Disagreements

Tonight, a friend and I had a disagreement, which completely got blown out of proportion because we were lazy and decided to debate back and forth over text rather than just call each other and talk it out. Part of the reason for this was that I was in transit from one location to another and took the subway, so it would have been impossible for me to call her, but the longer the disagreement went on, the more ridiculous and futile I realized it was becoming. In the end, it all got resolved, but it just further proves how poorly tone comes across in writing rather than over voice or in person. We’re products of the technology age, though, so our laziness to not call each other is partially due to our heavy reliance on speaking through machines rather than being human beings and using our voices.

But the more I thought about it, the more I’ve realized that it’s not just technology that has made us more distant and prone to not understanding each other. It’s the fact that we rarely have deep discussions about really important topics, whether it’s current events, our opinions on life values, etc. It’s frustrating because then you realize that this person who you think is supposed to be close to you doesn’t really know you at all. And what is equally bad is that you don’t really know her, either.

I guess that’s why a lot of friendships don’t stand the test of time, especially when they may relocate and move to areas far away for work, family, or some other reason, and they meet other people and their lives and values evolve. We get sucked into the thought that we don’t have time to invest in the people who are not convenient for us to talk to or be near, and then gradually, friendships start fading away. We meet other people who are more in physical proximity to us who may be at similar life stages, and we end up bonding and growing with them instead.

I am lucky to say that I’ve had friendships that have lasted almost two decades, but I know people who are still best friends with their friends from age four or five. What I always wonder about them is how their friendships may have evolved. Maybe at age five, all you thought you wanted in a friend was someone to play tag with. Then at age ten, you wanted someone you could do math homework with and watch your favorite TV shows Then at age fourteen, you needed someone who was like your Siamese twin, who you thought knew all your darkest secrets and could even complete sentences for you. But at age nineteen, you’ve realized that your best friend who who you thought could be your best friend was “failing” at certain areas. Maybe she no longer knows all your deepest secrets. Maybe she doesn’t share your love of surfing or travel. Maybe she doesn’t know how to empathize with you when you share your family problems and she just tries to throw a blanket over it and say all families are dysfunctional and yours isn’t unique.

But then you meet someone else who does love surfing. You meet another person who listens to you when you are crying about that stupid argument you had with your mom and talks to you like she has gone through the exact same argument with her mom… except you know she definitely didn’t but just is able to convey a deeper understanding of you and your feelings. And that’s okay. Everyone you choose has a reason to be in your life and a different role to play. Not everyone can check off all the things you crave and need in a friend; in fact, no one probably ever will. But as long as they can check off at least a couple of them, then they can be a friend of some sort to you. And that’s enough.

We don’t seem to get this until after adolescence. Some people never get that. I’m still reminding myself this all the time. I wish I knew this when I was a teenager.

Mom’s take on terrorism

I talked to my mom on the phone today, and she asked me if I was aware of the attacks that happened in Paris last week. Of course I know, I said. Everyone knows.

“You’re really lucky that it didn’t happen while you were there,” she said in an admonishing tone. “I’m telling you right now. It’s dangerous to be traveling.”

I reassured her that it didn’t matter where in the world I was because terrorism could happen anywhere, at any time and any place. And lo and behold, New York City has just received ISIS death threats! I had to add in that last part because, well, how can I not be where I live and work?!

“Yes, I know about New York,” she said. “That’s why I told you not to go anywhere at night! It’s dangerous! Just stay home!”

Yes, because terrorists would never think to be out and about, bombing and shooting random people in the morning or during business hours Monday through Friday. They have to wait until the evening when it is dark to start shooting and killing people.

I stopped responding. I need to get better at not responding and just nodding my head.

Quiet night

Tonight has been a quiet night of eating, cooking, letter writing, and Christmas card making. I thought back to the last two Christmases when I didn’t make Christmas cards. Last year, I ran out of time since my dad suddenly had to get heart surgery, so I flew home to be with him. The year before that, I had no desire to make cards since Ed passed away just months before. I didn’t really have the desire to do much of anything then.

I wouldn’t say that things are “back to normal.” “Normal” is a weird word in itself, and the world will never be fully okay to me because he is gone. Sometimes when I am alone, I think about the deep loneliness he felt, and I wonder if I have ever felt even a fraction of the loneliness he experienced. My version of feeling lonely is probably nothing compared to his. My aunt used to tell me that there’s a big difference between being alone and being lonely. Ed was both most of the time. There was no separation of it for him.

