Over five years after I have graduated from Wellesley, I finally decided to volunteer my time to interview local prospective students and write evaluations for the admissions committee. I figured that if I am not giving back by donating money (yet, anyway) that I should at least volunteer a bit of my time to helping my alma mater.

Tonight, I met with a prospective student here at a Starbucks just a few blocks away from my apartment. She was an enthusiastic, confident, bright-eyed high school senior who pretty much appeared to have had all the opportunities in the world available to her. We discussed her strengths, weaknesses, and interests, and how she envisioned college life to be. It was honestly a fun experience to see someone about ten years younger so excited about the future, about the unknown in front of her that she can’t yet see. It made me even more aware that I need to continue investing time and energy into people and activities that energize me… not exhaust me.

On the night of New Year’s Eve, I found myself tearing up because one of Chris’s friends asked me about how my family and I were doing in light of Ed’s passing. It was unexpected since I normally never think anyone will ask who isn’t that close to me. She said that she didn’t understand but admired how strong I was because she wasn’t sure she’d be able to handle it if the same thing happened to her brother. Her brother actually came to our gathering that night, and right away, I could tell he was sweet, fragile, sensitive, and kind-hearted, just the way Ed was. She said that she saw a lot of similarities between her brother and mine, and it broke her up to see the photo album I had posted on Facebook of my memories with Ed over the years, knowing that he was gone. She says it’s her worst fear that she could lose her brother in the same way.

Sadly, I know what that is like. That was my worst fear, too, for so many years. And then my worst fear became my reality.

It hurts terribly to think that this has happened to other people and will continue to happen. It hurts to know that hurt itself has to continue.

In three days, 2013 will be over.

This year, I finally crossed the border and entered Canada to see Ben in Toronto and visited the Canadian side of the Niagara Falls. I traveled to Seattle, Portland, St. Louis, Springfield, Hannibal, Charlotte, Charleston, Savannah, Milwaukee, Newport, Providence, and Cleveland. I took a business trip to Los Angeles to do training, went home to San Francisco four times (which has never happened before in a single year), and spent Thanksgiving in Germany and Christmas in Melbourne, with a side trip to New Zealand while in the Southern Hemisphere. I hosted two visiting friends from other states, had Ben and my in-laws stay with us multiple times, and prepared coffee at 5:30am for them most mornings. I hosted an early Thanksgiving dinner at my apartment. I lost between 10-14 pounds after taking up rigorous morning workouts, committed to writing on this blog every day, read one book a month, and started the 1 Second Every Day video project. I left my job of over four years to join a tech company that offers a social media marketing platform, took up Bikram yoga, saw a lot of theater, and jumped off a cliff. I discovered delicious Cambodian food in Cleveland, ate one of the best burgers of my life at B Spot, and achieved my personal culinary goals of making pad thai, appam, and empanadas – all from scratch. I helped reunite my dad with his high school best friend. I lost my beloved Ed this year and wrote and delivered the most painful speech of my life. I got mad at my entire family and decided that I would stop investing as much time in people who were ungrateful to me and the things I have done for them. I decided to start seeing a therapist to deal with my anger. And I made a promise to myself that I have the right to be happy.

A lot has happened this year, and a lot of pain will continue on. But the only choice I really have now is to continue moving forward with my life despite the tragedies I’ve experienced and the pain I endure. Every day is hard in its own way, and there are moments during the day that hurt more than others. I know I’ve been very fortunate in ways that Ed never was, and so for him, I will keep going. I will try to be happy for his sake and his memory. And Bart will keep me company along the way.

During this trip, I met the baby that most parents dream of. This baby is sociable, runs up to anyone and everyone to play, and eats “exotic” foods that most babies either reject, or their parents are just too scared to expose them to. I love Frankie.

Frankie is about 16 months old and eats pretty much everything his parents eat – pita, olives, feta cheese, tzatziki, hummus, brownies, fruit cake. To our knowledge, he hasn’t rejected any food to which he’s been introduced. During a grocery trip at the supermarket, while out of his mother’s sight for just a second, he ran up to a display of cherries, stole one, and popped it into his mouth. He devoured the cherry, pit and all, and tried to go back wanting more. Now, he just eats whole cherries with pits. While that would normally be the nightmare of most parents due to the potential choking hazards, Frankie giggles on and eats more.

