…and I can’t use my computer…

I would like someone to:

Five years ago if I walked into a large party where I knew only the host, I would have stuck to the walls, like a true wallflower. Hovering around the food and drinks table, I would pretend to be occupied with something—anything to not look like I was socially inept. Perhaps I would step outside the room for a moment and check my phone as if there was a message, but there wouldn’t be anything. And if someone started talking to me, I would try my best to say somethig—but my words would tumble out awkwardly and perhaps uninviting.

Well, five years later, I still haven’t changed much. I still do the same awkward, idiotic things—the nervous eating of food and the constant aimless refilling of my cup. But somehow, I have improved my conversational ability—making opening statements and following up small talk.

And now with Chris accompanying me, I would like to say it’s easier. He is after all the epitome of relate-ability—being able to strike up a conversation with anybody. And sometimes with people I would not expect—the bartender at a large event, the sound guy at a concert, the pretty girl standing by herself at a party.

What’s interesting that he rejects social media—preferring to talk to people directly, bypassing online, digital methods. I embrace social media from twitter, facebook, yelp, blogs… There was once I said without the internet, I would not be here. First said in 2004. At time, right after I said it, I was immediately embarrassed—it was my introductory line to a huge group of people I was meeting for the first time. But my inner outspoken self couldn’t help it.

Looking back, it’s true. Without this outlet—social media, I wouldn’t have been able to find a voice. I started exploring chat rooms in 1996 and officially blogging/journaling in 2001. By 2002, I was part of huge communities and established a significant online persona—meeting people online almost constantly. My friends then spanned the globe—and I knew more people online than offlline. By 2004, I had my share of intense friendships and relationships. The few people I knew “offline” thought this whole concept of meeting people online was…so foreign—after all, how can you be friends with someone you have never met?

I can.

With social media, I am at an equal plane with everyone. I can speak as loudly as everyone. My words don’t sound any different from the next—no mispronunciations, no accent. My gender, my ethnicity gone. And only the core of my personality and identity is left. And no intense facial expressions, no immediate demanding responses. I can be as open as the super extroverted, gregarious person. I can be bubbly!

But perhaps that’s what creates the anti-social-media-type people. It’s anonymous. It’s self-promoting. It’s individualistic. It takes away some identity.

For now, it has helped me reach further than I could without it. I always wonder how I would be like in an alternate universe, an alternate time—would I be like the sulky teenager I was at 16 wondering what I was missing?

“When are you getting married?” Vikas point-blank asked me last night. “All my Chinese friends are getting married.”

I laughed in response, because as a result of attending friends’ weddings and massive reunion planning, I had been thinking of how my ideal wedding or celebration would be. Perusing etsy, Wai-Ching, and Off Beat Bride, I already had ideas for the food (BBQ), grand entrance (not normal), drinks (not just an open bar), flowers (not live)…

I know some people (obviously) female who have been planning their dream wedding since they were 6. I wasn’t like that…

But despite my planning and idealizing, I believe that such a celebration should be reserved when I have enough money. And when I have figured my life out—happy in career, network of friends, and living location.

The question I need to answer first is: Can you be happy alone?

When I can easily say yes, then I know I am ready for the next step.

It’s a question that my grandparents asked me and I brushed it off quickly, assuming that they asked because they wanted grandchildren. I said simply when the time is right.

Obviously opposed to Prop 8, I saw this article recently—the idea that a (straight) woman refused to marry because it’s just an institutional and religious thing. In some way, I agree. I don’t need society to tell me what marriage is. But it’s a hard and fast term. At one point during an interview, the hiring manager suddenly told me that there were two people on the team that were married. I was surprised, unsure what that meant. Of commitment, of dedication, of limited time at work?

What the article really is referring to is the legal term or marriage—the tax benefits, the automatic citizenship, the legal right to hospital visitation, etc. Sure, I agree…I believe that any commitment should have those rights.

Why does marriage have to be a heavy and loaded term? I have a relative that had two wives—right when the world was starting to look down upon the idea of multiple wives.

Why is marriage necessary? Why would the lack of marriage lead to separation? And what is the difference between a marriage and a commitment ceremony if only the former is commitment with legal benefits? Why not just have a court marriage then?

But regardless of all that, I will wait until I am ready (and have that extra 30k ready to spend). In the mean time, I’ll plan out my wedding party and guest list.

I had sat with my legs crossed underneath me for a few hours while taking phone calls and surfing on the web. After writing my rent check, I decided to get up to put in the living room for my roommate.

In the hallway, I stumbled, realizing that my left foot was asleep from being sat on. I fell against the wall, near the closet. Reaching out with my arms, I steadied, but I had twisted my ankle. I tried to take another step, but winced in pain. Having to lean against the wall again, I stood up putting weight on my right foot.

Ouch.

It was painful. My vision became slightly blurry with black marks. I felt light-headed and knew immediately what it was. I stumbled a bit more into the living room, landing on the futon—gathering myself.