I’m doing a lot of the same things again like card making and scrapbooking. I’m also doing new things like volunteering and mentoring since he died. I wonder what he thinks of my life now that he has left.

Radiologist

I am not even 30 yet, yet I have seen a radiologist twice. This is either a sign that a) my gynecologist doesn’t know what she is doing, or b) I just exhibit psychosomatic symptoms. No one wants to see a radiologist. Not even radiologists want to see radiologists. I’d been experiencing weird discomfort in the left side of one of my breasts, and I expressed this to my gynecologist last week. So she had me make an appointment for a second ultrasound. The first one I had was just over two years ago, a few months after Ed passed away.

This time, I went through the same procedure again — filled out forms, explained my symptoms, undressed and put on a sad little gown, and then plopped myself on the examination table and had the assistant gel up my breasts. The assistant Jackie is very chatty with me about New York, weather, and life. But when she is scanning and taking imaging of my left breast, she stops speaking to me and just keeps taking photos on her screen. Her face is suddenly very serious. She cleans me up and says the doctor will be in with me shortly.

She comes back with the doctor, and the doctor discusses the symptoms with me and says I am completely fine. The discomfort I am feeling must be because of hormonal changes in my body, which really are just from getting older.

I didn’t think it was anything serious, but I felt relieved to get my cleared pass to leave and go on with my life. I was reminded of the time a former boyfriend told me about his friend in grad school who was really nervous about getting her first HIV test, and when she tested negative, she threw a huge “I Don’t Have HIV!” party for her friends and friends’ friends. I kind of wondered what it would be like to throw a “I Don’t Have Breast Cancer!” party for my friends.

Fundraiser appreciation gift

This weekend, I was sent a fundraiser appreciation gift for the money I raised for AFSP’s Out of the Darkness Walks this year. Last year, I received a solar charger that I still have yet to open and use, and this year, I got a big, sturdy red hiking backpack that has multiple pieces. It looks like a really high quality backpack that could potentially be very useful for someone, but probably not me. I don’t go hiking that often, and when I do, I definitely would not want to carry around a backpack this large. I’ve been trying to give it away, but no one seems to want or need it.

I felt really spoiled staring at it today. It’s a really good backpack. I just don’t need it. Our apartment is small, and we already have so many things we don’t use. We have too many things because we are first world privileged snobs to the point where we get given things when we don’t need them and definitely don’t ask for them, and many times don’t use them. I don’t want to give it to Goodwill or even the secondhand shop near the apartment I usually donate things to because I don’t really want these things to be resold. This is brand new. I want it to go to someone who will really appreciate and use it. But who is that going to be?

Vegemite

Tonight, Chris’s cousin’s friend came over for dinner, and we caught up over channa saag, chicken chalna, rice, Christmas pudding with brandy sauce, and wine. When Chris went to Australia for work in September, his cousin sent him back to New York with a container of vegemite for this friend, and so tonight, she got to take it home with her. I figured if she was sending it back to her friend through us that her friend must really like it. Needless to say, she was very excited when she saw the jar.

“Oh, wow! It’s vegemite!” She exclaimed, laughing. “I was just about to run out of my jar and got so worried!”

She truly is an Australian. She said that vegemite was a comfort food to her, on toast with butter. We have a little jar of it in our fridge, but it’s for guests, mainly. Chris never eats it and doesn’t really care for it. I won’t touch it unless I’m having breakfast at his parents’ house in Australia and there is brie cheese on the table.

#PrayForParis

I was working from home yesterday afternoon when I found out that Paris was experiencing terrorist attacks in the very neighborhoods that we walked through just weeks ago. Innocent people going to sporting events, concerts, eating at restaurants were dying, and for those who were lucky enough to survive, they are likely to live with the intensity and paranoia of post-traumatic stress for the rest of their lives. We contacted Navine and her family to see if everyone she knew was all right, and luckily, they were. The saddest thing about doing that is that sure, perhaps Navine’s family and friends in Paris were fine, but that would mean that someone else’s family and friends were not fine and were dead or injured.

