Category Archives: Contemplation

He’s alive

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I woke up this morning in shock after having a dream that felt so real that I thought there was absolutely no way that I dreamt it all up. I dreamt that Ed came back from the dead; no, he insisted in the dream that he never died, that he was always here. And he was really happy. I’d never seen him smile like that before… well, except the Seattle weekend we saw Shania Twain in concert.

So Ed was alive, and I was happy. But then the next thing that I learn is even more startling: he tells me that our mother is gone — she died. I’m not sure what to feel. Should I be ecstatic that Ed never died, or sobbing with grief that my mother is dead? And how does he even know she is really gone?

It’s like in real life: you can’t have everything you want, can you?

Rain, rain

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It is unusually warm for February in New York. It’s in the 50s, and today it rained steadily all day long. I went from meeting to meeting, call to call, and ended the day at around 6pm feeling the most exhausted since I was at the peak of my whooping cough. I could barely keep my eyes open by the time I left the office. And I knew I had plenty of wedding planning items waiting for me when I would get home. The “work day” wasn’t quite over yet.

Weather has great effects on a person’s mood and energy levels, but what is arguable is, is a person stronger or more resilient the less she is affected by external factors like weather, temperature, etc.? Some days, it doesn’t bother me at all and I keep trekking along. Today, it seems to be up in my face, wearing me down and making me want to go to bed ASAP.

Over it all

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Yesterday, I had lunch with a friend who unfortunately will not be able to make it to our wedding. He was planning to come, but then he got scheduled for a work project in Ghana and Kenya for over a month around the time of our wedding, so he let me know that he wouldn’t be able to make it in the end. It’s understandable, I said to him then and now.

“I’m really, really sorry I won’t be there for your wedding,” he said to me. He seemed so sad that he wouldn’t be able to make it, and expressed gratitude for the invitation at all.

After so many people, especially on Chris’s side, have declined, and after a very intense planning weekend this past week in Orange County, I realize more and more that I can’t stress or get sad or mad that anyone is not coming anymore. I’m kind of resigned to just not have any feelings anymore about attendance or lack thereof and have really not felt that disappointed about anyone not coming since probably the first week of January. I’m over it.

And as my friend said… though I’m not sure I’m fully in agreement.. if they don’t come to my wedding, I guess that means I don’t have to make the effort to go to theirs if they choose to get married?

Cousins reunited

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Yesterday, Chris and I met up with my dad’s younger sister’s son, who is estranged from his mother and whom I have not seen in almost nine years since another cousin’s wedding in the summer of 2007. He’s my cousin, likely my most normal, rational cousin. We didn’t grow up close because his mother, my aunt, wanted to shield him from our side of the family, but since his dad passed away in 2012 and my Ed passed in 2013, we’ve communicated a lot over e-mail and text, and we’ve gotten to know each other quite a bit. We’ve bonded over our familial dysfunction, our relationships with our respective mothers, and the loss of his father and my brother. We share a lot of despondency and a lot of confusion and anger regarding the family life we’ve experienced. It was refreshing to be having lunch with a cousin who isn’t selfish, can speak for himself and have his own opinions, and does not purposely ignore all the very real and raw problems our family causes and continues to face.

I felt sad when we left him, his wife, and his baby son at the end and drove off. He’s the person I wish I had access to growing up, who I wish Ed and I had the opportunity to get to know and get close to. This cousin is real. He’s normal, he has thoughts and frustrations that are just like Ed’s and mine.. or just like mine now that Ed is sadly gone. he doesn’t ignore the blatant issues in the family. He doesn’t make everything about himself and his own needs. I felt so sad when he told me that he may not stay for our entire wedding due to not wanting to cause a scene with his mother when she finally sees him after years of no contact of any sort. We both know she’s very capable of causing a big scene and making the event all about her instead of our marriage.

I feel so torn. My family always makes things harder for me, even at my own wedding.

Photo shooting

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Chris and I never wanted to do an engagement shoot. Well, let’s put it another way: we never wanted to pay for an engagement shoot. The wedding photographer we chose completely got that, so to “manipulate” us into having one, he threw it into our package and said the cost would be the same with or without the engagement shoot. So what do you think we chose to do?

