Category Archives: Contemplation

Series of nightmares

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For my first three nights in San Francisco, I had one nightmare after another. In the first dream, an old friend from college is confessing to me that she committed a murder of someone she hated, but because she thought I was such a pure person, too pure, that she had to frame me for the crime, and that soon, the authorities would find out, and I’d be put in jail. I asked her why she would do something like this, and she responded that she felt that people that were too good needed to be punished for trying to outdo everyone else in the world who tried hard to be good, but couldn’t be.

In the two subsequent nights, I had bad dreams, but I couldn’t remember what happened. I just remembered that the theme that kept appearing was of betrayal, of people who I thought were supposed to be good who were turning against me or blaming me for things I never did.

I have a feeling I know why I had all these bad dreams in my trip back. It’s because I’m always questioning how loyal people really are to me, and what they’d really do for me when life got tough or if they were put in a real position to defend me or do something in honor of me to prove their dedication. It’s hugely an influence my mother has over me — to never fully trust anyone and to constantly be questioning their devotion. I think as the years have gone by, I’ve gotten better at putting a halt to the process of obsessing over it, but it always has its way of creeping into the back of my mind, especially in light of the fact that the bridal shower/bachelorette weekend is one of those main moments in life when your friends or whoever is organizing on your behalf is somewhat intentionally put on the spot to show their love and dedication to you.

We can never escape the influence of our parents, even when we try our best to. It’s like that quite from the book The Five People You Meet in Heaven by Mitch Albom. Ever since I read that book shortly after Ed passed away, this quote has stayed with me and popped itself into my thoughts more times than I can count: “All parents damage their children. It cannot be helped. Youth, like pristine glass, absorbs the prints of its handlers. Some parents smudge, others crack, a few shatter childhoods completely into jagged little pieces, beyond repair.” Ed was shattered beyond repair. I am damaged but trying to repair myself every day. This is my painful reality.

The photo frame with a hidden message

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Today, I met briefly with a friend and her daughter at Spreckles Lake at Golden Gate Park. I cannot remember the last time I walked through that area, but Ed and I used to go all the time on the weekends as kids and feed the ducks by the water there. It made me feel nostalgic to walk along the lake today with them and see the ducks and the remote-controlled boats gliding across the water at rapid pace.

My friend and her daughter came to my bridal shower and gave me a silver photo frame from Gump’s. At the shower when I was opening gifts, she told me that there was a story behind the frame, and today, she shared it with me.

She told me that her husband was at work the week before the shower, and somehow dozed off, and when he did, he dreamt that he saw Ed. Yes, that’s Ed as in my Ed, my brother. He couldn’t quite make out his face clearly and could only see black, but he knew it was him. “Isn’t your wife attending a bridal shower this weekend?” Ed asked her husband.

“Yes, she’s attending a bridal shower,” the husband responds.

Ed reveals that it’s his sister’s bridal shower. “What is your wife getting as a gift for the shower?”

Her husband finds this amusing and said he actually had no idea, as they hadn’t discussed it.

“I think you should get her a photo frame from Gump’s,” Ed suggested. “I think she’d like it.”

The dream ended. Her husband woke up from his nap and asked his assistant to go to Gump’s and pick out a photo frame. He then took the photo frame back home to my friend, and said that she had to give this gift to me. “You can’t ignore a message like this,” her husband told her.

Ed’s still out there watching over me. My friend says this was his way of being part of the shower, of speaking to her husband and knowing that the message would get back to me. I’m not sure what I felt more when I heard this — happiness that his presence is still here, or sadness that he physically is no longer here.

I miss my Ed. I love you wherever you are.

Not the same

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I was at dinner tonight with two of my best friends, eating deep dish pizza and discussing my last relationship. “We didn’t realize he was so critical of us!” One of them exclaims after thinking about things we discussed as a group over my bachelorette weekend that just passed. “It’s not a big deal,” I responded. “It’s all over now.”

“We’re surprised you never told us,” she continued. “You’ve been more open about the things that Chris has said… which is why I have a less rosy view of him than I did of Arnold before.”

