Category Archives: Hope

The mango man

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I was so overwhelmed with how fragrant and cheap the mangoes were at the Sydney Fish Market yesterday that I decided to buy three fat ripe ones from one of the market stands. Little did I know that we’re technically not allowed to bring fresh produce over state lines, so if we were to strictly follow Australian laws, I was not supposed to go from New South Wales back down to Victoria with my mangoes in hand. Chris informed me of this when I met him at the end of his work day, and I was devastated. I told him we needed to eat one of them and just risk getting the remaining two confiscated through airport security later that evening.

We went back to our hotel, where I went up to the hotel bar and asked them if they had plastic cutlery to give us. The bartender politely gave us some after some wait time. I returned back to Chris where he was sitting in the lobby, and he asked where the plates were. Silly me, I had forgotten we needed plates! So I went back to the bartender with my mango in one hand and the cutlery in another, and I asked him if we could borrow some plates. He looked at me from one hand to the next and asked me how I was planning to cut that mango. “With the plastic knife you gave me?” I said, smiling back at him. He smiled and laughed, shaking his head. “No, no no,” he replied. “I will cut the mango for you.” Someone who looked like the manager said they could not give me a real knife to cut, but they’d happily cut it up for us. I got so excited at this; this man was going to cut a mango I brought in from the outside just like that, no charge, no nothing! Most places would never do this for you. He cut it neatly, cubed the mangoes and peeled the skin back so professionally (“Of course he knows how to cut a mango; he’s Indian!” Chris exclaimed). He presented it to me and told me to enjoy, and I thanked him and brought them back to Chris.

As an American, I felt a strong need to tip him or give him some sort of compensation. He just did this service for me and expected absolutely nothing, but I felt compelled to do something, anything for him to show my gratitude. I know he would not accept a tip given local customs, so I thought about what else I could do.,. I could give him one of the two remaining mangoes! I took one of them after we finished eating and presented it to him. He laughed again. “Do you want me to cut another one for you?” He asked. No, no! I said to him. “This is for you to take home. Thank you for being so kind as to cut my mango for me.” Of course, he said it was unnecessary, that he was happy to cut it for me and could not accept my gift. “I have many mangoes at home,” he said. I insisted again and said he must take it, so he did. He thanked me profusely and I said goodbye to him.

I will always remember this man as the bartender who cut my mango and expected nothing from me. This completely made my day.

Annual handmade Christmas cards

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This year, I’ve recommenced my annual Christmas card making, and I’ve made 12 cards for my family and friends. The last two years, I gave it up due to lack of time (last year with my dad’s heart surgery) and bereavement (losing Ed in 2013), but this year, I know it’s time to start again. Making greeting cards makes me happy and gets me feeling more creative and crafty.

When I was making a list of who to make cards for and send to, I realized I don’t really want to make cards for people I don’t have much to say to even if they are my friends and family. It seems kind of empty. I don’t just want to write a card that says “Merry Christmas and Happy New Year!” That seems so trite and unoriginal. I want to make cards for people who I know a) will appreciate not just getting a card, but the fact that it’s handmade and took a lot of time/effort to create, and b) I have meaningful words I actually want to express in writing.

Macy’s Snoopy Christmas theme 2015

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Tonight before our company holiday party, a colleague and I went to see the Macy’s Christmas window displays. This year’s theme is Peanuts, so each window walked through moments from A Charlie Brown Christmas to acknowledge the fiftieth anniversary of this beloved movie.

When Macy’s has their theme each year, they also have a stuffed animal of said theme that you can buy in store. This year, you can buy a medium sized Snoopy wearing a down zip up vest with a Belle (Snoopy’s sister) backpack attachment. We went inside to hold the Snoopys, and they are noticeably lighter and less sturdy than the Snoopy that Ed got me when Snoopy was the Macy’s theme one year when I was in college and Ed still worked there. I remember when Snoopy was the theme in 2006, I asked Ed to get my friend Rebecca a Snoopy because she told me she tried to buy one but they sold out at her nearest Macy’s, and I knew he’d get better access to them as an employee. Well, Ed did this and also secretly got me one, too, for Christmas that year. “I thought you’d want one, too,” he said when he presented it to me and pulled it out of a big bag. “You never say you want anything. Stop being like that. You know you wanted one, too.” I loved it immediately and brought it back to college with me. Now, he sits on the bean bag in our living room.

