The Road Less Typed

A bumpy ride

2010-09-03T15:42:00.000-07:00

As a child looking at my future self, I don't know what I saw myself doing. I think I thought it was going to be easy and that I would be married by now and that life would just flow without being difficult or confusing or crappy. I think I wouldn't have necessarily viewed the future as I see it now. Living in a shoebox in a shithole apartment, eating overpriced pizza and worrying every time I used my atm card that it would get rejected because of lack of funds. I guess I didn't necessarily see myself struggling to make something of myself in the profession that I love and hate at the same time--always feeling like I had to prove myself and always feeling like I wasn't doing enough even when I don't know how to do more. I didn't see myself struggling to get down a beer on a date, struggling to get past date 2, past a kiss, past whatever comes after and somehow into something meaningful. Something meaningful is impossible to come by.

Sometimes I feel like i'm just in the waiting line for something miraculous and amazing and life changing to happen. When am I going to feel like I'm on the right path. Fine, I may have the occasional bout of de ja vu, but does that mean I am going the right way?

I do think that in life everything has a way of working out how it is supposed to and I know I'll look back on my life in London as something beautiful, hard, and life changing. So why now, do I only feel like it is a struggle? How long will I be struggling until I feel like I'm in the right place? So many unanswerable questions. I don't want the status quo. I don't want to feel like i'm going to poor for the rest of my life. There are moments of clarity and laughter in between nights of contemplation. I feel guilty for complaining when I know that life is beautiful. I know. I know it is. And despite all the struggling, it is worth the feeling when I get something I am proud of published in print. That feeling, in and of itself, is priceless. It's worth it when I meet that person that makes me weak in the knees ... as hard as he is to find. It's worth it when despite living in a tiny shoe box with three others, I realize I have met amazing individuals because of said shoebox. Life is full of surprises. I guess all we can do is keep breathing and stop waiting in line for something, anything miraculous to happen, and rather enjoy the ride. Cheesy? Maybe, but true. Thus, I am done complaining from now on. I wish that was true. I have a hard time just enjoying the ride because I'm always worrying about my future. Is that the curse of being a twenty-something going through a quarter-life crisis? Perhaps. Everything is temporary and I think it is important to remember that when I am feeling down about a current situation. Maybe even, try and enjoy it.

I wouldn't have loved any less

2010-06-18T13:22:00.000-07:00

I know it's been a while. In journalism school they constantly nail it into us that we have to be present all the time twittering, facebooking, sending our stories to everyone and anything that can read and I think it frightened me a little bit. So much social media and so little privacy. So much attention to things that don't really matter.

Someone once told me that writing was cathartic to them but they didn't actually want anyone to read it. I am beginning to understand that a little more than I ever have. I always used to think the point was to get your work out there, to get it published because then it becomes some sort of accomplishment. Because it means that your words are somehow worth something if a magazine or newspaper wants to publish them. It matters so much to the ego whether some random person we've never met wants to pay us for our work. But why? I wonder if all the rejection is worth it? I mean that as a general question about life, not just writing.

When putting myself out there 90% of the time ends in rejection. Does it make that 10% worth it? yes, but sometimes that 90% starts to weigh heavy on my soul. With writing with love, with relationships with trying to be who I want to be. Is all life a series of rejections in the midst of a few defining moments when we actually feel redeemed?

I've applied for a million jobs it seems and pitched a thousand stories. Most of the time I hear nothing back, but for the ones that I have, I would never say it wasn't worth it.

I've loved with all my heart and I've given all my heart to someone. Twice. Only twice in my twenty seven years and both times I ended up in a pile on the floor with a deadening feeling in my chest and unmeasurable amounts of mascara running down my face. And after these two experiences would I have done anything differently? Maybe, but I wouldn't have loved any less. And I would do it over again in a heartbeat.

It always feels like I am never going to love again. Like falling in love with someone else is impossible and I am incapable of it. My love for this man is too strong to ever get over. It hurts too much and that feeling of devastation never gets easier to appease. I go to parties and the boys that I used to think were cute are just potentials for heartbreak, potentials for rejection and nothing more. I want nothing to do with them.

It's the smallest things that break my heart again. A missed phone call. A waiting text. A photograph. I still have hope for us, but I know that hope will someday soon turn into heartbreak at the realization that I am only fooling myself. Some day that hope I have in him will turn into hope of finding love with someone else. A love where "I love you" is not just three words, but actions.

Bike Rides in the Snow

2010-01-10T14:26:00.000-08:00

As I rode a bike through the snow last night, following my Estonian roommate to an undescript party of his friends, I smiled, realizing this is why I love traveling. The unexpected. The random roommates, friends, and characters you meet on every step of the adventure.

I'm in Amsterdam for three weeks doing a journalism internship at a city magazine. I live in a beautiful apartment footsteps away from a snow-veiled Vondelpark. I take the tram everyday to work in a stunning high-ceilinged, wooden-beamed office with huge windows overlooking a frozen canal.

As I followed my roommate into the dark--snow and wind pierced my scarf-covered face with every blast of the bike petal. As my boot slipped and I almost did a swan dive straight into the concrete, I recalled all the times I've ridden bikes on other worldy adventures.

On a tropical road in Luang Prabang, Laos surrounded by orange-robed monks and shimmering temples. Stopping iradically at food stands to pick up grilled fish on a stick or drink the occasional Bintang.

In Siem Reap, Cambodia--getting caught in the sunset--the salmon pink infusing into darkness and enveloping the city in black. Sweat dripped down my brow as I raced Denny and Daniel through the garbage-laden roads, swerving near motorbikes and cars, the smell of grilled beef infusing the humid air.

In Ubud, Bali--the weather unbearably hot. I pushed myself a little more only to linger near the surrounding rice fields encapsulating me like a dream in a whirlwind of beauty, heat, and greenery.

In Ft. Lauderdale, Florida during a hot spring night on a hot spring vacation. Following my two friends on bikes, my sundress flowing through the warm breeze, stopping near the beach to climb up coconut trees and wade our feet in the warmness of the Atlantic.

I love riding bikes in new cities. Amsterdam is my first in the snow. This city is like a fairytale. The canals that wind in and out of the city urging you to get lost and find your way again. The pancakes, the cheese, the Stroopwaffel! I hope last night was the beginning of many more Amsterdam bike rides.

Cherry Blossoms, A Secluded Beach, and a Lonely Lagoon

2009-12-08T18:22:00.001-08:00

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

2009-11-02T17:07:00.001-08:00

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

2009-10-25T14:31:00.000-07:00

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

2009-10-07T15:19:00.001-07:00

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

2009-06-20T00:55:00.000-07:00

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

2009-05-09T01:24:00.000-07:00

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

2009-04-16T18:28:00.000-07:00

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

2009-04-07T12:04:00.000-07:00

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

2009-04-02T22:15:00.000-07:00

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

2009-02-26T02:08:00.000-08:00

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

2009-02-15T21:07:00.000-08:00

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

2009-02-01T22:21:00.000-08:00

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

2009-01-27T19:55:00.000-08:00

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

2009-01-17T14:19:00.000-08:00

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

2009-01-09T20:11:00.000-08:00

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

2009-01-03T06:58:00.000-08:00

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

2009-01-03T05:52:00.000-08:00

I think I've stumbled upon the quintessential douche bag meeting ground for New Years. It's not Ko Samui, it's Kuta, Bali. It's how I imagine a nightclub in the Jersey Shore to be ... on a bad night. I'm more than certain every single one of those douche bags would be featured on www.hotchickswithdouchebags.com, sans the hot chicks. A kiss on New Years was out of the question. Finding someone who was worth locking lips with in Kuta, is like picking someone to make out with at Poison reunion concert. Every rose has its thorn, certainly, but Kuta has somehow managed to be all thorns and no roses ... thorns with mullets and and no shirts on spilling their Red Bull vodkas on me and rubbing their greasy bodies up against me on the dance-floor. My New Zealand friend, John, coined another word for them--bogans. I didn't know what a bogan was in real life until he pointed it out ... and wow. I was speechless. It's douche bag on a whole new level. Maybe I'm being snobby, ok, I am a little and I feel bad about it. Who am I to judge who is douchie? It's not my place t0 judge, it's just my meager opinion on my surroundings. Let's just say I'm very observant and honestly, I've never observed anything to this level of douchiness, so I have to write about it and expose it fully.

After Ubud, Inbal, Denny and I ventured to Pedang Pedang--a quite beach town an hour away from Kuta. It's filled with eager surfers and a few hushed restaurants that all shut down around 10 p.m.--just enough time to eat a fish burrito and drink a Bintang. There wasn't much to do except rent motorbikes, ride around the island and find cool beaches to gawk at surfers. We did stumble upon a breathtaking spot, like no other I have ever seen. It was a cliff filled with rows of pint-sized restaurants--the rocky overhang supporting a rickety wooden porch with no railing, completely exposed to the ocean and a sea full of tanned surfers working their magic as we stared and drooled. It was a really special place, one I'll never forget. I wish I could remember the name, but secretly I think it's better that way ... some places are better left undiscovered by others so you can just have it to yourself. Maybe that's selfish. I dunno, I like to call it keepin' it real. The ocean was almost as breathtaking as the surfer's tanned biceps, and as the waves started to get more intense, a manity swam through the water and gave a little jump in the air, exposing it's tale and grey, slow moving body. We stared at him for a few minutes as he dissapeard. Needless to say, it was an sweet sight.

John met us in Pedang Pedang and convinced us that Kuta was the place to be on New Years. It didn't take much convincing really. Pedang Pedang was starting to get boring, as beautiful as it was. The next day we went to Kuta and found an overpriced hotel to stay in for New Years. The night ended up being hilarious. We ate pizza for dinner, danced at random clubs filled to the brim with bogans and douche bags, and drank vases of cheap alcohol. The night ended with me, stuffing my face with a slice of meat lovers pizza at a nearby roadside stand, and passed out in bed by 2 a.m.--eerily similar to any other night I've ever spent drunk.

Inbal left us yesterday and Denny and I decided to go to Lovina today, after a bender of a night spent with John and his friend Luke, in where else, but Kuta. I woke up the next day startled at 1:30 p.m with just enough time to shower and check out. After a two and a half hour car ride we found ourselves in Lovina, a seemingly quintessential beach-town, perfect for a romantic rendezvous with a boyfriend. Too bad I am sans boyfriend. Regardless, it would be an understatement to say that this place was better than Kuta. It's hard to explain how much better this place is than Kuta, it's almost so ridiculously better that i'm, speechless, ahem, wordless, maybe for the first time in my life. I feel like I can breath again ... don't get me wrong, kuta was fun and John's a blast. I was just done with the skeazy streets of Kuta. So I find myself here, my ass smooshed on a hard plastic chair, at the token internet cafe. My belly is full of Thai red curry and trance music fills my ears from the lone club with no one in it, across the street. Right now, I'm lovin Lovina, trance music and all.

Balinese Bliss

2008-12-27T23:13:00.000-08:00

It's been hard trying to find a minute to write in the midst of horrible Internet connection and perfect beaches. It's hard enough to find Internet access or even give a shit who emailed you that day, or poked you on Facebook, when there is the most perfect beach in the world on the most perfect island in the world right outside your bedroom door.

After Jakarta, we met my friend Inbal and went to Yogyakarta, which is a hippie town full of brightly colored art galleries selling batik paintings and sleepy cyclo drivers lining the streets. We stayed in a five dollar a night hotel that provided us with free chocolate toasties for breakfast and tea. One morning we awoke at 4 a.m. to watch the sunrise over Borrobodur, an ancient temple an hour away from Yogyakarta. It was a beautiful place to be at 5 a.m. As the prisma colored sun stroked it's mammoth curves. The mist over Merapi volcano started to diffuse, slowly covering Borrobodur in gauzy layers of fog.

After a few days in Yogyakarta we headed to Bali where we spent one night in Seminyak--a horrible, beach town with the worst beach I have ever seen, and completely overrun with designer stores. It was not the Bali I had dreamed of. We quickly left and went to the Gili Islands, our first stop, Gili Tarwangan. The minute I stepped off the boat, I knew I had found heaven. No cars were in sight, because there are no motorized vehicles on the island, only horse drawn carriages. Small bistros and dive shops line the dirt roads that are surrounded by a ridiculously picturesque beach. We spent four amazing days there, laying on the beach, drinking fresh papaya juice, and eating freshly grilled fish at beach side restaurants. Gili Tarwangan is a little piece of heaven. One night after a few Bintangs at the local bar, we met two New Zealand surfers, Jon and Paul, and a Canadian, Ross, who were all going to this supposedly amazing and remote island, Kuta Lombok a few hours away from Gili Tarwangan. After careful consideration, we decided that this island sounded too awesome to pass up and that we were going to make it our next destination.

