Someone posted an article today about how everyone, assuming they are physically and mentally able, should move at least five times in his/her life; the idea behind the article was that “staying is settling.” For the same reasons that people should travel, they should move to get a better sense of what it is like to live in another place. When you are living your day to day life in a place that is not your home and thus not a familiar, comfortable place, it forces you to really listen to everything around you, everything from the verbiage that people use in their everyday language to their accents, to what really matters to them. How do these people in the place you do not call home perceive your home? How do they see the world that is outside of their own world? And when we are all together from different parts of this country or this world, how do we fit in with each other, if at all?

I am completely aware of the privileges I’ve had as someone who has traveled as much as I have in the last 28 years of my life. Most of that travel only started happening at age 24 and after, but I know that not everyone is able to do the types of traveling I have done. But let’s be honest: millions of people have been mobile for centuries with little money to their names. Money isn’t the real factor that holds people back from exploring the world whether it’s through travel or through living in other places; it’s really fear — fear of the unknown and unfamiliar.

I’ve been very fortunate to live and spend a great deal of time in and around three major cities of this country – San Francisco, Boston, and New York City. Yes, they are all metropolitan areas, but they’re all very different from each other in countless ways and have given me some much needed perspective on what it’s like to live in differents parts of the country.

I’ve been spending time in the last couple of days with two people who have never moved out of their home town their entire lives. Granted, they are both in their 20s and still have lots of deciding to do for their lives, but both are pretty content in staying where they are and have little to no desire to move and live in other places. Everyone makes their own decisions, but it’s hard to listen to these decisions when they make stereotypes about places that they are unfamiliar with or have never been to. The most common (and untrue) stereotypes I’ve heard in the last 24 hours are that New York is a dangerous place, all the people are unfriendly, and all New Yorkers, because of the vast number of restaurants and cuisines to choose from, must all be knowledgable about different cuisines and thus food snobs.

New York City, while a unique and amazing place, in many ways is just like every other city. We have a lot of transplants, but we also have a lot of people who have never, ever left this city and never intend on doing so (and are damn proud of it, for better or for worse). We have food snobs whose preference when eating out is to only patronize “fine dining” restaurants (I’ve actually met someone who explicitly said this to me at a Yelp event), we have people who only eat at delis and holes-in-the wall type restaurants, and we also have extremely picky and narrow-minded eaters who won’t eat anything “foreign” to them (that could even mean the sandwich shop on the next street. I’m not really talking about alligator or rabbit here). We have low socioeconomic neighborhoods that statistically speaking have higher rates of crime, but we also have brightly lit, lush tree-lined streets with doormen guarding every single building down the avenue. And until you live here or in any other city, it’s unfair, baseless, and simply ignorant to make sweeping judgments about what a city is like.

A former classmate from college reached out and Facebook messaged me today. She is the former roommate of my best friend from college. We never really talked much for some reason or another. She studied art history while I studied economics and women’s studies. She and my friend rarely hung out outside of their dorm room or the dining hall, so I never really got to know her at all. I rarely see her posts on Facebook and almost forgot we were even Facebook friends.

She messaged today to say that she’s been following my recent Facebook posts about the American Foundation for Suicide Prevention and my brother, and she wanted to let me know how sorry she was about what had happened to him. “I had no idea,” she said, “But I want you to know I really admire what you are doing.”

We will probably never see each other again or be friends or be connected in any other way other than being Facebook friends and fellow Wellesley alums of the same year, but it felt really good to know that someone who I believed never thought much about me actually is in awe of something I am doing with my life.

Maybe Ed was so excited about seeing all the activity around the Out of the Darkness Walk and fundraising for the suicide prevention cause that he decided to come pay me a visit. I’ve had trouble waking up the last two mornings and have been sleeping in, much to my annoyance. This morning, I slept in, wondering if he would come back yet again.

In my first dream, I’m at the dentist’s office, and my dentist tells me that I have a cavity that needs to be filled. I’m annoyed at this thought because I can’t even remember the last time I had a cavity… I was probably 10? He then makes sure to tell me that I have some extra “tub” on my stomach that may be contributing to the cavity. That makes absolutely no sense, but I have to remind myself that I am in dream mode.

In my second dream, I’m sitting outside a house that I cannot identify, and out of nowhere, Ed comes walking towards me. I immediately get excited, as I always seem to do in these situations, and I get up and start running at him. I then jump on him and cause him to fall over on his back, and he starts yelling at me to get off of him. I tell him that I refuse to get off of him or let him go. “Why did you have to leave?” I yell at him while I start sobbing. “Stay here and don’t leave me again. Please stay.” He starts patting me on my back and says that he is here. He is here.

Well, Ed, if you are here, then why did I have to do a suicide prevention walk in your honor?