I loved the session on Friday. I loved our photographer and his personality and the way he gave direction. He was just as personable as I remembered him during our Skype interview, and just as much fun as his e-mail correspondence throughout the last year (we exchanged a LOT of e-mails leading up to this meeting and photo shoot). I enjoyed the assistant he brought with us, who made it even more full of laughs and lightness. He even provided background music when Chris joked about it. I like that he calls his flash filter a “boob,” even if that’s not its technical name. I also realized how weird it is to have a camera constantly following me around and taking photos of me when I least expect it, and how weird it is when that creepy camera is not Chris’s. I think anyone who is not used to being in front of the camera all the time should consider an engagement shoot to get ready for a wedding, not just to get comfortable with the camera, but also with your photographer. As corny as it sounded, we felt like friends at the end and ended the early evening session with drinks and dinner. It was a great ending to an appointment-packed day.

We already saw a sneak peek, too, and this is exactly what we wanted: a lot of art, creativity, and intense colors.

 

“Special”

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In the last 24 hours, Chris and I have been inundated with food. When our catering manager told me months before to come hungry, she really meant it. We had so much food that it really would have been fitting to have added two or three more people to our tasting session (but we weren’t… Since it would have cost $50 extra per person, so… Pass). We had samplings of all our canapes we selected and asked for customizations on, as well as our food stations and potential desserts. And since we barely scraped the surface of our food, we ended up getting two massive bags of food plus branded water to take back to our hotel with us. And then to add to this, we had our rehearsal dinner tasting for lunch, as well as two cake and dessert tastings. It was like a non-stop eating fest. It was also a non-stop “what do you think?” and “what would you like changed or modified?” session.

I can see how planning a wedding can brainwash you into thinking that you are so special, that you can have anything and everything you want at your beck and call… Well, if you are willing to pay for it. It can really go to your head, all those little tiny accommodations that people in this industry are willing to make for you two, the bride and groom, just because you are getting married, and your wedding day should be the happiest, most perfect day of your life.

So this is what wedding planning really is — self indulgence, and a lot of money going outbound everywhere.

 

Makeup to get made up

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This morning, Chris dropped me off at the design studio for my hair and makeup trial, and I wasn’t sure what to make of it because I’ve never had professional makeup done on my face that I was really happy with. But maybe this time will be different.

I spent 2.5 hours at the studio, showed my artist a bunch of inspirational photos that I liked a lot, and then she began her work. The end result was about 50 percent like and 50 percent hate. I hate blush, I hate heavy foundation application, and because I am Asian, I really don’t want my eyes to appear any smaller. I walked out feeling like I had too much on my face and that maybe I’m just not a big makeup person after all, even if it’s done for me.

I rubbed a lot of the blush off before our engagement shoot that afternoon because I couldn’t handle looking at my face. My artist kept telling me not to make any snap judgments, to let myself “get used to” seeing myself in the mirror, and then to provide feedback via email. “This will photograph well,” she said. Maybe, I thought afterwards. But I still want to recognize myself and feel like myself in real life. Well, I ended up providing a lot of feedback, which ended up as a bit of an essay separated out by face section and hair section due to the length. I don’t mean to be rude, just honest about how I want to look. I still want to look like myself and recognize myself on my wedding day, and I really, really hope not to scare Chris when he sees me. He got scared when he saw how long my fake eyelashes were today. It’s not a good sign when your fiance sees you after your wedding makeup trial, frowns, and looks a little disappointed to see you.

Therapist thoughts

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I originally was supposed to meet with my therapist this week, but given that my cough seems to have gotten worse and my ribs are still in a lot of pain, I decided to cancel. I let her know over text that I wasn’t able to come two days in advance and the reason was due to my whooping cough. No response. I thought that maybe the text didn’t go through for some reason, so I proceeded to write her an email with the same message. She simply responds that she received my text and my email and to feel better. No response regarding the whooping cough or my pain – just a matter of fact confirmation of receipt and a generic “get well soon” message. I’ll be honest. I was annoyed.

