There are very few places where you feel good after being rejected.

On the BART, someone choosing another seat rather than next to you is one. In the last few weeks during my commute, I have watched people who choose to sit next to me. I typically dress conservatively with an occasional fashion trend. Most of the time, I am leaning against the window with my ipod, sunglasses on, staring out the window.

It’s always the conservative business people that sit next to me. Or the people around my age, in their twenties. But if it’s the last seat available in the car, it’s whoever can get to my seat first. But respect my personal space is the most important factor.

However, last Friday, a guy sat next to me and promptly fell asleep. He slipped over that border–the one separating two seats. Personally, I didn’t want to make a big deal of it. Although he smelled like he was covered in cheap lotion (or hand wash), I inched closer to the window. I admit I don’t like coming into contact with people I don’t know. By the time I reached my stop, he still didn’t get up. I said excuse me with varying levels of volume to no success. And probably to the derision to the people around me, I rudely climbed over him to get off before the doors closed. The guy suddenly woke up and stumbled out of the train, realizing where he was. Seat buffer.

Dear seat partners, just don’t fall asleep next to me. Let’s have a pleasant journey to wherever our final destination may be.

The new feed on facebook is rather difficult to swallow.

Firstly, it takes away plausible deniability. Feeds are more appropriate for news and similar non-personal sites (including topical blogs). However, for personal data, websites must designed in such a way to consider people’s privacy. I can’t claim that you did not see it. I can’t claim that I had changed it a month ago. Every time I change my profile, every time I update photos, everyone will see it. Unfortunately, not all friends are created equal.

Secondly, the design tears away the mindless browsing. I personally like shopping in a b&m grocery store rather than an online store, because I like to touch and feel. Here, I am encouraged not to browse. But at least, it doesn’t track which profiles I read…or does it?

And besides, I noticed today a friend finally changed single to in relationship today almost a few months after his girlfriend moved into his apartment. I guess this goes to show, what we do online probably isn’t a reflection of our real life. So does this new design count as stalking?

So now, when is it the appropriate time to change the relationship status to “in a relationship”? When is it appropriate to change to “single” or “it’s complicated”. Do people nowadays ever say “HEY LET’S GO STEADY?”

The most I ever did was as I was pointing my finger in the air, “Are we boyfriend-girlfriend now?”

He’s the oldest of my dad’s twin brother. Just a few months older than me. After more than 10 years, I saw him again yesterday at dinner.

I had been walking around Pacific East Mall, looking for sunglasses. I had left my pair at the salsa club Saturday night, rushing out to catch the 1 am Bart train since the Bay Bridge was closed. When I finally found the right pair, I walked to the restaurant. Through the restaurant windows, I saw my cousin standing between my aunt and my dad, surrounded by my grandfather and my uncle. Looking at a camera.

Small scattered breakouts, which runs in the family. He had this sincere interested way of speaking. Despite everyone else speaking Chinese, he didn’t react in surprise even though he didn’t understand a single thing. In California for a vacation after a rotation at Daimler-Chrysler, he was visiting friends. Staying in Sunnyvale, but had time to drive North to see us.

He wore a white polo shirt and stood towering above most of the family. Carrying a canon s200. He called my dad by his first name, Paul–the same way my grandmother calls my dad–aaah-Paul in a soft tone. My grandfather can’t speak English and simply patted Matthew on the back as they parted.

We bid our farewells as we walked toward our car. Promises to come back for my grandfather’s birthday the following year. No more decade-long gaps?

Yesterday, I gave salsa a second chance. No luck.

A friend from undergrad invited me to the city. I wandered in the dark for a few blocks before finding his apartment. Along with his friends, we ate Korean bbq covering our hands with grease. When 8:30 pm, I rushed out with 3 others in my black flats and black swishy skirt to the club across the street – Roccapulco.

Inside, it was how every club should be. Organized like a restaurant, with ample sit-down areas. And a dance floor. A stage where a live band sang and danced on thier own accord.

I did not like the lesson. Fast paced, everything I learned in 6 weeks was taught in 60 minutes. I dreaded the rotations of partners. Some were nice, some were not. Some were too tall. Others were too short. At first, I enthuastically introduced myself to each new partner, but halfway through, I lost my own personal energy and started stepping on feet. The instructors corrected me several times.

I enjoyed watching. The spins. The looks that partners had. Some couples showed off when they realized they were being watched. But at the stroke of midnight, the music changed. No more coordination necessary. No 6-step. No awkward hand holding. And that’s when I felt better, rather than sitting and wasting the $10 cover.

Today, I realized why people don’t like going to parties where they don’t know “anyone”.