Cherry Blossoms, A Secluded Beach, and a Lonely Lagoon

I have certain places I travel to in my head when I'm stressed or anxious. I close my eyes ...

I return to a beach in Kuta Lombok, Indonesia. It was secluded, there was no one else around, save a few fisherman wading in the water with hand made reels. The water was this turquoise clear blue I thought only existed in movies. I remember wading into the ocean, laying on my back and letting the sun beam down on my face, the waves engulf my body, letting myself go weightless. This is my paradise.

I return to a lagoon in North Fork, California where I spent a ten day meditation retreat. I couldn't speak to anyone. Being totally alone with my thoughts, I would walk to this lagoon everyday. It was summer the buzz of dragonflies and echoing of frogs was all I could hear in the silence. Purple wildflowers surrounded the murky green water. There was a stump of wood where a tree once was and I'd sit on it and breath. I needed this place. It was my place and I always go back here, listening to the subtle resonance of frogs and dragonflies to carry me through.

Sometimes I go back to Inokashira park in Tokyo during Cherry Blossom season. Bilowy pale pink petals falling in slow motion and blanketing the dirt. The perfume of the delicate flowers engulfing the city in loveliness.

I miss these places. I need these places. I'll always have them in the back of my mind and I can return to them whenever I need to find peace. I give thanks for such beautiful places and periods of my life to reflect back on.

Sometimes I wonder what exactly I'm doing in this strange city. I came here with a dream of becoming a journalist and I don't question that dream, but sometimes I question whether or not I am truly capable enough. Writing for me has always been love. It has always made me feel free but sometimes, like everybody, I question whether I am going to make it as a writer and I get terrified. I feel the anxiety taking over. If I don't have this, what do I have?

My friend today said she loves being a journalist be because it lets her see the world through other people's eyes. You get to learn about things you would never otherwise learn about. I loved that. It's so true and the reason why I love journalism. It's constantly changing. You are constantly learning.

I can't predict the future. I don't know where I will be in a years time. I just know that I will be writing. I hope I find more beautiful memories to go back to when I need to find solace from the world and from myself.

Pancakes and The Breakfast Club

I am good at some things and bad at many. Some of the things that I am good at, are in fact, bad things. Procrastination is one of those things I am best at. This is what I am doing as we speak. Instead of working on an article due soon, I am writing in my blog. I am also good at eating entire bags of Japanese snacks, like I did earlier today. Complaining, sleeping, and laughing are included on my list of things I am good at.

I'm not even going to go into the things I am bad at.

I went to Amsterdam last weekend and it was really fun. I got back last night after about fifteen million buses, trains, and planes. Me and my friend Mandana, who I went with, literally made our flight by like five minutes ... maybe less. A part of me wanted to miss that flight a part of me was overjoyed to make it. A part of me selfishly, wanted to stay in Amsterdam for a little bit longer ... That city is made for lingering. Why would anyone want to leave? It's adorable. Tree lined canals, dollar pancakes, hot chocolate with whipped cream, smoky cafes, smokier jazz bars, fries with mayonnaise, clogs, cheese--how could anyone not like these things. I for one love all of those things and that was what my weekend was comprised of.

The food. Wow, the food. I don't know what it is about the food in Amsterdam but it's the type of food I recall for years when I'm hungry, which is about every 2 seconds ... Those pancakes. Those fucking itty bitty pancakes! It's heaven in my mouth. They call them poffertjes over there in Dutch land. The reason I know that is because I am literally obsessed with them. I remember the first time I went to Amsterdam with my parents. I remember those pancakes we ate at a carousel shaped restaurant next to Vondel park and The Van Gogh Museum.

I remember being a kid with my parents, stuffing my face with poffertjes. I ate them again on this trip. They were as delicious as I remember them to be. I love them. I love Amsterdam. I love lazying away the day at a cafe with rain pouring down outside, helping you rationalize the fact that you spent all day in a cafe in Amsterdam. I love it there. I always have and I always with. Every trip is a different experience and I know I'll go back again and again.

I'm sitting here now in a my favorite neighborhood restaurant/cafe called The Breakfast club. It's 6:20 p.m. in London. There are no lights in here other than the subtle flicker of a melting candle and a string of green lights hanging from the ceiling. It's cozy in here. I'm scared to leave and be out in the rain--my shoes have only started to dry. At least for now I'm content here, sipping on a cup of rose tea, writing and trying to figure out life while the dim glow of a red candle flickers near my computer screen.

Life, An Evil Temptress

I dreamt last night that my mom was hugging me. We were in the kitchen of the house that I grew up in and moved out of when I was ten. I dream of that kitchen a lot and it contains so many of my memories of comfort and warmth. I remember its linoleum flooring, the balcony overlooking a massive orange tree--the scent of orange blossoms infusing the air come spring time. I can almost taste my mom's cooking and remember the laughter as my family and I sat around a round table in our kitchen nook and ate the home-cooked loveliness of my youth. That dream hug from my mom was the best thing in the whole world. I felt so safe, so sound, and when I woke up it was the only thing I wanted. I realize that dreaming about getting a hug from my mom means homesickness. Maybe I just need a hug.

I'm not going to sugarcoat this blog post with lies about blissful romances and sunny city days. Today didn't incorporate any of those things. I thought I was over this phase of waking up and feeling horrible, knowing I would waste my entire day caught up in unnecessary self-deprecation. I've been over-extending myself. Wearing myself out to the point of exhaustion. Too many temptations, too much fun, which means days of feeling like crap. It's not worth it.