Health insurance was the first thought in my mind—the cost of seeing a doctor especially in these times. I sighed while sitting lamely on the futon, wishing someone was in the apartment to take care of me. I had always wondered: if I lived alone, who would know if I had stumbled and passed out?

Struggling, I got ice from the freezer and slowly moved to my room. I laid on my bed, putting ice on my foot. While lying there, I got the phone and called my sister.

To me, before I ran into Chris again, Rescomp had always been a job that I once had in Berkeley. A job that I deliberately applied for, because I didn’t want to helpless. I wanted to be different and special—one of the guys and one of the tech-savvy. At the end of my time at Rescomp, I had realized how like any student jobs they binded people together. But I never attended any of the social events, I never was part of the in-crowd…I had remained outside the drama and the inner circle.

When I “met” Chris again—he and I never really exchanged a single word at Rescomp (an example of a missed opportunity: i am on the left with long black hair and he is in green on the right), he talked about his three years fondly—recalling the crazy times, the memorable one-liners, the ski trips, the RBI…the hijinks…and his last year as part of the senior staff, leading a small team. He showed me the classic photo of his team—the one that is still known in Rescomp today as the one of the best team photos.

But this is how it started. An almost aching for what could have been—if I could have been less shy and more open as an undergraduate. If I didn’t let some judgments get in the way and if I didn’t spend most of my time overanalyzing than doing. I longed for what could be and that drew me to the event. And in some way, I admit that I wanted people to see who I was now than who I was then.

But was it a regret? As I worked with the committee to contact everyone for the reunion, I came across those who had misgivings about their job. And there were people who didn’t want to see others. The grudges, the embarrassments, the shame, the guilt.

Being known as the super-quiet, awkward one during my first few years of Rescomp, I wondered how perceptions of me have changed. It was a self-centered thought really. At the event, I saw my former supervisor come in with his girlfriend and dog. “Hi…” he hesitantly said, seeming surprised to see me managing the welcome table.

I smiled and said, “Haven’t seen you for awhile!”

During the toast, I suddenly wanted to retreat back to my super-quiet self. When they called the committee to the front, I tried to hide behind the speaker, nervously picking at my strawberry cupcake. But Chris who had yelled “HEY RESCOMP!” and people now attentive yelled back, “Hey taiche!” as if they had known him forever.

More photos and photos

When I first wore the dress, I felt so much better. It was lighter than all the clothes I had brought. But surprisingly, it was also the topic of discussion of a fellow traveler in our group. The dress was everything that I didn’t normally exude of my personality. It was an embodiment of the ideal me.

For the past few months before the trip, I was cutting back on all my random (unneeded) purchases—clothing, replacing broken items, refilling essentials, impulsive gift-giving…and my selfish and generous side was suppressed until the moment I stepped in a country where I was led to believe everything was worth buying.

At the touristy floating market, I spotted a colorful dress on the wall, placed carefully next to other knee-length single color dresses.

A few months earlier, I had walked by Charlotte Russe in the mall and hesitated, not wanting to spend money that I didn’t have. Chris guided me back to the store, encouraging me to look at the displays. Then I unleashed my inner student studying the way they had layered clothes. I observed and marked in my mental notebook that bright colors that seem to clash go well underneath an outer layer of a single color.

Having always been a conservative dresser, I was now affected by the urban lifestyle of San Francisco. Working at a design studio, I felt that I could not just wear my plain colored tops and bottoms. There had to be a slight effect, a slight unique, personal touch. It had taken me years to be comfortable with wearing tank tops and spaghetti straps (tube tops don’t work on me though). And only recently, mini-skirts swung my way.

So there was this dress. Brightly colored. Thin fabric. Patch work. If worse comes to worse, I could always cover it with my long cardigan with a hint of color.

“That is pretty,” a saleswoman said as I was looking at it. She immediately brought it down from the wall with a pole.

“Will this fit me?” I asked holding dress in front of me.

She nodded in response. “How much?” I asked.

“950 baht.”

That was almost $30 USD. I hesitated, but because I really wanted the dress and could not walk away…I counter-offered 700 baht which she quickly accepted (later I found out that everything in there was over-priced and I could have gotten it for 350 baht).

On the way to Koh Lanta, I decided to wear the dress. I was tired of wearing clothing that felt uncomfortable, not built for the weather. Later, Geeta had told me (repeatedly) that she was surprised by the dress. The brightly colored dress that fit me perfectly. And complemented the tan that kept getting darker.

“Don’t wear that silly cardigan,” she told me. “Show off!”

On my last day on the islands, I pranced around in the dress with no cardigan. I walked up to the viewing point of Koh Phi Phi in socks in walking shoes…with that dress. At dinner, I ate fish and curry…and stayed outside when it started raining. Then I walked with the group down to the bars where I made small talk with strangers (in a non-alcohol-induced state).