A quick boat ride and a two hour drive away, we found ourselves in Kuta Lombok--an even more perfect and remote island than the Gilis. The next three days were spent in bliss. Days were exhausted on motorcycles, feeling the breeze in my hair as I passed by rows of palm trees and one deserted beach after the other. I had finally found heaven and it was so perfect, that it felt like a dream. How could this place exist, and how did I get so lucky to find it? I didn't think it could get any better than Gili Tarwangan, but it did, I had found it, and never wanted to leave. The night before Christmas eve we were hanging out with Jon and Paul--our New Zealand surfers, two beautiful Colombian sisters--Diana, and Paula, an Austrian traveler, Martin, and a handful of locals in the street. The locals were sitting in a circle with a guitar, drinking home-made Arak wine and singing soulfully to Jack Johnson and other Western tunes. The circle in the street, turned into a bonfire on the beach, complete with Bintang beers and fire jumping. It was one of my memorable nights on the entire trip. Even as the fire faded and the beers were emptied, the stars on that seemingly endless beach never did. It was an amazing night. The next day was Christmas eve, but it never felt so far away from it. So far away from Christmas, from my family, from all the things I've ever known Christmas to be. It wasn't a sad feeling though. As much as I missed my family, it was kind of a beautiful thing to see locals in sarongs wearing Santa hats and to celebrate with new friends at a beach side bar, with live music, as we did that night. Christmas day was spent on my motorbike, scouting out deserted, sunny beaches with the clearest and most amazing water I had ever seen. The night was spent at a buffet at the Novotel hotel, with our new friends laughing. It was a great way to spend Christmas, and it will be one of my most memorable, especially because of the randomness of it all. Sometimes, the most random things, can be the most beautiful.

I was somehow convinced to leave heaven to go back to Bali, where I find myself currently in rainy Ubud, a place I have wanted to go to since I read Eat, Pray, Love. It's an awesome town with an incredible bohemian and artsy vibe, reminiscent of Yogyakarta but to a whole new level. There are a million art galleries and the best shopping I've seen in all of Indonesia. After an intense bike ride around some rice fields, I found myself at a two tiered market haggling for a bunch of things I have no need for, including a bunch of presents for my family, and two more scarves that will just add to the fifteen or so scarves I have already accumulated during my travels around Asia. I have a weird fascination and obsession with scarves. I swear I have the best collection of anyone I know. I love them and can't stop buying them. There's a "Scooter Appreciation Convention" that has been going on the two days we have been here. It's annoying the crap out of me, the streets are filled with hardcore bikers in leather and last night I was woken up more times than I can count by the live band outside my door--a live band that sucks. Maybe I should be appreciative of these kinds of interesting happenings, but I found it more annoying than anything else.

I also got a massage and body treatment yesterday ... it was RAD. It included an hour full-body massage followed by a full body yogurt scrub and then a milk bath to top it all of ... all for ten dollars. I love Indonesia. It's so cheap and amazing and beautiful and I never want to leave. Sigh. The people here are the friendliest and happiest of anywhere I have ever been in my entire life. I remember, Elizabeth Gilbert talking about how happy the people where here in Eat, Pray, Love, and I tell you, she's spot on. Everyday that I have been here, I have been greeted with genuine kindness, open arms, and beautiful smiles. They seem so happy, so content, and so alive. Americans, really need to take a lesson or two from the Indonesian. Everyone back home is so consumed with hating work and hating their lives that they don't even take a moment to realize how beautiful life is. They know it is here, and the more time I spend here, the more I realize it too. It's truly amazing and wonderful here, everything about it, and leaving here will probably be harder for me than leaving any other place I've been. Maybe because, I know it means I have to go home soon, but maybe it's because I just love this place so much, even though it was by fluke that we came here. I always say everything happens for a reason, and coming here is proof of that.

New Year's is approaching and Denny, Inbal and I are trying to figure out where to go next. Pedang, Pedang in the Bukit Peninsula may be the place. It may not be my perfect island, but hopefully, it will do. Hopefully, there will be sun, and deserted beaches, and I can ride a motorcycle and feel the wind in my hair. That's all I ask for, and maybe, a beer or two on New Years ... a kiss would be nice too, but at this point, I'm not betting on it.

Sianara Tokyo and Jakarta my Hearta

2008-12-14T01:58:00.000-08:00

So Tokyo was what I expected it to be--cold, exhausting, expensive, over-crowded, over-indulgent ... but amazing. I love that city. I'm always tired there, maybe because of the ridiculous amounts of people, and ridiculously-overcrowded trains that make you feel like a hyperventilating sardine in a can of squished sardines packed with the sweat of hundreds of Japanese, instead of oil. Sometimes, I can feel the next person's breath on the back of my neck, it's such close quarters. Creepy, super creepy.

After I spent some quality time in Iizuka with my grandparents, parents, and sisters, I hopped over to Tokyo for a week of hanging out, reminiscing, and revisiting. Me and Denny stayed with my old pal, Eugene, squatting on his floor, like a bunch of homeless vagabonds, for a week, sleeping on a futon and a couch in the middle of the living room. Tokyo hasn't changed a bit, but most of my friends aren't there anymore which makes for a much different experience. I saw Eugene, Susan, Jeff, Julian and Mina, which was great, and felt like a sordid reunion of sorts with just a few lonely faces instead of the typical bunch I was used to. I really missed Mia, Steph, Cherylle, Paul, Teresa, David, Sudarshan, Olivia, and my entire old crew that I loved so much in the Tokyo of two years ago. It made me realize that when I think about Tokyo, it was more that I was thinking of them, than the actual city itself. Without them in Tokyo, it just wasn't the city that I loved, and it wasn't the Tokyo that I cherished in my heart as one of the best experiences of my life. It was more of just a beautiful, crowded metropolis with nameless faces and memories of things I used to know. It's like returning to the place of your youth when you are eighty-five, only to realize everyone you knew is now dead. OK, maybe that's a bit over-dramatic but Tokyo has become an urban oasis that looks exactly the same on the outside, but feels entirely different to me now.

Don't get me wrong, I still love this city like I do any that I have had a life-changing experience in--the constant pulse and electric energy of people on the go, the soothing breeze of calmer Shimokitazawa, which transfixes me into vintage-shopping bliss while it's picture-perfect cafes give me time to reflect. It still gives me shivers of excitement, when I get off the train at Shibuya station and see thousands of people trying to cross the notorious street, Tokyo is epitomized in. I still love and envy the uber-stylish and impossibly hip fashionistas in Harajuku with their hair pulled up in a perfect bun, donning hipster boots, and the most perfect makeup I've ever seen. I still love the smell of yakitori and okonomiyaki being grilled at streetside izakayas and I will always miss dancing the night away at a Japanese disco after missing my last train. Tokyo is a city that has everything, but coming back here has truly showed me how much I have changed. I don't think I will yearn for Tokyo the same way that I have the past two years--constantly regretting leaving when I did and feeling pangs of nostalgia and regret in my gut. It's no longer home to me and I think I understand why now. I love it the same as I always did, but I think I finally made peace with the decision I made to leave. Perhaps the only way to get closure is to revisit that place again, and realize in your own time the reasons you left were perhaps, the only way fate could have it.

I went to my old apartment with Julian and we went to my old favorite, neighborhood restaurant--Sushi Ondo. It was nostalgic being there, talking to Julian about our old friends and neighbors. Gossiping about our lives and seeing how much we have and haven't changed in the past two years. I felt pricks of longing being there--revisiting my old apartment and being in the company of an old neighbor. It was that weird feeling where you go back to a place you haven't been to in a long time, like your elementary school, and all of a sudden like a pre-death montage of your life in a movie, a flood of flashbacks engulfs your brain, and emotionally you feel like crying because it's so overwhelming. It's a feeling of yearning, that is hard to typify in words. Most people have felt it before. It's like getting your heart broken by someone and then finding a love letter they wrote you in a shoe box under your bed a year later. No matter how long it's been or how over that person you think you are, that letter will bring back every sweet (or sour) memory.

We are now in Jakarta, Indonesia. After weeks of contemplating whether to go to India or not, we decided not to. I know I haven't touched on the bombings that were happening there, maybe because it's painful for me to write so I've been putting it off. Denny and I were supposed to go to India for the entire month and travel with our friends Zach and Inbal, but while I was in Kyoto with my family, Bombay was getting bombed by terrorists. My precious Taj and Oberoi hotels, which I have had so many childhood memories in--drinking sweet masala milk and icy-cold falooda during sweltering hot December days with my family, are now something of the past and can only be cherished as sweet remembrances. It broke my heart. I watched CNN everyday from Japan, and everyday I felt more heartbroken for my beautiful Bombay and my family. Thank god, my entire family in Bombay is safe. When I heard my aunt's friend was having dinner at the Taj when the bombs went off, and they all died, the gravity of what was happening there really set in. My friend Inbal has been living there for a while now, and was living in the heart of the destruction. She's safe and meeting us in Jakarta tomorrow, but knowing that she was there too, and thinking of what she witnessed, being alone without her famiy, is beyond me.

It was a hard decision not going to India, being a place I've always felt entirely safe and at home in. I know I will return to India soon, but I can hardly imagine the aftermath of Bombay after what has happened. Can a city completely recover after something this big? Or does it just evolve into something stronger? I don't know the answer to that, but I guess we will see how Bombay will grow from this. I love that city so much and to see things of such familiarity burn up in flames, and knowing your family and close friend is there without knowing they are safe, is something I wouldn't wish for my worst enemy. The only way I can really describe it is like heart break.

I guess it's true that you never know what can happen and you never know when your life will be in danger. My biggest fear is that I don't live my life to the fullest. The more I see of the world and the more I travel, the more I comprehend how much there is to explore and that you are only given one life and one chance to live it. I met a guy in Phnom Penh who I spent some time with, and he said something to me that was so simple yet for some reason has stuck with me since that night ... "life is too short to regret anything, you know that." It's something that is so cliche, but at the instant he said that to me, while hanging out in our dingy three-dollar a night hotel, it felt like I finally really got it. I think traveling does that to you ... it makes you think you have these life changing epiphanies, when really you knew it all a long deep inside you, it's just that traveling opens you up and gives you the clarity to really hear it.

So, I've been in Jakarta for the past two days waiting for my friend Inbal to get here from India. We are traveling together for a few weeks and I can't wait. Jakarta is a dirty, smelly, congested city with some of the best fried rice and tea I've had in my entire life. We are staying off a small, lively street called JL Jaksa, teeming with open air cafes that radiate hookah smoke and bars that emanate the late night sounds of karaoke and live bands singing love ballads. I love watching the barristas pour steaming hot chai into warm pots and smelling the street side vendors frying rice and eggs for nasi goreng. Tomorrow Inbal gets here and we may go to Borabodur, which is famous for a temple that is supposed to rival Angkor Wat, if that's even possible. Tonight I'll be content sipping on frothy Indonesian tea at the KL Village cafe while the cacophonous tune of the Indonesian band next door at Memories bar, covers the worst rendition of Wham's Careless Whisper I've ever heard.

Singapore Slingin' and Tokyo Tales

2008-11-23T00:32:00.000-08:00

I met Denny in Singapore from Phuket where, literally all i did was eat ... and eat ... and eat some more, for two days. It was ridiculous. I think i gained five pounds from all the delicious grubbin we did. From the minute i got off the plane and to the amazingly grungy Cozy Corner Hostel there was food shoved in my face. First thing first, whenever one goes to Singapore eating chicken rice is absolutely mandatory--I saw Anthony Bordain, my future husband, lovin on it in No Reservations, and ever since then, i had been determined to try it if I ever got to Singapore. It was the first thing I ate and boy did it live up to its reputation. Think perfectly steamed chicken, with chicken flavored rice (that tastes like it was deep fried in chicken fat or somethin, it is so damn tasty) smothered in soy sauce, chili sauce, and garlic ginger paste. we also munched on BBQ pork and green veggies with oyster sauce. After that we thought it absolutely necessary to make our way to the mall across the street, just to be complete gluttons and go shopping for more things I absolutely do not need, and can't fit into my monstrous backpack, and what else, but to eat some more at the food court.

The food court was a glorious experience. Every type of food you could ever imagine was at your disposal here--Japanese, Italian, Indian, Korean, Dim Sum, desserts of every variety ... you name it and this mall has got it. I bought a dress from one of the stores in the mall and then started feeling a grumble in my tummy telling me I needed to take more advantage of the local cuisine. I only had two days in this culinary capital after all. We went and found a Singaporean dessert place and settled on some soupy looking jelly dessert type things that　wet my appetite for something more delicious ... downstairs there was another food court and it was a must. Here we found ourselves stuffing our faces with BBQ pork sandwiches, strawberry donuts, and fish cakes stuffed with mushrooms and cheese. It was disgusting and amazing all at the same time. I have never eaten so much in my whole life (alright that's a lie) but seriously, it was a lot of food. That is basically all I did the day I got in. Great day. Fabulous day in fact.

We met up with Rav, my friend Rikkis boif that night for drinks. We ended up checking out the Supper Club, Singapore that night and it was dead. As dead as the cockroach I saw smashed on its back earlier that day at the Cozy Corner Hostel. We were the only people in the bar, but it was still kind of a cool place to see. Denny was set on seeing it and taking pictures to show our friends what cool, expat urbanites we are cool we are. The drinks were about fifteen dollars each and it was not much different from San Francisco Supper Club, minus the crowd. After Supper Club Denny dragged me to Chinatown, where supposedly, all the best gay bars were situated. We went to one, it was dead. As dead as Supper Club ... dead like the cockroach i saw on its back earlier that day in the hostel.

