Asian Ladies and Chocolate

I was in the grocery store yesterday when I noticed that there were these Asian women ahead of me in line and they had SO MUCH CHOCOLATE. There must have been several dozen bars of chocolate of all kinds, thin bars and truffles, thick, bite-sized pieces, and round pieces of chocolate wrapped in shiny foil. The three women had their arms loaded with chocolate and there was so much that they spilled out onto the checkout counter. The lady ringing them up looked appalled, her eyes wide, but she did not say anything as she rang them up. "Are you okay?" I asked the cashier. She just glanced at me but did not say anything. After she rang them up, the Asian women paid and left, still talking about the chocolate. I think they might try to resell the chocolate or maybe they're having a chocolate tasting party or something. Or possibly they might be sending them back home to their families. I remember that when I went to visit my home country when I was fourteen, my mother bought bars of soap and chocolate to give out as gifts to everyone there. At least, I hope those ladies were not just going to sit and eat all the chocolate themselves. Think of the diabetes. And the cavities. And the unhealthy weight gain. Goodness. I don't know what they're going to do with that much chocolate but I'm curious to find out. Maybe one day, I'll run into them again. Or hear about them in the newspaper: Asian women try to win chocolate eating contest.

Soaked

I came home from school soaked today. I saw how it was raining this morning and I briefly thought about driving to school instead. Then I remembered that driving to school meant that I would have to find a parking spot and still have to walk 20 minutes to class. Either that or wait for a bus which may never come. I decided to walk. I have my trusty umbrella, I thought. What's the worst that could happen? (How many times has someone said THAT in a story?) By the time I got to class, my shoes and socks and pants were soaked. I spent the next two hour and forty minutes in class shivering in my wet socks. Then, stupidly enough, I decided to walk home, too. I should have just asked my friend Julie to give me a ride home, but I thought, It's just drizzling. I'll be fine. I got about a fourth of the way home when I heard this C-C-R-R-R-A-C-K! Lightning, my dear readers. Lightning. And thunder. And then it started POURING. Just bullets of rain and rivers of rainwater. Great, I thought. I'm in for it now. Still, I had to get home somehow.

Walking home was a bit of an adventure. There were some places where the sidewalk dipped and I sloshed through about three inches of rushing rainwater. There was also so much water soaked into my socks and sloshing around in my shoes that I could have started my own beach. Why didn't I wear my snow boots? I thought halfway home. Of course, by then, it was too late. I also had to play some tricky dodge game with nearby traffic in order to keep from being drenched by the cars driving by. Their wheels would dig into the rushing streams of rainwater in the gutter and spray waves onto the sidewalk. It took some fancy footwork to survive this onslaught and even then I wasn't always successful. I think my leg and right side got sprayed twice by flying tsunamis of gutter water. By the time I got home, I was soaked from the waist down and there were droplets of water that had seeped into the faux fur of my jacket. Needless to say, I won't be doing that again. Next time, I'll just drive. On the other hand, a part of me still holds that it is safer to walk in the rain than to drive. Sure, driving keeps me dryer, but it also has the chance I might hydroplane and crash into something. Ah, pros and cons. We'll see what happens when it rains next time.

Friendly No Longer

Today I decided to stop being so nice. I know that it sounds counter-intuitive to everything we are usually raised with, but there is such a thing as being too nice. When I try to hang out with too many friends, I make too many commitments. And the thing is, it's usually me making the commitments, it's usually me taking the initiatives. I go around chasing people, actively trying to make friends and it isn't until I stop to take a breather that I realize no one is chasing me. No one is actively trying to be my friend at all. It's always me calling other people to hang out, it's always me setting up appointments to get together. Whatever happened to reciprocity? And while I have fun with my friends, it also creates a bit of stress when I have to drive an hour to meet them, or find their place, or rearrange my schedule to make time to hang out with them.

While I think that all the effort and stress is worth it for really good friends, I'm starting to realize that no one does the same for me. It's not even that I'm  a particularly lonely, needy, or clingy person. Anyone who knows me well knows that I'm pretty emotionally independent. If anything, I dislike it when other people are clingy. Now that I'm having this revelation, I know it's time to just let things go. Let go of my so-called friends and contacts. Let go of scheduling and making phone calls and chasing after people. Maybe this is time just for me. Maybe I can explore myself again and continue with solitary pursuits.