Before I came here I went on a meditation retreat where I wasn't allowed to speak, read or write for ten days. Literally, no speaking for ten days. It was in a town called Norfolk about a half an hour away from Yosemite. I got a ride from a random guy my age living in San Francisco, ready to embark on the same adventure.

I was going through a lot at the time. My mind and my soul needed clearing. My heart needed clearing. I couldn't figure out how to deal with the stresses in my life. I was moving to London and I had no idea what I was getting myself into. I didn't know what I was doing with my life and I was terrified.

It was the hardest thing I've ever done. The gong sounded at 4 a.m.--pitch black outside, the group of forty or so women would make our way in silence to the meditation hall where we would sit in rows, on top of cushions on the carpeted floor. Legs crossed, and bodies still, we would start meditating to S.N. Goenka's voice on a pre-recorded tape. Two teachers sat perched in unison on top of a wooden platform--appearing like still, false idols. My mind would flood with every feeling, every sadness, every emotion I had ever felt. It would wander into dark places of loves lost, of past incidences of regret, of all the sadness I have ever countered or will encounter. It took me back to beaches in Indonesia, to happier times, to the times when I thought love would never disappear and it was all that mattered. My mind was supposed to turn clear as I focused on my breathing and the sensations in my body, but it wasn't. Until it was. And when it was, it was amazing. My body and my mind felt in ways that I never thought possible. It was mind blowing and gave me more clarity than I ever thought possible in ten days.

I would walk around the lagoon near my cabin and sit on a lonely patch of grass. There were tons of purple wildflowers growing, and because of the silence, the insects and bullfrogs resonated like an orchestra. There was a stump that I sometimes sat on, but mostly I sat in the grass and thought. This was my place. My place and mine alone. Even though I was surrounded by other people, it was as if I was the only one there. Their presence was fleeting--simple reminders that your body wasn't actually alone in the world. I felt as if I was the only one experiencing the torture and the bliss of the experience.

It's really hard having ten days to yourself. Crying was a daily ritual, followed by life-loathing, and then ultimately self-love. It was a true soul cleansing. My face broke out more than it ever has in my life, my stomach would go through phases of intense pain, and when I came home it all disappeared. I left glowing; as if life had handed me an unopened present. A new tool.

The retreat gave me the inner peace and strength to forgive those that I resented and to forgive myself for any regrets and mistakes I've made in life. There was a moment when I sat alone on my bed thinking about every single loved one I have in my life. My friends and my family--and in my head I recited every reason why I love them. It literally brought me to tears. There were no words, I wasn't allowed them.

I met a girl on our last day when we were allowed to speak, who was from London. She told me meditation would really help me when I get there. That London was overwhelming and all about partying. It's a city of temptations and meditation would help ground me. I had no idea how right she was. I haven't meditated at all since I've been here, but I recognize that I need it now more than ever. I know I can pick it up again. I remember the retreat vividly. I remember how I thought I could never get through it, how I wanted to give up. I also remember sticking through it and in the end feeling like I could do anything I wanted. Feeling like this would change my life forever. I left with a smile on my face and a fresh outlook on the world around me and its people that encompass it.

I've realized about myself that I thrive on new experiences. The one thing I've continuously committed myself too, no matter where I am in the world is my writing. It's in a sense, my meditation. My therapy. My love.

I have got to keep myself grounded. It's really hard when you move somewhere new to find that balance, to understand when too much is too much. There's always a realization in the midst of happiness, to just how much you miss your friends and family back home. As amazing as your new friends are, they just don't know you the way someone does after knowing you for 27 years. I'm hoping that I will ease myself into this city and learn to flow perfectly within its chaotic walls.

Currently Minding the Gap

I remember the last time I wrote in this blog. I was in my car waiting for my friend Chuan to get out of the BART station. The computer was perched on the steering wheel and I was writing because I felt like I hadn't written in a while and the urge was overwhelming. I was in California, wearing a sundress waiting. Just waiting to get here.

I made it to London safe but not exactly sound. How do I sum up the last few months of my life? It has been a dream of mine to attend graduate school for Journalism in London for as long as I can remember. I've wanted to live in this foggy city forever. It's weird and pretty amazing when one of your dreams that you never thought would happen, finally reaches fruition. I am sitting in my heated room, the gentle glow of my Argos lamp flickering, an empty mug with a leftover tea bag in it, a messy bed, a bare wall now covered with pictures and fliers--I finally feel like I've made it. My room feels like home. I just took a shower and took off the travel towel I still use from Asia. Maybe I should get a new towel. I look at it laying on my bed rumpled in a pile in the corner and flashbacks of Asia start flooding my brain. Wearing that towel tubing in Vang Vieng, Laos. On the beach in Vietnam, hanging from a branch in Indonesia--I miss it. I'll always miss it.

Traveling made me feel alive and it still does. London is amazing. There's so much here to explore and I find myself falling in love everyday--with a store, with a piece of architecture, a hidden street, with a cute boy at the local coffee shop, with a new bar or a new friend--London is full of nothing but newness. It's a fresh start and the kind I've needed for a long time.

I live with all students from the UK in a tiny four bedroom flat with raggedy blue carpet in the burrough of Islington. Nothing seems to work properly and I'm paying more than I've ever paid for rent. The hot water in the kitchen, the lights, the shower all failed to function at one point ... but I love my roommates and I adore the location. My room is my respite from this chaotic city. Once buried in my duvet, I feel the comfort of home. I miss my family and I miss my friends more than I can explain. They are such a big part of my life and it's sad to be separated from them yet again. Yet again. It's what I get from the life I've chosen to live. My love of exploring and new experiences means constantly saying goodbye to the ones you love most. But what I've realized about life is that your best friend could be around the corner or in your next destination. You just have to leave in order to find them. My friend Jenna said to me once when we were backpacking around Asia that you never know when you are going to make your next friend or meet a new love. Traveling provides you with those types of adventures and that beautiful outlook on life. I wouldn't change that for anything.

