in-between identity that I am constantly faced with. With this realization came the acceptance of the word as one to be described and identify with. I am part of a very distinct community and I should embrace it.

Chicana is a fitting term for me in the US, but how suitable is it in the UK? The word Chicana is the way in which we have carved out our identities in American society. In the UK, Chicana would not have the same effect. When I first moved to the UK I struggled with how I would identify myself when asked where I was from. It sounds simple, I came from California, which is in the United States, and thus I was American, right? Having been born and raised in California I would most definitely identify as a Californian. However, I have had people asked me where I came from before that. It is so interesting that even though California is where I’ve spent all my life I’m still not good enough to be just American. I suppose it’s obvious from my complexion that I am not white and thus have had to come from somewhere other than Europe. I can’t seem to manage to just be me. I have to be tied to a location and my ancestry. I am sure there are many more Chicanas living in London, but I have yet to meet any. Once again, I am the only one of my people in sight.

Statistically, I guess you could say I am not your typical Chicana. By Mexican standards I should already be ‘settled down’, married and maybe have children. Yet, somehow I managed to go to universit. I have also managed to get myself half way across the world to further my education even more. I have also been lucky enough to have parents who haven’t tried to stop me from pursuing my goals. It’s funny how my parents migrated to the United States and gave us all these opportunities and now I am a migrant myself. I don’t know if I want to stay in the UK after graduating, and the scary, yet beautiful, part is that I don’t feel like I have to know. Identifying as a Chicana doesn’t mean I have to be a stereotypical Chicana. I am a Chicana living in London and I can possibly create a new identity label for myself.

I have never truly been Mexican nor American. I am a blend of two countries and cultures, a Chicana. Coming to the UK I have brought this blend with me and now I have to adapt to this third British culture that surrounds me. My entire life has been a transgression; from the migration of my parents, the developing of my identity to the pursuit of being highly educated. Where I am now is the biggest transgression. A Chicana living in London. I have put myself in a third realm of culture and identities.

I’ll end with saying that it is with these small transgressions from individuals like myself that big changes begin to happen. Identities begin to blur, labels start to be redefined and horizons begin to expand. My coming to terms with my Chicana identity is perhaps not the most helpful in the UK; however, it is easier to identify myself knowing what I am. I am American born and raised from Mexican parents currently living in London and this is how I transgress.

To Be Grateful

During a time when I am feeling, not my best, I like to try and think about all the good things in life. Given it is American Thanksgiving Day, I have spent quite a bit of time the last few weeks reflecting on this past year and focusing on all the wonderful things I have to be grateful for.

As it happens, a lot has happened and changed over the past year. Painful things, exciting things, different things, experiences that are neither good nor bad but yet are experiences that help shape who we are. Today I will focus on the positives from the past 12 months.  Although I will be focusing on the positive, I am also grateful for the negative. The negative experiences have been lessons learned and moments of growth.

Last November and December where quite difficult. It took some grieving, reflecting and lots of action to get me to push forward and really go for the things I wanted for myself. I was living with my parents, which was amazing but I was ready to try and live my life separate from them. I also had a job that I was really grateful for but was pretty much done with. With the help from a new year and the promise of a fresh start, I focused time and energy setting up what I felt where realistic goals for 2017 and really going for it early January. Goals:

-New job

-Move out

-Travel: specifically out of the country

-Do more outdoorsy stuff

I spent most of January applying to jobs and interviewing. Finally, I started a new job mid-February. Having a new job allowed me to finally move out in May and begin traveling in July. I fell into an organization that does a lot of outdoor education for youth, giving me the opportunity to do more outdoorsy stuff as part of my job! Long story short: 12 months later, I’ve checked off all my goals and I am so incredibly grateful for that.