The next day we went to the zoo, which was ... full of animals. It was a zoo, and typically uneventful but Denny really wanted to go so i gave in. The rest of the day was spent eating more ... more chicken rice, a pork sausage breakfast sandwich, a chicken burger stuffed inside a fried egg, Turkish ice cream with chocolate sauce .... oh the glorious gluttony. I love Singapore. Really, the food is divine. Yeah, the media is completely censored, porn is illegal, oral sex is illegal, and if you get caught smokin a doobie you might get the death sentence, but ... the food really makes the place livable despite all the totalitarian, archaic laws they have in place. Oh, and spitting on the street ... totally illegal, but prostitution? Totally legit and legal. I'm not gonna lie it's a weird fucking place but they know how to make a mean chicken rice and the streets are really, really clean. Clean like Disney land on crack.

Rav took us out again that night and luckily for me, it was ladies night at a few bars which meant everything for me ... was totally free. Free drinks, free cover all night--just another fabulous thing about Singapore and being a lady. After eating some more chicken rice, we went to a bar in Clarke Quay that was serving free margaritas for the ladies. I had four ... obviously since they were free of charge. Rav and Denny had a twelve dollar beer each while I got tanked off of passion fruit margaritas. We then ventured off to O Bar, which i got into for free, and Rav and Denny had to pay twenty bucks each ... the good thing about this place was that they had pitchers of alcohol for twelve dollars, not bad for Singapore's usually exorbitant drink prices. I waited in line for a few free, watered down vodka cranberries, then started sippin on Rav and Denny's pitchers of Jack and Coke. The crowd was overly cheesy and the bar was all hip hoppin Singaporeans, but after a lot of free bevies, its all the same really ... fun. Lots of fun and a game of I Never--me and Denny's favorite get to know you drunk game. The night predictably ended with me stuffing my face in a chicken paratha. Pretty typical.

We left for Tokyo the next day, and I sit here now at my grandparents house in Iizuka after a night in Tokyo at Eugene's house. It feels good to be in Japan again, like no time has past at all, even though it has been two years since I used to live it up Tokyo style as an English teacher for Nova. Most of my friends have now gone home, and luckily for me i still have Eugene to bring me back to the old days of Shibuya nights ending in us passing out on the train at 7 a.m. while onlookers in their business suits stare awkwardly at us drunken gaijin in high heels and mini dresses from the night before--just another day in the life of an English teacher. I'm spending a few days here with my family then off to Kyoto with them and back to Tokyo. There's so much to relive and revisit, though i know it wont be the same without all of my friends there. Regardless, I can't wait to check out my old neighborhoods that i frequented weekly, see my old school that is now something else because of Nova's bankruptcy scandal, and undoubtedly shed a tear or two while reminiscing of what my life used to be like, and what it could have been if i stayed.

I hate regretting things, but its hard not to when you realize how much you love a place and wish you could still live there. I miss Tokyo daily ... a part of me always regretted leaving when i did though i know i did it for the right reasons--love. But now my love lies within a city instead of in a person, and a part of me wishes and hopes that i can find it again through Tokyo's falling autumn leaves and crowded city streets.

Travel Lessons Learned in Ko Phi Phi

2008-11-17T05:39:00.000-08:00

Lesson 1 of traveling alone: sharing a room with a random dude you met on the bus, who seems nice, is NOT always the best idea, even if you are trying to be adventurous.

Lesson 2: If said random dude tries to grope you the first night you share a room together while you are sleeping, probably best to get the fuck out of there as soon as possible.

Lesson 3: If same said dude shares a room with you again the next night, he'll probably try to grope you again ... and when you refuse ... again, he'll make a nasty comment.

Lesson 4: It's best to be honest if you aren't happy with a situation. I should have just told the dude to FUCK OFF instead of feeling bad for ditching the room situation.

For some reason I thought he was cool the day I met him, but after that it was all down hill. He was annoying, way too opinionated, immature, gross, stingy, a douche bag, clingy, and wouldn't leave me and my friends alone. Literally, I had to run away from the guy twice. Like literally, run away and hide in Francis's room. Thank the lord for Pete, Orla, and Francis. They were my angels who came to Ko Phi Phi and saved me from the random ass twenty-two year old I stupidly decided to share a room with, and a bed. A fucking bed. Worst decision of my life. I gave the guy the benefit of the doubt that he was a harmless, nice guy who just needed a roommate to split the cost. I didn't think he'd want to hang out 24/7 and/or grope me at night whilst I tried to sleep (while I was actually not sleeping because I was too scared of what the dude might pull). I ditched him after the first night and hung out with Pete, Orla, and Francis at the beach. Some how he made his way at our dinner table and after a few hours of hearing him talk we made excuses; I just walked away and ran into Francis's room to watch Old School and bitch about how fucking annoying this guy was. Plus, he awkwardly invited himself to hang out with us the next day on the boat trip we planned to see some Islands around Ko Phi Phi. He invited himself. Who does that? Cringe ... cringe ... cringe, whenever I think about him.

Oh another thing. The second night when I regretfully and painfully walked back to my room (openly wishing I had just crashed in Francis's bed for the night) I was definitely not friendly to him. In fact, I was being a total bitch. I went to bed, he went out for the night and I secretly hoped he would get drunk and lost, or meet a girl and not come back. He came back. He tried to grope me again while I was sleeping, I told him to get his grubby little paws off of me and the fuck away from me, and word for word, this is what he said:"stop being gay, be a traveler." I am not lying, that is what he said when I rejected him. Who says that and what does that even mean? First off, I hate it so much when people use the word gay in a derogatory, negative way. Many of the loves of my life are gay and whenever someone says that, I want to kick them in the balls. Secondly, if being a traveler means hooking up with a disgusting, immature, clingy dick face, who acts inappropriately, and is a sleaze bag, annoying piece of crap ... then send me home right now, because i'm not a traveler. Fuck that guy. I don't dislike many people, I really don't, but this guy I really, really, really don't like. I even went as far as to "de-friend" him on Facebook. This is how much I dislike this guy.

Today, I just wanted to hang out with Francis, Pete, and Orla since it was my last day with them, but dick face invited himself a long, and Francis, Pete, and Orla being the nicest people in the whole world went a long with it because we all felt to bad to ditch the poor loser. I'm being mean, I know I'm being mean, but this guy really pissed me off. I hate feeling uncomfortable and disrespected and that's how he made me feel. We got on a boat at 7:30 in the morning and went to Maya Beach, the beach where the movie, The Beach was filmed. Since it was so early in the morning, there was no one there and it was breathtaking. We had the whole place to ourselves. The water was a sparkling turquoise and magenta and prisma-colored fish swam around you in circles. The beach was surrounded by rock formations that were reminiscent of Halong Bay, and the white sand felt sweetly silky between your toes. It was amazing. Stingy roommate decided he didn't want to pay the extra 100 baht ( which is literally like three dollars) to go on the beach and stubbornly sat on the boat or went snorkeling or whatever, while Orla, Francis, Pete and I lazied around and took photos of the gorgeousness. After that our boat guy took us snorkeling and we went swimming in a lagoon. It was an amazing day and I'm glad I got to spend it with the gang, albeit the douche bag tag along.

I love Pete, Orla, and Francis. I really do. They made me feel so at home with them in Ko Phi Phi and I hope that I get to see them again some day. It was sad saying bye to them at the dock because it was one of those moments where you just feel ... this could be the last time I ever see these people and a part of you wants to cry a little with the thought of that. There's always those friends you meet that make you realize how wonderful people really can be, if that makes any sense at all. Just genuinely kind, good-hearted, fun, hilarious, and real people that you would love to have in your life. Hopefully, I'll see them again in Ireland or California, or who knows where. The sole sad thing about making friends while you travel is that you never truly know if you will ever see that person again. Regardless, it doesn't make their friendship any more significant, sometimes more so.

I left without saying bye to douche bag and ran to Pete and Orla's room to shower and then to eat before I had to leave for Phuket. I'm here now. It's a shithole. A nasty shit hole and there is nothing to do. The only redeeming thing about this place is this hostel that is surprisingly nice, clean and there is free Internet which I am hogging as we speak. Tomorrow I leave for Singapore and meet up with Denny. I'm excited to explore a city but I really will miss the beach. Even with the fucked up roommate situation, I still think Ko Phi Phi is a beautiful place.

Full Moon Party Fiasco

2008-11-16T01:32:00.001-08:00

The rain stopped eventually. I'm currently in Ko Phi Phi and spent the afternoon lazying away on the beach. This place is beautiful, albeit touristy and overcrowded with non-natives. I'm used to that in Thailand though. I'm usually the only brown person around in a sea of white, and this is fucking Thailand. The only Thai people I see here are the ones working at restaurants and guest houses and such. I guess that's just how Thailand's touristy Islands are. I split up from Denny for a few days and am traveling on my own. I have to say I'm really proud of myself for doing it. It's always been a fear of mine to travel by myself, but so far it's been really amazing. I met a half Israeli, half English guy on the bus and we decided it would be a smart idea to share a room together in Ko Phi Phi for the next two nights and save us some cash. I've never done anything like that before. What is it about traveling that makes you throw out your bearings and inhibitions and just do these things that you would never do at home? Seriously, if I was in San Francisco would I meet a random dude on the bus and then share a hotel room with him for the next two days ... hell no. No way in hell. I'm hanging out with Pete, Orla, and Francis again here in Ko Phi Phi; It's fun to see some familiar faces. Everything is an experience though, and as a writer, it's good to have new ones everyday. Traveling is the best material I've ever had.

Before Ko Phi Phi Denny and I met Jenna in Ko Phangan for the Full Moon Party. Honestly, the full moon party should be an entry on it's own because it was by far, one of the most ridiculous nights of my entire life but I'll try to sum it up as best I can. We met up with our whole crew from tubing in Vang Vieng--Mark, Lee, and Andrew--the chill Minnesotan hippies, and Pete, Orla, and Francis, the Irish gang. The night of the Full Moon we had a pre party at the Minnesotan's bungalow on the beach, fittingly monikered, Mellow Mountain, which is known for it's "happy shakes." God, how I love the term "happy shake," it can mean anything you want it to be. Their bungalow was a typical cheap, backpacker bungalow with dirty floors, and a lonely fan, but with the most beautiful balcony with a view of the ocean. I was supremely jealous. The pre-party was a blast--full of buckets of various alcoholic beverages, our reunited friends, and loads of body paint that not so quietly made it's way ... everywhere. All over their bed sheets, on the floor, and of course all over everyone's bodies. After we were drunk and body painted up like we were going to a rave circa 1999, we went down to the beach with a big group of us, say 7 or eight of us. Let me paint a not so clear picture of what the Full Moon Party entailed--think rave on the beach, body paint, 20,000 people, techno music blaring, fire dancers, drunk drunk drunk Europeans sipping on buckets, (save a few Americans and some Israelis and a few actual Thai people), fratty douche bags without their shirts on making out with girls, girls wearing stupid outfits, loads of white dudes with dreads, and just ... an all around fabulous mix of randoms dancing to techno and house beats until 7 a.m. I think that's as clear as I can be at the moment.

Once we reached the beach, in a matter of drunken minutes, we lost Orla, who was wasted off her ass, Denny who wandered off to get a drink, and Francis who with a blink of an eye disappeared. Then it was just me and Jenna, wandering around, dancing, drinking, taking photos with random dudes on the beach. etc .etc. Eventually Jenna met a boy and was talking to him, some random Brazilian was giving me a piggy back ride and I turned around expecting to see Jenna, but she was gone. Like dust in the wind, I knew I'd lost her for good that night. I gave up shortly after, ran around like a crazy drunk nineteen-year-old, dancing with random dudes, and finally found some people who we were at the pre-party with. I kept hoping to run into Denny or Jenna, but of course, they were no where to be found and I knew I wouldn't see them in the morning. If you lose someone at the full moon party ... you've lost them for the night. No ifs ands or buts about it. I lost the other group I was with at around 7 a.m. and found myself, what felt like, all of a sudden drunkenly laying on the beach with a twenty-seven-year-old boat designer from England, I met 5 minutes earlier.The sun was coming up and I was confused as to how the hell it was morning already. Five or so buckets and a big Chang beer will do that to a girl, I suppose. So that was my night in a nutshell, save a few major details that are blurry in my mind. It was a great time, something I'm glad I experienced but don't know if I ever want to experience again. I've been hungover for three days. I need a detox, I need something to flush out all this crap and alcohol from my over-traveled body. Oh well, like Denny and I always say--detox in '09.

I wish I had more time to stay in Ko Phi Phi but I have to leave tomorrow to go to Phuket, so I can catch my flight to Singapore on the 18th morning. I heard from many travelers that Phuket is a shithole. A Thai wonderland of crap, cheesiness, and Thai prostitutes in come-fuck-me-heels. I'm over it, but I gotta do it for a night. Maybe I will make a new friend on the boat and share a room with him. Who knows ... everything is an adventure right now and I love it.

Still Raining ...

2008-11-08T22:19:00.000-08:00

It's still raining. I woke up this morning with hope for a sunny day. I looked out the window and it was gloomy as hell, but I still had hope and even went as far as to put my bathing suit on under my dress, on the off chance that it would get nice enough to actually lay on the beach. I even said to Denny, "I don't care if it starts raining, I'm going to the beach." Then as I walked to get some food down the street it started drizzling, and I thought, shit. Then as I sat eating my mediocre and overpriced french onion soup, it started pouring. Not just like a little a mild drizzle, but a full on rain storm. Now, as I sit here in this Internet cafe, pouting over the start of my day, it started down-pouring again. I can't even leave the damn Internet cafe because it's raining so hard. I hate Ko Samui.