I've been in school for about a month now and have met so many brilliant, young, and motivated individuals. The professors have so much experience and I feel lucky everyday to be in London at City University. I'm trying to write as much as humanly possible. I'm trying to become a complete news junkie. I'm trying to be a lot of things and it's hard, but I can see myself evolving daily. Sometimes I have so much fun here that it reminds me of Barcelona. I never thought that I could feel happiness like that again--it's a different kind of happiness. A kind of understated bliss. Barcelona was never understated, it was always excess and all in fun. London is challenging. It's work, but for the first time in a long time I feel as if my brain and heart are finally starting to be understood by each other. If that makes any sense at all.

Maui Mayhem

I’m sitting in my car. The sun is beaming down on my head, forming a non-holy halo of heat. It’s hot, I forgot to put deodorant on today and I can feel beads of sweat forming on my forehead. I hope I don’t smell. I wish I wasn’t wearing jeans. It’s almost 4:00 and this is the first time I’m leaving the house all day. I swear, I’m not that big of a loser, I’m not sitting in my car blogging. Well, OK I am, but I’m waiting for my friend at the BART station and I had some time to kill. I haven’t blogged in a while and I’m gonna be honest, I miss it. I miss you lonely blog world.

Today, I spent hours on the computer in my bathrobe looking up apartments in Maui instead of doing any actual work, or dare I say, looking up actual apartments that I may actually live in, in London. I decided that I'm moving to London for grad school and I'm excited but have extreme anxiety ... daily. Needless to say fantasizing about living a perma-vacation in Maui was a fun little break from reality. The thought of being in Maui for any period of time makes me feel elated, at peace, and so much less depressed that I’m fairly certain I should daydream about Maui whenever I feel any sort of anxst. It should be my happy place that I go too, in my mind of course, whenever things in my head start going loco. Maui is my xanax. As I craiglist searched three bedroom apartments overlooking the ocean, with beach front balconies, and hard wood floors, that cost the same price as a studio in San Francisco, with crack addicts outside (and next door), I really started to ponder why I don’t live there. I fantasized of running around in a bikini (15 lbs skinner, of course) on the beach, and then dunking my entire (rock-hard) body in the ocean. I miss Maui. It’s been almost exactly a year since I was there for Amy and Peter’s wedding. When I think of Maui I remember eating papayas for breakfast with lime juice. I remember lazy days by our hotel pool and lazier ones on the beach drinking sangria and snorkeling. What I remember the fondest is my romance on the beach—with the perfect and hottest vacation fling man in the world. Perfect in the “you’re the hottest man I’ve ever met and you surf and you are sexy and perfect and I’m on vacation and I am fairly certain I am in love.” Perfect in that way. Yes, he was a caterer at my friend’s wedding. Yes, he doesn’t drink alcohol. Yes he doesn’t eat cake. But it was all just perfection in my head. Oh Maui. That’s what I think of when I think of Maui. No wonder it is my “happy place.”

But in reality I'm moving to London. My trip there was awesome. I fell in love with the city and as much anxiety that I have, I know the end result will be worth it ... so here goes ... off on another adventure, yet day dreaming about being on the beach. Story of my life. I promise, I'll keep in better touch blog world.

London Calling

I leave for London in four days. Four days! I'm going to go check out City University for the grad school program I might attend in the fall. It's crazy, I could be making another big move. Another move. Another city. Another life. Another adventure. It's so weird how much life can change in just a short number of months. A year ago I was working my ass off at DivineCaroline, living in San Francisco. Who would have thought that life would have turned out this way a year later--a four month jaunt around Asia and now graduate school for Journalism, in LONDON of all places.

I remember when I visited London for the first time when I was twelve. I was enchanted, in love. I remember walking through the park near my cousin's place, brightly colored peacocks wandering around aimlessly, going to Harrods, and taking the big-red-bus ... I told my self then that some day, I would live in this city. I've always wanted to get to this point. Now I am actually here. I have that feeling in my gut, that one I get before I make any major move or any major decision. It's a strange yet very familiar amalgamation of fear and excitement. It's knowing that I am about to embark on an amazing adventure. Without thinking too much about the what ifs, the what nots, the what the fucks am I doing, my heart feels like it's going in the right direction.

People close to me have told me that they are proud and envious that I am so passionate about writing and traveling that I am willing to constantly sacrifice any sort of stability to have these adventures. If this is what I love, how could I be happy doing anything else? Sometimes I'm envious of them for having their shit together. The husband, the steady job, the perfect apartment, a home, the life that I am supposed to want ... but somehow don't. Not yet, maybe not ever. Who knows. All I know that my wants change daily. Sometimes I don't know what I want. Sometimes I wonder why the mainstream, the normal, the 9-5, is what I am supposed to be content with. Maybe I just don't want to grow up and face reality, but I just want my reality to be something different. Only time will tell where I end up.

I stumbled upon this quote and I think it's beautiful. Anyone who has ever really traveled knows it to be true:

“Traveling is a brutality. It forces you to trust strangers and to lose sight of all that familiar comfort of home and friends. You are constantly off balance. Nothing is yours except the essential things - air, sleep, dreams, the sea, the sky - all things tending towards the eternal or what we imagine of it.” - Cesare Pavese

Nothing is yours except the essential ...

