The fish had swam in a glorious lake of sparkling fish—schools of synchrony. She swam up and down through the untouched coral, poking her head through whatever she wanted. Predators were nearly absent. The water was mostly fresh. But as she swam, she always felt bad for the rejected the fish. The dirty ones. The injured ones. The old ones. She longed to make a difference.

So she leapt. She leapt into another lake. This lake was so much bigger. They said that it had so much clean water. Because there was a pump hidden in the corner of the lake. They cared about the quality of the water and the orderliness of the fish. Everyone was eating at the same time. The same mush. The same motions over and over again. Sparkly was prohibited here and so she wore the drab colors like every other fish. She was tasked to change. To do things the right way, so that the coral would grow again. She wanted to do it the right way. “Hey, let’s think about eating different colored mush every other day,” she began.

She thought that change needed to be slow. She was right, of course. But a creeping regret took over her. The water was the same kind of water that she breathed in her original lake. But it was different. She wanted badly to return to the original lake. But she wasn’t going to help anybody in need. But in this lake, the change was coming. The change is coming, she repeated to herself.

But she stared, she swam, she listened in this lake. The lake kept going through the seasons. But she wasn’t sure. All she felt was that she was a fish out of water. Breathless and desperate to return to familiarity.

Our mother went inside the grocery store in Chinatown to shop while we stood watch on the crowded sidewalk with her “cart” of bags. I was likely around 7 years old and my sister was only 6 years old. Curious, I wandered over to look at the random produce and bags. By accident, I bumped into an older lady. Surprised, she took her cane to whip me and I ran back to my sister, tears forming on my face. “I got hit!” I said, my lip trembling.
“What do you mean?”
“That lady!” I said and swiveled around, pointing at the older lady who was now scanning the wrinkled oranges 25 cents a pound. “She used her cane and hit me in the leg!”
“Okay, Big Sister,” she said. “Stay here.”
With agility, she sped straight to the older lady. Never mind that the older lady was at least double the height of my sister. With her pigtails bouncing, she rammed the older lady with her head from behind. My sister promptly ran away before the older lady could see. Shocked from the bump, the older lady dropped the oranges on the ground, the orange balls rolling all over the sidewalk. Other shoppers shook their head in disgust.
My sister returned, triumphant. “Good job!” I exclaimed. “She got what she deserved.”

1. Don’t think of about what you’re saying
2. Silence is okay and even golden.
3. Pet the dog
4. Say hello to kids. Especially if they’re under 8.
5. Hear what people are saying, especially if it’s emotional. Then repeat it in your own words.
6. Maintain eye contact.
7. Ask questions about the other person.

My sister did the unthinkable. Well, that is, she married before me. In a traditional wedding.

I had been thinking that I would feel different. But I don’t. It’s a ceremony. It’s a gathering. It’s a celebration. A party.

What does it mean that my first buddy in life has found another lifelong buddy?

What I know is this: I don’t remember meeting her when she was born. I was only 14 months and 2 days old. The world was hard to understand, the complexities of color and the layered human behavior. All I knew was that she was always there. She was always someone who shared my same life, understood my challenges and nuances of family life, and unconditionally was there.

“That’s not okay,” she said to a former boyfriend who yelled at me. “It’s not okay.”

It was exactly like in my dreams.

As I watch Maddie Ziegler dance across my laptop screen at the Apple event and the accompanying music videos, I instantly recognize the dance. That’s how I move in my dreams. A floating, expressive movement. Something that is rarely ever present in my reality.

I wonder how it happened that way. How did interpretative dance play such a role in my mind? In my dreams?

The event promised many delights—beauty, nature, plants! People clicked “interested”. Just to show some interest. Just to mark it on their calendars. Just in case. What if they miss out? FOMO? It was nearly more than a month away, so why not?

In the meantime, everyone else heard about the event. “Your friend so-and-so is interested in the event.” So then it spreads. Slowly at first, maybe it’s just the garden’s staff and their friends. Then it’s those friends of friends. And then the friends of the friends of the friends. Maybe it’s the city mayor staff who spreads it not only to their friends, but then publicized it in things to do. “Support city funded activities!” Maybe a local celebrity finds it interesting, after all, she just read a book on the beauty of nature. So she tweets about it. And the number of people interested suddenly increases all the way to the thousands, almost reaching a million.