Last night we decided to stay in, which is the first time I've done that in a very long time. To be honest, I can't even remember the last time I stayed in and didn't drink, so last night was much needed for me--physically and mentally. We rented a DVD player and bought some bootleg DVDs--Once, an Irish movie I've wanted to see for a long time and W, the new movie about George bush that literally came out last week in the States. We watched Once first and it was fine quality, totally normal to be honest. Then we put in W and it was bootsy. Ghetto. Hilariously bad quality. The film quality was the worst I've ever seen and there were moments where we could hear the audience laughing at something stupid George said. Damn, did they make George seem dumb but I guess that doesn't take much work. Speaking of George, can I just say how fucking ecstatic I am that Obama is going to be our new president. Good riddance George. We were in Bangkok when we heard the news and a huge part of me wished I could have been in San Francisco for it, just to be a part of everyone freaking out with excitement. I sat there with tears in my eyes as I heard Obama speak from the TV in our guest house restaurant as other non-Americans sat around not really giving a shit. The prospect of living in America now for the next four years doesn't sounds so detrimental. I'm actually, for the first time in years, proud to tell people I'm American. Thank god for Obama.

Anyways, I fell asleep mid movie and woke up the next day feeling hungover. How does one feel hungover without even drinking the night before? Who knows. We leave for Ko Phangan tomorrow for the Full Moon Party. I'm excited to get the hell out of douchie Ko Samui and to meet up with our old friends (as old as travel friends can be I guess) Pete, Orla, and Francis, and to meet up with my actual old friend, Jenna. Can't wait to leave this rainy place and ... go to another rainy place. At least the change of scenery will be refreshing.

Bye Bye Bangkok

2008-11-08T01:27:00.000-08:00

It's raining. It sucks. I hate Ko Samui today. Two of my memory sticks on my camera have viruses (fuckin' great) and it's been raining for the last two days and we can't really do anything. What's the point of being at a beach town if you can't go to the damn beach? I'm pissed. I miss Cambodia, I miss Laos, I miss Vietnam, and I'm over Ko Samui. This place is a veritable playing ground for douchiness. It's tourist central. Our hotel is across the street from a Mcdonalds, a Starbucks, and a Haagen Daz and next door to a Subway. I hate it. I had no idea it would be like this. We went out last night and it was amazingly douchie. Everywhere I looked there were major douche bag spottings. I swear, it was like a sordid convention for douche bags or something--douche bags with accents, eighteen year old douche bags, douche bags with bad hair, douche bags who can't dance, hippie douche bags, drunk douche bags, high douche bags, douche bags without shirts on, hipster douche bags ... it was amazing and horrible all at the same time. I can't believe this city. It's like spring break but in a bad, bad way. Not in the this is hella fun and I'm drunk and pretending like I'm eighteen. It was more like, everyone here is horrible, I feel like I'm at a frat party and I'm twenty-six years old. Where am I?

We are going to Ko Phangan in a few days to go to the Full Moon Party and meet up with some friends we met in Laos. I'm meeting up with Jenna too, so it should be a blast, but to be honest, I'm terrified that it's gonna be like douche central-spring break-frat party plus a few white guys with dreadlocks. I guess at this point I should just say ce la vie and enjoy it. I am in Thailand after all, and I know I'm lucky.

Bangkok was a riot. Me, Daniel, Denny, Jan, and Emma ventured to the notorious Soi Cowboy, famous for it's ping-pong shows and prostitutes, for some ridiculousness. To sum it up, we watched a show which constituted of the following ---smoking cigarettes, magic flowers, shooting darts at balloons, pulling out strings with needles on it ... all out of their vagina. It was horrifying, sad, and intriguing all at the same time. I've never seen anything like it, and I hope, I never will again. I don't really think there is anything else to say about Soi Cowboy. I think I said it all.

We reluctantly left Daniel in Bangkok to head to Ko Samui; I couldn't wait to get to the beaches. Now I'm here and it sucks. I think all in all, Thailand has been my least favorite place by far. From what I've seen it's overly Westernized and consumed with tourists. I miss Sihanoukaville, I really miss Vietnam, and I miss the lazy pace of Laos. I wish I could go back to all of those places and do it all over again. They are amazing. It's crazy that it's already almost been two months. I can't believe it. It seems like I've been traveling forever but also seems like it's been no time at all. Does that make any sense? Hopefully the rain will let up for the Full Moon party, and hopefully I'll stop being so negative and get in the groove of Thailand ...

Angkor What?

2008-11-02T22:14:00.000-08:00

I had just drank a "happy shake" on the beach in Sihanoukaville, Cambodia and for a moment I thought, w0w, I never want to leave this beach. This is fucking amazing. Then I started to try and devise a completely unrealistic plan in my head to return to Sihanoukaville after my last stop in India and idle away days on the beach, being a bum drinking "happy" shakes all day and working with a bunch of Cambodian potheads at a random beach bar. That would be the life. I have a friend who spent three weeks in Sihanoukaville doing just that and I'm jealous. If we weren't on a time crunch to get to Singapore on November 21, there is no doubt in my mind that I would have stayed for much longer than the allotted three days of bliss.

After Vientiane, which was aight at best (the best part was meeting up with a"friend" I met and spent time with in Nha Trang), we took a plane to Phnom Penh where we met our limping friend Daniel, who we first met in Hanoi. Apparently, the poor guy fell into a hole in some pitch black village in Vietnam and sprained his ankle. Phnom Penh is badass. We painted that town red and black and blue ... and neon green all in one night. Daniel had met some friends, Jan and Emma, (a ridiculously fun English couple on their honeymoon), on part of his trip to Vietnam and we spent the night with them drinking and dancing. The night started at this unexpectedly and way-too-hip for-it's-own-good bar called Chow, where we acted like P-Diddy when Denny treated us to a bottle of champagne and we sipped it on it's rooftop terrace overlooking the lake to the beats of some Swedish DJ with a shaved head and glasses. The crowd was dressed to the nines and I felt like a tragic hippy backpacker in my rainbow flip flops and ethnic printed scarf wrapped around my waist. After uber-hip Chow, we went to a club on boat called Pontoon, and then after that got lost in a tuk tuk as the rain poured down trying to find some random-ass club fittingly moniker ed, Heart of Darkness. We found it, eventually, and it ended up being a blast but a bust at the same time. The dance floor was crowded with Cambodian prostitutes and old Cambodian men trying to grab my ass. After Heart of Darkness we went back to our hotel, the dingy, dirty and all together disgusting Wonderland 2 Guesthouse for some late night refreshments.

Phnom Penh, was of course, not all fun and games. Cambodia's history is a tragic one and it's really interesting and heartbreaking to see the remnants of what is left from the Khmer Rouge and the impact it's had on their country and it's people today. Cambodia is poverty-stricken. The kids break my heart the most. I can't resist their beautiful faces and whatever they are selling, I have a hard time not buying. My arms are full of crappy bracelets I've bought from adorable Cambodian kids, because I just can't say no. Denny gives me a hard time for it and says it doesn't really help them to buy from them, it doesn't go to them blah blah ... but I can't help it, I love them and my heart hurts for them. It's hard to be in Cambodia and not want to do something to help. It's impossible really. I wish I did more; I wish there was more that I could do. When I was in Siem Reap their was a group of adorable and sad orphans who put on dance performances, handing out fliers. I talked to one of the little girls that danced and in that moment I wished I could have adopted her and taken her home with me. The thought of all those beautiful children as orphans, killed me. I thought about coming back and volunteering at that orphanage, just because they were so gorgeous and the thought of all of them without homes or families or anyone but themselves was heartbreaking. I wish I could take them all home with me.

After our night in Phnom Penh we took the bus to Sihanoukaville where I had epiphany after epiphany about life as a backpacker and what bliss means to me. Sihanoukaville is my favorite beach town thus far. You have no idea how chill this place is. When I say chill, I mean so chill there's nothing to do but sit on the beach and drink happy shakes and Angkor beer all day while Cambodian ladies give you five dollar massages. It's heaven. I came to the realization one night as I lazily sat in a hammock sipping a bucket of vodka tonic, that this whole backpackers world is crazy. It's like the twilight zone; I feel like I have entered another dimension where everyone you meet is a traveler. No one really has jobs and you are in this constant state of happiness, adventure, and spontaneity. You see the same people over and over and over again, all over Asia and make new friends constantly. You party like you're in college, you eat like it's impossible to gain weight, and just do whatever you want, whenever you want. It's so strange, yet so brilliant. It's literally a whole new world away from having an apartment, a job, and serious commitments. No wonder people do it for years and years and years; it's fucking fantastic. I love it and I wish I could do it forever. I never knew that life could be like this and this trip has incredibly opened my eyes to a whole new way of life. I think back about how miserable I was at times before I left for this trip--getting laid off, working at temp jobs I hated, etc. and I realize that it was all for a purpose. The purpose being: me, here, now, traveling, learning, loving, and experiencing ... everything.

Wow do I love Sihanoukaville. I wish I could have stayed forever. We met up with Jan and Emma again in Sihanoukaville and spent a few nights lazying on the beach. We also ate the worst Indian food I've ever had in my entire life, which scared me from ever eating Indian food anywhere but at home and in India again. We left Sihanoukaville the next day to my dismay, and the persuasion of Denny and Daniel who aren't beach bums like I am.

We decided to go back to Phnom Penh for one night and then to Siem Reap to see Angkor Wat the next day. The day we got back to Phnom Penh we went to the Killing Fields which was really depressing and the Genocide Museum which was equally depressing but necessary to see. At the Killing Fields there was an overwhelming feeling of tragedy and pain there that took over my entire being. It was something in the air, it was just there; you could feel the fear and sadness of all the people that had died there. There was still remnants of the clothes on the unearthed graves of the dead. A piece of a blue shirt or a pair of pants lay solemnly in the dirt and little white specs of teeth stuck out from the muddy ground. On their graves there are new signs of life, which is ironic and poetic simultaneously. Vines and lush green plants were slowly growing over the graves, forming new life over ones that were lost.

The genocide museum was equally as sad. Walking through the school turned prison, and now museum was intense. I kept on getting shivers throughout my body as I walked through the eerily preserved cells where inmates were tortured. I could tell that it was haunted.; like the Killing Fields their was a heavy aura of sadness and tragedy in every corner of this place. The stench of mildew emanated from the tiny prison cells and there were times when I was alone in them, without another onlooker and this overwhelming feeling of anguish and pain took over my mind. It was like you could feel all of the wrongdoings that were done there. You could feel it in your bones--their pain, their sadness, their lives. The photos of all those who died there were plastered over the walls and my heart felt heavy with sadness for all those who died, who were killed for no reason at all, and those who endured torture and losing their loved ones to a corrupt and evil dictator. I found myself asking, why? Why would someone kill thousands of his own people? It will never make sense to someone like me, or most people for that matter.

Phnom Penh was an amazing place and I feel fortunate to have been able to see the city now, slowly changing. We left for Siem Reap the next day. When we got there I felt as if I was in an urban bazaar for backpackers. The streets were filled with hip bistros and cool boutiques. I couldn't believe this urban oasis existed in Cambodia of all places. We bought a three day pass to Angkor Wat and the next morning at 8 a.m we met our tuk tuk driver and guide for the day to see Angkor Wat and it's surrounding temples. We started with some temples around Angkor Wat, which were beautiful and surreal. It felt so ancient and grand that it almost seemed fake. We saw the temple where tomb raider was filmed, and it was gorgeous. Large tree roots stuck out from the ground and covered the structure.

Angkor Wat, the main attraction, was amazing. It was massive and impressive and when the orange-pink sky set behind it, it was a beautiful, beautiful thing to see. We spent the next day with Jan and Emma exploring other temples around Angkor. Daniel had the idea to go to one that overlooked a waterfall and we spent an hour hiking up to it in the rain. When we got there, there was no temple. Nothing. Just a waterfall with some carvings. Beautiful yes, but no temple. We left disappointed and laughing.

The next day we took a cab to the border of Thailand and Cambodia and then a mini-bus to Bangkok ... wow, Bangkok, and what a night we had in Bangkok. I'd write more now, but I'm exhausted and I've been sitting at this Internet cafe for two hours. I think it's time to go explore Bangkok some more .... maybe go to a ping pong show tonight .... if you don't know what a ping pong show is, look it up. Or don't, it may frighten you.

Laos Lovin' and Learning

2008-10-23T22:22:00.000-07:00

Why is it that the one person you want to run into you don't, but those that you don't give a shit about, you do ... weekly. We've been running into the same people over and over again during our travels. We give the mandatory, "hey, what's up, how you doin," salute and then go off doing our own thing. Sometimes you talk for longer, bullshitting a bunch of bullshit you don't care about, then that's it. I even ran into the guy I made a fool out of myself with in a Luang Prabang bowling alley (I'm seeing a tragic trend here), in Vang Vieng. It was awkward, he pretended not to see me, I tried not to make eye contact, then Denny screamed his name and it was all over ... mandatory five minutes of awkward conversation and nervous laughing.

It's been a great/tumultuous week. After Hanoi we took a flight to Luang Prabang. Luang Prabang is a gorgeous city--orange-robed monks roam the streets and crowd beautiful gold temples, elephants walk around town like it's the norm, small open-air cafes surround the idyllic mekong, and at night, the streets are glowing and rich with open air markets selling .... everything I could ever want to buy, and believe me I wanted everything--jeweled toned scarves, beautifully patterned bags, Laotian artwork ... you name it, I wanted it. The minute we got on a tuk tuk from the airport, the first thing I saw was a man on an elephant and a monk in an orange robe ... seriously? How could you not love this city, it's a writer's dream and most definitely a photographers dream as well.