Expectedly Heartbroken

I'm on the plane to New York City. I sit restless, my laptop on my lap. The only thing I want to do right now is write. Just write. It doesn't even matter what I write about. Maybe, a part of what makes me a writer is that when I don't know who or what to turn to, or feel desperate in my life, I turn to writing. I write it out. Whatever it is that I'm feeling--confused, sad, happy ... lately, usually the first too, to be honest. It's easier to write when you have issues. Luckily, I always have issues and unresolved emotions. I'm human. Lately, especially lately, I have begun to realize that life is hard. I know people say it all the time, but I never really realized the harshness of reality until I graduated from college. My twenties have been a fucking mess. A fun mess, but a mess none the less. This is what I've done for the past 5 years, since I graduated from college:

YEAR 1
1) Road trip from Seattle to San Francisco with my two girlfriends, to start my new life back home. No plans. Just a room at my parents house and an able body and mind.
2) Confused as fuck, apply to random corporate jobs, while secretly wanting to be a writer and move abroad. Fed up with looking, get a job at a random coffee shop.
3) Meet my ex boyfriend, my boss--a tumultuous affair.
4) Fed up with my ex's lack of commitment and my life at home, working at a coffee shop, I apply for a job in Tokyo to teach English, something I always wanted to do.
5)Ex finally commits, a month before I move to Japan. How fucking convenient. I should have told him to fuck off.

Year 2
6) I move to Tokyo anyways. Teach English for a year. Stay with my boyfriend (perhaps, regretfully). Make new friends, fall in love with my Tokyo, find myself piece by piece, and slowly learn what it is to be happy again.
7) Eight months later, move back to San Francisco for my boyfriend. Bliss for a few months, then disastrous after.
8) Get my first writing/editing job at DivineCaroline.

Year 3
9)Ex boyfriend breaks my heart in a devastating way. I lay in bed and cry for weeks. Every single part of me felt like it was dying. I believed I would never love again.
10) Slowly move on, like a fragile bird with a broken wing ... who will eventually learn to fly on its own again. Cheesy but poetic.
11) Move to my North Beach Apartment.

Year 4
12) Have a blast in my new apartment spending time with my friends. Date multiple douche bags in a row. None of them have a lasting impact. Singledom is my game. Wake up one day and realize I am over my ex who I thought I'd never get over ...
13) Meet Denny, he tells me about his backpacking trip to Asia he's planning. I tell him, jokingly, if I get laid off, I'll come with.
13) I get laid off. Call Denny. Start planning trip ...
14) Save money for 2 months working random jobs to travel around Asia for 4 months.
15) Actually do it and have the best four months of my life. I learned life lessons, met amazing people, had some amazing romances, and awe inspiring adventures.

Year 5
16) Return home. Again for the millionth time it seems. From another trip. From another bout of running away from myself, only to find myself here ... in the same position I was in years ago.
17) Try my hardest not to meet a guy to date. My life is too uncertain to fall for someone. Immediately meet someone I really care for--the most I've cared for someone since my ex two years ago. That's a long ass time.
18) It ends ... unexpectedly, with my heart broken, expectedly. Story of my life. A recurring theme. My fate it seems. Every time I open my heart, even reluctantly, it gets wounded. How many times can a heart be broken without piecing itself back together again? Who knows. Maybe at one point, it just doesn't. It just can't and it gives up. I'm not there yet. At least, I still truly believe everything happens for a reason. Reasons unknown to me now.

Looking at my track record, one would ask .... who the fuck is this girl. She must be confused with life. I am. But then I look at it again closely and I think, I've done some pretty cool shit. Really cool shit. I've loved. I've lost. I've been sublimely happy. I've been devastated. Now, I'm just confused. I still love life ... heartbroken, but still ready and willing to move on.

The Debt of Happiness

I'm trying my hardest not to think about the debt that this recent trip has put me in. I've never been in so much debt in my entire life. Currently, the only way I have to pay them back is via unemployment checks, which are so small, I can't even live off them. Concurrently, thinking about moving to London and going to grad school brings my mind into an even more stress full yet excited place. Instead of a few thousand, we're talking 50,000 dollars or more. I feel like money has never been a huge issue in my life, but I'm finally feeling the stress and weight of debt in my life. I'm an adult. I no longer get to write about finding solace on tropical beaches, hiking up temples in Cambodia, or spending nights in sketchy guest houses while having the time of my life. At least for now. My life today, at home in California, is all about being poor and dealing with the debt I put myself in by having this time of my life. Experiences are amazing and I've had a shitload of life-changing ones that I will be forever grateful for, but maybe, just maybe I've reached a point, where I need to start making monetarily smart decisions instead of just spontaneous ones that provide me with amazing memories. I've always thought the latter, until I got to this point.

I hate that I just said that. I think I take it back. I've always been a firm believer in traveling for the sake of traveling. For the sake of opening your eyes to other cultures, other beliefs, other people, other views on the world. It's been amazing and I don't regret it. The debt is shit. The debt stresses me out. But, at the end of the day, I have those memories. I will always be able to say when I was twenty-six years old I tubed down a river in Laos and met some of the coolest people I've ever met, I fell in love with some Cambodian children on a beach in Sihanoukaville and wished I could take them home with me, I felt chills down my spine and salty tears down my face at The Killing Fields in Phnom Penh, I spent my twenty-sixth birthday in Saigon amidst new friends and old ones, I've been on more overnight buses than I care to admit, stayed in shit holes that I never thought I could handle. I wore the same outfit almost everyday for four months. I learned to appreciate the little things in life, I learned that I don't need a fancy outfit and makeup to feel beautiful; I actually prefer to be in a sundress and flip flops on the beach than in heels any day. I learned to find solace in myself, by myself. I learned I am happiest when I am free. I am stronger, smarter, more worldly, more confident, more spontaneous, more independent, and for the rest of my life, I will take this experience with me, wherever I go. As I sit in front of a computer in another cubicle, in another office, I will know and understand what it feels like to truly be happy. I learned so many things that money can't even attempt to quantify. I couldn't buy these experiences. The debt that I am in will someday go away, these memories will hopefully never. Just because my trip is over doesn't mean I ever have to stop learning from it, or believing in my ability to be happy again. I know I can be, I know I will be, and that gives me hope, if nothing else. Things can only get better and I'm grateful for what I have received. I've gotten to travel more than most people I know. I've experienced completely different worlds and I don't think I'm ever ready to truly stop.

