So many people say, “I wish that I could do that.”

It surprises me, because then I think, “Well why can’t you?”

But I have to realign myself in their context, their priorities.

Their financial situation
Their desire to be close to home, spend time with the kids, etc.
The fact that working hard on the career is important now

Or what I can see clearly for many is fear.

And that’s what I interpret when they start a sentence with “I wish that…”

Because I know how it’s like to have fear.

Is it purely possible that because I am so open about what I am feeling—my emotions and thoughts…that this draws certain people to open to me? Is it a power struggle? That I appear to be trustworthy? A good listener?

But opinionated?

A few months ago, I lamented about my moments in Germany. I could not describe it, but I felt uncomfortable there. I felt almost like less of a person, walking the streets. I wasn’t sure how to explain it, but I described a moment at the Baohaus museum where as I walked in, I was given a headset with Chinese.

“No,” I said in perfect American English. “English, please.”

It was a discomfort perhaps knowing that I will always be considered Asian. I will never be consider “White” in the sense that I speak English natively. As an Asian American, I can tell differences between Asians born in Asia and Asians born in the states. And so I take the for granted, assuming that others can tell the difference. In Germany, I was just like everyone else. I was just an Asian, no matter my nationality.

And to see that the only Asians were behind the counter in convenience stores, that made me uncomfortable. As if I was a lesser race.

So I lamented to some friends. One friend said, “You shouldn’t feel that way. They’re just curious.”

I immediately responded, “You are minimizing it. You aren’t listening to me.”

I love this scene from HBO’s Girls. Because it’s so real. It’s do I really feel this way and what does the world really want to know and does this horrible emotional dilemma really matter anyway?

Almost a decade ago, I sat like that at my desk in my college apartment. Upset, tearful, plugging text into a wordpress entry. Angry at a boy for treating me the way he treated me. When I already dumped him. But then…and it would take days, months, years, before I could think do I feel this way because I choose to feel this way? It took days, months, years before I can say now, that’s really funny even as I tell the world, constantly the world about what I was thinking.

Congratulations, Lena Dunham, for winning the Golden Globe!

Suddenly, I realized what an unusual party that I was attending. Maybe not truly unusual, but how I suddenly felt out of place.

“So my balcony looks over the Bay Bridge,” she continued. “Sometimes I bring out this cheese plate…”

I think: classy, Caucasian, almost indulgent, upper class, money, fancy…

At most parties that I attend (not to be so aware of my identity), it’s full of random assortments of food. Usually some cooked items, some cheese maybe…but always something like sparkling water or soda. There is usually something that someone cooked or something from a fancy bakery or restaurant. We usually sit around with plastic cups of soda or tea.

In contrast, this was completely different.

It was completely a white party.

Intrigued by new lifestyle services, I discovered Postmates. I love the fact that it utilized everyday community—that it made the everyperson a superman. Everyone has a skill to give to the world, but a service doesn’t exist for all those skills. Let’s crowdsource them.

The first thing that came to mind was the Transporter. Because after all, transportation is a precise. A precise occupation.

I immediately referred the service to the one person that I know who understands the concept of precise. Perfection. Optimization. Reliability.

Yet what does it mean to be precise? I say deliver [insertobject] from point A to point B. Is it the time that it takes? The care that is given to the object? The confirmation that the [insertobject] is received?

I am just curious if they’ll accept him as a transporter.

…it really is about planning.

In my style, I always have (for a dinner party, for a book club meeting, for any sort of group meeting):

Always always a winning combination.

…I witnessed the following. Most of which was while waiting in line for a hip and trendy breakfast restaurant, coming out of the theater after watching the Hobbit, and living in the Mission. Nothing really out of the ordinary for me.

Tragedies. Mortality. And then, the scum of this society.

I chose to live in this city, knowing that. And still after 6 years, I accept it.

When it comes to aspirations, it’s not about ideas. It’s about making ideas happen. What’s your next step?

Progress. It’s hard to measure, but when I write it down, it actually does come true. In 2010, it was about dream making. In 2011, it was about sticking to my boundaries.

This coming year, I plan to stick to my dreams. I know what I want to do. I love to write. I am fascinated by people—by what they do and why they do it. I’ll stop tricking myself to do what others expect of me. Most importantly, I’ll do what I believe in and represent my true self.

To be true. That is my next step.

What was the last thing you made? What materials did you use? Is there something you want to make, but you need to clear some time for it?

In 2010, I made xmas photo. In 2011, I made metaphorical things—that were intentionally symbolic of relationships and history.

This year, the last thing I made was something for my ice cream project. In whole, this year, I have made a lot of ice cream.

Because the process of ice cream making is so arduous and time-consuming, I let myself get lost in the process. It’s catharsis. The fact that I must pay attention to the heating up a cream mixture so that eggs don’t curdle (and they have curdled a lot in front fo me). Then the preparation of the focal ingredient (whether it’s tea leaves or fruit), it’s stress-relieving.

I must pay attention when I am chopping. I must attend to the level of simmering for all heated mixtures. I must constantly test (and make sure that I don’t use the same spoons over and over again.

I adjust the recipes on the fly and I have to take note on my draft blog posts that I can note it in recipes.

All of this process takes me away from the mess of my room, the every day banality and calls of help emanating from my email.

I am making. I am making happiness, joy and rewards.