That’s true. I have been to a degree. But I think what I failed to express tonight is that I feel like enough about me has changed from the last guy to Chris where I just say more of what I think, for better or for worse. I’m a bit more blunt. I offend people more often now because frankly, they can’t handle the truth and people’s real opinions. I get tired of always having to get everyone’s input before voicing my own. What we all fail to do as human beings who have human relationships is to be honest with each other about things that really matter and are dear to us. I don’t feel the same way about life as I did before Chris or before my brother passed. I feel like my mindset has changed a lot, and I can sit here and talk or write about how it’s changed to convey it to people, or, I could just say what I want and do what I want and let people judge for themselves whether I am the same or not the same. I need more honesty and am constantly seeking it because I don’t think I get enough of it.

Bachelorette weekend

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The weekend my friends planned for me included a purple and green-themed bridal shower, some nice dinners and a brunch out, hiking at Point Lobos State Reserve and picnicking, spa time and gel manicures at the Marilyn Monroe Spa in the Hyatt Regency, and a number of bachelorette games both slightly naughty and nice. It’s clear a lot of thought went into the planning of this. I’m very touched by all the work my friends did to pull this together.

My friend was so exhausted planning this that after the bridal shower was over and we finished cleaning up, she had to “decompress” for a bit before getting in the car to drive down to Monterey. I guess we’re not all natural planners and handle stress differently. I remember when I planned her bridal weekend three years ago, and my “tense” period was in the two days leading up to the event. There’s always this feeling that as the planner, you have to make sure everything has to go perfectly and as you envisioned it. But I guess I was more militant than she was in terms of setting timelines for things, which tends to help when you have a group larger than two people.

I always look back and wished I had done a few extra things for that weekend to make it the “ideal” weekend, especially when I would hear about ideas that other colleagues had carried out for their friends and family. I actually enjoy event planning and the details of it. Maybe one day in the future I’ll have the opportunity to do it for someone else. And if I don’t, I hope I get to enjoy someone else’s labor that went into an event like this.

Different friends forced together

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I’m really happy that I had all of my friends and family together in a room yesterday, and also grateful that I was able to successfully get five of my friends to spend a weekend with me. Three of them have never traveled with me before, and all five of them have very different personalities and preferences. I don’t really like a certain “type” of friend, which is a good and a bad thing. It’s a good thing because it means I have a variety of friends with different interests and perspectives, but it’s bad because once they are all in a room together, for some reason even though they might like me, in most cases they don’t really like my other friends. The last time I organized a birthday event for myself, I was painfully aware of how awkward it was and decided to never have a big event ever again… well, except for this weekend and our wedding.

All the usual things played out as I thought they would: one friends’ desire to make sure everyone was happy became exhausting when it came time to actually making decisions because it meant everyone had to agree; exhaustion tends to happen when we don’t have someone who is assertive enough to put her foot down. Another friend decided to sit in the front seat of one of the cars and instead of navigating, lazed around, so that resulted in slight delays arriving at final destinations, almost getting lost, and frustrations for the driver and myself. One friend didn’t have much interaction with the rest and seemed to only interject occasionally to say the not-PC comments that the rest of us would have thought about minutes later; we’re clearly not as quick-thinking as she is. The fourth friend amused with her sarcasm and occasional confusion when she didn’t understand a joke was a joke. My last friend was probably the smoothest sailor and took everything as it came. She was also the lightest packer ever.

It still ended up fun, mostly as a learning experience for my friends who don’t know all the crazy things that have happened in my life and in my family’s. It was like a constant unraveling of exactly how dysfunctional my family is. One of my friends was so exhausted by the stories that she just left the room. Maybe not everyone wants to hear how crazy my family is, but I think it’s good to know about people’s backgrounds because it helps us understand them better as individuals. You can’t really understand anyone unless you know what they have gone through.

David and Goliath surprise

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I came back to the office today to move seats, as our office space has expanded, and with a bunch of desk and screen cleaners, I also found a hardcover copy of Malcolm Gladwell’s David and Goliath: Underdogs, Misfits, and the Art of Battling Giants sitting on my desk. Well, that’s kind of funny because this book was actually on my reading list. No one’s name was in the book, and since no one claimed it after I went around asking, I decided that I’m taking it with me to read while I am in San Francisco. Gladwell’s books are always easy reads for me while at the same time still being thought-provoking.