I know I have a hard time being happy in where I am at, but I'm trying. I'm grateful and thankful for everything that life has given me. I have an amazing life. I have the most amazing family, my friends are the best friends in the world. There isn't a day that goes by that I take that for granted. I know I'll be OK. I am OK. Hopefully soon, I'll be more than just OK.

Debbie Downer

Someone once told me that not writing in your blog daily is blogger's suicide. I guess that means I jumped off the Golden Gate Bridge months ago. I've been home for about two months, maybe longer. To be honest, I've lost track. It makes me feel better that I have no idea what the date is, or what day of the week it is, or even, what time it is. When you don't have a job, time really is relative. I know that might be the most cliche thing I have ever said, but it's true. I no longer wait for the weekend, because, everyday feels like the weekend. When waking up at 11:00 a.m. feels early, that is a bad, bad sign. This unemployed lifestyle is starting to take its toll on me. I'm bored, restless, depressed, somewhat unmotivated, lazy, and lacking in inspiration. I feel like I'm starting from scratch ... again. I feel like I've done this about twenty times. Scratch that, about fifteen million. Ever since I graduate from college I've been moving, then coming back home to figure my shit out, then moving again on some adventure, then coming back to figure my shit out. It never gets easier. Why can't I just figure my shit out like everyone else? Looking for jobs is never fun, especially now, with the economy in such shit. (How many times can I say shit in this entry?) Everyday I hear of someone new losing their job--one of my friends, someone at my friend's company, blah blah. It blows.

Snap out of it Debbie fucking downer. I really am trying to manifest positivity in my life. I've had a few really great things happen in the past two months since I have been home. I'm not going to go into major detail right here as I'm currently trying to be somewhat discreet about my personal life on this thing, but it seems to defeat the purpose of honest writing. I've already revealed too much anyways, might as well give up on having anything personal these days. I'm a member of Facebook, enough said. Anyways, it's not like the two people who read my blog (thanks Anita) will give a shit. Let's just say I have some sweet things going on that aren't necessarily career related. Well, one of them is.

My wanderlust has led me to apply to grad school in London for Journalism. This is an option. A very viable one. It's an option; I like having options, even though I am the self proclaimed, most indecisive person on the entire planet. It takes me about ten times longer than the average person to make a decision.

This is a step by step guide to my decision making process:

1) Stress out/have an anxiety attack
2)Ask everyone and their mom what they think I should do
3) Listen carefully to everyone's opinions and think about them in detail, wavering
4)Smoke 15 cigarettes
5)Drink 15 vodka tonics to accompany 15 cigarettes
6)Eat a pint of ice cream and think some more
4) Daydream about both options and think about how my life would be in either situation
5)Follow my gut ....

Basically, if I just followed my gut at step one, I would make decisions in half the time. I even have to ask someone's opinion on what kind of snacks to purchase at the grocery store. Do I want Flaming Hot Cheetos or Nacho Cheese Doritos? Do I just want some White Cheddar Cheese It's, or go healthy with some Quakers? It's a hard decision. This little, unimportant, minuscule decision takes me about five minutes to make. Now, think about how long it takes me to make life-changing ones. Really, think about it. My head feels like tangle-weed. I don't even know what tangle-weed is, or if it is an actually thing, but that's how it feels. Indescribably confused. Indecisive. This is me.

San Francisco Love

My lack of inspiration these days is palpable. I started writing the book I have always wanted to write and it's coming out exactly how I don't want it to come out. I don't know what I'm doing. I write because I love it but I sit down to write a book and I start doubting myself. Does anyone give a shit, who doesn't have to give a shit? I know my parents and my sister read my work because they have to, but what about all those millions of other people out there who don't? Am I really that compelling? Fuck if I know. Still working on it though, still writing, still looking for a job in San Francisco, still trying to figure out my shite.

Its been over a month since I have been back from my trip and it's gotten a lot easier. Traveling will never really go away, but the urge to pick up and go right now, is slowly fading the more I hang out in San Francisco and feel connected to my friends. I'm having a blast. Yes I'm broke which is a constant issue and I don't have my own apartment yet, but I still have so much fun going out, and as of late, been meeting some pretty cool people too. Sometimes I feel like the social attitude I had when traveling has now been translated to my life at home. I'm more confident, I can talk to anyone, and I love connecting with new people the way I did with randoms all over Asia.

I saw this really awesome set of djs, Flosstraudaums, on Saturday night at Mezzanine in San Fran. It rocked, I don't remember the last time I danced my ass off like that or had so much fun. I got trashed of vodka Red bull and boogied my ass off. I'm fan Flosstraudamus, I am a fan.

Ok, I have lots of fun. Next step on my life's train: a job ...

