I wasn’t kidding.

During lunch, I presented the argument, “I really believe that the world is connected. That somehow we are connected perhaps by invisible webs. How else can I explain how suddenly communication from people happen at the same time. And that is why I believe in ESP. I believe that I can mind read. When I try really hard, it doesn’t work. But when I let it go, it just happens. I know. I just know.”

They gave me glances of hesitation. Trepidation. But at that moment, I interpreted it as expressions of curiosity. I grinned wider and went on a longer rant of mind-reading. It really made sense to me.

Then my colleague said, “I also believe in aliens.”

Moments later, I realized how crazy I sounded. One step at a time to make the uncrazy…crazy.

I celebrated my 30th the only way I know that I can. With massive amounts of ice cream…and sodas.

At Ice Cream Bar, aptly named that it confused people.

With over 30 people including a two-month old and a five year old captured succinctly in photos

With a custom menu made with my favorite things—strawberries, soda, olive oil.

Temporary tattoos, party hats and beads, overfilled stomachs, a board to capture ideas for 31 flavors next year.

Of birthdays and similar celebrations, I have always hated the pain point…that appears at the very end.

THE BILL

It’s horribly awkward because of the following reasons:

The aim of any of my events is that there is no financial awkwardness or fear. It’s purely meant to be a joyous celebration of an event—that people come because they wanted to. Not because they could afford it, but because they took the time to travel, etc.

And so that is why on my 30th birthday, I took the liberty of picking up the full tab. As I had done for my 26th birthday, all of it was mine.

Or at least it felt like it. I had driven a few people to the event. And then now it was ending and everyone was heading to the parking lot.

Her friend looked at me and said, “It was great to meet you! See you!”

Then my friend said, “Yes! Thanks for driving. You know the way back?”

Surprised, I mumbled, “Um…yes…”

She nodded her acknowledgement while I mumbled, “But I am heading the same way you’re going…”

They rushed off to another car and suddenly I was alone in the parking lot, 20 miles from my place. With no passenger, no company and no direction.

“What do you do in this city?” he asked about 10 minutes after we first met.

I was driving and he was the fellow passenger. He had leapt to the front seat while my friend sat in the back.

I wasn’t quite sure what to make of his bold move, but I took that he was curious in starting a conversation with a stranger.

So I posed the question back to him—”what do you mean? are you looking to know why I do what I do or what I do?”

He explained that he asked because he can often tell what a person is like when they try to cross town. He claimed that there are people who take the main throughfare because they want to people watch. I pointed out that perhaps many are conformists—that they are uncomfortable with something radically different; perhaps when they discover a shortcut, they may feel uncomfortable and so return to familiarity. We are creatures of habit, I stated.

Then I returned to the question. In some way unlike most, I challenged the question rather than answering with—my job, the general habits of my life. I wanted to know the motivation to give a good answer than the ones that most will give.

In my early 20s, I was most self-centered and self-promoting. Alas, that has fallen to the wayside. BUT now I call back my BIRTHDAY WISHLIST. For my 30th birthday in less than 5 days!

Previous years: forgotten year in 2011, 2010, 2009, 2008, no forgotten year of 2007, 2006, 2005, 2004, 2003, 2002

In order of importance!

1. PRESENCE > PRESENT. I really don’t like presents, because I pretty much know what I want. But there’s the people that I can’t really ask for—and that’s what I want.
2. Endless supplies of fruit. Particularly the stone fruit kind and berries!
3. Ice cream. Especially fruity ones.
4. Candy!
5. Some better way to manage the messiness of my room as I enter my thirties.
6. Acceptance, peace with the ways thing are
7. Maybe a better couch/sofa

That’s me. I know that I want to be a mom someday.

Do I think that I am a fit? Not very. Do I think that I am motherly? Not at all.

It’s not that I woke up and said, “I want to be a mom”. It was something that I just knew. Maybe I want a little version of myself running around. Maybe I want to know that I can make an impact in the world through someone. Or more importantly, that I can take care of someone…to a level that I will never have ever.

It’s a fundamental belief and it can be a dealbreaker.

“Can I get more…” I would start.

“No!” the server would say.

I would be stunned, shocked—unsure of what to say next. Why can’t I get…

Then the server would just laugh and say that yes, of course it is entirely possible! This is the worst kind of joke—especially at a restaurant.

But it wasn’t only that today. It was my request of triple cream cheese and getting blue cheese instead. It was saying “oh yes, the duck confit” when it was actually the “roasted duck”. And the odd glances to our table—when he could say “how is everything”. Things like—made it awkward and uncomfortable.

It wasn’t necessarily bad service, but mostly…off. Somewhat unattentive. Somewhat unfriendly. And making something that could have been incredible (the food was generally good)…off-putting. Negative points.

When I first did it, I was filled with anxiety. But my belief in it forced me to overcome it.

Today was my third time. I had just under an hour until my flight departed as my belongings moved on the conveyer belt. This time, I steadily looked at the TSA agent who was checking the bins and said in a strong but quiet voice, “I would like to opt out.”

She directed me to stand behind a female passenger who just opted out. The TSA agent asked me to point out my belongings—I pointed out the three bins and my bag. Last time in New York, I remember the TSA agent wondering aloud how I was able to fit all the five bins in two bags. This time, the TSA agent said nothing.

I stood waiting behind the glass gate, somewhat nervous that I would miss my flight, but certain that I couldn’t wuss out. I had taken a stance on opting out. My mind wandered to the idea of my biological clock ticking—I do want kids, after all…right?

The TSA agent called out again to her colleagues behind the security line, “Female opt out request, please! Female times two!”

“Are you opting out too?” the female traveler in front of me asked. I nodded and we exchanged knowing smiles.

It was my turn and the female agent led me to a screening area. She asked me if I would like a private screening and I declined. She asked me if I had any sore or painful spots and I also said no. Standing on barefeet, she asked me to spread my legs and put my arms out with palms upward to the ceiling. Quietly, I observed the commotion around me—watching a fellow female passenger make nervous comments—”San Franciscans must love this…” She seemed both amused and anxious. I noticed an obvious pregnant bulge.

Then it was over and I arrived at my gate…and I just waltzed into the flight since boarding had already started. 30 minutes to spare.