The reason I wanted to read this book is that my friend recommended it to me when I told him Ed’s life story and how he thought he was doomed for failure. “He should have red David and Goliath,” he said to me. “Maybe it would have given him some strength.” Maybe. But now that he isn’t here, I guess I will read it for him. The book’s basic gist is that sometimes, people who are the “underdogs” whether through status, what they have, or what they don’t have, can sometimes use that to their advantage and prevail with more creative problem solving skills and other crafty responses to life’s questions and scenarios.

To be honest, just from reading the book’s description, I’m not 100 percent sure it really would have helped Ed. It would be great to have books to read like this, but it’s a completely different thing to have people around you who actually will encourage you and not just put all their energy towards crushing your soul, calling you worthless, and criticizing you as much as they possibly can. That’s what causes people to jump off bridges — literally.

Bridal shower gifts

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In the last few days, I’ve been getting emails and text messages from friends, asking me what I want for my bridal shower. The truth is that I’ve never been in a situation of my own making (as in, a voluntary birthday party that either my family or I have thrown) where I would implicitly be asking for gifts and then have to open them up in front of everyone. As my mom used to say to me when I was growing up and would ask why all my friends had big birthday parties I could occasionally attend but I did not, we supposedly didn’t have enough money for that (now I know that it’s not true, but whatever — now we know it was just cheapness and lack of desire to organize). The one birthday party I ever really had was a surprise thrown for me by one of my best friends today, organized at the Olive Garden (then, it was nice, but now clearly as my tastes have changed, it would be funny). Now that my bridal shower is coming up this Saturday, I realize I again need to be in a room full of people who want me to open my gifts and get googly eyed with gratitude. I know I should be grateful; I’m lucky that I even have friends who would be willing to travel for me and be a part of my wedding festivities, and I’m also lucky I have family who are alive and healthy and can celebrate. But I am awkward with the idea of asking for gifts, so I have been giving non-answers.

One friend asked me if I wanted an object or cash or a gift card. Another friend straight up said, I know I’d personally prefer cash, so guess what? You are getting cash! And then a third friend said, I know you like to bake and cook, so can you go around your kitchen and see what you don’t have or would consider a “nice-to-have”? And I’m not being rude when I’m asking you to do this, am I? She is so cute and practical.

I’m really excited about the weekend. I’ve never had a weekend where it was a celebration all about me, and I feel all at once happy, excited, awkward, and emotional about it. It seems so self-indulgent, but I don’t care anymore as long as everyone is happy and has fun. I still can’t believe I managed to get 15 women in my life in the same room in the same city at the same time. Not everyone I’d like to be there will be there, unfortunately, but I guess that’s the way life is. You have to take what you can get and enjoy it for what it is…. Because soon, those amazing moments will be over and replaced with new and different events. For the ones who couldn’t make it, it’s really their loss and not mine. And I feel the same way for those who won’t be attending our wedding.

Humanity

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Tonight, I hosted a client dinner for a party of 15 here in Atlanta, with two of my colleagues who traveled down from New York for the meetings we will be having these two days. And for the first time ever, I almost burst into tears in the presence of my clients while hearing one of their stories. Thank God I was able to maintain my composure.

One of the new employees hired on the analytics team at my client’s company sat next to me at dinner, and we were getting to know each other and each others’ life stories. He is quite an eclectic man: he came out to his parents at age 15, got kicked out of his Christianity cultish parents’ house, finished high school while living with extended relatives in a better neighborhood in Fort Worth, then joined the army for six years. He’s always had an affinity for numbers and for analytics and visual representations of everything, which is ultimately what brought him to my client. But the story he shared with me, which if I remember correctly, was from his experience after he left the army and was working for the government, touched me to a degree I have never felt before in my life.