It was sickening to read the reports and see photos from the scenes. Every time a tragedy like this has happened, I get knots in my stomach. My insides feel hurt. I have moments when my eyes water, and I don’t really know what I am feeling. My sensitivity to pain, death, and loss has only intensified since losing Ed. Every time a shooting has happened, a terrorist attack, or a plane has unfortunately gone down in the last two years and I find out about it, the first thing I imagine is the reactions of the people who have died or lost the ones they love. How will they cope with this? How do you really go on with your life when such horrid tragedy so closely affects you? Life is hard, unfair, and cruel so many times. It’s a challenge to move forward some days.

I am sad and scared for the future sometimes. With the whole recent talks I’ve been having on children and procreation in general, I think that all of us (who’d like to be, anyway) as future potential parents want to bring children into a world of love and hope and safety. It is terrifying to think and see that this could potentially be their future, a world of terrorism, killings of innocent people in the supposed name of God, and random mass shootings everywhere.

Gynecologist visit

I went to see my gynecologist this afternoon for my dreaded annual exam. I feel like in the last several years that I’ve gone to see her, she’s been waiting for me to tell her that I am either trying to get pregnant or want to get pregnant, or maybe am pregnant!

“So, thinking about babies soon?” She asks, smiling warmly with eager eyes.

“No, not yet,” I said, smiling even more warmly back, thinking, thank God I don’t have any brats screaming around yet to ruin my peace of mind.

“I’m sure your parents must be asking or wondering,” she said. My gynecologist is Chinese American. “Asian moms always love to put the pressure on!”

“Yes, they certainly do, and she does do that quite a bit,” I responded. And what I didn’t reply with and was thinking was, and so do Asian gynecologists!

It’s like the world is waiting for me to announce I am pregnant or want to be pregnant. I’m turning 30 in about two months, and they all want to remind me in some way or another. Why don’t men have to get this type of pressure?

 

Vegetarian

This Sunday, we’re inviting Chris’s cousin’s friend over for dinner. She recently moved to New York City from Melbourne to do a masters in journalism at NYU, and I’ve seen her twice since she has moved here. She’s very friendly and we’ve gotten along quite well, but the one thing that is a bit different that we have to deal with in hosting her for dinner is that she is vegetarian. She’s not pescatarian — she really is vegetarian. So she won’t eat any seafood or meat, or their products (so fish sauce, oyster sauce, and kimchi are all out). At least she can eat eggs and have milk. So yesterday, I was trying to brainstorm things to make in the Thai and Vietnamese categories, and I realized that everything I could think up would violate one of her food restrictions (hello, fish sauce everywhere!). I eventually settled on a chickpea spinach curry (channa saag) with rice. I told Chris this, and he was very displeased.

“Why can’t you just give her a head of iceberg lettuce to eat while we eat the real food?” he whined.

It’s not a big deal to me if we have a chickpea curry. I really like channa masala and all forms of vegetarian Indian curries I’ve had in the past.

“I’m not eating bullshit food,” Chris insists. “I will get fried rice.” That is, fried rice with some meat in it via delivery.com. There is no way I’m letting him order a side of fried rice while the rest of us eat food I have cooked. No way.

So the compromise is that I’ll make another curry with chicken in it. This is what happens when you have a meat-eating and stubborn life partner and a vegetarian house guest.

Surprise purchase

Recently, my good friend’s brother proposed to his girlfriend of the last several years. Everyone in their family really likes this woman, but they were really disappointed in the engagement story. She sent a photo of them after he proposed where she has the ring on her finger, and while it appears to be a small and dainty sapphire ring, I didn’t think much of it and figured that must be her jewelry style for my friend’s brother to have picked this out. She told me today that the family was disappointed because they didn’t care for the ring, and lo and behold, what he ended up spending a lot of money on ended up being a brand new Tesla for himself. “He cheaped out on the ring because he purchased himself a one hundred thousand dollar car!” my friend exclaimed to me over the phone tonight. The whole family felt betrayed, as though he had been cheap with everyone, even himself, until now.

The truth is that I actually got really excited when I heard this story. I’m not a car person at all, but the idea of owning one is so intriguing to me; no one I know until now owns one. It’s like one of those luxuries that actually deserves to be a luxury; it’s not some stupid overpriced Kate Spade bag that going to fray in two to three years. It’s actually a decent investment. I told my friend that since her brother has a reputation for being cheap, even on himself, maybe we should all be excited for him that he finally decided to splurge on himself. She didn’t seem to enjoy this idea. I think everyone should splurge on something for themselves. What else are we going to do with the money we work hard to earn?