Today was the day of the American Foundation for Suicide Prevention Out of the Darkness Manhattan Walk. Over 900 people registered to walk and fund raise for this event, and while $160,000 was the original target goal, we collectively raised over $171,000 as of this morning. Of that, my fundraising campaign made up $2,365 of that. When I originally set my $1,000 goal, I wasn’t sure I’d even hit that amount, but to know now that the goal has been met 235% still overwhelms me.

During the walk today, it felt comforting to meet other people who have shared in the pain that my family and I have experienced in losing Ed. It was incredible to hear how passionate people are years and years after losing their loved ones about how they want to help others and continue raising money and awareness. Even after months, years, and decades of a loss, the pain will always be there. The void will still persist, especially in moments and days when the the next great victory or tragedy occurs. Some days are easier than others as they say.

I don’t want this to be a one-time event for me, though. I want to continue helping the cause and keep Ed’s memory alive. I can’t keep him alive, but I can keep his memory alive in me and what I do. Honestly, I wish I didn’t have to do any of this. I wish he were still here. I wish he were here and healthy and happy and independent and living a good life. But maybe he served his purpose in life and felt it was finally his time to peace out, and in leaving, it had to serve up a lesson to me, as well.

There were a number of moments I had today, listening to other people speak to me, listening to the chatter around me and seeing the big fundraising sign with my name on it as one of the top donors, where I could feel my face get hot and my eyes begin to water because this entire event was so overwhelming, yet oddly comforting. Seeing a big sign waiting for me that read “In Honor of Edward Y. Wong” was yet another reminder to me that yes, Ed isn’t here. He’s dead. That’s why you are doing this. This is all real. It still hurts, and I hate seeing his name anywhere near anything that is about death. But it’s my reality that I have to face, and the only healthy way I’m going to continue dealing with my pain is by making it into something that can help others, and hopefully make him proud of me — wherever he may be now.

For the last two months, I’ve been holding back telling my mom that I’m fundraising and volunteering for the American Foundation for Suicide Prevention. In general, she’s never been a fan of charity and has always disapproved when my dad has given monetary donations, or when I have volunteered my time to organizations I’ve believed in. Why would you volunteer time to help other people when you could be helping your own family? she would always ask. In the case of this particular organization and cause, it’s even more sensitive and touchy because she doesn’t like people knowing how Ed passed away, nor does she want people knowing any details of the mental illnesses from which he suffered. The majority of her Jehovah’s Witness congregation have no idea my brother is not alive anymore or how he could have died. Her own living sister in Vietnam has no idea, nor the very few relatives on her cousin’s side in Southern California. It is still a big secret.

Two people in my life have insisted that I tell my parents — Chris, and his cousin’s girlfriend. It’s not about whether they will agree with what you are doing or care about the cause, they said. It’s about them knowing what’s important to you and what you are choosing to do with your life. It’s ultimately about facing the truth. I really didn’t want to, and I’ve been terrified of saying anything about it, but this evening, I finally decided (after being pushed) to tell her.

It was actually a bit shocking how my mom responded. For once in my life, she surprised me. She asked me how much money I had raised, and was astonished when I told her how much. How did you find out about this? When did you start this? She had a lot of questions and said she had no idea that these organizations existed. My mom said she was happy I was doing this, and that more needs to be done for this problem in our society. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.

It’s amazing when the most predictable people in your life become unpredictable and surprise you in pleasant ways.

A third colleague donated for the walk after seeing my Facebook post today. He’s relatively new, as I believe he started at my company about two months ago. We’ve had friendly chatter here and there in the kitchen, and I could always tell he had a more sensitive side than other men at my company. After I saw the donation notification, I messaged him to thank him, and he told me that he was very sorry to hear about my brother. He said he could relate to how I feel because he’s actually lost two immediate family members and a former college roommate to suicide. “I’m glad that you posted it on Facebook,” he said. “It’s something that more people should be aware of because it’s far more common than anyone thinks.” More people need to acknowledge and talk about it. Why must we make the issue worse by not giving it its needed attention?

When someone dies from suicide in this country every 15 seconds, it certainly is more common than the world wants to acknowledge. I was so shocked to hear that not just one but two of his close family members took their own lives. How do we seem so together for individuals who have dealt with such horrible losses?

It’s seven days until the American Foundation for Suicide Prevention Manhattan Out of the Darkness walk, and I received an update notifying me that we have until October 22 to get the last donations possible that will count toward the Walk donation goal numbers. I started fundraising in August and had reached out to all my close family and friends to let them know I was doing this, but I was hesitant to post this on Facebook. Not everyone in my Facebook community would know that my brother had died, that it was due to suicide, that this tragedy had fallen upon my family. As much as I want to be open about his death and the circumstances around it, it’s hard because how do I even know who wants to know or listen? The deeply cynical side of me thinks that no one really cares. A lot of people would just read the Facebook post and think, “how sad,” and then move on. Some might “Like” it. But that would be it.

