…he looked to the valley below and said, “Isn’t that amazing?”

I faintly smiled and retreated to my true self, “I see green. The mist covers the green. I don’t feel anything. It’s only sugar cane. It’s the water on both sides. Didn’t I see this at Ko Phi Phi?”

In this world, there are so many moments captured about the sunset, expansive vistas, and the water. I struggle all the time when I see these vistas. When friends return from trips, they boast about the amazing fauna and sunsets. I trick myself into believing that it can be possible. I study the photos and imagine the emotions that I am supposed to feel at the edge of rocks. The colors, the sweeping vistas, the clear water trick me again. That truly I will feel something when I stand on a peak of a mountain and look at the green pasture.

But standing in the upcountry of Maui, I felt nothing. Wasn’t there supposed to be majesty? Why do all the doctors and everything tell that nature is incredible for you? Sure, I enjoy the warm rays of sunshine, but the greenery feels cold and unwelcome. I yearn for the comfort of my own bed and a roof over my head. I like hearing stories of farms and people.

Last year, a filmmaker intrigued by my story invited me out for coffee. He was fascinated that I watched his film even though I did it out of politeness. In my living room alone, I painfully sat through his film watching stills of nature interspersed with a woman’s narration. The narration was moving, but the long scenes of the clouds moving and the trees waving bored me. I wanted movement. I wanted the eyes of something, anything. I wanted the stories of why, not what.

Now sitting in Dolores Park with the cold San Francisco sun, I felt out of place. I didn’t like the feeling of sitting on the lawn. I didn’t like the wind brushing against my cheek. The filmmaker asked if I would accompany him to a secret place. “A secret place up in Marin where you can see the ocean and have the forest surround you in a special way never found anywhere else in the Bay Area,” he said. “It’s a hike, but the view is so rewarding.”

I politely smiled and said, “Nature isn’t for me. I don’t like walking. Trees and views don’t do anything for me.”

Stunned, he gave me a look of disbelief. He said, “I never met anybody who doesn’t like nature. I don’t understand.”

I changed the subject, feeling the distance increase between us. We parted ways at a nearby cafe after I started shivering in the wind. I never talked to him again.

In addition to writing, I did many things that a typical traveler would do in Maui. Snorkle, scuba diving, eat, play in the water, play in the sand, drive to Hana, visit local farms, watch whales, and….yet.

If I had never traveled to South Thailand or Palawan in the Philippines…and so many other beaches in the world, would I feel different about Maui? I have seen majestic beaches and swam in warmer waters (even a beach where the water was boiling hot). I have seen coral and fishies (although this was quite nice). But I wonder too is it because the love of nature never was grown inside me. That when I see hiking trails, when I see the opportunity to camp, the trek across beaches…all I can think about is how uncomfortable it is. I want to view it from the comfort of my own home and the pleasure of my own mattress.

Having trekked across almost ten countries in the last two years, have I just gotten to the point where everything blends together? And it’s the comfort of sleep and the ease of travel that drives me?

Although I have to admit that the best thing that I loved was that English was the common language. American culture was the norm…and expected (even if it’s practicing Aloha).

After a 2 hour whaling trip off the coast from Lahaina, we trekked and found a trendy noodle restaurant…completely off the beaten path, discovered only because many of my foursquare friends visited. We played on the beach in the north, covering each other in sand. Then we looked at the coral. Then we tried our best to wash the sand, sneaking into parking lots and showers where we weren’t supposed to be. We went up to the top level of the mall, poking our head into shops…and walking out. Then walking into a museum asking each other…hey is this worth it? then we backed out. Like a typical weekend. Wasn’t it?

For my own reference (since I was asked in class recently), in no particular order:

1. Before Sunrise (and its sequels Before Sunset and Before Midnight)
2. Hable con Ella (in English, Talk to Her)
3. Twin Falls Idaho
4. The Rock (even if it’s super mainstream, there’s something about it that I really love—maybe it’s Sean Connery?)
5. Good bye, Lenin!
6. Say Anything
7. Zombadings!
8. Battle Royale
9. The Departed (yes, even more than the movie it’s based on, Infernal Affairs)
10. The Conversation

Honorable mention (aka movies I used to say were my favorites, but now I am not too sure anymore): Finding Nemo, Seven, Run Lola Run, Inception, The Shawshank Redemption, Gravity (undecided)

This morning, I looked at the microwave where two bananas laid in wait. That is, fruit flies also laid in wait. A few weeks ago, I found a great deal and bought up a bunch of bananas. And today, as I guiltily got morning drink (today: fresh ginger and fresh lemon), my eyes rested on the yellow objects in a plastic bag where I could see black dots moving.