I hope one day that my future children can eat everything the way Frankie does. And maybe if I feel good, I will even introduce ketchup to them (but it better not have any high fructose corn syrup in it).

Boxing Day is an official day off here in Australia. Americans don’t know what it is; I never knew what it was until Chris told me. I personally think it’s a weak excuse for another federal holiday, but I’m never going to complain about an extra day off from work..

Boxing Day is a happy day at the Jacob house because it’s another day to feast on great food prepared by the family and another day to continue the games and madness that occurred on Christmas just the day before. In some way, though, it’s a sad day because it is a reminder that Christmas has ended, which means that the peak of happiness and highness is over, and soon it will be time to go home, back to reality and back to work. The days for Loaded Questions and Balderdash are now numbered.

Three weeks seems like a long time to spend for the Christmas season in the Southern hemisphere, but it always tends to fly by so quickly. I almost want it to last longer, but then I think that would be bad because it’s like I am stalling regular life from happening.

Once Christmas ends, it’s also time for me to start thinking about what I want to do for the new year – what my goals will be for work and life, where I want to travel to, what books I want to read, what new activities I want to invest time in. 2013 was exhausting, frustrating, and dramatic, yet at the same time, it was also extremely productive in many ways. This year, my family and I lost my Ed and our family friend Bob, my best friend from college was diagnosed with cancer, I left my miserable job to start a new one, and I experienced a lot of personal growing pains with different people in my life. I’m not sure what will happen in 2014, but here’s to hoping that it will bring fulfilling experiences that will help make me a better, more well-rounded, and happier person. Life is too short to waste a minute of it.

Christmas is here, and so is my fuzzball’s 32nd birthday. Today was a day filled with food, laughter, loudness, photos, games, and happiness. Today was probably one of the most enjoyable Christmases I have ever had. Even when I thought of Ed today, I felt happy and hopeful. He isn’t with me anymore, but I still felt him all day long.

It’s the first Christmas he hasn’t been around for, the first Christmas I didn’t pick out a gift for him, the only Christmas when I didn’t speak with him at all – not even a phone call. It felt strange to call my parents on Christmas day, San Francisco time, and not ask to speak with him or hear his voice. I guess I will need to get used to it.

Every Christmas, I will think of him and all the thoughtful, beautiful gifts he gave me. I will remember us waking up in the same room, wishing each other merry Christmas, and exchanging gifts and unwrapping them together. I will think of and play with the Christmas ornaments he picked out for me, even when he knew we didn’t have a real Christmas tree to put them on at home. I will remember him playing Mariah Carey’s Merry Christmas album, in particular “Jesus Born on this Day,” which he would occasionally set on Repeat. My brother is a child of God. He now resides in the House of the Lord, forever. And one day, I will see him again.

Merry Christmas, Ed. I love you.

Once upon a time, making a Christmas list was a fun thing to do. When I was between the ages of 5 and 8, my parents would tell me to write a letter to Santa explaining to him that I had been a good girl that year, and then let him know what I wanted for Christmas. That was fun while it lasted…at least, until I realized Santa was fake, but because I wanted the gifts, I continued to pretend that “Santa” existed until my mother decided I was too old to believe in Santa anymore. So those lists came to an end.

Then when I started making friends in high school, someone suddenly decided it was fine for all of us to make Christmas “wish” lists. I never really thought this was a great idea because I don’t particularly like people telling me to buy things for them, but because I figured it was practical (and since I am Asian, I am by definition practical), I went along with it.

Christmas is about giving, sharing, togetherness, Christmas trees and decorations, bright sparkling lights, great food, and for those who are religious, Jesus’s birth (even if his real birth date actually is not the 25th of December, but that is another story for another time). If I have to participate in wish lists, it’s like it sucks out the fun and imagination of choosing a gift for someone I am supposed to love. And if you have someone you don’t like shopping for because they annoy you in some way, then why are you choosing to give that person a gift anyway? Practicality is one thing, but I don’t think that in itself should be the only reason that goes into choosing a gift for a loved one. Imagination and creativity should come through in the gifts we give, which then translate into love.