But then the date soon gets closer. People start to realize. Well wait there’s this other BBQ I want to attend. I am too tired. I have too much work. The kids would rather go to the zoo than here. And then the interest is just the interest that is feigned. And a here there is a trickle of people. No more, no less than the same amount of people anticipated before the event was even posted.

And as expected, Minny Apple has changed. I mean, the city has to as I would expect in the thirteen years since I was last in this place. If it didn’t, then I would declare that the city is very much stuck in the past.

When I visited Minnesota in August 2003, right at the peak of starting my last year in college, I saw this state as a land of opportunity. Perhaps a place where I would go to graduate school. With the fact that my best(est) friends were online, I was willing to travel anywhere. My ties to the Bay Area were far and in between. Loose ties in fact. I wanted something completely new. I wanted to reinvent myself. And that’s what Minnesota held for me in August of 2003.

I arrived at MSP, looking for faces that I had only seen in digital photos. And fortunately, the two guys that I met—Cheez and Tanner—matched their photos. As one might expect though, there were taller than expected. Like 6 feet. But all was well. Then I was whisked off to Duluth, then one day in Minny Apple.

I remember days of trying new things—water skiing, lying down in the middle of (barren) railroad tracks, being around a lot of white people, spending time with the guys. I was the exotic Californian. But when I look back, I wonder, what would I have thought of the person that I am now sitting in a fancy hotel downtown attending a conference in ethnography? Knowing that I hadn’t even returned to Minneapolis for over thirteen years? Knowing that the risks that I took then and the beliefs that I held, that they would change over time? Would I have expected it?

But the thing is, which is still true to this day, I just don’t concern myself of the future. That is, of one year ahead. Five years ahead. Ten years ahead. What matters most of the time is about tomorrow, next week, next month, maybe 6 months. But after that, I don’t really think that deeply. It’s about distant goals—yes perhaps a thought leader, perhaps finishing my novel, perhaps being a sustainable writer, perhaps doing what I want to do in life, having more confidence and security and of course better public speaking (aka commanding the room). Would I have approved of the life I had now?

Likely yes. I would have admired the ability that I found my own form of self-expression. Even more about building the connections, the relationships. For the latter especially was the reason that I was drawn so much to those 6 days in Minny Soda. Because I felt valued as a person for once. Being everything that I was at the age of 21.

I can’t say that there have been many times in my life where I have been so outwardly welcomed. Simply because of my interests and expertise. There’s a stroking of my ego, yes. But to feel like a valued part of a team is a rarity. I think this is why some people have difficulty leaving jobs. Maybe I finally understand now.

I can only remember few moments that are like these. Mostly in life transitions—like the move from Berkeley to Pittsburgh and the move back from Pittsburgh to the Bay Area. It’s those life transitions that you see the light. And this time, you think, that light is actually quite warm.

I rarely have seen that light, because day after day, I am grounded into cynicism. I often would walk into situations where people would glance at me and dismiss my expertise and skills. Then I would have to sell myself all over again. Or I would feel uncertain and I could feel the headaches overwhelm, pressing into my sides.

This is where I say that I look at the trees and it feels like the leaves are fluttering for me. Do they understand the beauty? Beyond the narcissism, hope comes and the light is so strong. So I hope this lasts.

Tomorrow, I begin a full time job, which is end to an era that began just over three years ago when I decided that I didn’t want to be bullied by big companies anymore. At least not the silicon valley style companies that pushed people around, like they were numbers.

I wanted to take control of my career. So I did by exploring projects that I wanted to do, throwing myself in uncertain situations, practicing skills that I was able to sell, giving talks, and just…well learning. Now I go back into a permanent position in a new team. I wonder what this all could mean.

Stop accusation. Stop saying “you did so and so, and I didn’t like it.” Not even “I feel insert emotion when so and so.”

Add “I understand that” and repeat what the other said in second person. “I understand that you are insert emotion when so and so.”

For me, it works wonders. Because I just want to be understood.