Luang Prabang was not, unfortunately, ideal in every possible way. As I sat at a cafe sipping a Lao Beer and writing in my journal, I thought, WHERE THE FUCK IS MY CAMERA! Oh and it was gone. No where to be found. Then I remembered, Denny and I were sitting here, my camera on the table, when two kids came up and sold us one dollar bracelets. We bought some, and after he left, it was gone. That's the only thing I can think of. I don't want to blame some poor kid, but I have to blame some poor kid because that's the only explanation. Damn kid. I spent the next couple hours sulking .... oh and to top it all off, in my manic-frenzy of trying to find my camera I lost the bag I literally just bought. It was a beautiful one too. I've come to the conclusion that I lose everything. It's almost come to the point where I lose something and just think, eh it figures, whatevs, because I'm so over being disappointed in losing things.

During my freak out of losing my camera and all my photos of the past three weeks, there was this amazing boat festival taking place. The city was literally lit up with glowing paper boats making their way in a procession down to the Mekong river, the temples were illuminated with brightly colored lanterns and the sound of banging drums and laughter filled the night air. The city was beautiful, it was such a wonderful thing to see, but I was too upset about my camera to really take it in. I went back to my room, sulked for a half an hour to Denny, and he gave me a pep talk and basically said, "don't let this little thing ruin your night, look at what's going on outside, you don't want to miss this." I decided he was right. I was letting something material get in the way of this experience.

We left the shelter of our air-conditioned room and went outside. It was amazing--a sensory overload almost too brilliant to handle. The smell of egg-crepes covered in condensed milk filled our nostrils, the sound of laughter, of kids running around, and of banging drums filled our ears. The sight of ancient Laotian temples, surrounded by monks in richly colored robes, while star-shaped, jeweled-toned lanterns, and fire crackers illuminated the city of Luang Prabang made me forget that I ever lost my stupid camera. I wanted to slap myself for almost missing this because of something material. We followed the procession of paper boats down to the mekong and watched them float away on the river, forming glowing pools of amber and sparking champagne-colored crystals slowly floating away from us down the tepid river.

After the boats left, we made our way back to the city center and walked through the myriad temples that make up Luang Prabang. We walked into one--it was relatively small, the outside a rich golden color. On the inside there were two monks sitting on the side and chanting something in Laotian. I couldn't understand a word but it really didn't matter. A large golden Buddha stood in front of me and a few others were kneeling down to pray. I kneeled down and at that moment an overwhelming sensation of gratitude came over my entire being. I didn't know what it meant or how to handle it but I could feel my eyes well up with tears as I closed them to the calming sound of monks chanting. I clasped my hands and I thanked that golden Buddha in front of me for giving me that moment. I thanked whatever force out there for giving me this trip, for letting me feel truly and utterly alive again, for showing me, for the first time in a long time, what travel does to your soul. For giving me that boat festival on that muggy day in Luang Prabang, for helping me realize that a camera is just a camera. Someone can steal your camera, your photos, but they can never take away your memories. I know that overwhelming feeling of emotion and thanks I felt at that temple will be with me for the rest of my life ... sans photograph.

After Luang Prabang we left for Vang Vieng where we spent five glorious days tubing, relaxing, drinking shitloads, and meeting new friends. To add to my list of fun individuals we've met, are Franz from Germany, we lovingly call Air France because of the way he flies through the ropes in Tubing, Orla and Pete, a lovely (and ridiculously fun) Irish couple who could and did literally drink me under the table, Leslie an adorable Scottish girl, and Francis another Irish dude whose general sweetness was impossible not to like. This was our new found group of friends in Vang Vieng, our temporary friends who we hung out with, drank with, tubed with and spent time with for a few days. It's strange having two day friends and it's always sad to say goodbye in the end, but it's something you just get used to traveling. We all plan to meet at the Full Moon party in Thailand but who knows if that is going to happen. I hope so.

Tubing in Vang Vieng is hard to explain. Vang Vieng in general is fucking surreal, there were so many days where Denny and I would look at each other and just say, "where are we?" It's full of backpackers--mostly white backpackers with dreadlocks, douche bag backpackers, hippie backpackers, hardcore alcoholic backpackers, and basically, everyone speaks English. Cafes are filled with westerners and episodes of Friends or Family Guy are played back to back. Denny and I are always the token brown folks. Many think Denny is the tour guide or the waiter at the restaurant. I on the other had am harder to figure out. Where the hell am I from? She doesn't look American, why the dark skin? Oh travelling ...

Ok, so I've come to the conclusion that tubing in Vang Vieng is fucking brilliant. You rent tubes and a tuk tuk drives you down to the Nam Song river where you start your totally un-sober journey. As you float down the river, a plethora of bars surround you on every side. I think there are ten total (we only ever ended up making it to five). As you lazily lay on the tubes, natives throw you a rope, or a stick, or whatever, and pull you into the prospective bar. Each bar is the ubiquitous spring break fiesta, full of youngsters chugging Lao beer, taking free whiskey shots, sipping buckets of god knows what, chain smoking, flirting, and just generally partying in the sun. Once you are bored with one bar, you go to the next, and the next, and the next, until you are so wasted and/or high that you can't even imagine how the fuck you are going to get back to land via tube. The first day it was six of us, linked together in our tubes trying to make it back home. It was literally pitch black the only thing we could see were stars and some dim lights in the horizon (which gave me hope). It was pouring rain, Lee, the hippie from Minnesota kept our spirits high by singing Bob Dylan songs, and kept on reassuring us he knew where the hell he was going. Turns out he did and we made it back safely, only to drink more at the notorious "Bucket Bar." I'm gonna give a shout out to buckets right now because, they are amazing. It's a bucket full of alcohol, fuck glasses, who needs glasses when you can literally have a bucket full of delicious alcoholic beverage, with four straws in it. Fabulous and dangerous, but all in all ... fabulous. I'm bringing buckets to San Francisco.

Vang Vieng was great. I miss the friends we made. I always do, but then, I guess you make new ones and move on with your travels. We are in Vientiane now. It's boring so far, but I haven't seen anything yet. It's definitely not tubing. After Vientiane we are meeting our friend Daniel, (the San Franciscan we met in Hanoi), in Phnom Penh to explore Cambodia. I can't wait.

I've realized something about myself on this trip, that I guess I've always known but been somewhat oblivious too. I live my life with my heart completely exposed. There's no armor, no protection, it's completely open to everything and anything. To falling in love--even though I've been disappointed more times than I can count, and my hearts been broken so badly I literally thought I was dying. It's not just about love though, it's about friendship, new experiences, new people, to just new sights and smells, and emotions I've never felt before. Everything affects me so much, everything has meaning, and I always take chances with my heart. Even if it means at the end of the day that it hurts, at least there's no regret. At least, I learned something and at least I am really living. I remember conversations on this trip, with exact clarity and I know they will stay with me forever. One in particular. I asked a guy I met in Vietnam if he felt at home there. He said no, but told me something his friend said to him which I thought was just lovely. His friend who is traveling with his girlfriend, whenever he wants to be at home, he closes the hotel door, looks at his girlfriend, and there he is. At home. It made me realize that home can be a person, it can be a love, or it can just be a memory. I thought that was beautiful and I don't think I'll ever forget that or him. I can't say I feel at home in Vientiane, but I feel at home with myself, no matter where I am. I guess your home really is wherever your heart is. Right now my heart is traveling and in travel I feel at home. I've also realized on this trip that the only regrets I've ever had have been when I didn't follow my heart ... so heart here goes. I guess I'm back to following you again.

A Word With my Heart in Hanoi

2008-10-13T23:24:00.000-07:00

It's been a while since I've written. I feel wretched that I haven't been keeping up with my blog, but I've been majorly preoccupied with traveling, drinking, and the like. Too much drinking, too much of "the like." I need a break. We are in Hanoi now, staying at the Hanoi Backpackers Hostel which is the most fun I've had on the entire trip, but also the most cliche thing I've done on this entire trip. It's the ubiquitous frat-party, playing ground of twenty-something backpackers, getting trashed every night off fishbowls of vodka red bull, hooking up with other drunk travelers like it's their day job, and hanging around in circles conversing about their epic Asian adventures. Needless to say it's a blast, but I think I need to get out of here and stop making a drunken fool of myself. Good thing we leave tomorrow for Luang Prabang, Laos.

From Hoi An we went to Hue, which was interesting but semi boring. After coming from beautiful, romantic, enchanting Hoi An, I was disjointed in Hue. We saw the Forbidden City which had nothing on the one in Beijing, took a few cyclo rides at 2 a.m., stayed at the DMZ hotel which was attached to the DMZ restaurant/bar which served exorbitantly expensive drinks and mediocre cheeseburgers. We met some cool travelers, hung out with them for a night and then made our way via overnight bus to Hanoi.

In Hanoi, we decided to take the Halong Bay two night/three day boat tour that the hostel provided. I expected a booze cruise of sorts, full of other alcohol consuming backpackers and hippies, but never expected the views to be so spectacular. From the hostel, Denny and I met Daniel--a lone traveler born in Texas who is now a San Franciscan transplant. We also met a group of hilarious and fun girls named Misty, Emily and Ally--Emily and Ally also from San Francisco. The group of us had a blast on the boat and made the typical plans of hanging out after the trip is over in San Francisco. We are trying to meet Daniel in Cambodia in a few weeks; I hope it happens because he's a seriously legit dude. Legit.

The first day, we took a four hour bus ride to Halong where we got on a beautiful dark-wooden boat that we would be staying the night on. There were thrity-something of us and immediately we all started talking, sippin beer, and hanging out as the boat made it's way through the gigantic rock formations that encapsulated us on every side. Halong Bay is one of the most beautiful places I have ever been, hands down. Every five seconds I would look at Denny or Daniel and just say, this is amazing, this is unreal, I can't believe we are here right now. It's one of those places that just pulls at your heart strings and makes you want to cry because you can't believe you can be this lucky to see something so beautiful. It made me feel so, so grateful to be alive--to be traveling, to be able to see one of the worlds natural wonders, and just to be a part of it all with new and old friends.

In the past three weeks I have had so many moments of clarity amongst the drunken haziness, so many moments of deja vu which always freaks me out a bit but makes me think that this trip was fated in my destiny. There have been so many "wow" moments where I just realize that I am really living for the first time in a long time, I am truly happy, and that there are endless opportunities in this world for me. I can live anywhere. I can say fuck it to San Francisco and move to Hanoi and work at a hostel, like so many others I have met. I can say fuck it to San Francisco, move to Thailand and be a writer. I can do anything I want, if I really want it, and for the first time in a long time I don't feel stuck. I'm scared to try to find a job in San Francisco, the economy is shit. I don't know how long it will take, and now, I'm seriously thinking of moving abroad and finding a writing job. I want to find something that is me, that is more adventurous, that will make me feel excited everyday to get up in the morning, instead of just working for the weekend.

Wow, I just went off on a tangent. I've just been thinking a lot about what this trip has done for me so far, and I'm only three weeks in. If I was in San Francisco, I would be doing the same shit. Working (or not, since I am jobless at the moment), going to Beauty Bar on a Saturday night , and just generally doing the same crap I have done every week for the past two years. Not that there's anything wrong with a routine; it's just nice to break out of it for a while. I'm a restless soul, It's a blessing and a curse--it's one of my weakest qualities but also the one that makes me adventurous.

Back to the boat trip. The first night was spent on the boat, where we had a massive party, full of bottles of Hanoi vodka, a seemingly endless supply of beer, random ipod music, and dancing, people hooking up left and right, all while under the star-light sky of Halong Bay. That was the first time in my life I've partied on a boat while being surrounded by breathtakingly beautiful views. It was a once in a lifetime experience and I loved every minute of it. After getting an hour of sleep I woke up, devoured some breakfast and we went kayaking for the day. Let me start by saying, I'm not a kayaker. I've been maybe once in my life in Mexico when I was seventeen on a booze cruise. Regardless, it was amazing. Being in the middle of the ocean, surrounded by Halong bay, going through caves, looking up and seeing thousands of rock formations sticking out from the serene water, covered in lush greenery, is something I will never forget. Now, I love kayaking, but I think this is as good as it gets. It's hard to even explain how beautiful this place is and photos don't do it justice. If it didn't take two hours to upload ten photos I would put some up to exemplify the sheer beauty of this place. Right now, I don't have the patience. That night we stayed in a hotel and spent another night at a bar partying with the group. Basically a lot of drinking which resulted in me getting three hours of sleep. Four hours of sleep in two days is not enough, let me tell you that. My body knows that too well. Regardless of what my body tells me, sometimes, often, I don't listen.