He told me about how he was doing forensics work, and a body of a John Doe was brought in who was killed in combat. For days, they waited for family members, friends, anyone to claim him, yet no one did. What are they going to do? He thought. Because he had served in the army, the government ultimately paid for this man’s funeral, but when the funeral was scheduled, no one came… except my client and his then colleagues. The few of them came to the service, and were amazed that no one had showed up — not a single person. And this man still had no identity. He just couldn’t believe it, my client said. How could not a single person in the entire world not recognize or claim to know this man.. or not even show up to his funeral? He felt so hurt, to think that a human being could die and not have a single soul care or show up to his funeral on this earth.

He went back to the office and started looking over John Doe’s charts, and he thought, I want to memorialize this guy, this John Doe. How can I do this? How can I do something small in my own life to remember this man that no one else wants to remember? I want him to know that someone did remember him, and that someone will be me. He thought for a while, and remembered he’d always wanted to get a tattoo on his body, something that was large and all over his arm and maybe even spreading out to his back, something that was meaningful. And so he decided to take this man’s DNA sequence and have the entire thing tattooed on him, from his left forearm all the way up his shoulder, and down the middle of his back. He already had part of his arm revealed with his short-sleeved shirt, and so he showed me part of the DNA sequence and the detailing.

I could feel my eyes watering when he shared this story with me. “I don’t think it’s a big deal,” he said to me, smiling and laughing. “This is the sort of thing that people in my circles do all the time! But as I meet more and more people, I’m realizing that maybe it’s not really ‘normal’ after all. But I figured – if no one else will remember him, I can, right?”

This man’s humanity really touched me. I had to try really hard to fight back tears as he told me this. Who in the world would do something like this — remember a guy he had absolutely no connection with in life, feel sorry for him because no one came to his funeral to “claim” him, and then decide to “remember” him by tattooing his entire DNA sequence on his physical body? He didn’t want this stranger to be forgotten, so he’s literally stamped him on his body, which it will be on forever. I told him that I found his actions incredibly endearing and admirable to a level I’ve probably never heard of before.

It’s almost always a common nightmare people cite — who will come to my funeral when I die? How will I be remembered, if at all? This John Doe will be remembered by my client forever.

 

Hotel room surprise

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I checked into my hotel room tonight at the W Midtown Atlanta to find a surprise on the vanity counter waiting for me. It was a bottle of California chardonnay in an ice-filled silver bucket, and a small plate of delicately arranged petit fours. With it came a hand-written note by the W concierge, thanking me for my 10th stay at a Starwood Hotels property, and congratulating me for reaching this “milestone” and hoping I will enjoy my loyalty perks.

I was pretty shocked when I saw these gifts waiting for me, and even more shocked when I read through the hand-written note. But then, I honestly started feeling a little guilty for my privilege. I’ve never stayed at a Starwood property unless it’s been for work, with one exception for the time I was in Philadelphia for a pleasure trip, and I happened to get a good deal at a Sheraton through Hotwire. Starwood hotels are pretty terrible value, and the hotels are almost always very expensive. I mean, for $250/night, you don’t even automatically get Q-Tips and cotton balls in your vanity kit; in fact, you get no vanity kit and have to request it.

And then I thought about my brother, and how he’s only stayed at nice hotels on the evenings of two of his cousin’s weddings, when he got a free hotel room all to himself. Those were the only nights of his life he ever to got to enjoy a spiffy hotel room. I only wish Ed got to enjoy even a fraction of the privilege I have had in my short life.

Afternoon dessert

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Today, my good friend’s sister met me in the West Village for to catch up over dessert. She lives with her sister, my friend, her brother, and their parents in Little Rock. They’re the only people I know who live in Little Rock… and actually enjoy it.

She told me that since my friend got treated for cancer and now that it’s gone, she’s actually become even more of a recluse. She doesn’t really spend time with any friends at all unless they are her sister’s, and she’s become more clingy to their mother. We’re 29 years old. This is definitely not a good sign. She tries to avoid all driving despite the fact that she lives in an area that necessitates a car. Little Rock is not anything like New York City with public transit.

I always thought that after some life-altering experience, whether it’s a death of someone very close to you, or getting treated and getting over a life-threatening disease, we’d be forced to make major changes in our lives and outlooks, and hopefully for the better. Sadly, for my friend, whether she wanted to share it with me or not, she hasn’t.