When I returned to the states, I immediately washed the dress through a gentle cycle and air dryed it. It’s sitting in a bag with the other dresses I purchased, waiting until my sister or I decide to wear it.

Being so colorful isn’t really me, but being surprisingly different is.

The journey to Thailand and Cambodia had started from a simple phrase Shipra must have said a few years ago: You should visit me when I am in Bangkok!

A few years later, it was that…her classmates from grad school and other friends assembled together to travel overseas. Somehow 2 weeks to spend in countries that nobody had visited before (except for Jake) relying on our Lonely Planet guidebooks and Shipra’s knowledge. Somehow it all survived.

What was your favorite moment, I was asked when I came back.

It was funny because the night before I left…I was chatting with Geeta until I fell asleep and while she was trying to will time away before her 6 am flight. Idly, I asked, “What was your top 5 favorite moments of the last 2 weeks?”

Immediately, she said “Ko Lanta. Then Cambodia.”

I laughed, knowing why. I hesitated knowing that my own answers were atypical of most visitors to paradise. Perhaps it was growing up in California (albeit the Bay Area) with easy access to pools, beaches, Florida and LA. Perhaps it was my growing love of the urban cities in my early twenties…or that simply I was interested and curious about people. Not at all how nature affected me like when the heat in Arizona evaded any appreciation of Grand Canyon and the pervasive boredom in Hawaii. As I grew older, taking photos took precedent almost as if capturing landscapes to show people later that I was in a place, but not necessarily enjoying it.

“The first real day in Bangkok,” I said. “When Jeff and I woke up early—around 6 am. We walked down a street without knowing where we going—just that I wanted a hair cut. I had found a market in Lonely Planet, but didn’t know how to get there. We went into an area where we didn’t see a single person that spoke English for more than an hour—surrounded by every day Bangkok life of insects as food and busy people getting groceries for the day. That was my favorite moment.”

I later did include the “private island” moment when we had lunch after kayaking—an island with sand where your feet would sink, but not sink far. Where the water was cool on one side of the island and on the other side of the island—only 30 feet wide—the water was like a sauna. The island where shells were abundant and whole. And for more than an hour, it felt like we were truly lost in paradise.

First, Toad needed to enjoy Southeast delights.

Then meet some chicks

Take transportation to…

some sights and then…

rest…

And reach paradise…

It was yet another brilliant day on Ko Lanta, Thailand. A day where the group had decided that we should rest, rest as normal people do in the land paradise.

I had woken up early, disturbed by the light, the footsteps, the light sheets and heat. In the morning, I rushed out and ate breakfast. Everyone was preparing to just hang out at the beach—the beach everyone described we have it for ourselves! But strangely, I felt the air was different…it felt disturbed.

But then I decided to check my email. The first subject I saw was “Peppy is gone…”

I was holding him as he took his last breath… the message trailed off in unspoken tears.

I immediately asked to borrow Shipra’s phone, but unfortunately he was in the airport boarding, currently in security. It was the first time he had heard my voice in over 9 days. His voice obviously was masked by anxiety of talking on the phone, but I could tell what he was feeling. I could almost see the stone wall falling, masking his sorrow. Normally, I would be there lifting and holding the stone wall up but I couldn’t be there. I was on the other side of the world surrounded by happy faces in paradise filled with ready tropical freshly sliced pineapple, beckoning beaches and supple masseuses on call.

I said I would call later.

In the town on my own later, I impulsively bought a couple-themed shirt—pirate girl and pirate boy. A gift, but not a remedy.

When I saw Shipra again, I asked to borrow her phone. And I dialed internationally again. The group was going to town to the dive shop and for lunch. I followed slowly, now knowing the sorrow.

I never knew Peppy, but Peppy was the life that Chris had known as a child. Perhaps the kind sibling, the best friend who equated to his craziness and energy. A dog that he had got shortly after he moved back to LA after a shift in family. I never had a pet beyond a fish…and only knew attachment to non-humans as the attachment I had with my computer and beloved stuffed animals.

In college, I remember a professor once saying that there was no excuse that someone missed an assignment beyond a family member dying. A student interrupted saying that a death of a family pet is nearly significant. I don’t remember what happened, but I must have not understood since when a friend’s dog died while she was in school, I gave a sad look and said nothing more.

So on the other side of the world, I was trying to comfort him as I walked with the group to the street. My sunglasses were on of course, and I could sense his despair hidden only by silence on the phone. I rattled on a few things about my day…then apologizing…for my near indifference. But as I prattled on, it stung…the fact that he had lost someone…after awhile, I said I would call him and be there for him. I am here.

As I got on the truck with everyone else to go to the Ko Lanta Divers, I opened up a moist towellette from my bag to wipe my tears under my sunglasses away and said aloud, “Wow, it’s hot here.”

For my next visit. For someone else. For life.