Since last night was Misty, Ally, and Emily's last night with us we got drunk ... again. Not the best idea as it ended somewhat dramatically with me on a motobike with a dude I met on the Halong bay trip, who I yelled " I hate you" at by the end of the night. I didn't mean it, I was just drunk and dramatic. (Story of my life.) After that, I went on a rant about how I hate all men (pretty typical of me as well), drunkenly told some poor Swiss dude that I thought all men are dicks and that I hated him, and went to bed drunk, angry and laughing because of the ridiculousness of myself. Pretty typical drunk Lena move--all of it. I need to stop saying hate. I really don't hate anyone or anything, I just like to be dramatic sometimes and people don't get it. Pretty typical. Pretty fucking typical. I won't go into detail, it's too much too expose right now, but I'm pretty sure I'm embarrassed today. Pretty sure, and I think I need a word with myself, a word with dude, and a word with my heart.

Denny is the only person keeping me sane, telling me I'm too emotional, that I need to stop thinking with my heart and with my head. Hella cheesy but it's true. If my head was to have a word with my heart, it would say, " Listen heart, stop it now. You are lying. Stop being flattered by every, little thing a hot guy says to you. It doesn't mean shit. It's a lie. Don't be fooled by that adorable accent. Think with you're fucking head for once in your life. You're on vacation. Vacation! Romance is important, but remember, you're on fucking vacation. You have to stop expecting shit. Actually, don't expect anything. You're here for two days, three days whatever. Stop taking everything so damn seriously, you are ridiculous. You are too romantic. Snap the FUCK out of it. Have fun, stop being a drunken mess and move on with your life. You can't trust everyone you meet. You can hardly trust anyone you meet, and why would you trust someone you've known for two days or three days or one day, or whatever. Learn you're lessons and move on. It's all part of the experience and you are learning from it. There you go heart, that's all I have to say to you. Please listen to me." I know it won't. It never does. I think it's just one of those things it needs to learn on it's own. For now, I'm traveling and so is my heart. It keeps bouncing around from place to place ... being fucking confused. Sorry heart ... I'm sorry.

From Nha Trang to Hoi An

2008-10-05T22:29:00.000-07:00

I know I have been lagging on the writing. It's been a chore to get my lazy ass off the beach and to a computer where I can spend some actual quality time writing about my experiences instead of drinking them away at the Red Apple Backpacker's bar in Nha Trang. I spent the last 5 days there consuming sugary alcoholic beverages like I'm in Cancun on Spring Break circa 2002--sleeping in till the afternoon, and lazying away a few hours on the beach only to do it all over again the next night. My twenty-six year old body was not havin' it. I can't drink like I'm twenty-one anymore and I can't keep up with the twenty-three year olds I've been hanging out with. I'm old. I can't party like I used to, I can't drink "buckets" of vodka red bull and follow it up with a beer bong at 5 a.m. Ok, maybe I can (and god, did I, minus the beer bong part) but my body definitely hates me the next day.

My friend Jenna met me from China and is now traveling with Denny and I for a month. Nha Trang was miles away from the hectic streets of Saigon, and a welcome respite from boring, rainy Dalat. It was beautiful. The weather was perfect, I got tan on the beach, got to spend some time in the ocean, got two massages, met a number of lovely travelers, made some new friends, spent all week at one bar--The Red Apple, which became our oasis where the owners knew us by name and the familiar faces of wayward backpackers were there nightly. Kind of like Cheers, but tropical and more "Spring breakie." It was like a home away from home for a few nights. I'm sure my vision was deluded with alcohol, cute boys with accents (sigh), and hot weather--regardless, I enjoyed myself and it was hard to leave.

Denny got bored and had to book it a day early to Hoi An, where we are now. Jenna and I took the overnight bus the next day. It was harsh. Eleven hours on a night bus, ridiculously bumpy roads, with a cramped "bed" space, no bathroom, and the sporadic noise of people coughing and sneezing in the background was no way to get a good nights sleep. Luckily, I scored an ambien from Denny and it was out for a good eight hours until we reached our destination.

We got to Hoi An yesterday morning and spent all day walking around this small, charming town famous for it's clothing shops where you can get anything you're heart desires made. After hours of walking around and checking out the different seamstresses, I found one that made me the most perfect red, flowery hippie dress, a la Mischa Barton, that I found in a cut out of Vogue.

We went to a cooking class later in the day, where we learned how to make a variety of different Vietnamese dishes--spring rolls, tamarind prawns, pork braised in coconut water ... it was all delicious. We ordered two bottles of wine, the chefs insatiably flirted with Denny, and we got drunk at the tiny restaurant lit up with red and yellow lanterns, overlooking the water. It was one of those nights I'll never forget--a perfect travel moment that will always be ingrained in my memory. After we were a little tipsy off wine, we went back to our seamstress to try on our dresses and got conned into buying more. I'm getting another brown hippie dress made that I semi designed myself, semi got off a magazine. I don't know how it's going to turn out. Drunk designing/shopping may not be the best idea, or the best idea for my wallet. Oh well, carpe diem. Right? Today I'm off to the beach in Hoi An then to go see my dress. I love this town--it's charming like no other town I've ever been to. The streets are filled with glowing lantern shops, and the river is overflowing with tiny boats. There's so much to write and not enough time. All I can say is I love Vietnam and I truly am having the time of my life.

The Last Days of Dalat

2008-09-28T05:35:00.000-07:00

My birthday in Ho Chih Minh turned out to be an unexpectedly debaucherous night of drinking, crazy Vietnamese clubs, old friends, and new ones. Basically, it was a blast. I met up with an old college friend, Matt, who now resides and works in Ho Chih Minh as a Teddy Bear exporter, or something equally as random. I hadn't seen the guy since college graduation, but him and his (extremely international) expat comrades--from the likes of India, America, Cambodia, and Sweden--took us out for an intense night of club-hopping and celebrating, Saigon style. This included (what seemed like) endless bottles of flowing champagne, dancing in night clubs in cages, and a belly full of drunken dim sum to top it all off. I got drunk. I danced. It was fun. Denny's family also cooked an amazing seafood dinner which coincided with shots of patron, beer, and cake ... smeared over many an intoxicated face. It was most definitely a birthday I will never forget ... I really did celebrate the seemingly boring age of twenty-six with a bang.

We arrived in Dalat yesterday, a beautiful, yet somewhat boring, hillside town some ten hours away from the hustle and bustle of Ho Chih Minh. It's relaxing here, but the city is overflowing with puddles from the rain and there's not much to do, which meant I got enough downtime to catch the Terminator on TV in our three-dollar a night hotel as well kill time reading Australian tabloid magazines and a two year old European Marie Claire (in a language I couldn't distinguish), that was laying around in the hotel lobby.

We saw the city by way of motorcycle (that Denny's native cousin and friend drove), which encompassed a pretty lake, reminiscent of a cleaner and bigger lake Merritt in Oakland, a disappointing flower garden, and a lively market with a colorful cornucopia of local fruit and vegetables. We visited a quirky guest house monikered "Crazy House" which was nostalgic of a Daliesque fairy land. I think the owner/architect might be as eccentric as the house itself, whose perfectly posed glamour shots throughout the decades adorned the walls. Glamour shots aside, I respect the lady for taking a risk in designing such a kooky and creative house--in Dalat, Vietnam of all places.

Denny and I spent a few hours at V Cafe--a cute balconied cafe who, according to Lonely Planet, serves up a killer chocolate pie. We sat drinking iced coffee and chatting with a lovely Dutch couple who were on Holiday from their current home in Shanghai. I love meeting travelers and hearing their stories--everyone is so unique from my own and everyone's reason for traveling is as diverse as their countries of origin. The natives here are friendly and everyone seems intrigued, and at the same time, confused as to where I am from. I don't look American, but I'm from America? A strange concept for some to embrace but one I have come accustomed to during my travels abroad.

Dalat is a charming city, epitomous of a Vietnamese honeymoon, and a far cry from the bustling craziness of Saigon. I thought I was going to get hit by a bike every time I walked outside the door in Saigon. Here, there's nothing of the sort, and it's a sweet change. We leave for Nha Trang tomorrow which is as notorious for its beautiful beaches as it is for its late night partying. I am excited to literally do nothing all day on the beach. I just want to embrace the hot weather and work on my tan while drinking buckets of coronas. It's happening, it better happen, and I hope to God it doesn't rain the whole time. I'm sick of wearing my green, fifty cent rain poncho.

Happy Birthday to Me

2008-09-25T00:08:00.000-07:00

Back home in San Francisco I'm still twenty-five. Here in Vietnam, I'm a little bit older, not much wiser, and turned twenty-six today. Sometimes I hate birthdays, I feel the same age but I sound so much older. Twenty-six sounds kind of old, lets be honest. I finally had a good nights sleep last night, and woke up at like 9:00 instead of 5:30 a.m as I did the night before. I'm still exhausted, it's hot as hell here in Ho Chih Minh and I'm sweating buckets constantly. It's exactly, how I imagined it to be. I think this is the first time I have spent my birthday abroad; it's surreal. I can't believe I'm in Vietnam right now. Denny's family sweetly surprised me with a birthday cake this morning, with "Happy Birthday Lena" on it, that we are going to enjoy later tonight.

Yesterday, I had some truly breathtaking meals. For lunch we went to a popular wood-thatched eatery in the center of Ho Chih Minh, called Quan An Ngon whose indivudual outdoor cooking stations created a fantastic amalgamation of smells--from sweet fish sauce, deep fried spring rolls, fresh mint and basil, to the salty scents of barbecued meat and seafood. It was probably, one of the best meals I have ever had in my life, and only a whopping seven dollars a person. We ordered more than necessary, but our hungry eyes couldn't help ordering everything on the menu that our bellies desired. We ate Banh Tom Ho Tay, delectably sweet and savory crispy shrimp and sweet potato pancake, Banh Xeo, beef noodle soup, Bo Kho Bo, the best green papaya salad with dried beef I've ever tasted--it's tangy-sweet aftertaste and spicy flavor left your mouth watering. The Tom Dat Nuong Muot Ot, Grilled prawns with chili and salt was my favorite. The crunchy outside, incredibly fragrant and spicy flavor blended with the crunchy, smoky outside, made for an explosion of textures and and tastes. For dinner we had seven courses of beef, cooked in assorted ways. It was equally as wonderful.

The food in this city is addicting; I can, and want, to eat all day. Once I'm done with one meal, I want to eat another. I think I've already gained about ten pounds, but I kind of don't care because it's so damn delicious.

Anyways, happy birthday to me, I guess. I'm gonna go eat some more food now and get a two dollar massage from a blind person. Maybe drink a Saigon Beer a long the way too.

Scents of Saigon

2008-09-23T19:39:00.000-07:00

After a fourteen hour flight, a lay over in Hong Kong, a Starbucks coffee, and about five disgusting, individually wrapped, airplane meals that left me unsatisfied, I finally landed in my destination--Saigon. I got in at 10:30 a.m. where I was greeted by Denny and his family.

Obviously, being the food fanatic that I claim to be and obsessed with Asian cuisine as I am, the first thing I yerned for a was a delicious and traditional Vietnamese lunch. We were taken to a modern-interiored restaurant by Denny's cousin, and were presented with a delectable array of Vietnamese dishes which I, predictably, cannot pronounce nor know the name of, but fell madly in love with at first scent and sight. They included some savory meat on a stick which we wrapped in rice paper with cilantro and mint and dipped in peanut sauce, tiny stir-fried clams which tasted like lemongrass that you scoop like salsa with crispy rice chips, steamed rice noodle dumplings with shrimp, dipped in fish sauce, and soft rice cakes with green onions, dried shrimp, fish sauce, and deep fried pork skin chips to top it off ... washed down with a cold Vietnamese beer and fresh coconut water. Basically, the meal was everything I could of asked for as my first meal in Vietnam, or any meal at that matter.

The smell of fresh noodle soup wafts into the room above the family-run restaurant we are staying at. Everyday, groups of locals crowd the popular restaurant to get their daily fix of steaming bowls of Chinese noodle soup and Vietnamese coffee, which I have also started a not-so-secret love affair with. Condensed milk and strong coffee are true soulmates, God couldn't have matched better. Down the street there is a salon, where a few young Vietnamese ladies, with funky haircuts, work. Denny took me to get a hair shampoo and mini facial for three dollars. I got my hair washed and massaged and they washed my face with some undiscript soap and continued to do a bunch of other somewhat-scary (yet awesome) massaging techniques that included banging my forehead with something random and cucumbers placed strategically on my face. Then they blowdried and straightened my hair ... I felt like a new woman, with stick-straight hair instead of wavy, ready to take on Ho Chih Minh.

This city is insane. I've never seen so many motorcycles in my entire life. The city is covered with them like ants that creep up on you and won't let you cross the street. Everytime I step outside, I fear for my life. I guess that's just how it is living on the edge as an intrepid traveller ... you're always scared you're gonna get hit by a racing motorcylcle in the streets of Saigon. Regardless I love the city. It's so full of life from it's overcrowded walkways, street-food stalls that envelope the city in fresh scents of mint and basil, sugarcane juice, sweet fish sauce, and deep fried spring roles. I adore the outdoor caffes that adorn tree-lined boulevards and wish I could idle away days in them with my journal, a pen, and Vietnamese coffee.

I woke up at 5:30 a.m. today. Jet lag wouldn't let me sleep through the night, but a hot cup of Vietnamese coffee accompanied with noodle soup for breakfast woke me right up, and now I'm ready to explore. I can't wait to see what more this city has to offer. I can feel it's history, though i'm unfortunately lacking in education about it, through every building, every street-side food vendor, and in the warm-hearted people that encopass it. I can't wait to eat more delicious things and get lost in the cities intriquite and congested streets.