I told myself, “Today is the day.”

I stripped the bananas. Removed the single black part (I am not that disgusting!). Then proceeded to estimate a recipe for banana bread. Of course, being that it was two bananas, the resulting mixture was less than optimal. The flour was still dry, sticking to the egg and butter. It looked like a barely recognizable pizza dough. I grabbed milk from the fridge. Whole milk that I used earlier for a bread pudding that I disliked for its overpowering taste of rum. I poured a little in. Then with a swoop, I poured the whole thing in.

Now that looks right, I thought. Something felt wrong. I poured it into my loaf pan and set it for 350° F. I went away and checked on it in a hour. It looked like it needed more time. So I promptly forgot about it for another 30 minutes, immersed in writing proposals and creative nonfiction workshop…also flitting from my ice cream travel guide to personal essays.

I ran over to the kitchen from my desk. It looked pretty good. I turned it over on a plate and the innards, the banana mush, the milk banana mash spilled out of an opening. Banana cereal. Banana-flavored milk that is. I hesitated and covered it with a paper towel, pretending it never happened. I retreated back to my desk, drinking my ginger lemon drink and absently munching on the dark-colored Jelly Belly beans that I didn’t like. I forgot about the banana bread mess until now.

It’s not when I replied “Yes!” to a classmate’s comment of “You’re so lucky”, and then she frowned, “That’s not nice.” It’s not the black sand on the beaches that got stuck on my feet and I got it all over the car. It’s not when we went through a gift shop and tried out all colored clothing. It’s not when we walked near the active volcano, and the heat pleasantly touched my face. It’s not when I got off the plane, and a lei was put over me as tears streamed down my face as a result of anger against my parents.

It wasn’t any of those things.

It was my sister in despair at the luau. My sister and I sat near the front. They had performances of traditional dances. And it was that moment when the host asked for volunteers to come up to the stage. I don’t remember the exact words he used. I only remember him laughing as he waved the kids up. As they ran up, he suddenly said, “Oh I am joking!” And my sister came back to me, her excitement killed, and her eyes brimming with tears. I whispered words of comfort and anger toward the host.

For years, I never was compelled to return. I always wondered if that was the reason that I preferred travel away from beaches and the tropics. But hearing my friends and coworkers speak wonders of Hawaii, I started wondering why not? Moreover, I had my fill of cities—after spending an obscene amount of time in Italy, traveling from city to city, never quite seeing the ocean. I touched the water in Sicily, but the pebbles on the beach shattered the experience. So a few months ago, I took all my mileage and purchased a pair of airplane tickets. I found a small vacation rental in Maui for under $100/night.

I hope that this time that the memory is something better. Maybe even typical. Because what “paradise” deserves such sad memories?

…is not to panic. Actually just do nothing. You can save a lot of money that way.

It used to be a family tradition to wake up at 5 AM and rush to the stores to line up. I loved the energetic pitch in the air. The festivity of “suffering” together in order to get the best deal. I leaned about FAR (free after rebate) and BYOB (buy one get one free).

I did fill my room with stuff that I didn’t need. But by the time I had my own salary, the appeal suddenly wore off when it was spending my own money. What’s the point of filling my place with stuff that I didn’t need? So that’s why I am sitting on a couch bought from a friend’s former boyfriend surrounded by furniture from craigslist, floor models, garage sales, and dumpster diving (well not really, I just saw something nifty on the street. once.) I have this horrible habit of questioning myself for everything that I buy—will I enjoy this thoroughly 24 hours later? Most of the time except for grocery items, the answer is no.*

So the only thing I do on Black Friday now is watch people. Watch people pile over themselves to buy buy buy.

* Except that one time that Chris knocked over a stand in a small stationary store. I rushed to find something cool and awesome (and expensive) and bought it. I would have never owned an angry asian girl canvas bag if it wasn’t for that.

Unlike many American protective parents, my parents often showed R-rated movies regularly at home. Fans of movies but not fans of movie theaters, rented videos from the video stores and libraries regularly previewed at my house every weekend. Violence. Sex. Alcohol. All were part of my movies while growing up. Watching Disney movies and the like were rarely part of my film diet. Whether I became simply desensitized to it all…did it have an effect on who I am today?

Although I realize that is just like saying video games make people violent and sex scenes make people promiscuous, did it give me immediate negative reactions toward some things? Namely alcohol? Did I latch more onto those movies where it played a negative character, the devil, the evil voice? And that I completely ignored the joyful scenes?