I know life isn’t about checking off things on a checklist. By spending the last 12 months focusing on myself, my wants and needs, I’ve not only been able to check all those things off my list, but I’ve also gained so much. I’ve made so many new friendships, made my relationship with my family stronger, found a community of youth workers that are just as passionate about youth work as I am, travelled and got to experience new cities and cultures, I’ve learned to grocery shop (kinda, still in progress!), I’ve grown as a youth worker and have learned so much about outdoor education, I went white water rafting for the first time, I’ve camped and went without showering for more than 3 days (yucky! :P), the list goes on and on and on… I am immensely grateful for all these experiences but I am more grateful to those who helped make that happen. To my family, especially my parents, who are always nothing but supportive in anything and everything I decide to embark on. To the leadership team at my job who believed in me and that I would be a good addition to the organization. To my friends who are there for me when I need them, who have kept in touch despite living in different countries, for hosting me in Mexico City when I finally found the time to visit and for being someone I can cry and laugh with. To my coworkers who have not only been supportive and helpful when I’ve had no idea what I am doing, to becoming people I can call friends and connect on a personal level. To my new roommates who have made my moving out experience nothing but pleasant and have also become people I can turn to and trust. To my sisters who are a strong support system and even though they often times don’t respond to text messages, I know they they are listening. To everyone else who has crossed my path this past year, for better or for worse, and who I can’t think of right now because my jumbled brain is filled with so much gratitude. From the bottom of my heart: thank you.

A wonderful new friend recently told me that I have to give myself more credit for what I have accomplished this past year. In the spirit of this recent discovery, I am taking a little space in this post to show gratitude to myself. For getting my shit together despite heartbreak, setbacks and a million other obstacles that often get in the way of life. This year has been emotionally difficult but it provided the space to reflect, learn and continue being a better and stronger person than I was 12 months ago.

I hope 12 months from now I am still writing about all the things I have to be grateful for, even if it happens to be a difficult year.

 

The Day My Brother Was Born

It was a rainy, spring morning when I was awoken by my dad telling me he was taking my mom to the hospital. It was time. The long awaited arrival of the newest addition to our family.

I had just turned 15 years old two days prior, which meant I was to be 15 years older than my new little brother. I have two younger sisters, about 2 years apart from each other. This little boy was going to be 10 years apart from my youngest sister, and the first boy in our family. Needless to say, it had been 9 months of excitement and anticipation to have a baby boy in the house.

After getting up, I vividly remember my mom struggling to walk down the stairs. She was sweaty and visibly in pain but she said nothing. I helped her down as my dad grabbed the hospital bag they had prepared days before.

My dad helped her to the truck (a Chevy Silverado) and instructed us to go ask our neighbor to take us to school. They were to drive to the hospital, so he said he would call us later with updates. My sisters and I tried to continue our morning routine as normal as possible. Minutes later, however, my dad ran through the door asking for the phone. Call 911! Call 911! Mom wasn’t going to make it to the hospital 20 miles away at 7 am, a.k.a. prime traffic time. Being the oldest, I was called over to help.  OK, it’s panic time. I went to my mom, who was still sitting up in the truck. She said the baby was coming, but I didn’t know exactly what she meant or what to do. Somehow, amongst the commotion of it all, I end up with the phone, talking to the 911 operator who is instructing me on how to help deliver the baby. “How exciting!” she says, “to be part of your brother’s birth”. I vividly remember thinking to myself, “it really isn’t, it’s scary and I don’t know what to do”. The lady sounded way too calm and cheery, which I guess is how they are supposed to be, but I was scared and panicky and I found it annoying.

My dad was equally, if not more in panic mode, than I was. He was running around like a chicken with its head cut off. He helped my mom pull her pants down to check how far along she really was. There was no doubt, the baby was rapidly on its way! He tried to recline the seat to help her be more comfortable but failed. There was no time. Later we found out that the hospital bag was placed directly behind mom’s seat, preventing the seat from reclining. Before we knew it, the baby was out! The baby was born into dirty towels my parents had laying around the truck. Where the hell was the ambulance?! It felt like an eternity. Little Jorge was in my mom’s arms and he wasn’t crying. Aren’t they supposed to cry? Was he ok? Is there something we needed to do? With eyes wide open, he finally let out a tiny cry. I was still on the phone with the 911 lady and I am being told that we need to cut the umbilical cord. Oh god. I thought it was over. I am told to grab shoe laces. The umbilical cord needs to be tied THEN cut. As I was sitting in the garage desperately taking a shoelace off one of my shoes, I heard the ambulance turning the corner. I didn’t have to worry, the paramedics would take care of it and the operator hung up. I can go back to being a spectator and an excited older sister.