Chris said to me, if just 1% of your 400-plus Facebook friends donated, that’s still something. For those who don’t, it doesn’t matter. Screw them. But for those who do, it’s still dollars towards an important and not talked enough about cause.

So I posted my Donor Drive page to Facebook and said I was doing this walk in honor of my brother. Over 20-something people “Liked” it, which doesn’t really matter that much to me, but I was able to get six people donate, and not all of them I’d expect to even care at all. Colleagues, a former boss, and a distant relative were included.

I can’t focus all my energy on the people who didn’t donate or help at all or care. I can’t spend time thinking about what people are thinking or how they may judge my family and me, or whether they even pity me. The only healthy choice I have is to be grateful that the six people who did donate because of my Facebook post did it because they in some way did care about me and my experience, and the cause itself. I am deeply grateful. I felt the same wave of gratitude come over me when I started seeing the donation notifications coming in, and my eyes kept welling up.

I might have been scared of what the reactions may have been, but it’s really necessary to do what you are afraid to do, suck it up, and move forward with what you believe in. The world isn’t going to change if I stay silent, even within my own small community. As much as I’d like, I can’t bring Ed back, but I can use my love for him to help others and try my best to be hopeful for the future.

Today was the first day this season when it’s actually felt like autumn. The air was cold and brisk. I went out to do a quick grocery run at Fairway, and my toes were a bit unhappy that I’d only put on flip-flops for this errand. My neck thanked me for wearing a scarf.

When the season changes and it gets colder, I think about all the things I have to do before the year ends — charity donations, volunteering, Christmas gifts to be bought, pantry clean-outs and food items that need to be eaten before we leave for Australia for Christmas. I also think about Ed and how it’s another season without him. It’s another season of my life that I will not have a chance to see him or talk to him. The only daily physical reminders I have of him are Bart, the gifts he’s given me, and the photos I have of him in the apartment. When I look up recipes to make for Thanksgiving and Christmas, I can’t help but wonder if Ed would have liked these things; I’m sure he would have. These are dishes I will be making for all these other people to savor and enjoy, but not for him. In fact, I cannot even remember the last thing I made that he got to eat. Was it the crispy oatmeal cranberry cookies that my mom got so excited about that she didn’t share as much with her best friend as she originally said she would? Or was it the chewy brownies I made? I’ll never know for sure. His memory just lingers on and on no matter where I am and what I am doing, and all I have left to think about it is — what would life be like if he were still here?

My friend recently wrote an article and posted it on Medium about how in every relationship, even happy ones, the “chase” should last forever. As someone who has had two other failed semi-serious relationships, I can completely relate to this idea. It’s easy to get too comfortable in our romantic relationships, and even in our platonic ones, as well. The concept of trying seems to completely die once couples have established themselves either by moving in with each other, getting engaged, or classically, by getting married and thus “settling down.”

I thought about his article for a long time after I read it. It made me think about how among my own friends, we rarely ask each other how our relationships are going once we are past the “labeled” stage of officially being in a relationship. We ask each other a lot when things are uncertain and when the label “boyfriend” or “partner” has not been given, but after that, those questions seem to die off. Do we just assume that because we are officially together that nothing might be wrong? Or maybe we just shy away from those topics unless our friends give indication that something may be off. I’ve tried to make a point to still ask, even if the question is unwelcome or shaken off with a response like, “We’re fine; we’re just (fill in the blank with whatever they are waiting to happen).” There’s always attention to be given and work to be done, even if we don’t wait to admit it out loud. The chase is really never fully over unless the relationship is over.

As time has gone on, I’ve become less and less of a phone person. When I was in middle school, I used to spend hours and hours on the phone when not studying or doing household chores. This was before I realized how lame that was because why would you spend all these hours on the phone with someone in your same city when you could just go spend time with him/her in person? In high school, I spent more time doing that – hanging out in person, whether at malls or walking through neighborhoods or at each others’ homes. Then through college and in the years after, I spent even less time on the phone. If I wasn’t on the phone with my then-boyfriends or my parents or Ed or another relative, I wasn’t on the phone at all.

It seems like this progression seems fairly normal, especially since it’s almost unheard of for people to call each other anymore because we live in a world dominated by texting and e-mailing — in other words, a world that is far more impersonal. When an old high school friend was visiting New York last month, he said he’d call me, and he actually did. I was honestly shocked (despite how stupid this sounds).

Tonight, for the first time since I could remember, I spent almost three hours on the phone with one of my best friends in San Francisco. Sure, I multi-tasked a little bit by doing things like flossing my teeth and creating scrapbook collages during our chat, but for the most part, we had a long, in-depth conversation about our latest activities, our families, our respective familial conflicts, and the future. It actually felt really nice. It reminded me of those middle school days when I felt so close to friends just by being on the phone with them. It’s scary to think how much time has passed since those days and the people that we’ve evolved into, and exactly how different our lives are now versus then. Yet we’re still connected, and we choose to be.