Twelve Days

2008-09-10T15:25:00.000-07:00

Twelve days. Twelve days until steaming bowls of pho, Tuk Tuk rides, gorgeous beaches, and a sore back ... from the back pack of course. I can't wait. I leave in twelve days for Saigon (Ho Chih Minh). Every time I refer to it as "Ho Chih Minh" I get a head shake and a throat clear, where someone says, " you mean, Saigon?" From now on I may just refer to it as Saigon with "Ho Chih Minh" in parenthesis and vice versa. It's kinda like the Bombay, Mumbai thing. I call it Bombay other's call it Mumbai, but what, really, is the PC thing to call it. Or is there even a PC way to call it? I guess in the end it doesn't really matter. It's the same city no matter what you call it and all this name changing is really starting to give me a headache.

It's so like me yet so unlike me at the same time to go on such a spontaneous trip. I'm an adventurous person, but I have to admit, this is extreme for me. It really is going to be a test to see how adventurous I can really be, how dirty i'm ok with getting, how sweaty and tired I can be, while still being happy at the end of the day. Traveling has really gotten the best of me again ... I love it too much. It's deep rooted in me. It's like alcohol, or chocolate, or shopping, or something I really love but don't need--I will survive without it, but I definitely won't be as fulfilled or as happy in life. Ok, maybe it's silly to compare travel with chocolate, or shopping, and god forbid, alcohol--I'd give up any and all of those things if it meant I got to see the world some more.I've been stressed, this trip is a big deal to me. I even tried to meditate, but got bored and ended up looking up bags on Urbanoutfitters.com a half an hour later. I'm gonna keep at it though ... maybe I'll go to an Ashram in India and idle away days in the lotus pose ... finding myself spritually by way of yoga and meditation. Sounds like a great idea, in theory. Most likely, I'll just drink a shitload of beers on the beach and pass out with my belly full of samosas and coconut water.

Invisible Tokyo Footprints

2008-08-29T00:58:00.000-07:00

Tokyo has been skipping around my mind a lot recently. I look at photos longingly--of laughing, drunken friends karaoking, of Shibuya's busy city-streets, effervescent with flashing light and constant movement, of my calmer moments captured on camera at Shinjuku Goen park overlooking a lake blanketed in lily pads. Photos of my messy tatami-mat roomed floor transport me to two years ago--a single, flowery futon haphazardly snuggles the padded floor and a white wall swathed in Japanese flyers collected throughout the months, acts as a constant liason of every memory, like snapshots of my Tokyo experiences.

I miss it. A part of me feels like I have unfinished business there, like I came home prematurely, unready to really be back home and to deal with all of what that meant. Of starting a career, of settling in San Francisco, of being an adult in a serious relationship, and all of what was to come after. I returned for love and don't regret it, even though the relationship eventually failed, like most do, I've come to realize. Often, I wonder what would have happened if I had stayed past those eight months, then I fall asleep with a sigh and the understanding that this is one of those unanswerable questions I will never know the answer to. I miss it. I miss my friends and all their free-spirited idiosyncrasies. I loved how we were all there to experience something new, to learn about a new culture or re-connect with one lost long ago, and in return learn about ourselves too. I only knew them for eight months, many of them less, but they affected my life simply by being present in it and sharing themselves and something sacred with me--Tokyo. I miss them all. I have come to the realization, that I may never see some of these friends again, which hurts my heart, but I know some people are only supposed to be in your life for a short time to teach you something, to leave an impression on you. It doesn't mean their effect on you is any less potent, sometimes more so.

You know those moments you have in life, those special ones, in it you fully realize you will always remember that instant and wish it never had to end. Sometimes amidst them, I even catch myself thinking, this is one of those moments. Don't forget it, savor every last second of it. I've had so many of these in Tokyo. Underneath cherry blossoms in the Spring that billowed down like soft pink feathers, from a new embrace or a familiar one, from brush strokes in Yoyogi park, a whisper under a maple tree, and a day spent in solitude.

I'm returning soon to a new Tokyo. To one where only a few friends remain but my memories of the Tokyo I knew cover the city like invisible footprints. I know it will be different but I hope I will love it just the same as that beautiful city of inevitable possibilities, incandescent skyscrapers, serene temples, Ginza's stern business men complimented with Harajuku's blue-haired teenagers--and after everything feeling like you are a part of all of it, lost among the chaos only to find peace.

Sweet, Savory, Spicy Laos

2008-08-27T15:43:00.000-07:00

I think I might be the only person in the world who hasn't read The Secret, but from what I've heard, it's all about being positive. I don't know if I need to read a book to tell me that, and I've come to the realization that lately, all I have been doing is complaining ... about everything. Life is up and down, constantly, and the past couple of weeks, I have been going through a down. It's true you can't really appreciate happiness, if you haven't experienced the opposite. Nothing too horrible has happened, just lots of things that I have to deal with and don't want to. Story of my life, it seems, but I've decided to whole-heartedly manifest positive things, by way of simply thinking positively about everything going on in my life. It's so easy to be unhappy. It takes a stronger person to try to get out of that funk and find the peace within themselves to be content. I know I sound like a hippie, obviously a part of me is, but I think positivity has more power over our lives than we give it credit for.

I do have to say though, the one week me and my fourth-cousin/bff/ex-coworker Shyla made a conscience decision to stop talking so much crap and start manifesting positive things, we both got laid off by the end of the week. The irony is killing me. But maybe, it was some karmic revolution trying to tell us that getting laid off was the thing we were manifesting all a long. It's entirely possible that I tell myself this to feel better about losing my job, but, I've always had faith in the philosophy of everything happening for a reason, and now two months later, I'm about to hop on a plane to Asia.

I was reading up a bit on Laos today in my intensive South East Asia on a Shoestring, my Lonely Planet Bible for the next four months, and I subsequently decided it would be a phenomenal idea to take a cooking class in Laos at the Thong Bay Guesthouse In Vientiane. I know nothing about Laotian cuisine. I don't even think I have ever seen a Laotian restaurant in San Francisco which is ubiquitious for it's multi-cultural food options. I just googled "Laotian restaurants in San Francisco" and literally came up with nothing. I did find this appetizing restaurant in Albany, but it's not simply Laotian food, its Lao-Thai cuisine, which is frankly not the same, though I'm sure their food has many of the same influences. To be honest, I found it somewhat unsettling that Laotian cuisine is so terribly unrepresented in this area of the world and the fact that I don't even know what Laotian cuisine really tastes like. To me, this is tragic; I want to know what every flavor and cuisine on the globe tastes like. I want the smells to be familiar of another place in the world and my taste-buds even more so. It's the way chicken karaage transports me back to my grandma's kitchen in Japan, every time I taste it or smell the intoxicating aroma of ginger and garlic wafting in from the stove-top as the chicken is dipped in bubbling oil. No restaurant could ever compare to the way she cooks it.

I think this class will be my way of bringing back Laos to San Francisco, if I can actually remember how to cook anything when I get back. The way I imagine this cooking class is how Anthony portrays life on No Reservations--full of fragrant spices, happy locals, and fresh vegetables, neatly spread out on a vibrant multi-colored table cloth. Maybe with some fresh lobster and fish and a bucket full of traditional Lao beer to take it all in. Then we bake, grill, steam, fry ... and savor every last heavenly bite at a beautiful outside table overlooking the Mekong river with a blooming array of native flaura and fauna surrounding us. I don't know if it's going to be as Bourdainesque as I fantasize it to be, but it's only fifteen dollars and, if anything, it would be a fun culinary adventure. Plus, I really like how the guesthouse is called "Thong bay." How can you go wrong with that?

My dream Laotian feast

Thong Bay Guesthouse

Sweet Saigon

2008-08-26T00:23:00.001-07:00

I've realized, especially in the past couple of weeks, that life gives you many, many obstacles before you ever reach your final goal. My goal being make it to Asia with enough money in my pockets to sustain myself for four months, a passport with appropriate visas, and other things of that nature. Sometimes I just want to ask, why can't things just be easy? Maybe I make it hard for myself, but I've realized for a long time that getting what you want in life is anything but easy. If you didn't have to work for it, would you really appreciate it as much? I dunno, but I do know that I leave in less than a month and that scares that shit out of me. I want to know when the fear will subside and excitement take over. I know this is an opportunity of a lifetime and all my own doing, but I always get nervous when it's time to actually do the thing I've been working so hard for. Whether it be going to college, teaching in Japan, studying abroad in Barcelona ... whatever it is, I'm always more terrified than excited, and I'm lucky if I even get one hour of sleep the night before. Once I get on the plane is when I finally get it, and it's like a needed slap in the face. I always end up having the time of my life. Always.

My first stop is Saigon, and I am ecstatic get a taste of local life with Denny's gracious family who we will be staying with. I want to eat steaming bowls of pho, lots of noodles and BBQ pork, and drink Vietnamese coffee sweetened with condensed milk daily. I also want to finish every meal with one of those jelly, coconut tasting desserts served in some sort of creamy liquid. You know what I'm talking about, especially if you're Asian and/or really appreciate Asian desserts. Denny is really pressuring me to get an Asian perm as well as do a joint series of glamour shots in Vietnam to send as post cards. I'm contemplating the glamour shots, but the perm is not an option. I just don't think it's worth it to have a perm , simply for humor's sake. It would be awesome and hilarious for a full five minutes then I would be pissed that I had a perm and there was nothing I could do about it. Of course, there are other things I want to do in Saigon, other than consume a bunch of amazing calories and get glamour shots. To be honest though, food for me has always held strong significance in my life, not just for it's savory-sweet-spiciness, but for the culture and history behind it. You can learn so much about a countries people by tasting the food and all it's flavors, that is a part of them, and has been, for centuries. I want to get lost in the city, finding myself in unexplored alleys, winding boulevards, and discovering Saigon in my own way, as I always do.

Take me to Paradise ... Please

2008-08-19T23:21:00.001-07:00

I can't wait to be on a beach in Thailand. I don't even care what beach it is or if it's even in Thailand. Malaysia, Cambodia, even Vietnam will do ... but I do want it to resemble the photo above, complete with the boat and the little dude eagerly waving at me, with that come hither look that says "let me show you my paradise." Note, that in my head, he's a gorgeous surfer, with a six pack (of muscles and beer), and a hot accent. "Take me to paradise," I'll say in my most sultry voice. In my head this sounds perfect, in reality I am anything but a sultry sex-kitten. I'd most likely get nervous and start laughing then spill beer all over myself or trip on something and fall on my ass. All things have been known to happen--I often laugh when I'm nervous, mostly during inappropriate times, I spill on myself daily, and I trip on everything.

Also, during my fantasy (soon to be reality) day I want to eat fresh lobster and crab and waste all day drinking coconut water and get tanked off sugary alcoholic beverages on the beach. Then, I want to pass out in the sand only to wake up perfectly golden tan and sublimely happy.

It's so close I can almost taste the over-sweetened blended rum drink and feel the sand in between my toes ....

Sixteen Going on Twenty-Six

2008-08-14T18:58:00.001-07:00

I've been feeling a bit under the weather lately. A bout of health issues has predictably been bestowed upon me making me feel like absolute crapola. Literally, all I want to do is curl up in a ball under my goose-down comforter, bury myself in a million pillows, eat ice-cream sundaes, and watch Diner's, Drive-Ins and Dives (don't ask me why I love that show, but it's like porn for the hungry). I attribute all of these issues to stress and myself for not proactively knowing how to handle it. I don't do well under pressure; all my stress, sadness, nervousness, whatever, ends up rearing it's heinous head in the form of stomach aches, colds, extreme muscle aches, bad skin, and just a general feeling of malaise. Needless to say stress is my own worst enemy as is cheese, ice-cream, Mcdonalds, and all things that make my ass even bigger.

I'm getting excited about the prospect of this upcoming journey around Asia, but to be honest, stress is more prevalent in my life now, than excitement or happiness. I think I'm more terrified of the unknown--of running out of money in some random village in Laos, of being kidnapped in Cambodia and forced into the sex trade, but mostly ... of what the hell I am going to do when I get back to real life in San Francisco. I'm bothered by the term "real life." Why can't traveling be my reality? Why can't it be my version of "real life" and my version of happiness? I think it can be, and I know I need to integrate traveling into all of my realities if I truly want to be happy.

My fears all stem from the same place--of the inponderable things I will be forced to face upon my return to "real life." Am I going to be able to find a writing or editing job? Will I be broke and have to move into my parents house (please, God, not again)? Will I move to New York City, go to grad school, or better yet, find my dream job writing for a magazine on a beach off the coast of Koi Samui? I have no idea. That's the issue, but I guess also the thing that intrigues me the most. The risk, the adrenalin of starting something new. That excitement that mirrors my insecurities and forces me to confront them head on. I always told myself I would never let fear be the reason I didn't follow my dreams. I never know where my heart will lead me, but I always seem to follow it anyways--I believe your heart knows where you need to be even if the practicality of your mind doesn't flow parallel to it.