As soon as the paramedics arrived, they quickly and expertly cut the umbilical and checked the baby. Then, my mom and new baby brother were carried over to the ambulance and taken to the nearest hospital. I can’t remember what happened next. I don’t think we ever made it to school that day. At just 15 years old, it had been one of the worst, best experiences of my life. It was terrifying but when it was all over, it didn’t feel so bad. Although, honestly, I wouldn’t want to go through it again. 😛

My dad’s signature is on my brother’s birth certificate in the place of a doctor’s signature, so that’s pretty cool. Along with a new member of the family, that rainy spring morning also brought quite the experience and a story to tell. My mom claims she didn’t realize she was that far along until she got in the car to head to the hospital. ‘It all happened so fast’, she says. I am just thankful that it was a relatively easy birth with no complications. This made it possible for a panic ridden husband and 15 year old daughter to be the only ones present at the birth of this child. Nearly 12 years later, that child is a healthy boy that we all love dearly and sometimes make fun of for being being on the street. He loves it 🙂

Our first baby brother 🙂 

It’s not you Thailand, it’s me: Feelings of inadequacy

Just the other day I was face timing with my sister and I mentioned that I felt inadequate, I don’t remember what I was referring to but she laughed and said that that was my favourite word. Earlier this year my sister and I did a bit of traveling around Europe and I seemed to refer to myself as ‘inadequate’ in many situations. Feeling inadequate has indeed been a re-occuring theme this past year and, just like the adventures, it seems to not let go.  In my previous post I mentioned that, thus far, living in Thailand has been hard. This is an expansion on that note. This post is a combination of facts about living in Thailand in addition to personal information that has made this transition particularly difficult. Mind you, it is quite long so continue reading at your own risk!

Living in Thailand has been hard for the obvious reasons. First off, the language. I came here speaking NO Thai. Seriously, like I didn’t even know how to say ‘hello’ or ‘thank you’. The decision to move here was so sudden I didn’t prepare at all. Right off the bat, I was feeling completely inadequate for Thailand. Not understanding the language is a hinderance to pretty much everything. And the fact that in the Thai language they don’t use roman letters makes everything all that much more difficult. I can’t even pretend to know what I’m reading or try and pronounce things. That means that searching for food is an everyday struggle. There are many little shops and restaurants around my condo where, in theory, I should easily be able to get food from. However, a huge language barrier exists. Getting around? I have managed to get myself from my condo to the mall and back, which is straight on the main road. I have no idea how to go anywhere else or what I would even find if I stray from the main road. Chonburi is a huge city and quite overwhelming. I won’t compare Chonburi to London because that would be unfair, however, the overwhelming feeling is similar.

Living in Thailand has also been very difficult for a few other, more personal, reasons. As mentioned in my previous post, I had been back home in California for a total of about 4 weeks before I took the job here in Thailand. I thought I wasn’t ready to go back to California, but being here now without my friends and family and essentially starting over again has been rough. My decision to come to Thailand came from a place of longing adventure and new experiences in a new place. I wasn’t nearly as afraid to leave again as I first was when I moved to London. I’m moving to Thailand for 4 months? Piece of cake, I lived in London for 12…As I made my decision I immediately regretted it, something just didn’t feel right. I suppressed that feeling as hard as I could because there was no turning back. I had agreed to the job and my flight was booked. I tried to pump my self up for the big move. There was still a feeling of uneasiness as the day of my departure approached. One day, my dad joked at the fact that it was ironic that I was moving halfway across the world to teach English when my own mother doesn’t even speak it. This hit me hard. That had never even crossed my mind…I laughed and tried not to think about it, after all, there was no turning back. My flight was scheduled to leave Tuesday at about 1am, which meant I was due to be at the airport Monday night. Monday morning I am awoken by my sister who is on the phone with my dad who is giving her the news that mom had an accident at work. My first thought was something between ‘is she alright?’ and ‘what the hell happened?’. My second thought was, ‘am I still going to Thailand?’. Turns out my mom caught her finger in a machine and her finger pretty much got destroyed. The accident was not life threatening and she was going to be OK. She was at the hospital all day so I only got to see my mom for a couple of hours before I left for the airport. It broke my heart to have to leave her in that state. It might not seem like a big deal given that it was not a major accident. But again this fact came to mind, the irony that my mother doesn’t speak that language that I am flying half way across the world to teach. It just didn’t seem right. The whole thing felt like a joke. It was stupid for me to take this job. Once again, feelings of inadequacy overcame me the more I dwelled on the thought of being here instead of with my mom.