Oreos on Valentine's Day

It's really, really cold. I'm wearing a pair of sweatpants, a flannel shirt, a sweatshirt, and a fuzzy, blue robe while the heater is on at full blast in my house. It's freezing and it's pouring rain. Non-stop, all day. It's OK though, it's not like there's a beautiful beach at my doorstep or some awesome, mammoth, architectural wonder that I want to see. This is Piedmont, California not Siem Reip, Cambodia. It's the town where I spent way too many weekends getting wasted of Mickey's forties and bacardi limon in my friend's basements or from red keg cups filled with cheap beer provided by our high school kegger--usually in the cemetary, someone nonsensically named Donut Shop. I don't know who thought of that, but it was a code word so cops wouldn't know what we were talking about. Cops weren't dumb--we were. They knew about our cemetery antics--there wasn't one that I went to that I didn't have to run away in a frantic, drunken, panic hiding behind random trees and scaling fences while laughing and whispering with my friends. Oh the days of my youth.

I can't be in Piedmont and not think of my high school days. Everything is reminiscent but it's not fun anymore .... it's not high school and all my friends have grown up and gone away. Is it sad that I kind of miss it? Typical that I'm back here again .... it's temporary and I have to remind myself of this on a daily basis. My life is really in San Francisco. All my friends are there, my social life is there, yes, my bed and my clothes and my parents are here, and I love them, but I find myself, on most days in San Francisco, as a temporary guest in my sister's or friend's beds.

The last few days i have been semi-content sitting on my ass at home, cuddled up with my body pillow in my bed (which is coincidentally, also blue and fuzzy), and stuffing my face with random things in my parent's house. Yesterday while it was also pouring rain, during a commercial break of Dream Weddings on The Food Network, I found myself perusing my parent's usually empty pantry. To my surprise, I found a box of Oreos. This is strange yet fantastic for a number of reasons. My parents, have never, ever, ever bought Oreos in their entire life. I was one of those kids who only had health food in their house--fruit, whole grain bread, carrot sticks--the types of things you hate when you are young. I would be the kid who would go to their friend's house and eye their pantry with envy. Theirs was always full of more delicious, unhealthy things my parents wouldn't let me near--fruit roll ups, cheetos, twinkies .... So, naturally, finding Oreos in my parents pantry, even at the age of twenty-six was a treat beyond treats ... an unexpected and fabulous surprise. I ate them and I watched Dream Weddings, and it was awesome. Ok, seriously, mid that last sentence, I just came to the realization that my life as I know it has gone on a downward spiral. The most exciting thing to happen to me in two days was finding Oreos in my parent's cabinet. Oh, and what makes it even more lame, is that yesterday was Valentine's day. Wow, my life has taken a turn for the worse and I still miss traveling. It's ok to get a kick out of Oreos and The Food Network, isnt? It's temporary ... really, it is.

Back in Action

I got a manicure and pedicure yesterday in preparation for a party my sister was throwing me, Inbal, and Denny for making it back home. A welcome back party as people often call it. Cat treated me to a mani-pedi, because I'm broke and she's a good friend. The last time I got a pedicure was right before I left for Asia. I left the paint on for over four months, slowly watching it fade and chip off, but never actually removing it--partly to piss off Denny and partly because I just didn't give a shit. When I got back a few weeks ago, I still had some red peaking off the tips of my toes. Now, they are scrubbed down, clean, and pretty--painted with a shiny, poppy-red hue that makes me feel like a new woman. As I was getting the bottom of my feet scrubbed and my arms massaged with lotion, I came to the realization again--this backpacking trip is really over. My new nails are like ... a new era in my life. My feet are no longer disgusting and I'm wearing heels again--something I wouldn't even consider, nor was it an option, two weeks ago. I hate heels.

I still miss traveling daily. I waited for about two weeks to completely unpack my backpack. There's something about home that makes me so, so lazy and I didn't want to face the reality of what unpacking really meant. I washed my clothes and was looking at all the dresses I wore for four months. It made me do that thing I do when I miss a person or a place--when I broke up with my ex, I had a bunch of his old t-shirts and whenever I really missed him, which was often post-breakup, I would smell them, which had that aroma that was distinctly him, and think of him. Somehow nestling my head in his t-shirt would bring him back to me a little bit. Wow, that sounds pathetic when I write it all down, but it's true. Anyways, I started to do the same with my dresses--they smelled faintly like my backpacking backpack, a little bit like incense, the beach, and laundry detergent. I started thinking about all the amazing things I did, and saw, in those clothes. How I ran around the beach in Indonesia in my sun dresses, my hair full of salt water, my skin tanned, and my feet sinking in the sand. How I hiked all around Angkor Wat in those shoes--those dirty, dirty sneakers that I can now, never get rid of for sentimental reasons. I didn't dare smell the sneakers though.

Last night was truly a blast. I love having all my different groups of friends in one room, talking together, drinking together, and co-mingling in a drunken state of bliss. I ended up getting drunk, running around the bar, smoking cigarettes with reckless abandon, and stuffing my face with quesadillas and nachos at 3 a.m. with my posse. I woke up and found a lemon, three coasters, and a plastic drink menu in my purse. I think it was a variety of friends who put them in there when I was drunk and oblivious. That being said, it would be really easy for someone to steal from me at a bar. Too easy. We also always end up playing the butt grabbing game, where we run around the bar and pinch random people's asses. It's awesome and somehow hilarious, albeit inappropriate. Pretty typical San Francisco night and one of the best in ages. It made me feel happy to be home. It made me think that home, isn't so bad--it's actually really fun and only furthered my belief of having the coolest friends in the world. I do, I really do.

Pros and Cons

I MISS TUBING.
So, I've been home for the better part of a week now and I'm trying to weigh the pros and cons of being back. This is what I got so far.