I’ve been seeing her for over two years. For about the first six months, I was seeing her for free as part of the program she was in at the hospital I was referred to. Each session was an hour. Then, when she started at her private practice, she gave me a 50 percent discount given our prior relationship, so I had to start paying to see her, which was understandable. Yet somehow, my sessions got shortened to 50 minutes, which I could sense based on how she’d speed up the sessions and end them a bit more abruptly than before. And it got confirmed on my pay statements.

Now, I’m recovering from whooping cough in the midst of all my phlegm build up and my bruised ribs, and I get zero sympathy from her or even a response to my text messages. This is what they say about therapists in New York. They have the guise of caring, but maybe they really don’t at all and are simply more motivated by money. If I were to die tomorrow, would she care? Well, she wouldn’t have to because if I die, she doesn’t get any more payments from me. I thought that maybe after two years that she’d develop some sort of human feeling for me and actually care about me, but it certainly doesn’t seem so. So this just goes back to my original cynicism about the world: you can’t even pay people to care about you because even then, they still won’t. And if they try to show they do care, they will put in the minimal amount of effort and leave it at that.

Monsters

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Last night, I dreamt that Chris was outside the apartment fighting monsters. Yes, they were real monsters, like the type of over sized green monsters you imagine from old fairy tales from your youth that have fangs, huge claws, and scaly skin. He fought them, beat them up, and killed them.

Then, he came back into the apartment to report back his accomplishments. I was at the counter cutting vegetables, and I was completely unfazed by what he had said. Meh, I thought. It’s not a big deal. He got really angry and said I didn’t value him enough and that he questioned my devotion to our relationship. I told him he was overreacting and being too sensitive. “Monsters are monsters,” I said. “What is the big deal? There are all kinds of issues out there to face in the world, and you want to fight monsters?”

Thirty.

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All my female friends have dreaded turning thirty. I’ve mumbled negative sentiments about it, especially given that thirty seems to be an ugly age for Asian moms thinking about their not-yet-married daughters. “When would they have children — after thirty?” they think to themselves in horror (or in my case, out loud directly to me). For some reason, our society has decided that the beginning of each new decade is a big deal, a milestone of some sort that warrants extra love and attention — or maybe just the latter.

Today, I turn thirty. It’s kind of weird to think that my twenties are officially over, that now I’m headed into the next decade of my life that will likely be filled with more career development, hopefully deeper and more meaningful relationships, new homes, and future children on the horizon — if I am so lucky to have them. For the longest time, I always felt older than my age, but today, I don’t feel that way at all. I feel just right at this point in my life regarding my age and my level of maturity and awareness of my surroundings and the world.

What is scary about turning thirty or just getting another year older for me personally is that each year older I get, the closer and closer I get to the final age my brother lived to see. Each year, I am getting older and older. My number is increasing. The lines on my face will increase. My hair will gradually lose its youthful sheen and slowly but surely turn gray and white. My skin will grow less elastic. But his number stays the same forever. The way I remember his face will always be the same — that same youthful, nearly unwrinkled face, with a bit of acne here and there, and an innocent smile that was naive and ignorant to most of the world. He is 33 forever, and that is still something I struggle to think about. How can I be getting older each and every day, yet his age, face, and body are stuck in the same hour of his life forever?

If Ed were here, what would he say to my turning 30? He’d probably think it was weird to think that his little sister was more of an adult now that she had finished her twenties. He’d marvel over how far I’ve come, living away from home, supposedly climbing up the career ladder and being so self-sufficient. If I had to be fully honest, I don’t think I’ve gotten exactly to the point career-wise I thought I’d be at 30. In a lot of ways, I’ve disappointed myself. We are always our own worst critics, but I’m not satisfied professionally, and that should be one of the most important areas of my life now, especially since I don’t have children yet. Part of that is due to some level of laziness, and I’m sure it’s also due to timing, as well. You know things aren’t going well professionally when you stop feeling challenged, or when you feel like no one really respects your opinion at work. I never entered the work force wanting to be popular or well liked; I just wanted to succeed, as abstract and vague as that may sound. Ed would give me more credit than I deserve. It’s all relative in that way, I suppose.

Every birthday I celebrate, I think, I wish Ed were here to call me to wish me a happy birthday. I don’t expect or want any gifts — just a phone call. It won’t happen, though. It’s the saddest part about getting older.