I took this mentality with me across the pacific and into Thailand. The first week felt like one of the longest and most miserable weeks ever. All I could think about was my mom and how stupid it was that she was sitting at home, all alone while I was here, teaching kids the language I should be teaching my own mother. To make matters worse, I was completely alone. I knew no one and didn’t speak the language. I couldn’t understand anything and everything felt wrong, everything sucked! I really psyched myself out. I even considered leaving. Screw the money I already spent on airfare, rent, etc. I just wanted to be home. BUT, I have never been a quitter and I wasn’t going to start now. After all, it was only going to be 4 months. To say that I’ve started feeling better would be an overstatement, but guess I am getting used to living in Thailand and I am mentally preparing myself for the next few months that lay ahead. All I have to do is change the way I view my time here. Yes, it was pretty ridiculous that I was here and not there. Yes it is hard to get around, communicate and even find food. But I’m here, in freaking THAILAND. It isn’t Thailand’s fault I was miserable. I was making myself miserable. Thailand is, in fact, welcoming–because it is true, it is the land of smiles! I should take advantage of this and enjoy it for what it is.  I hate to admit that the thought of leaving still crosses my mind every single day.  I’ve been here for just over a month now and I don’t feel 100%, and I probably never will, but I do work on my mentality every single day. I only have 3 months left and at the end of the term one of my best friends is coming over travel around the country with me, this means I have something to look forward to! Truthfully, 3 months seem like an eternity but I’ve made it this far and I will survive! I think its about time to stop being a hermit and be more outgoing and socialise. It’s always better when you have friends around to share good times 🙂

I hope to finally starting writing about my everyday life in Chonburi as well as my life as an English teacher. Also, if you read through this entire post, thank you! Writing keeps me sane ❤

The Burden of the Adventuresome

So this was supposed to be the last post from the US because I finished it literally as I was waiting to board the plane but of course, technology failed me so I didn’t get to post it. However, everything is still relevant and true so now this is my first post from the UK. I have loads of ideas for up coming posts and tons of photos from the week that I’ve been here and I can’t wait to share =)

As I sit here tearing up before my departure I find myself feeling sad and having a rush of really happy memories with really great people who I am going to miss so terribly much. And I ask myself, why am I sad? Out of all things I think I should be feeling scared, anxious, excited. But nope. The overwhelming feeling is just sadness. So then I think some more, why sadness? In 2006 when I went to France with some classmates and my dad for a week, I felt sad. In 2011 when I was going to the Netherlands, and other places, for six weeks I also felt sad when leaving. Both times were incredible so one would think that given my past experiences I should be more excited than anything. I realize that the thing is that I start remembering all the good times I’ve had at home with close friends and family. I begin doubting why I’d even go away when I’m happy here. Or I wish I could take all those that mean so much to me so that I can share the experiences I’ll have with them. I know that they know it’s not abandonment. It’s of great comfort to know that I have a strong support system who are encouraging and loving. Which brings me to the title of this post, the burden of the adventuresome. I try to be adventurous and do things out of my comfort zone but I can’t always have those people whom I love and cherish with me. So this adventure that I am about to embark on is for everyone. All of you whom I wish were right beside me. Know that I will always be thinking of you and that I can’t wait to share my happy times, silly times, horrible times and all that’s in between! Cuz England here I come!