Pros of being home:
Burritos
Pizza
Salad
Tartine Bakery
Good food in general
My friends
My sister
My parents
San Francisco
Free rent (for the time being)
TV shows like Tool Academy and No Reservations
Not having to wear a backpacking backpack
Conditioner and good bath products in general
A closet full of clothes
My brown boots
Clean laundry


Cons:
Living with mom and dad and NOT in San Francisco
Driving
bored out of my mind
I miss traveling daily
completely broke
no job
no job prospects
shitty economy
everything is expensive
Daily pangs of sadness for Asia--wishing I was there
It's freezing
My tan has dissapeared
There's no awesome beach
Looking for jobs makes me want to shoot myself on a daily basis
I have to wear makeup again
I have no excuse to not shower
No excuse to wear my really ugly hippie pants
No cute boys with various accents
NO BUCKETS
depressed because of all of the above
BLAH

Ok, let's be honest. This pro and con list is stupid. We all know I would rather be traveling. That being said, home is home. Its comforting, I have lots of amazing friends and an amazing family, and I will always cherish it. But a part of me, may not be ready to be at home quite yet. I still have too much adventure left in me and at least I can admit it.

Life As I know It

It's been two days. Two days since ha gao and shu mai and shopping to my heart's content in SOHO (Hong Kong's not New York). Two days since Victoria Peak and antique shopping on Cat street. I loved Hong Kong. Now, I'm home, in California, and it's strange. Strange, not in a good way. I had a panic attack/epiphany mid sleep on the plane ride home where I dreamed of Laos and tubing in Vang Vieng, then I woke up a little startled and teary eyed and realized, It's over. My amazing trip is done, and now I'm on a plane home back to everything I left. Back to job searching, apartment hunting, working, and all the responsibility that comes with it. It's real life. It's reality, and it's what I have to do, regardless of how much I don't want to.

I miss traveling already. It's only been two days and my heart aches when I look at photos from my trip. I miss not knowing where the hell I was going to wake up the next morning, or where I was headed the next day. I miss the boundless opportunities of friendship and knowing that your next travel friend might be sitting right next to you on the bus, or at the bar next door. I haven't seen any of my friends yet. I want to. I really do, I love them. I need to get over myself. I need to get my ass out of bed and stop being depressed because my trip is over. I should just be grateful that I ever got to have it. I need to realize that real life, sometimes, has to be like this. I can't travel forever, and even if I could, I know myself and I need a home base. I think the scariest thing is that I don't have a job and I don't have an apartment, and basically, I feel like I have to start from scratch. It's kind of an intense thing to realize. It's like getting laid off and realizing the world is at your fingertips. I don't feel like I should, nor do I want to, hide behind a desk for the rest of my life. There are so many opportunities out there, I just need to find them.

I truly think that the reason people get stuck in places they hate, relationships they hate, and jobs they hate is because they are too scared to change it. Too scared to take a risk that might be a bad decision. Too comfortable in hating, too comfortable in the mundane. I want to go past that. I don't ever want to make another decision out of fear or laziness. Fear especially. I want to be brave. I want to take risks and I want to do things that are new and scary instead of always, the status quo. My trip has taught me to be brave. That sometimes, even though you have no idea what the outcome will be, being spontaneous and actually doing what you always wanted to do is worth the risk. It's worth the outcome, because at the end of the day, you'll realize that you did something for yourself. You didn't do it because that's what you thought you had to do, or what your parents wanted you to do, or what your friends think you should do. At the end of the day, it's yours. This trip will always be mine. I'll always have the experience as something beautiful and amazing that I decided to do with my life. I gave up my apartment, potentials for jobs, and a life in San Francisco to travel for four months. Now, I'm paying the consequences -- no money, no job, no apartment. But, it was worth every second. Every penny. Every risk. I don't regret a thing.

Now, I just need to learn to move on, take the experience that I had, learn from it, and use it for my future. I admit that I have often had a hard time letting go of beautiful experiences. After I came back from Spain, I was distraught and depressed for months. I couldn't let go of the experience and I compared everything to Barcelona. All I wanted to do was go back. I still want to go back, to be honest. After Japan, it took me a long time to accept that I was no longer there. I regretted leaving. It's only now, that I really realize that I left for a reason and everything happened the way it was fated. Now, I've found myself, for the past two days, bundled in my bed (which is heavenly) and sulking. I should be out seeing my friends and doing fun things, but a part of me just wants to sleep and dream of tubing in Van Vieng, beach hopping in Thailand, and temple climbing in Cambodia. That's depression talking. When you are more inclined to dream than do fun things in real life, something needs to change. I keep telling myself I just need a few days to adjust, to get used to things, so for now, I'm cutting myself a break. It's only my second day, after all, and I feel like I'm breaking up with a boyfriend of four months. You can't get over that overnight.

I feel bad that I'm not overly-enthusiastic to be home. I love being with my family and I'm excited to see my friends and I don't want them to think they aren't important. I feel guilty almost, like I should be really happy to be home again and I know they are all excited for me to be back. Maybe it's not fair, but it's just how I feel at the moment. Sometimes it's hard to realize that while you've been away on a life changing adventure, everyone else has been working there ass off doing the same shit they were doing four months ago. Not much has changed, just yourself. I've changed a lot and maybe I'm scared to get back into the old San Francisco routine. Maybe I'm scared that after all this, it just won't feel right. Maybe I don't want to. Maybe, just maybe, I've come to realize, I want something different. I dunno, I guess only time will tell. After all, it's only been two days. Heartbreak can only be cured with time.