Or did one day, did I wake up and think…I will always take the hard way out. I will always take the steeper path crowded by thorns and uneven trails. Even when it hurts.

“Please deliver a letter for me,” the email said yesterday night.

I stared at it for a minute. My eyebrows furrowed, and my stomach clenched. Taking a deep breath, I closed my laptop and opened up Candy Crush Saga for the third time that day. I drifted off to sleep as striped and wrapped candies appeared.

In the morning, my phone started ringing around 9 am, jerking me awake from my uneven sleep. Groaning and rolling my eyes, I glanced at the caller id and fumbled for the “ignore” button. In a few moments, I heard the gentle ding of the voice mail notification. I listened and rolled over in bed. I closed my eyes, drafting a reply.

I sent an email with every sentence beginning with “I feel…” and “I am concerned…”. I looked over my four sentences carefully. No accusations. No disrespect. Just simple statements of my situation and my context. Just clear explicit sentences of what I wanted. An apology to appease his request. After all, it is only a request, not a demand.

Then I clicked send. Would that snuff it out enough? Would it be enough? Moments later, I received a response. It was what I wanted. But inside me, I could feel the desire to punish and shame people. But I resisted and wasn’t it easy…wasn’t it just easier to get what I wanted?

“So, lean in!” Sheryl repeated during her interview with Marc the Salesforce CEO.

She turned and smiled at the video cameras and the audience over 1000. “Lean in.”

For the past 30 minutes, she regurgitated her book. Her stories, her snippets sounded rehearsed. In the fact that they never quite answered the question. Marc asked about her success, about any insecurity, and more. But she used every question to pitch an idea from her book. The fact that women can’t be called “aggressive”. The fact that she started a project that said “what would you do if you were not afraid?” The fact that men should just pitch in doing laundry.

Well, besides the last one, I wondered what she was trying to do. It was obvious that she was just speaking about the book, in hopes of spreading the word rather than sharing her own personal stories and directly answering the question.

Sometimes I wonder if my insecurity comes from my struggle of being feminine—being quiet, submissive. When I catch myself being loud and demanding, I am suddenly afraid. Will people not respect me? Will people like me less? And that last thought stays with me, killing any enthusiasm for the reason that I spoke up and leaned in.

I know that there are times that I can be harsh, perhaps even cruel. Yet, would I feel the same if I was male?

But for now, I will lean in.

Last week, I dragged Chris over to the couch. “You have to see this,” I said and pressed play.

For the past few months, both of us have decided to focus on what we want to do. Away from the man. That unfortunately results in little income with the same level of expenses. And we were unwilling to let go out of our lifestyle. And so, our deep-seated frugality surfaced. But how far were we willing to go?

A friend’s husband shamelessly admitted to me, “I would dumpster dive. Then I would share my food with her. Sometimes she’ll even eat it!”

I raised my eyebrows then. But then I came across Extreme Cheapskates on Netflix. Now, you see, I have always subscribed to the model that if you put more money in, the more money that will get out. Although some peers may disagree with me, I am not a penny pincher (even if that roommate from graduate school still claims that I always split the bills down to the penny! I personally thought that was fairness and not stinginess.) In the past few months, I moved a lot of my savings into investment accounts. At the very least, to make sure my assets were creating their own “income” without my input.

But then, what else could I do? Although I already had a habit of eating half of my meal when I ate out…what else? What did these self-proclaimed cheapskates do? Sure, there was the garbage picking. Shameless confession: if the furniture on the street is in good condition, I’ll take it (note: this rarely ever happens). But then I watched a woman in New York City open a dumpster and pull out tomatoes, packages of prepared meals, and a carrot cake. She combined the prepared meals in a single pot. Then I watched a mother cut up old clothing into cloths to be used as toilet paper (saves over $10 per month, she claims!). That I won’t do. And the guy picking rice off the ground after a wedding. And the guy giving gifts from scavenging to his wife for their 25th anniversary. Then his run to tables where the diners have left so that he can collect the leftovers.

We watched in awe. We watched in horror. And yet, like much mainstream television, we couldn’t pull our eyes away. On one hand, the TV series was designed in a way to hook and surprise us. Yet on the other, we were curious. Would we do this? Would we be ok with doing…something…that was considered abnormal?

For now, I cannot. We found that most dumpsters behind grocery stores were locked. And we would never go through a neighbors’ trash (there is just things that I don’t want to use). But I did learn to cut open a toothpaste tube when it’s nearly done. And I learned…hey, I would eat anyone’s leftovers. I just wouldn’t ask for it.