From CA to BC

Back with small adventures and travels! Again, I’ve been slacking on posting about small outings and adventures I’ve been on. Though for just a few days, I wouldn’t say that my most recent trip was small =) Every year my family and I like to travel together. For many years that consisted of going to Mexico, mostly to visit family, or trips to Los Angeles. Now that my sisters and I have gotten older, and able to travel on our own, we have been able to travel to other places. Two years ago I was in Europe for 6 weeks (why I began this blog! Check it out =D) and just last year my sister and I went to Orlando, Florida (which is also featured in this blog). This year, however, we took a completely different route. Up north we went! My dad had visited Vancouver, British Columbia a few years back and he always said he would take us as a family. My initial reaction was, OK…but what’s out there? Then, the travel fanatic in me said, hell yes!!! A country I’ve never been to and a family road trip, it sounded pretty amazing.

We decided to go on the trip for the long 4th of July weekend (yes I know, spending Independence Day in Canada…how very unAmerican of us). Anyhow, the entire family (all 6 of us, 5 of which are adults) embarked on the 17 hour drive from California’s Bay Area up to Vancouver, British Columbia. I must say, the ride, though long, was quite enjoyable. We played games, watched Harry Potter movies, slept and ate–but mostly slept. When we finally crossed the border, we went straight to the University of British Columbia’s Museum of Anthropology (no hotel, no food, no nothing). Having studied anthropololgy as an undergrad (and hopefully in grad school!), I just couldn’t pass up the opportunity of visiting the museum. I LOVE visiting museums, but I was a little hesitant going as a family. I didn’t feel like my mom would appreciate it and my little brother, who is 8, would probably not fully appreicate it either. Especially since it becomes quite pricey when there are so many of us. Obviously we went anyway and let me just say that it was well worth it. I think it is safe to say that the entire family really enojoyed it and we all learned so much about BC’s First Nations. It was definetely the perfect first stop to set off the trip. After the museum we went out to dinner and then briefly to Kitsilano Beach where there where lots of people out and enjoying the beautiful weather. Our last stop of the day was downtown. We walked around for a bit to get a feel for the city but not long after, we all decided it was time to go to the hotel.

The next day we got up early because we had a long day (that I planned :)) ahead of us. Out first stop was breakfast. We stopped at a place called Paul’s Omlettery and it was delicious! Oh, and the staff was so friendly. You know that stereotype that Canadians are friendly? Well not sure if we just got lucky but seriously, all the locals we met were beyond nice. Anyhow, after breakfast we went off to take highway 99 which I beleive is called the Sea to Sky Highway. I had read so much about the beautiful views that since we were already in BC we might as well make the drive. We drove north for over an hour and finally we stopped at Shannon Falls. The drive up (and of course back down) was very beautiful. Water views on one side and luscious green mountains on the other. Shannon Falls was also very beautiful, and I just love the sound of the water as it hits the rock, pure nature. After a small hike, and tons of photos, we continued a bit more north to Squamish. After a quick stop at a grocery store we made the trip back south toward Vancouver. We stopped at Stanley Park because, well, Tripadvisor has it as the #1 thing to see/do in Vancouver =P But also, because I was interested in the Totem Poles they have at the park. Stanley Park is not your average park, its quite big and we just happened to park nearly on the opposite side of the park from where the Totem Poles are located. My dad paid for two hours of parking so we had two hours to find the totem poles and walk back. After gettiing lost, and possibly walking on a bike lane, we finally found them! In retrospect I am really glad we parked so far away. This gave us the chance not only to get in some much needed excercise, but to explore a lot more of the park and walk the seawall which offered wonderful views. We would have not done all that if we had parked close to the totem poles. After all that, we were starved! But as always when I am out traveling, stopping to eat seems like a waste of time. We had all agreed we wanted Indian food. Only my sister and I had ever tried it, and though I think every one was a little skeptical at first at the end of the meal everyone agreed that it was a great choice! So after Stanley Park we headed to Gastown (where we found our Indian food dinner destination). Gastown is such a cute little neighborhood that I wish we could have stayed there for longer. There was so much we wanted to do and see that unfortunately 2 days (well, more like a day and 3/4) was not enough time. We ended up just driving though Chinatown because it was getting late.

