Social media…addict!

At one point, I used to say “whore” although realized that too many negative connotations came with that—even though I believed that I was just making a joke.

I love social media. I don’t know why. I am obsessed with watching relationships—how and why people connect. Then I also thoroughly enjoy the ability to share—whether it’s an outburst of creative pursuits or the sudden urge to shout to the world I AM HERE, LISTEN TO ME.

Like Facebook, Friendster, orkut…and many others, I was excited to be part of Google+. I immediately customized my circles and invited as many people as possible (although I filtered only to those people that I considered people-I wanted-to-contact). I changed my photo to something normal for once (a random iPhone photo that I took). And I hung out.

Unlike many people, I used Google Buzz as long as possible until it took too much effort to do both.

FIRST. In some way, that was partially the reason that I was bouncing up and down to play. I am an early adopter for new (“free”) services.

I am willing to waste time, because that’s who I am.

How will I now drink?

“This is soda!!!!” a friend would hand me a questionable drink.

I would look at it quizzically, take a sip and laugh, “I know it’s not.”

No hard feelings at all. Because now…9 years older, I know that they want to make sure everyone is having a good time. Or even from a different perspective, they are uncertain if they can have a good time if not everyone is consuming something…alcoholic. It’s a sign of insecurity on their part. I have just reduced it to only I don’t like the taste. Although I can down kombucha, tonic water, tea…no problem.

What’s so funny is that…in early college, I interpreted it all as attacks on me—attacking my beliefs. Most likely, there was a pretty good chance of me naturally falling into the pattern of having a drink. Yet, it didn’t happen that way, because of all the peer pressure that I rebelled against—all because I thought that they were attacking me.

And it wasn’t it at all. But how about now—I embody so much headstrong-ness.

This is what affection is.

It’s the moment of goodbye. The moment of departure. You don’t think, you act. Maybe sometimes there’s the hesitation (“do I really want to touch this person?” or “do I smell bad?”). But in all, it can’t be planned—for the moment of two people coming together for a hug, a kiss, or the agreed upon goodbye fist punch.

The most spontaneous act that I know of.

Affection is the act of falling in the moment.

Hugs, kisses…the gentle touch on the shoulder.

You can’t plan for it, because then it would not be genuine. It is spontaneous, born out of the moment. If you anticipate it, it ruins the magic and the joy. It becomes an obligation instead of the swirling human intimacy.

Almost 5 years ago, I was so pleasantly surprised that as I left the car—not wanting the awkward moment to end with the driving shift in the way…I was about to just flee from the scene, Chris turned off the ignition and got out of the car. Without any hesitation, he said, “Let me give you a hug.”

He ran from his side of the car to mine and gave me a hug. Unpretentious, unassuming, confidently, spontaneously.

Why I can’t wear miniskirts for awhile

…unless I want to scare people…

On Monday, I decided that I needed to try out the new bike. Everything was going well. I had done the route to work previously with my Giant hot pink mountain bike. But now, I was zooming—passing people easily. I coasted down Valencia, right on 14th, an awkward left on Folsom, then several blocks on the wide open bike lane on Folsom, the mini hill right after 3rd and a right on 2nd.

Right there at Harrison and 2nd, I braked and stopped. Once on the sidewalk, time to walk my bike! I was so excited that I made it so far!

So I tilted to my left and swung my right leg…but it wasn’t high enough. I caught the bar—not used to the standard frame (unlike the swing-through frame on my mountain bike). I promptly lost balance and fell awkwardly in a heap with my backpack with the bike on top of me.

I stood up and felt my knee, elbow and foot smarting. Nonetheless, I walked ahead with my head up high (although cursing inside). Because like I said, it’s only embarrassing if you believe it’s embarrassing.


There were drivers in the cars at 2nd and Harrison waiting for the light to turn green. I am sure that they saw me. Because the fact is, if I was a driver there, I would have started laughing hysterically seeing a biker have a self-inflicted fall. In the safety of my car.

I hope that I made someone’s day.

Embrace who you are

After having had embarrassed myself over the years, I realized that there is only one way to not embarrass yourself.

Act as if it’s normal. Or embrace it.

There are many things that I do that are embarrassing:

  • Bad parking abilities
  • Inability to keep a neat room (but clean elsewhere in the apartment)—and how people see my room…is another question altogether
  • Lack of coordination
  • Spilling food on myself
  • I am who I am…and why deny all those parts?

    Wait a minute, I have moles?

    Once a year, I suddenly have this realization about myself that I usually forget the 364 days of the year.

    I have moles in two prominent places!!!!

    One on my lip and the other on near my left eye.

    In high school, moles were the symbols of why I didn’t fit in. In early high school, I suggested to a doctor that the mole under my chin potentially could be cancerous. It was promptly biopsied and as a result, removed. Benign was the result. But my self-consciousness was overwhelming and I always felt that they made me different. Perhaps I believed that people didn’t refer me as the girl sitting near the fountain, but rather as the girl with the moles sitting near the fountain. Although I had a sense of humor about it, noting that I could never be FBI Most Wanted…it was just reflecting the fact that I could not blend in.

    There was a photo I saw today of myself. What was…that! I thought to myself as I studied my face. And I would sigh in realization, It is my mole…

    Tomorrow, I’ll wake up and it’ll be the rest of the 364 days of the year. Where I don’t see the markers of identity at all. They are invisible to me. Forgotten. I’ll be back to my constant search in trying to figure out how to be different, how to be unique, how to stand out from the rest.

    To me, I am still just the girl sitting next to the fountain.

    When did I start saying, “I seek adventure.”

    It probably is surprising to many people, but there was once when I would say “no” to everything.

    Most of the time, it’s because I anticipated that it would end up awkward—I would be standing in the back saying nothing struggling with something to say. The fear of rejection was too great.

    Yet I remember vividly when I was 16 coming to the realization that I was missing something so hard to describe. But what could I do? Could I go to the downtown of the suburb and wait for something to happen?

    It’s strange now. After so many years of breaking that very first habit, when it’s midnight and a weekend night (and alone), I am yearning to be searching for adventure. I want to have all my energy sucked out until there is literally nothing left. Recently, I started a subscription to Netflix to be a homebody—to keep myself from earnestly having my ears open…and to be happy that I will be sleeping soon. Since who really wants to be waking up at 1 pm at my age?

    One year ago…

    …I traveled to Michigan for a business trip.

    So this is how it’s like. I thought as I settled into a grandiose room facing a lake. Could I get used to this?

    I was exhausted by the long flight from SFO to ORD to my final destination…plus the 2 hour car ride. But once I arrived and once I ate dinner, I worked on a presentation almost tirelessly until the wee hours, having less than 5 hours of sleep.

    I was only reminded of this when I joined 4squareand7yearsago. I checked in although the GPS kept placing me in Illinois.

    There was the nostalgia of the innocence of that moment. And the memories of what happened after. The days, the weeks, and the months after. I think that I am happier now.

    It’s the remembering period

    It’s this time again. Every other year, I have this combination of guilt, regret and sorrow of having lost touch with certain people.

    Usually the impetus is that they work close to me, I discover that we now have a mutual friend, or that I see them in person.

    I want to say, “Let’s forget the past and start over.”

    It’s never that easy. Except that there are some of us that have a short-term memory that I am so willing to go up to someone and say with a big smile, “Hey! I haven’t seen you for awhile. Let’s talk like we used to!”