Ed would have been so pissed if I were to ever give him a list or tell him what to get me. He thinks it’s a sign of being childish and a bit greedy and ungrateful for what you have. My wise Ed.

Since I’ve arrived in Melbourne, I feel like I have been inundated by meeting after meeting that has included babies. Most of Chris’s friends are married and have children, so I guess I can’t really avoid the presence of babies. It’s not that I don’t like babies; I actually love seeing their faces with their fat little cheeks, and playing with them is always fun and makes me reminisce about simpler times. It’s more that I get really bored listening to baby talk. It’s as though I need to pretend I am interested in every tiny detail in every child’s life – what his first word was, where it happened, and when; what he likes and doesn’t like to eat; what his favorite toys or cartoon characters are; what his sleeping schedule is like and how easy he is when being put to sleep.

Once people have children, their lives tend to revolve around them, and their sense of individuality tends to go away because their main priority is their child. I can’t really blame them for that because your children should be your priority, but where is the balance between being a parent and being a real person with interests of one’s own? I never want to be the parent whose children completely consume her life, and I wouldn’t be able to talk about myself and my own desires and feelings about life.

Maybe one day, I will be the parent who decides that my career isn’t that important (likely because I may be fed up by corporate life and the inane expectations that men hold of working women, and worse, that other women hold of working women balancing motherhood) and reduce my hours to part-time, or just give up working in the corporate world in general. I never really “believed” in this before, but because I am getting closer to an age where children are a tangible reality, I am more empathetic of women who put their children before their career. Or maybe one day, I will learn to fully balance a full-time, rewarding career with raising my children; I’m honestly not sure yet. But one thing I know that I will strive to do is to retain my individuality and not become that mother who is just a mother. I still want to be all the other things I am – a wife, lover, daughter, niece, sister (I am still Ed’s sister even if he isn’t in our form), friend, colleague, helper, writer, photographer, card-maker, scrapbooker, organizer, cook, baker, and everything else I can’t remember right now.

Ed came to visit again. I guess it’s like a monthly thing for him now to pay me a visit when I least expect it and when I am not consciously asking.

In the first dream, he has said that he decided not to die. He was taking it upon himself to improve and build a better life for himself. He was planning on opening a business of some sort, either a restaurant or a store, and wanted me to be happy for him.

In the second dream, I know he is dead. When I walk into my parents’ sun room, actually filled with lots of sunlight for once, I see him there, standing and facing me. I burst into tears and run up to him to hold him, and he initially gets squeamish and tries to avoid me, but finally gives in because he knows I won’t take no for an answer. I am sobbing, telling him how much I miss him and wish he could be one of us again. I tell him I’m not sure I can be happy. He chuckles and tells me to stop being so dramatic.

And then I wake myself up crying. This is really exhausting. Is this going to be a regular way that I wake up for the rest of my life?

When significant people in my life and the lives of loved ones pass, I always tend to spend time wondering what we are all really living for. Everyone has reasons for the choices they make – why they chose their school or profession, why they like vanilla more than strawberry, or why they chose one shirt over another in the morning. But how often is it that we actually stop and ask ourselves what we are really living for? For the people in our lives who make us miserable, why do we continue to associate with them? For the jobs that work us like slaves and give us little benefits, why do we not exert the short term efforts of finding a new one for a long term gain?

Uncle Bob made a lot of choices that I told him I thought were odd. Why stay in a loveless, hate-filled marriage and continue to see that person every day and partly support them? Why spend all day and night caring for your terminally ill mother when you don’t get any pleasure from it, and you see it as a true hindrance to living a real life, and you know there are many options that could better care for her than you as a single person could? Maybe some of us are programmed to be such creature of habits that we just seem to accept misery and pain as a necessary and even integral part of our lives, even something that we oddly subconsciously crave because we are so used to it.

I’m in New Zealand, arguably the most beautiful country in the world right now. Uncle Bob loved travel but never got the chance to visit Australia or New Zealand. He did say he wanted to see it someday, but now that someday will never happen. I’m sure he would have loved this. In the midst of all this beauty, I feel sad and silent thinking about the fact that he will never have the opportunity to come here in this human form. At least Ed via Bart gets to visit New Zealand. Who will allow Bob to vicariously live through themselves to experience more earthly life than he was allowed in his own flesh and blood?