The End of an Era

Today, as I munched on my tofu omelet and accompanying sauteed spinach from the token vegan restaurant in Seminyak, the reality of my trip coming to an end came crashing down on me like a tsunami. Five days. I only have five days left until I am back in California, where I'll be spending my days helping my sister and my mom wedding plan, while simultaneously job searching. Job searching, ugh. Reality, ugh.

As the end approaches, I feel more and more exhausted, more and more ready to be home. I'm going to miss backpacking. Waking up every morning knowing you have the world at your fingertips, knowing that an adventure is at your door is a wonderful way to live life for a few months. I know I couldn't do this forever, and I'm enviable as well as awe struck by the backpackers I've met who are doing it for years. There's this one guy I met in Hoi An, Vietnam, named Mr. Strong, who is traveling by himself for ten years. Ten years ... doesn't he get lonely? I know I would.

I've started to despise my backpack. I've made it a goal not to have to put it on until I go home. At every opportunity I get, I ask the cab driver or the boat guy or the hotel dude to help me carry it. They do, they have to, and thank God. I'm proud of myself though. I've come a long way from my shopaholic tendencies, living in a room with closets overflowing with unnecessary items of clothing that I can't part with. I've worn the same three outfits for the past four months. As a girl who loves outfits, this is a huge accomplishment. I haven't worn heels in four months. Yeah, I often miss my vintage dresses and fashionable digs and have even found myself on sleepless nights, thinking of all the cute outfits I was going to wear when I get home, but I love the fact that it takes me five minutes to get ready now. I basically stopped wearing makeup. I haven't cut my hair in seven months. I'm a hippie. It's awesome. I've evolved. I feel free from all that shit, even though I know once I get home, I'll go back to it ... a part of me wishes that I won't.

I've learned a lot on this trip, and even if I trade in my hippie fisherman pants and headband, for my high waisted jeans and a fedora, the lessons I've learned will stay with me, regardless of how my appearance will change. I've learned to take care of myself in a way I never knew how before. I've gained a confidence that can only be found in traveling. I hope it will stay with me, I hope it never fades, and I hope the free-spirited nature of my travels will become something inherent in me that doesn't leave just because I have a 9-5 job.

I've seen breathtaking views in the form of ancient temples, intense city-scapes, hedonistic beach towns, and the people that encompass them. I've eaten the best Vietnamese food I've ever had, learned how to make Spring Rolls in Hoi An, ate grasshoppers in Vietnam and Thailand, and snake in Cambodia. I'm a veteran of the culinary world now. I may not be Anderw Zimmern or Anthony Bourdain, but slowly and surely, I'll make it there. At least, I'll die trying.

I have friends from all over the world now. In the back of my head I'm already planning trips to see them all in places like, Ireland, New Zealand, Australia, England, and Germany. I've had conversations that will stick with me for a long time, maybe for the rest of my life. Traveling is half the places you see, and half, the people you meet. I've made friends like Daniel, Ally, and Emliy, who live in San Francisco, and I know I'll reunite with when I get home. Maybe there won't be any fishbowls of blue tinted alcohol to reunite over, but there will sure be a lot of Vietnam memories to rehash over drinks.

I leave for Hong Kong tomorrow to meet Denny. He left yesterday morning and I've just been hanging out, reading a lot, and just having alone time. I'm excited for Hong Kong. I'm excited to eat some dim sum and party like a rock star, after my much needed hiatus from drinking for the past few weeks. I guess for the rest of the day I'll go back to devouring books like Cheetos and eating vegan food. Maybe I'll go to that yoga class I've been trying to go to for the past four months. Just maybe.

Homeward Bound

I'm scared. Terrified really. I'm so scared, I might cry. Enough with the dramatics, I go home in two weeks. Tentatively. I always like to add the tentatively in the end, because, really when traveling you never know what could happen. Jenna wants me to meet her in Malaysia, which I would love to do, but don't think I have the funds. Money fucks with everything, yet it's the only way I get to keep on doing cool things. Cool things like meet Jenna in Malaysia. Cool things like get that scuba diving certificate I've always wanted. Sigh.

A part of me feels prepared to go home and a part of me feels like sobbing because I don't want to. Let's be honest ... I'm exhausted. Moving around from place to place with a backpack that gets heavier by the day, sleeping in unknown beds and rooms with cockroaches scampering around on cold tiled floors, gets exhausting after four months. It's been the best thing I've ever done in my life, one of the most life changing experiences, and at the same time, I feel like it may be the right time to go home. I miss my family. I miss my friends. I miss the little things like waking up on a Sunday morning and walking across the street to my neighborhood coffee shop in North Beach and eating a flaky croissant while sipping a cappuccino and reading a good book. I miss chimichangas in the mission at 2 a.m. after a night dancing to eighties tunes at Beauty Bar with my girls--Anita, Cat, Ang, and Shy. I miss sipping champagne on a hot summer night with my boys at Cafe flore in the Castro. I miss baker beach in July, and I miss brunch in Noe Valley with Anita, and dim sum in China town with Amy and Pete. Maybe after I do all these things and after a week of being home, I'll yearn to be on the road again, to be in Asia. But regardless, I miss those little things that make my life into what it is. My friends, my family, and San Francisco.

I love traveling; I've had the time of my life. I've realized a lot of things on this trip, but one of the most important things that I've realized is how much I love my friends at home and how much they mean to me. They make my San Francisco. They make it fun, they make me love it, and I want to return because of them. It's gonna be hard finding a job, hopefully I'll be able to find one in San Francisco and not have to leave my foggy city yet. I hope for the best upon my arrival, and until I return, I'll be laying on a beach somewhere in Bali hanging out with randoms from around the world, or stuffing my face with dim sum in Hong Kong.

Every Rose Has Its Thorn ... Even on New Years

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