A part of me (my heart) likes to think I can be as free spirited as a hippie in the Haight during the peace and love movement who is in a perma state of "high on life" (and other substances). The other part of me (my head) thinks I need a little bit more stability. I'm almost twenty-six which really just means I'm almost in my late twenties, which means I'm nearly thirty, which in societies close-minded view, means I need to find myself a husband and reer some babies in the near future. I don't want any of those things. Not now at least. Not even a little, and I'm OK with that. But then why does getting closer to thirty, scare the bejeesus out of me? I suppose when I was sixteen, and twenty-six sounded a million light years away--not to mention ancient--I thought I would be settled by now. Maybe even married, with a steady job. Fortunately, my pre-pubescent images of adulthood were misinformed and way too idyllic for my current reality. Regardless, I still feel like I'm sixteen, living in a twenty-six year-old's body ... thank God.

Once a friend told me I looked at life with rose colored glasses. At the time I was offended, because I thought they were labeling me as naive. Now, I couldn't take it as more of a compliment--but I know as I get older, the rosiness is slowly starting to fade and I don't want to lose it. I know "you only live once" is possibly the most cliche saying in the entire world, but to me, in my present state of being, it holds so much truth to my life. When I told a friend I was going on this trip, the first thing she said to me was "you're living!"From such simplicity I found myself unexpectedly overrun with emotion because I realized the truth in it--I haven't felt this alive in ages.

Convincing the Naysayers

2008-08-08T12:56:00.000-07:00

The lengths I go to convince others that this trip is a "smart" idea are starting to get ridiculous, almost comical. Honestly, the only person I should have to convince is myself, but predictably, this is hardly the case and it continues to be a constant reminder that my own decisions are never fully all my own. Everyone else wants a say, everyone else has an opinion, and I, being basically the most indecisive person in the world, always rely on others for their opinion on my life choices--which in the end, just makes my decision more difficult and somehow I always end up doing what I want to do anyways. My dad is the main skeptic ... there are a few others, but he is the main man that needs convincing on the merits of my adventure abroad.

A few nights ago, I was having a conversation with my father about my trip, and basically broke the news that I was really going. It wasn't just hearsay or my typical idealistic and unrealistic goals for the future, it was an actual reality. I'm not gonna lie, he freaked. His response was the archetypal paternal response that I expected--"No, you can't go, you have to stay and get a job." After a few minutes of arguing and trying my hardest to stay calm, I found myself throwing a hung up cell phone on my bed and in the exact place I predicted myself to be when I broke the news. Perhaps it's my fault, I should have kept him more informed before I bought my ticket. It's just hard to discuss something with someone if their automatic response to just about everything is always, "NO." I knew in my heart that I was going to go, and somewhat believed that being almost twenty-six would grant me the right to make my own decisions. I suppose he thinks I sometimes make the wrong ones. Sometimes I do, a few occasions in particular that I can admit to and make me shudder. I understand his concern and appreciate it, but I know there are some things about me he just doesn't understand; I sometimes view life differently than he does, and even my sisters (whom he always compares me too when he thinks I'm making a hasty decision). I don't want my life to be solely about getting a job. I love writing and I love the career that I have started for myself; I know I have hardly breached the surface, but I don't think going on this trip will set me back, rather catapult my career to something better, albeit unknown to me now.

I know I don't have everything figured out and my future is unknown, but to me, that is the beauty of this trip. There's this quote I really like by some Israeli Philosopher that goes something like this, "All journeys have secret destinations of which the traveler is unaware." I love this element of fate that comes with traveling and I have no reservations on the fact that you give yourself over to it when you go on a trip like this. As cheesy as I know it sounds, you kind of just have to surrender to it. The spontaneity and the freedom that comes with it are the reasons why I love to travel. I can't wait to feel like that again, it's been too long.

I just went off on a really long tangent. Basically, to convince my extremely stubborn, albeit love-able, dad that this trips is an amazing opportunity for me, I've made a Power Point slide show that exemplifies the different points on why this trip is an AMAZING idea. It might be the dorkiest thing I have ever done in my entire life. Well, that's a lie; it's definitely not the dorkiest if you include my formative middle-school years. Needless to say, those were not the best of times. I even went as far as to ask friends of mine and Denny's to write testimonials on Denny's character (which is fabulous, by the way) and why he would make a good travel partner for me. It's ridiculous, laughable really, to see the lengths I went on to show my dad that I am a responsible adult. Will a Power Point presentation really show him that? No. No it won't, but it couldn't hurt. Really, what do I have to lose, other than my dignity? I mean, I'm pretty sure I lost that at a frat party in college ... therefore I have nothing to lose.

Hopefully these naysayers in my life will give me their blessing (namely, my dad). I have a feeling they will, especially after they see this Power Point presentation. After all, who can resist cheesy travel quotes and photos of sunsets and epic views from far off destinations--all of which are obviously included in my slide show.

Cake Farts, Really?

2008-08-06T11:56:00.000-07:00

I'm broke. If I had wooden pennies, I'd go to the beaver store to buy some crap. Really, that's how broke I am. Ok, so I have something I like to call a "get me to Asia fund," which most people would call a "savings" account; under no circumstance am I allowed to touch it. So I guess, I'm not technically broke, but I don't have any money to spend, so I am. On my search through the world wide web to make a quick dime, I perused the usual job sites, you know, Craigslist, journalismjobs.com, etc. and I happened to stumble upon some seriously ridiculous jobs, one in particular: Cake Farting. Yes, you heard me correct. Farting on cakes to curb some sort of sordid, not to mention perverted, fantasy of blowing out candles with your ass, instead of your mouth.

The subject of the post was way too hilarious not to click on: "Needed: Women to CakeFart for a Website (Handsome Pay)"

How could you not click on that, seriously? And the contents are even better:

"I am looking for sexy women 18+ to audition for a role in cake-farting for a website. This is NOT A JOKE. The audition includes attempts to put out candles in the ANAL instead of ORAL method. The model who farts the longest or creates the rankest, most lingering smell would get paid handsomely. Extraordinary talent such as if you manage to set the cake on fire with your gas are a major factor in hiring decisions."

Apparently, it's not a joke. Also, the longer and ranker the farts, the better. If you can set a cake on fire with your disgusting ass breath, then madame you could be the lucky winner of one thousand dollars. A thousand dollars for being the best cake farter?! Who thinks of this shit, seriously? Who really thinks, wow, it would really turn me on if I could watch a hot chic sit on a cake and then blow a smelly butt bugle all over that sweet thing until the candles blow out! Flatulence is HOT. What is the world coming to? I think cake farts, will soon be the end of man (and woman) kind as we know it.

I Ain't Goin to the Beaver Store

2008-08-05T11:19:00.000-07:00

After months of hesitation, contemplation, and a few moments of hyper-ventilation, I finally bought my ticket to Asia. The itinerary is insane. I'm not sure what I was thinking. The only thing I know is that I may be a crazy person and when I get back I might be homeless on the street begging for change in the Tenderloin and screaming drunken obscenities at random professionals in suits outside Lees Vietnamese Sandwich shop--a place I used to frequent when I wasn't a crack-head. I also might have to start stripping at the Garden of Eden to pay rent, where you can "come in and take a bite of forbidden fruit." Or what if I turn out like the crazy old hippie I met in Washington Square Park the other night. He kept on talking about snapping his fingers and transporting himself back to the 60s. (I'm pretty sure he never stopped doing acid) and then said incredibly intelligent things like, "don't use wooden nickels, because they ain't worth a damn. Unless you are going to the beaver store." So profound. Ok, maybe I'm being a bit overdramatic; This trip is not gonna make me turn out like crazy old hippie, or crazy crack-head in the Loin, or a stripper wearing a loin cloth, holding an apple. While hanging out with a friend the other day, he said something that helped me curb my freak out--that this was the best type of debt I could ever be in and it would be totally worth it, life changing really. I believe him and I believe in this trip. But still, was I high and or drunk when I planned this itinerary? Possibly.

I fly into Ho Chih Minh where I meet Denny. From there we backpack around South East Asia for two months including Cambodia, Laos, Thailand, Malaysia, and Singapore. From Singapore we fly to Tokyo where I will revisit my favorite city and one-time home. From Tokyo we fly to Delhi and backpack our way down to Bombay. Then from Bombay we fly to Hong Kong and Hong Kong home ... four months later. I'm exhausted already. Just telling people about the trip makes me want to cry with fear and also pee my pants with excitement. I can't wait. There's so much to do still. Here's a tentative list of things I still need to do in less than two months.

1)Save up four thousand dollars. Yikes. This is the most important, and the hardest.
2)Get all my visas in order
3)Find a subletter for my apartment
4)Move all my crap from my apartment
5)Get shots so I don't get yellow fever, the plague, malaria etc.
6)Get travel insurance
7)Buy random things I need for my trip
8) I can't think of anything else right now, but I know there should be something else here.

Wow. I think I may be having an anxiety attack again.

Anthony Mi Amor

2008-08-01T15:01:00.000-07:00

I have a confession. It's embarrassing but I daringly, and whole-heartedly, admit it. I have a secret crush on Anthony Bourdain. It's not because of his Richard Gere-esque grey locks and devastatingly attractive demeanor. He's not conventionally hot. Not at all. Ok, not even a little. But it's something about his bad-ass yet culturally sensitive attitude mixed with a sleeve of tattoos and a perma-cigarette/shot of alcohol in his hand. Honestly, I bet if I met him in real life his breath would smell like an ashtray filled with old cigarettes and tequila that's been spilled on the floor at a Senor Frogs in Tijuana by a drunk San Diego state frat boy named Chase ... with a hint of kimchee. You know, just because of all his travels around Asia. Regardless, I love the guy. Love his show even more--No Reservations. This man has my dream job. Think about it--he travels around the world, eating delicious food from exotic locales, gets drunk off his ass on the local liquor of his pleasing, and after everything, writes about it too! Anthony, if you are out there, hire me. I'll get drunk with you, eat interesting things with you, travel with you, smoke cigarettes with you. I'm good at all those things. I'm pretty sure we're a match made in heaven. What do you say?

Currently Lost in the Fog

2008-07-31T10:12:00.000-07:00

It's July in San Francisco which basically means a scarf and coat are all mandatory items for my "summer" wardrobe. While everyone else in the rest of the country are sippin on lemonade, licking ice-cream cones, and perfecting their golden tans poolside, or even better, ocean-side, us San Franciscans are bundled up, sipping hot-chocolate, and wearing gloves--watching the fog slowly roll in and overtake our mini metropolis. Gloves in July! It's cold, I hate it, and I've found myself caught in a perpetual state of daydreaming about blissful days spent in pristine, crystal-clear water and on unblemished beaches in Maui (or Goa, or Tortola, or Barbados ... ), sipping on mai tais (or pina coladas, or margaritas, or coronas ... ) while perfecting my sun-kissed glow. That's an impossibility in San Francisco. If you're lucky you'll have one nice day out of a week where you can maybe go to the park and sit there for an hour drinking Pabst with other hipsters clad in obligatory tapered jeans and wayfarers before it gets too windy and you find yourself in your wool coat again, saying "What happened? It's fuckin' freezing." Don't forget your parka--you're going to Dolores Park! You know that quote, by Mark Twain or whatever, about his coldest winter being summer in San Francisco? Well, let's just say he wasn't kidding.

Enough about being cold. I'm a writer, currently, residing in San Francisco but as the title of my blog states, I'm a vagabond of sorts, a self professed traveler who wants to write her way around the world. I grew up here in the bay but I've traveled to, and lived in, a number of countries that have only wet my appetite for more exploring. My last stop was Tokyo where I spent seven months living, learning, eating, teaching, writing, and drinking my way through Japan. I learned the true meaning of claustrophobia on the subway daily, I ate the best sushi of my life, made some amazing friends, saw some fat dudes wrestle, and learned a lot more about the land of the rising sun, and non-coincidentally, also the homeland of my ancestors (I'm half Japanese half Indian). I can't say my Japanese is a whole lot better than when I left, but I can say I'm a whole lot wiser (kinda). It was hard to return from such an amazing experience, but circumstance, and love, have a way of bringing you back home time and time again. Before that I did a stint studying Spanish in Barcelona, which was by far, still to this day, after twenty-five years on this planet, the most fun I have ever had in my entire life. I was just a wee-one at twenty-years-old, hopped up on adrenaline (and probably other stuff too), downing vodka-naranjas seven days a week, and acting like a total wasted asshole running around the Barrio Gotic, club hopping until seven a.m. with my amigos. In the midst of my trashed moments, there were sober ones too, and believe me the whole experience changed my life for the better. Even after five years, there's not a day that goes by that I don't yearn for Barcelona and miss it like I miss my soul mate. Why can't a city be your soul mate?

My next stop on the globe: South East Asia. I'm writhing in anticipation and need to save up a good 4,000 bones before I leave on that jet plane ... but once I do, I'll be roaming all over Thailand, Vietnam, Cambodia, Laos, Malaysia, back to Japan, and on to India. The countdown is on. I'm planning to freelance write while I travel and hopefully, make it back to San Francisco in one piece. Hopefully ... I won't break any bones or contract malaria or the Plague (knock on wood, now). Did you know they still have that shit in Cambodia? It's true. Denny my travel partner (and partner in crime) is in charge of the "boring" planning--you know, learning about weird diseases, laws, visas etc.--and as he memorizes his hundreds of pages of printouts from the world wide web, he sporadically educates me about these types of things. He's a scientist; that's his forte. I'm supposed to plan "the fun stuff," but we all know, I'm not a planner, more of just an adventurer and a traveler. More of a go with the flow type of gal. Ok, ok maybe a bit of a lazy ass too, but regardless of my idiosyncrasies this trip is going to be a writer's wet dream. My wet dream.