Ed got me a lot of Snoopy related things, including that Macy’s Snoopy with an attached Woodstock, a little Snoopy with a graduation cap when I graduated from high school, and Snoopy themed cards. I guess one reason I love Snoopy so much is because he’s a part of my childhood, and he reminds me of Ed. The whole Peanuts series reminds me of my brother because it’s so innocent and distills complex ideas and feelings into very simple, concise thoughts. Isn’t that why Charles Schulz and Peanuts in general became so widely loved and cherished? We all just want to be loved and understood and have that demonstrated to us in simple ways. Sometimes, that’s all we need to be happy — a little humanity.

“Why do you love Snoopy so much?” my colleague asked me as I stared in wonderment at Snoopy ice skating in one of the windows.

I didn’t want to bring up Ed because I could feel myself getting choked up thinking about him, so I responded, “He just makes me really, really happy.”

 

Thanksgiving 2015

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I spent Thanksgiving this year traveling with Chris east on a Swiss rail train from Geneva to Zurich in the morning, then wandering through the old town of Zurich and its Christmas markets through the afternoon and evening. As we walked through this beautiful city, I thought about all the Thanksgivings in my past.

The last time I was home for Thanksgiving was November 2003, my senior year of high school. That seems like a hundred years ago even though it was just 12 years ago. Those were the days when my cousins, Ed, uncle, and I would have a Thanksgiving meal together, mostly prepared by my oldest cousin and me. Some sides would be brought over by my uncle, some crappy leftover food and chips from my second oldest cousin and his wife, who were always in a rush to leave our dinner to go to the wife’s family’s dinner in Vallejo, and a turkey that was painstakingly made by my oldest cousin. For some reason, we never called turkey gravy “gravy,” and instead my cousin insisted on calling it “au jus.” I don’t really get that even until today, but maybe that was his attempt at sounding fancy.

Family Thanksgivings for me are sadly a thing of the past. After I graduated from college and started earning an income where flying cross country to go home during a “peak” season wouldn’t break the bank, I realized I had little desire to go home during that period anyway. We were a broken family. The only reason I ever thought even for a second of going home was because I always felt bad about not seeing Ed that day, and his not having a “family” to have Thanksgiving with. After a while, the cousins stopped getting together, which meant my uncle stopped coming, which finally meant Ed had no one that day. Guilt is pretty much built into our DNA. Before he passed away, I thought, maybe I could go home for Thanksgiving in 2014, or he could come here, and we could have a meal together once again. Well, that never happened. I was too late.

“Experts” always say in those articles about grieving that everyone grieves on their own timeline, that it can take months to years to decades to let go of the regrets you have about things you wish you had done or not done or said or not said to those who have passed. That is all true. It’s hard to think of a major holiday like Thanksgiving or Christmas and not think about my brother, which then leads me to wonder what else I could have done to have helped him. It’s futile since nothing will bring him back, but I always think about it anyway. He loved turkey, especially the dark meat, and we both loved the canned cranberry sauce we grew up with. It would be really great to have a Thanksgiving meal with him once again. Now it can only happen in dreams.

Fear

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Shortly after the attacks in Paris, I read an article about how Madonna almost cancelled one of her concerts out of respect for those who were affected by the Paris attacks. Instead, she decided to move forward with the performance, stating that that is what the terrorists want us to do — stop performing, stop singing, stop going out to eat and dance and see theater and enjoy life. They want us to live in fear, she said, and that is not what we will do. We will move forward with our lives and enjoy life because we deserve that. I watched a video of her saying all this in stage, and she delivered this speech in the midst of tears and visible pain and empathy for Paris and all who died. It was really moving to watch.