After writing all of what we did it doesn’t seem like we did a lot, though at the time it certainly felt like a lot. I guess it’s not about the quantity, but rather the quality. I didn’t want to rush through things just to get to see more. I’d rather get a thorough enough experience of a few things than, excuse my language, half-ass a whole bunch of things. I think all in all it was a good trip, a short one but good. Is it just me or do Americans know nothing about Canada? I certainly learned a lot from the trip, mostly about British Columbia’s First Nations. I found it quite interesting to hear the words “First Nations”, it took me a second to realize that its the equivalent of our ‘Native Americans’. Also, at first I found it a good thing that the Museum of Anthropolgy was mostly devoted to displaying ‘First Nations’ artifacts. But as the trip progressed I realized that in every souvenir shop we went, there were tons of ‘First Nations’ souvenirs. So I started wondering, are these White Canadians simply banking on these people’s history and culture by selling it out to tourists? At what point does it become OK for someone to market themselves using another group’s culture? I suppose it is not my place to say what is wrong and what is right since I am simply and outsider. I am glad that First Nation groups have allowed their culture and history to be displayed in museums and parks because it really is a learning experience and–at least in my case–it helped me learn to appreciate all that they have accomplished. One last thing about our Canada trip: the weather was perfection! Not too hot, not too cold and just enough sun to make a perfect day =)

On our drive back down the west coast, we also stopped by Seattle. We literally pass by the city so might as well take advantage of the fact and explore it! I won’t go through our day in Seattle, WA but below are some photos from the day’s highlights.

 

For more photos check out my Facebook at facebook.com/rosaabigail =)

Selfish

After so many drafts to this post, I think this is as good as its going to get and its short and sweet! Here it is, a little push to let ourselves be a little selfish sometimes 🙂

Someone once told me that they felt like they were holding me back from doing things I’d said I wanted to do. I felt like this person did not know me. To assume that I was so weak as to let someone prevent me from pursuing my goals was nothing short of insulting. Though I wouldn’t go as far as agreeing that they were preventing me from pursuing my goals, their personal lack of goals, passions and motivation were indeed weighing me down. I think I have enough ambition and determination to do what I have to do to achieve my academic goals. However, when people who are supposed to be important in your life neither encourage nor support you in any goals you may have or endeavors you’ve taken on, it definitely weighs down on your ambitions.
I love a line from a Florence and The Machine that reads: “it’s hard to dance with the devil on your back, so shake him off”. We should be able to dance our way around life with the help and support from those who are supposed to be our family and friends, but sometimes these people are the devils on our back. What I’m trying to say is that it’s ok to be a little selfish sometimes. It’s not that we should expect a lot from people, but giving encouragement and support shouldn’t have to be a burden to those who supposedly love us. Sometimes the people who weigh us down end up leaving on their own. But sometimes we need to distance ourselves from such negativity.
If someone ever says that they feel like they are preventing you from pursuing goals, shake them off. You should have people saying that they encourage and support you in anything you decide to do. You should never settle for something (or someone) who is giving you less than you know you can achieve.
Lets not mourn the people who left our lives but celebrate those that are around to cheer us on!

P.S. Lets not forget to reciprocate to those whom we love as well. Lets encourage and support their goals and ambitions. Lets be the cheerleaders of their lives not the devils on their backs.

Golden Bridge, Golden People

I wish I could say that I’ve been incredibly busy, but really I’ve just been slacking when getting this post done. I’ve been meaning to write about exploring my favorite city in the world but it’s easy to take fore granted since its so close to where I live now. A few weeks ago my sister and I decided to walk the Golden Gate Bridge. Both of us born in San Francisco and lived in the Bay Area our entire lives, and we had never done it so it was definitely time. This is the story of our trip…

We began by taking the BART down to San Francisco and then taking the bus to the Golden Gate. It was our first time taking the bus alone in the city but we were up for the adventure, and an adventure it was! After a few minutes after getting on a bus, thinking we were on the wrong bus, we get off only to realize we were lost in the middle of the Tenderloin neighborhood! Not the place you’d want to get lost in…After some quick map searching we realize that we were indeed on the right bus so our detour was unnecessary. Anyhow, we get on the next bus and finally make it to the historic Golden Gate Bridge. Being a Bay Area native of course I’d crossed the bridge, but never like this. My sister and I decided to do all the touristy stuff; taking a million photos, checking out the info pieces and finally walking the bridge at a pace where we could enjoy the scenery and the Bay Area weather. It was surprisingly warm and not too windy. The walk was amazing. Not only the views and weather, but having an outdoors walk with my sister and just talking. I can’t even remember what we talked about, but I do remember thinking that there was no other place I’d rather be.

