I tested my boundaries when I was 22. I did things that I had never done. I hosted parties. I organized large groups for parties and school projects. I hung out with people at bars, drinking only water.

But when I came back to the Bay Area after that, I had to define the boundaries. Most importantly, I had to be true to myself. How far can I go without losing who I am?

In Buenos Aires, traveling with a diverse set of people, I wonder…how far do I go and when do I say stop? It’s a dance, always a dance.

The first place.

A tall wooden colonial oor. European. No AC. Colorful drapes. High ceilings with chandeliers. Calling to the senses that there was a woman that cared for her touch throughout each of the rooms in the bed and breakfast. She wore eyeliner but with always bright eyeshadow—blue and purple, that called out her energetic personality that energized the extroverts and sucked everything out from the introverts. In every room, delicately placed trinkets—dream catchers, potpourri ceramic pots on lace runners. A dollhouse almost, but we were living in it. But outside, different. Dreary almost. Some men sprawled on mattresses, frozen and sweating in the heat. As girls walked by—especially like us Asian American—they made catcalls. A small whispery “hi” or “hola”. And if they are daring…most of them are…they said, “Cerveza conmigo?” with a wide smile spread across their face. The sidewalks were broken, forgotten by the government. Uninhabited.

The second place.

Better. For the Western. In an area inundated by malls, shops, colectivos. Our friends—3 male guys—arrived suddenly shifting the mood. Different. High ceilings and Europeans. Detailed glass trinkets. With antiques on every shelf from from old style record players (with no needle), books, collected art. AC. I love it. Residents have money. And they travel—been to San Francisco, Miami or NYC, accustomed to seeing foreign faces. A traveler here can get lost within the crowd. Shops ranging from high-end European haute couture to Starbucks dot every street. No uncomfortable glances from men, but only “permiso” from hurried office workers and the regular porteños or sometimes the pushing through “get out of my way”. It’s a thoroughfare of colectivos, taxis and buses. “Upper middle class,” the lawyer said without any apology.

A friend once told me, “You cannot keep running away. It always follows you.”

Wandering in Argentina and Uruguay, I am lost within the cultures and the languages. Although unlike Asia, this time, I understand maybe 50%…maybe just 25% as I recall my six years of Spanish in middle school and high school.

But despite my grasp of the language, my anxiety…the lifelong social anxiety grips me. Even though I most likely won’t see these people again and they forgive me instantly (an Asian speaking Spanish? really?) and attempt to speak English. I wonder if they are impressed that I have gone lengths to learn their language. Or as at the heladeria, he had surprise spread quickly over his face and then he immediately went to business.

“En un vaso?” he asked.

“Si,” I said. A cup. For the helado.

And like all the other customers., he scooped the flavors into the cup as quickly as he can and handed it to me, clean, dripless with the same jovial attitude he shown all the other customers in line waiting for 20+ minutes past midnight.

“Gracias,” I responded and tried to find my sister, standing out from the traveling Argentines and Uruguayans on the starlit Friday night.

There are faulty notions with the beliefs:

In the past year, it’s everything but that.

Due to the way I grew up and the beliefs I collected along the way, I believe that relationships are partnerships in life. Everyone—as humans—seek another for the purposes of bearing witness. We are in a world of millions of individuals. A select few have their lives remembered—whether under scrutiny or admiration. But many of us are lost among the masses. Our partner reminds us that we do matter. It’s the partner that will support you as truly the number one fan.

How can anyone deserve anyone less? To be with someone who can’t accept you as who you are—with weaknesses and strengths.

I know what I prefer in character: honesty, dedication, curiosity, passion.

I have crazy ideas of many things. And I pursue them. Sometimes recklessly. But all I want is someone to help me when I stumble and to say, “It’s ok! You can try again. I believe in you.”

After I dropped off Chris at the airport bus terminal, I wandered around Taipei Main Station…but then I decided to go to one of the most classic night markets in Taipei. Also known as Snake Alley (as I learned later).

On arrival, I let myself wander into the Longshan Temple. In the rain, its classical Chinese red reflected against the yellow streetlights and the rushing waters of a fake manmade waterfall. Modestly, darting between devout visitors, I followed other tourists, attaching myself to a group of Japanese middle-aged travelers who laughed when their guide pointed out a well spilling out smoke. They followed suit and went to the well, waving some of the smoke toward themselves. I scooted to the well and glanced in…nothing particular. Evident that the guide mentioned something amusing, yet beneficial.

Losing interest, I slipped out of the temple and headed toward the nightmarket.

Overwhelmed suddenly by the idea that I was a stranger in a strange land…I convinced myself that I needed to eat. But the feeling of being trapped was so high. The menus that I could not read (beyond the words of small and big). The language that I could not speak (not even my Cantonese could help me). And an annoying self-awareness that I looked like a local, but inside I was so very American.

Then I realized—come on, I looked like an Asian tourist. Someone from Hong Kong, obviously. Someone from Korea, Japan, Vietnam…anywhere else…where they could not read or speak either. I had the benefit of speaking English fluently and clearly. Yet unlike most tourists, I am a single female traveler, traversing on my own.

