“Are you Jennifer?” she said, not having seen me in more than 7 months. She sized me up and down, standing outside the noisy Disney store. “Did you lose weight?”

I laughed and said no, thinking how the last half year has influenced and changed me. When I first met her, I was wearing my formal pants and that shirt I thought was business-like. And shoes that made me walk funny. Today, I was wearing the Papaya top over a dark tank top underneath my leather jacket with that forest green cropped pants. Topped with my black flats that still made me walk funny because they were new.

This morning, I walked into a doctor’s office with Chris. The receptionist greeted Chris by name. She then saw me and asked him, “Is this your wife?”

We shook our heads and smiled.

It’s strange how society quickly tries to pair up people at that intimate level. Especially those of the opposite gender. It’s as seeing long-lasting relationships is proof that there is hope. Something that gives them comfort.

It reminds me of the time when I spontaneously decided I wanted to buy a dress. While I was in the dressing room trying the 10+ dresses the saleswoman piled into my arms, she asked directly in a whisper meant to be heard, “Are you two dating?”

Sam laughed and said, “Nooooo…”

But I was in Fremont with Chris. I wasn’t holding his hand or doing anything couple-like, except going to the doctor’s office at an insanely early appointment. It is a suburb. A land I recalled yesterday when I met Chris’ typical volleyball people–where married people and families live. I met a woman who quit her high-paying engineer job to do a part-time jewelry job (like an Avon lady) to be at home with her two kids. Where people owned condos and had cars. Where the greatest adventure on the weekend was a trip to Home Depot, perhaps Target and Walmart. Or even Ikea.

And yet among my circle, I nearly know nobody who is married. A few who are close. But most are severely independent and unattached.

I hope to be participating in this. Since I was obviously not around for it last year.

Whack!

A friend said recently, “The day you break up with someone is the loneliest day in the world.”

Because it’s a choice to take the path alone rather than with someone.

“This is the first time that I have met someone who visited Pittsburgh for vacation during the winter,” said my taxi driver named Sunshine.

One of the bigwigs of CMU music quoted another bigwig, “There are two world-class institutions in Pittsburgh. One is Carnegie Mellon University and the other is the Pittsburgh Symphony Orchestra.”

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Yesterday night, a good friend told me he thought I was a close friend. One of the few. But I couldn’t say the same about him.

But that brings up that question. What is a close friend? Sure, I wrote a paper about the meaning of friend. But is there a definition that is the same for everyone?

Trust? Contact frequency? The mutual understanding? The natural desire to be there for the friend? The willingness to go out of your way? Where does it reach obsession? Or simply superficiality and shallowness? Or when is it an aquaintance? Where is the sincerity.

Communication is everything to me.

When I first arrived to Pittsburgh more than 2 years ago, I was naïve, bright-eyed and bushy tailed. I was leaving a place that offered little to me and embarking a journey to really seek what I wanted to do. And Pittsburgh was a city that was different to me—my first chance at real independence, connecting with people, and interestingly a self-discovery.

At first, the fact that the environment was so different from my comfort zone made me dislike it. I admit there were a few times that I wanted to quit the graduate program and return to the Bay Area—burying my head in my down feather blanket in the room I grew up in.

Quite often though, what hurts and wounds you the most is what you start missing when the pain stops. And at some point, it’s no longer pain. It’s not sadistic. But you find a way to defend yourself against the pain. It’s like you used to get attacked, but now you know how to defend yourself.

So I’ll be back in the ‘burgh soon. For a somewhat selfish fantasy (yay go groundhogs!). And as I used to say, I will most likely love it for what it was not for what it is.

Of course though, I’ll hate it the moment I’ll have to spend a lot of time in 10 degree weather.

Ever since I realized that it will take 15 minutes to get to work biking vs. a 40 minute bus ride, I have been on a journey to reduce my commute. For the past week, I have been jealous of those bike commuters. The ones with a messenger bags (chrome, timbuk2…) strapped over their bike. And the bike gangs that appear here and there. I watched even as adults rode bmx bikes, crouched in a fetal position pedaling across the street.

Today, I walked into Performance Bike and walked out with approximately $80 worth of gear. Then, I went home and put the air back into my bike’s tires. And finally, I decided to give it a test ride in the garage. A short 10 feet.

Turns out I have forgotten how to ride a bicycle. It was an experience teetering back and forth. Nearly crashing into my roommate’s car multiple times. But when I return Monday, I shall attempt it again

Despite an earlier belief that I wasted tuition on a Designing for Service class, I am surprised to see myself pointing out notes of great service design.

While standing in the checkout line at Costco with three items, a guy with a wireless scanner stepped over to us and scanned our three items. He told us that we could just show our costco membership card at the cashier without taking anything out of the cart, pay and we’ll be on our way. Someone took the time to figure out how to address the less common use case of a customer buying a few items and make the experience better.

And then today when I wanted to switch my departure airport for Pittsburgh on Southwest, I only had to go to the website and click on View or change your flight. Within minutes, I switched my airport from Oakland to San Jose. No extra fees. No worries. And I had a freedom of choice. Within 5 minutes. I was happy. Someone too thought of what hassles travelers had to go through and designed the service to reduce those hassles.

And yet, there are services (and products) out there that are designed to be deliberately difficult. I always found that instruments were deliberately designed to be difficult because the pleasure is not in the act, but the pleasure comes from the mastery. The same with many games. And walking into a Diesel store. For some, it’s an confusing experience meant to make someone see a salesperson as the knight in shining armor. For others, it’s almost a feeling of exclusion–only a certain demographic would shop there.