It seems that there are two types of people when I meet someone for the first time. Someone who leads me down a path of awkward conversation or someone who leads me down a path of strange-feeling-of-connection.

A few weeks ago, I was discussing with Daisy about eating in restaurants alone. She did it often, preferring to go to places by herself, a characteristic of her loner side. Me, always seeking acceptance, ate out only once alone, because my friend never made it and I wasn\’t going to waste a 40 minute trip to a nice restaurant.

Yet why is it that the world is almost made for couples? Why is it that when a single diner arrives at a restaurant that they are shown to either the counter (where they must share with other single diners) or a two person table (where the host takes away one set)? It had always bothered me and that\’s why I was so reluctant to eat alone…but being forced to in Boston since Karen couldn\’t eat out and was working.

So the other day, I reluctantly ate at American Joe\’s Grill and Bar (because I couldn\’t find any other restaurant near the Aquarium – apparently I didn\’t know that Faneuil Hall Marketplace was nearby until later), a sit-down type restaurant. After 20 minutes of waiting, I was finally led to a 4 person table where the hostess allowed me to choose a seat before she took the other 3 table settings away. It was strange at first. I am used to idly chit-chatting with someone until the server returns to take my order. But after awhile, I noticed how beautiful the nightsky was as well as the Boston harbor from my outside table. It was nice, and it makes me wonder how other diners would notice when they\’re engaged in obligatory conversation.

The last time I ate with one other person at an upscale restaurant…I had felt so awkward. But I couldn\’t absorb the environment around me because we were forced to make conversation because we hadn\’t seen each other for awhile (our fears/habits/beliefs had changed so much that we had little to talk about). Would I trade an awkward dinner for a dinner alone? Probably. Still, I wouldn\’t go to an expensive restaurant by myself, because one of the great things about restaurants is to share the joy of a satisfying meal (and eat other people\’s food of course).

Yesterday was a day full of serendipity. Today? Not so much.

Currently in J.P. Licks on Newbury in Boston enjoying my small dish of cucumba [sic] ice cream, using internet from the nearby Starbucks.

God, this ice cream is so good!

I never did find my driver\’s license. On Monday morning, I had gone to the dmv early to wait in line (and yes there was a line) until somebody realized that the dmv is closed the preceding Monday of the third Saturday in the month. Fortunately, it turns out that the airport would accept my university id as valid id.

That evening, I had dinner with several people (aka more rescomp people) at the highly recommended (by Carol of course) Sushi House. Good, fairly expensive, great view of the water. Like any farewell for me, it\’s always the people that I miss the most.

The flight to Boston was…ok. Unfortunately the first leg sat me between the window and a \”pleasantly plump\” woman who spasmed every 51 seconds (I counted) while she slept. So by the time I got to the Kendall T station, Karen found me very drowsy. Despite that, we went on a Boston Duck Tour (where I fell asleep despite the tour guide\’s bubbly narration of the city) and Harvard Square (creme brulee at Finale and a fruit tea at Tealuxe). Because Karen has her own thing to do, I am exploring the city on my own. I went to the famed New England Soup Company in Brookline.

SOMEONE forgot to take me to a Red Sox game. That\’s it, I 8 Johnny Damon! But nonetheless, my next plans: Boston Common, maybe the Freedom Trail, Prudential Center, possibly a movie tour (despite how touristy this is, I want to do one since I didn\’t get to do it in nyc), the Fish Pier, the mexican restaurant near Fenway Park, the Citgo sign, going on the T as far as I can go, Chinatown…

All thanks to the google maps hack of the Boston mbta.

Ok, it\’s true. I do worry too much.

Yesterday evening, I spent it fretting over the fact that I forgot the pin number to my wamu atm card. Then suddenly at the strike of midnight (or close to it), I suddenly remembered.

That\’s usually how I remember my passwords too. Although for my sake, nowadays I keep a list secretly hidden.

People have so many ways of dealing with conflicts. There are the ones that take charge and find a way to resolve the problem. Others simply freak out and cannot move because of fatalistic notions in their head. I would like to think I am in the middle, more toward the former.