When we reached the other side, we decided to sit at the viewing area for a while. Looking out towards San Francisco from Marin county was breathtaking. It reminded me of how much I love my birth place. All the worries and stress from life seemed to fade away as I sat there with my best friend, overlooking San Francisco and sipping tea. On our way back, we did more of the same. Enjoying the views, taking photos but more importantly engaging in much needed conversations. Both of us stressed about what our future has in store for us (and everything else that worries 20 something year olds I suppose). Though we were out to try and get away from ‘real life’ for a few hours, it was really nice to talk about our worries while being away from our daily routines. It wasn’t about escaping ourselves, but rather taking everything we were going through and dealing with them in a healthy way. In our case, walking the Golden Gate. I didn’t want to run away from everything I had going on in my life because I knew I’d end up feeling worse when I got back to ‘real life’. I wanted to take everything I had going on and reevaluate it in a different perspective. And talking to my sister always makes me feel better. In that sense, I think our trip was very successful.
On our way back we had planned to go to Fisherman’s Wharf. We had made reservations to eat at Boudin Bakery because we had never tried their sourdough bread, and of course we were hungry. So at the Golden Gate Bridge we waited for the bus and get on the first one that comes by. Apparently we took the wrong one and once again, we are lost. Thankfully, however, not at the Tenderloin. We get off the bus and turn around to take the right one. After three cancelled reservations, we finally make it to Boudin. Starving, we
order two bread bowls and a pizza for the both of us. Either the food was delicious or we were that hungry, but everything ended up in our bellies. Extremely satisfied (and stuffed!) we walk past Ghirardelli Square to see the sunset behind the Golden Gate. We had just missed it but even what we got to see was beautiful. After that, we walk to Ghirardelli Square. We sat  a bench for a while and enjoyed the live music that was playing. By this point it’s dark so we decide its time to make the walk back to the Embarcadero BART station.

Exploring my birth place is always an incredible experience. And there’s soo much I’ve yet to see. I think I’ve seen more of Europe than I’ve seen of California, its definitely time to fix that! Having such an amazing city so close to where I live is a privilege that I need to take more advantage of. Now that I am working in the city of South San Francisco, I try and stop by the city to enjoy the city night life. Hanging out with family, old friends and new friends I’ve made along the way. I’ve very recently experienced parts of the city I’d never explored before, from seeing the skyline from the Embarcadero to spending a wonderful Friday evening at Dolores Park and, again, enjoying the city skyline but this time from a different part of the city. Not only are the locations and views important, but perhaps more important are the people you share the experiences with. I am lucky that I have a sister who is willing to go on explorations with me, but I’ve also been extremely lucky to have met people who take me to explore new places with them.

Things My Parents Taught Me

Twenty four years ago, February 18th my parents married. Twenty four years and four children later, they are still together. I wanted to dedicate this post to them. To congratulate them for committing to each other for this long and standing each other through the roller coaster that is life.

I’m not going to sit here and say that they are the best parents in the world and all the other crap people usually say on these things. No parent is perfect but they have always loved their children and I know that they have tried their best when raising us (and I think we all turned out all right =P) However, they have been great role models for strong, dependable people.

When they got married, my mom left her family and everything she had to start a new life in the United States. This has taught me not only strength, but love and commitment. It’s not easy to get up and leave to begin a life with a man whom you’ve only known for months. It has also made me realize that I’d want to be strong and committed the way that my mom was–if I ever get married and they’d want (or had) to move away. And of course, I’d want my husband to do the same for me.

My parents are really quite an interesting couple. They are really different, not only in personalities but also in ways of thinking. With this, they have taught me that you don’t have to have a perfect relationship to make things work. There have been disagreements and arguments, but someone always steps up to be the bigger person to make things better. They have taught me never to give up not only on each other but on promises. Twenty four years and they are still committed to each other.