She’s right. They want us to be afraid and stop living the lives we want. That’s why my mom told me to stop flying and going out at night. She is scared by the terrorism and is falling for what they want us to do. It’s okay to be afraid. But it’s not okay to let our fear paralyze us. A life lived in fear is really no life at all. I always think about the quote I used during my welcoming speech at my middle school commencement that Ralph Waldo Emerson once said, “Always do what you are afraid to do.” We need to live the lives we want to live, not a life controlled by fear of others or forces out of our control.

Not to be morbid, but say one day I were to die during my travels or in flight somewhere. At least I would have died doing and experiencing something I loved.

Quiet night

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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.

Fundraiser appreciation gift

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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?

Mentoring children

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Last year, I started volunteering at two mentoring programs for two different organizations. The first group paired me up with a ninth grader, and ideally I’d follow her until she graduated from high school. I’m still participating in this program this school year. The second group was to mentor fourth and fifth graders, and unfortunately because the program was so disorganized, I never got paired up with a nine or ten-year-old the way I was supposed to. This week, I decided to let the program coordinator know I would not be returning this school year. Even though the second program was disorganized, I realized another reason I didn’t want to continue with it was because I didn’t really like kids that young. They just bother me. There was no structure to the program, but when we did chat, I realize it was really hard to pretend to be interested in these kids’ thoughts and what they were interested in. I felt like I was adding no value to their lives, so I ended my commitment to the program.

I was hesitant when I first started it, as I thought that age group may be too young for me, but now I know it will definitely not be a fit. It’s better to be honest with yourself rather than delude yourself into thinking you will make a difference in their lives when you not only are not making a difference, but also just dislike the entire act of going and being there. I may not be a fit for them, but I’m sure others can and will be.

Thai in Midtown East

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Tonight, Chris and I went to his friend’s apartment in Midtown East and ate takeout Thai with a bunch of their mutual friends. Two of the friends were relatively new, so one of the friends was describing how we’d all met and how our lives have changed over the last four years since they met. We’re engaged, one of them is married and has a child on the way, and two of them are “the same,” as in, single without any realistic prospects for romantic relationships in the near future. This isn’t really the future that the three of them had envisioned for themselves four years ago.

Chris’s pregnant friend is actually due the week after our wedding, which pretty much means that she and her husband won’t be able to come. It’s a sad truth, but that’s life. We can’t all coordinate our lives to make sure we can always be there for each other at our biggest life moments. It makes me sad, but it’s just another reminder that we should all just live our own lives and stop living it for other people or around other people’s schedules.

Hey! Remember me?

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And then, when you least expect it, you get reminded of what you lost.

I went to sleep this morning at around 4am after leaving the dance floor at 3:30am. I’m proud to say I was one of the last ten people in the room for the DJ that would have gone on until 7am as per French wedding protocol. Then I woke up at around 8:30 having dreamt about going through my brother’s things after his passing. I’m sitting on the floor next to his desk in the dining room, rummaging through notes, books, and boxes. I come across a bag that has familiar writing on it; it’s my friend Natasha’s handwriting. I could identify that handwriting from miles away. It’s a note she wrote to my brother describing that she put together a care package for him of things to encourage him and make him smile. She included an inspirational book, some of his favorite snacks, among other things. Neither Natasha nor my brother told me that she did this for him. Finding it was bittersweet for me. I was touched that she did this for him, but felt awful that he’s now gone. In my dream, I sit there and stare at her handwriting, wondering what Ed thought when he was given the gift.

In the happiest and saddest times, he’s still there hanging out, saying, “Hey, remember me? I’m still here even though I’m not. I’ll watch over when you’re feeling good and terrible, and I’ll try to continue being happy for you.” I’d like to say this dream was more hopeful and positive, but in the back of my mind, these dreams just make me sad because it’s a reminder that he isn’t here, even if his presence is still felt halfway across the world. It’s the never ending thought, the sad and final truth.

I don’t think I’ll ever get over losing him, and I know when my wedding day comes, it will be hard because I’ll know he should have been there. I’ll try my best to be strong for him… as much as I can. I have to be strong for both of us, even more so than when he was alive.