I spotted an Asian girl with clearly a male Caucasian. Immediately critical, I had a negative reaction to the couple—the Asian girl was obviously from Taiwan. Was she seeking someone of a “superior” race? Was it only attraction? Was it real? To her, was she moving up?

Eventually, I found a stand with fishy type stuff in rich intense sauce. Then I ate cake wheels with cream and taro inside. I passed around a stand with snakes, passing Cantonese speakers…which to my relief, they were somewhat disgusted as I was.

And so then, that ended my journey through Snake Alley. It being nearly uninhabited and empty due to the rain.

Two weeks ago, I landed in Manila.

“Please ma’am, I am very good tour guide,” he texted me.

Two days prior, he man made eye contact with me as I wandered lost around Intramuros—the historical enclave of Manila, Philippines filled with stories of War War II and colonial influences. Having just arrived to my hotel after a 16 hour flight, I felt dizzy with the humid bright light. The hotel front desk demanded payment for my stay and I reluctantly went outside in search of an ATM. Around and around the cobblestone streets, I walked passing locals, tending to grilling sisig and selling prepaid phone cards. Exhaustion dug at me as I walked around the block and the man on a pedicab yelled out, “Tour?! I show you Intramuros.”

I waved him off, “I am looking for an ATM.”

Insistent, he followed me, “I do a great tour!”

I walked back to the hotel and went inside to negotiate, “I have to an appointment at the Mall of Asia at 4 pm. Can I pay later?”

“Ok, I give you until 9 pm,” she said.

With relief, I turned and went back outside. The man was still there and waved his hands in the air, repeating, “Intramuros intramuros!”

“Can you take me to the Mall of Asia?” I asked.

This is one of the few photos that I took at Willow Park:

When Chris first moved to his place in Willow Park, I had only begun to know him. He had first lived in Foster City, but he never invited me over, claiming that it was “messy”. And granted, living in San Francisco, why would I venture out of the city? Then he moved to Fremont. By that point, I convinced him that I should see his place. So I did.

But then shortly after, he was forced to move again, because his unit was being purchased. And then he found his place at Willow Park in early 2007. Since then, there were starts to move, but they never transpired. It was just easier to stay in one place that fit everything he needed.

But today was the end. He found a better place in San Francisco. Gone were the days of “car safety”, the comforts of Mountain View (and the surrounding silicon valley). Gone were the strip malls—the omnipresent need to drive to a grocery store and the feeling that everything one needed was just a car ride away. The silence was going to be gone.

I’ll miss that he lived alone—no more loud noises from his home theater or insane pop music from his computer. I’ll miss having a place down in the South Bay—a pleasant positive sojurn from a tech job. Or a place to crash when I visited a friend in the South Bay (this is the real reason that I am down here).

But what I won’t miss is: having two homes. The thinking that he’s down there and I am up here. And the whoops, I left something 50 miles away.

Memories? I’ll list them next.

Whenever an artist said “I was put on this earth to create art”, I had a slight reaction. I am not quite sure what it is—was she being overly pretentious (which nowadays is an overly used word) or was it my sudden jealousy of her clear awareness of her self?

Nonetheless, I feel this now. I have been put on this earth to write. Quite often, I often state something a little pompous: I write to live. I live to write.

For me, it is true. I know that I love to create. And in first attempt to create, it was through words. The stories that appeared in my mind. The books that I stacked when I went to the library. I wanted to be an author when I was a kid and told everyone so when any adult asked. And yet, as I got older, pressures and expectations from an Asian family meant that art was not an option. It was not successful and not financially sound.

And so for years, I pursued the more appropriate profession that boomed of success and money…and stability. I studied computer science initially. The lack of creativity was still surging with me and that very reason led me to product design. And yet, I was not CREATING. I was creating for a company—mobile phone companies, washers and dryers, car companies, retail stores.

Several months ago, I was troubled by a response to my desire to be a writer.

But today, I saw this talk from Elizabeth Gilbert. People have fear of creativity. As she describes, no other profession has creative geniuses falling into emotional despair. Sure, accountants, software engineers, servicemen…may have despair with their colleagues. But really, in an artist, we are in the profession where creativity comes within.

In every successful partnership, there are two people. The artist—the one who seeks to express, to create, to design. Then there is the businessman—the logic, the thoughts, the one who actually seeks out monetization.

Examples range where the power shifts. The artist wants to give away work for free in order to benefit the community. The businessman is hesitant—nothing should ever be given away for free.

At a food blogger meetup recently, a guy with background in law advised us: “Protect yourself.”

When I challenged him with examples of artistic expression and community benefit, he told the story of a man who came up with an idea of a blender-type fan in the toilet. As a lover of Jamba Juice, he went there every day ordering the same smoothie. However, one day, he felt sick from a smoothie that tasted off. Several hours later, he started having diarrhea. Inspired by the blenders at Jamba Juice, he thought the blender blades would work well in a toilet.

Arbitrarily, he went to the patent lawyers, who completed the patent application pro bono (since the man had zero income). Many of the lawyers were skeptical. Toilets have been around for years without blades. Yet a few months after the patent was completed, the firm received a call from a company interested in licensing the idea. Before the lawyer offered a number, the company immediately offered a million dollars to start plus royalties for every use.

The guy at the food blogger meetup finished his story with, “And that’s why you want to protect yourself.”