Maybe this is what Craig has been trying to tell me all along, that I don't always have to be so nice, especially for people who don't reciprocate the same kindness. That's what makes me a doormat; that's what allows people to walk all over me.

From now on, I am no longer friendly. I'll still be courteous and polite. I'll say hi to people and conduct polite conversation if they seem inclined. But otherwise, I'm going on with my life and going it alone. There's no need for friends who don't bother to be friends with you.

Heart's desire

A classmate of mine was doing an activity along with her class presentation. As people came into the classroom, she had people choose a brown paper bag out of several that she had fanned out in her hands. I chose the one on the far left (my left) and she commented, "I always wonder where people would pick. I wonder if it says anything about them." Maybe it did, but I just answered her, "I just picked the one closest to me."

She told us that there was a different picture in each bag, and that we should pull it out to see what we had chosen. I pulled mine out and then stared at it for a long time. Feelings, old and deep, began to well up in me, and it took me a moment to realize what the feelings were--longing. My picture was a simple one. It pictured a family gathered around a table for a feast. There were two middle-aged adults (probably the parents), two older adults who I assumed were the grandparents, and three children. Everyone in the picture was smiling at each other. I stared at the picture for the longest time, noticing the feelings rise up within me. It's strange that this picture--just a small, slightly blurry printout of a family gathering for a feast--could suddenly resemble everything I've ever longed for in my life, everything I've ever wanted. It was like looking into the mirror of Erised. I'm sure that if I had looked into that mirror, I would have seen the same thing, except with my own family there instead. I imagined my father looking healthy, my mother smiling in her shy way, and my brother with his toothy, Cheshire Cat grin. My grandparents would be there, too, all of them, including the grandmother who died before I was born. That's when I realized that the best things in life really WEREN'T things at all. I didn't long for money or success or fame or fortune, not all of those things that society conditioned us to want. All I wanted was a happy, healthy, loving family. All I wanted were two parents who had a happy marriage and who were still in love with each other. I wanted to know my grandparents, really know them, and not just have memories of them when I was a toddler and too young to realize them for what they were.

I almost cried, sitting there in class and staring at this picture. Even when I came home, I still had that picture in my hand, its symbolism in my head. Then I taped that picture to my bedroom wall. My wall of wants, I called it. That's when I decided that anytime I found something I really wanted, whether it be frivolous like a pair of shiny black shoes or something important like a family, I would take its picture, its symbolism, and paste it on my wall. It made me wonder what else I wanted and just didn't realize it yet...

Broom

I was shopping for groceries in Chinatown when I decided to buy Matt a broom. He only had a vacuum cleaner and since his apartment was all hardwood floors, I thought it would be more practical (and easier) to clean if we had a broom there instead. It was the last thing on my shopping list and I had just enough cash to buy a broom for him. Now let me tell you, I bought an Asian broom, not one of those brooms with the black bristles that Americans use. Asian brooms are made out of straw and they are tapered at one end. The handle is also shorter but thicker which makes it easier to handle with only one hand. Western-style brooms tend to be long and extremely thin, forcing a lot of people to use both hands in order to sweep properly. The handle of an Asian broom is also wrapped in wire or in plastic of two colors set in a horizontal pattern. Look one up if you're curious. Well, when I was shopping around for a broom, I just picked the first Asian broom I saw and paid for it. I regretted it a few minutes afterwards because some of the straw in the middle had been cut short, giving the broom a split look. This will make the broom slightly less effectively, but I had already paid for it so I just took it home anyway. In either case, I loved carrying that broom around Chinatown. It made me feel like a witch about to fly off into the sunset, kind of like the witch Kiki from the Miyazaki film. Turns out later that the broom I chose would garner some attention.

When I was carrying the groceries and the broom home on the subway, a few young gentlemen came into the subway with some drums and sat down right in front of me. One of the men looked at my broom and immediately said, "Quidditch?" I did not hear him, and asked, "What?" but at that point, his friend had prodded him and they all began playing their drums. When they finished, they went around the subway car asking for donations and wishing people a good day. Then, when they all sat down again, the same gentleman turned to me and said, "Is that for Quidditch?" I didn't understand what he was talking about until I saw him point to my broom and that was when I realized that my broom handle was decked out in red and gold plastic.