Apart from what I’ve learned from them as a couple, I’ve learned a lot from each of them individually. Both of them are incredibly kind human beings and that is something I truly look up to. My mom has taught me how to speak my mind with out being insensitive, while my dad has taught me that sometimes silence is more powerful than words. My dad has taught me that I shouldn’t be afraid to take chances, while my mom has taught me to be responsible when making decisions. They have both taught me to work hard and always try my best in everything that I do. To do what makes me happy and follow and commit to what I believe in. They’ve taught me to be strong when times get tough and my mom has given me my faith, which guides everything I do.

These are just some of the things they’ve taught me. Of course, I’ve also learned from their mistakes and not so great qualities. But I wanted to focus on some of the positives and really take in the wonderful side of their relationship and individual personalities. They are not perfect parents, perfect individuals nor are they a perfect role model for a relationship, but they have given me and my siblings a lot. Flaws and all I love and will always love them. I want to thank them for truly being the best they can be and for always trying to be better parents and people, which is all I can ask for.

Congratulations on their anniversary and I wish them many more years! ❤

About Love

Given that valentines day is right around the corner, I felt it prudent to write a post about love 🙂 Originally I thought about writing a bit about the actual holiday but what the heck, in my 22 years of life I’ve never had anyone special for that special day. So what can I say about valentines day with out sounding bitter? =P This post is about love in all forms, romantic, platonic, the love of a mother, father, sister, brother…

Not too long ago, I was sitting in my room (probably working on a puzzle but I suppose that’s irrelevant) when I heard my mom screaming at my 7 year old brother for something really insignificant. My mom was yelling at him for not being dressed and ready for bed and it was past his bed time. My mom wakes up super early so she was irritated that he wasn’t ready for bed so naturally she began screaming and giving him a lecture. And naturally the poor kid begins to cry. The most interesting fact is not that my mother made him cry for no big reason, but rather that a few minutes later my brother was happily hugging and showing mom love. It’s interesting that no matter how tough my mom is, my brother is still going to love her. No matter how many times she may make him cry, he’s still going to go up to her to hug her and tell her that he loves her.

Perhaps this isn’t the best example of what I’m trying to convey, because my mom isn’t a bad person and she doesn’t mean to hurt my little brother emotionally. Parents are supposed to be strict and tough aren’t they? And most of the time kids cry when all the parents want is to discipline. However, what I’m trying to say is that sometimes we go overboard. In this case, parents know that no matter what, the kid is still going to love them when the episode is over. Essentially taking advantage of the fact that their love is unconditional.

This is also true of the love not only between mother (or father) and child. To throw in another example, I’ve noticed that people feel like they can say anything hurtful to parents and siblings because at the end of the day they are still going to love them. They,we, are not afraid of hurting them because they will love us no matter what. We don’t have to impress them anymore because we already have their unconditional love. If you think back to when you have a crush, we try so hard not to get into arguments of any kind because you are not trying to push them away. But when you’ve been in a relationship where you know your significant other will love you no matter what, it’s easier to fight. It’s easier to say and do hurtful things. Do you see how irrational this is?

I always say that it’s not that those you love hurt you the most, but rather that it hurts the most because its from someone you love. As irrational as our doings are, it weirdly makes sense. We allow ourselves to take out anger and frustration with those whom we think will always stick around even if we push them away with our words and/or actions.

I suppose it’s part of human nature. But, how we are treating those whom we love and love us back is what I’m trying to get all of us thinking about. Are we mistreating them because we know they’ll always be there? Or are we nurturing the love and being good mothers, fathers, sisters, brothers, friends and lovers? We have to recognize that even if someone loves unconditionally, if we treat them like crap, they might not always be there. People can walk away from our lives still loving us. There’s only so much people can and are willing to take.

Maybe the example I used in the beginning about my mother and little brother seems like I was judging my mom, so I wanted to clarify that I am not. It’s simply that that incident was the inspiration to this post. And I thought it served well to illustrate how something so minimal can escalate. I want to end this post by saying that Valentines Day is not only for lovers, but for loves of all kind. Not only if you’ve been a lousy son, daughter, mother, father, friend or lover, you should remind your loved ones how much they mean to you. What better day to do it than the day of love! ❤