But on the previous post, I still haven\’t found my license. Unfortunately, my passport and SS card are in Pittsburgh. My hopes are that luck will be by my side tomorrow at the DMV. After all, I did ask a Yoda tell-me ball (an artifact left from the Phantom Menance days of fast food) whether I would find a way. He said only \”yes\”.

It\’s a community center that happens to sell alcohol.

On another note, yesterday I actually went to a bar (surprise surprise) and actually had a lot of fun. It was a bar that I learned about from Carol. Not just the typical bar with tables and chairs coupled with a bartender who thinks he knows all. Albatross Pub with a 25 cent unlimited popcorn and board games. It also surprised me that I got in without my license, just a sad look on my face and my friend saying that I was a graduate student…showing my cmu id and describing how I lost my license. Yo.

Of all things to lose in the Bay Area, I somehow \”misplaced\” my driver\’s license. I could lose my amex card, my pnc bank card, my delta skymiles card, my $10 starbucks card, my $5 bp gas card, my cmu id, my cal id, my wamu card…but of all things that I need the most, I lost my driver\’s license.

I\’ll spending my last day in California in the DMV office in Walnut Creek. Doh.

After today, I realize that no matter how much I hold onto the past, I have to let go. Things change. People change. And it\’s more than I had imagined.

At Berkeley, I made some of the best friends I ever had. After I graduated, I always made the effort to keep in touch. A quick im. A short e-mail. A card. And most of all, I would drive to see them. Lunch or dinner.

But today, I drove to Santa Clara to see a friend who had graduated a year before I did. I had always made an effort to see her. She and I met in a linguistics class and after studying once, we basically hit it off. As a result, I was one of the top students in the class. Simply because of the people I met. We talked sporadically after that on im, kept in touch, complained about the current status of the boys, the usual everyday talk. She went off to work at various tech companies. I decided to go to grad school.

And so I finally got a chance after more than a year to meet up with her for dinner. And it was the strangest thing, it was incredibly awkward. I don\’t know whether it was because I had just come off an embarassing trip to the gas station (which I didn\’t discuss with her) or because of my one hour drive from Lafayette hitting pockets of traffic on the 880. But suddenly we couldn\’t find much to say. And the rest of the time, it was forced conversation. By the time the check arrived, I felt relieved. We didn\’t say anything as we paid our own portion. Then walked to the door, aimless talk, a moment of mycarisovertherebutyourcaristhere and a quick goodbye hug with an insincere \”i hope to see you again\”.

All I can think is that I still haven\’t grown up. That\’s all, right?

For the last few weeks, my sister has been raving about this bar she discovered in downtown Walnut Creek. So of course, one of the first free nights I had in the Bay Area, my sister took me to Crogan\’s because it was karaoke night. Being back where I grew up gave me a very bad uncomfortable feeling that started growing in my chest.

The moment I stepped in the bar, I almost wanted to turn around. I saw a group of girls I recognized from high school. It has been five years since I graduated yet the discomfort was still there. Even though I believed that I grew past that, I couldn\’t help but feel slight bitterness as well the distaste left from rejection from five years ago. Even though they most likely didn\’t recognize me since I definitely don\’t look the same, I just felt their eyes going over me, criticizing, judging. But when I looked again, they weren\’t. It was just me thinking.

The blond girls. With their tiny tops. One I remembered received a regent scholarship to Berkeley but had it revoked. Another, the water polo popular group. They sang country. And I almost winced.

I told myself that I won\’t see them again. I guess I am still not ready for a reunion.

Just a thought, why does it happen that only one out of five friends (who are capable of self-transportion) would come to visit me? And everyone else, why am I the one that drives or flies to see them?

Especially when I am here only a week.

Every single time this happens, I think to myself that I won\’t do this again. Yet the next time I return, I find myself driving to Santa Clara or Fremont anyway.

They used to say, love is when she (or he) would travel the distance for you. I can say that about true friendship.

I would like to think of myself as someone keeps their word. A friend a week ago sadly left for home in Arizona and is going to start work in Wisconsin. I said I would visit. I hear people saying that all the time, but we all know most people never do. For me though, it will happen. I guarantee it.

The only problem then is that uncomfortable awkwardness of figuring out whether it was a sincere invitation or a polite butisaiditbecauseyouwerethere invitation.