"Oh!" I laughed, suddenly understanding the reference.
"Do you know what I'm talking about?" he asked.
"Yes!" I told him excitedly. "The Harry Potter books?"
"Yeah. Have you seen the movies?" he asked me. At this point, his friends had gathered around and were looking at my broom as well. They smiled.
"No, I haven't seen all the movies. Most of them..." I answered him. "But I read all the books."
"That broom looks like a Quidditch broom with the..."
"Red and gold." I confirmed, nodding. "Gryffindor colors."
"Yes!" He and his friends began to talk excitedly, but the subway stopped right then and they got off, still talking about the broom.

When I got home later, I was so excited about the broom that I moved all of Matt's things aside and swept the whole apartment three times. The entire time, I pretended that I was the Mickey Mouse character from The Sorcerer's Apprentice, enchanting my broom to do my work for me. Sometimes, I do love my imagination. When Matt came home, I told him the whole story and he went over to take a look at the broom as well. He thought it was awesome and he ended up really liking it. After that, we walked around barefoot the rest of the evening, enjoying the feel of smartly swept floor.

Swan Lake

My friends Susan, Susanna, and I went hiking to a place I named Swan Lake. It was a hiking trail near my friend Susanna's house and the weather was actually nice: 46 degrees and warm outside, only a slight chilly breeze. When we got to the lake, we looked out over the water and the swans floating there. About half of them were white, the other half black. There was also a bird of prey gliding around above them, a black hawk, I believe.

"Don't underestimate a swan," my friend Susan said.
"Are they dangerous?" I asked quietly, eyes wide.
She only nodded, her eyes wide, too.
"Don't ever underestimate a swan," she repeated.

A moment later, "I like the diamonds on the water," Susanna commented. I looked towards where she was staring. There were diamonds of light dancing on the water, serene and peaceful. I got that nature feeling once again, the feeling that this was where I belonged, not sitting behind a desk doing paperwork in order to make a living. I could live in that shack there, I thought, my eyes resting on a small, run-down shack on a natural land bridge over the water. Then I could chop firewood when it got cold, gather food every day...and just watch the water in my free time. A part of me liked that. A part of me wanted that harsh, bare, spartan lifestyle where I would always be hungry, usually be cold, but forever be free. Maybe some day, I repeated to myself again. Maybe some day.

We headed back soon and I said good-bye to my friends before I went home. I spent the hour-long drive back listening to soft romantic piano music and musing. Then, when I was listening to Moon River by Henry Mancini, I couldn't help but notice how well it fit in with peaceful, warm, early spring days--gems in the normally harsh and extreme temperatures of the Northeast United States.

Even now, I still go back there sometimes, go back to that day on Swan Lake, watching the swans and the diamonds dancing on the water, wondering what life would be like if all that I had to do everyday was just survive.

Springtime!

Spring is finally here! Today was the first day I felt like it was finally here, anyway. There have been yellow tulips and violets growing on the leafy banks of a creek that runs by my house and my lawn is dotted by these tiny white flowers. I love them so much and feel so bad about stepping on them that when I walk home from school, I go all the way around them and take the winding sidewalk to my front step instead of trampling all over the lawn. I hope my landlord doesn't cut the grass any time soon. These little flowers bring such joy walking to and from school that I will be very sad if he cuts them up along with the grass. Aside from that, the weather was so gorgeous that I took advantage of it by walking to the farmer's market to buy groceries. I also bought sunscreen at the dollar store for the scorching summer days ahead.

Also, even though I'm glad that springtime is here, I felt it arrived all in one day. The weather for the past month has been strange, fluctuating up and down with several cold, windy days peppered with days that SEEM like spring is here. O Mother Nature, thou are a finicky mistress. Now that the first day of spring is here, the temperature went from 12.2 degrees Celsius in the morning (that's 54 degrees Fahrenheit for you standard system folk) to 26.1 degrees Celsius by mid-afternoon (79 F)! When I was driving home from internship, I rolled down the windows to feel the breeze, but it got so heated in the car that I had to give up, roll up the windows, and turn on the air conditioning. This coming from a woman who can tolerate 34 degree C (94 F) weather in long jeans and a jacket! Well, springtime, you sure do know how to roll in all at once.