In my sophomore year in high school, I took Advanced Placement Art History, and it was a real struggle in the beginning. I got a D on my first exam (only because of the curve; otherwise, I would have gotten an F). The lectures were incredibly boring in the beginning. Looking at old-school slide after slide of these flat paintings and sculptures was tedious and made me sleepy. I found the textbook we were using to be so long and dry, without much context for what each art period really meant in the overall context of history. Why should our history classes be separated from our art history classes, and why should European history be separated from U.S. history? None of that made sense to me then, and it still doesn’t make sense to me now. We only remember and truly understand ideas when they are in context, and it frustrates me to no end the way the education system here is set up. So, it makes sense that progressive countries with high worldwide ratings like Finland are proposing to eliminate subjects altogether and emphasize the interconnection across everything we’re supposed to learn.

I ended that year with a A in AP Art History even though my teacher then probably thought I was a complete moron (she said she was very proud of me at the end), and I also got a 5 on the AP exam (that’s right, haters — the highest score). And of the paintings that we studied that was said to be one of the most important and famous paintings in the world was Las Meninas, painted by Diego Velazquez in 1656, and at the Museo Del Prado, which we visited today in our first day in Madrid. The Mona Lisa may be the most famous painting in the world among people who don’t know much about art, but for those who study and analyze art, Las Meninas is the pinnacle, the most elusive, the most confusing and the most complex. It’s mainly because there are so many subjects in the painting, and even the painter himself is depicted in it. I always thought the little girl, Philip IV’s daughter Margaret Theresa, depicted in the foreground was the most interesting; her eyes tend to follow you in the same way that the Mona Lisa eyes follow you. I also love the way her dress, skin, and hair appear. She’s perfect, like a porcelain doll, but her expression is so odd. She’s like this little pampered, innocent creature about to be tainted by the world.

Chris said she resembles JonBenet Ramsey. I reminded him that this was in the 1600s, so way before JonBenet’s time. Maybe the Ramsey family wanted their daughter to look like the infant Margaret Theresa.

Every time I travel, I am always looking for things that I’m not used to seeing or experiencing. These are some of the things I’ve noticed since we’ve arrived.

1. Dogs are oftentimes not on leashes in Barcelona, and they are no where as manicured and clothed and groomed as they are in cities like New York, San Francisco, and LA. These dogs look scruffy, dirty, and like they need a brushing. They look like… dogs. Real dogs. Not the ones that get bathed and brushed and preened every day.
2. Like in Korea, no one seems to care if you use their restaurant bathroom even if you didn’t eat or drink at their restaurant. I guess when you gotta go, you gotta go.
3. Wine is so cheap here, and unlike in the U.S., cheap does not necessarily mean crappy quality. Here, cheap actually means really good wine. I suppose that’s the case in most of Europe, but it should be odd to you when a glass of extremely delicious, fruity, and easy to drink red wine is 2 euros, and your bottle of water is 4 euros. Okay, let me correct that. It should be odd to you if you are American. We really take water for granted in the U.S. in restaurants.
4. You’ll never get water served to your table unless you ask for it. And when you do ask for it, you will definitely be paying for it. So enjoy it, and as much of it as possible.
5. Here, we’re on Spanish time, so it will never be as on time as in countries like Japan or Korea. Your train isn’t really going to depart at exactly 8:22. Slow down, take your time, and relax.
6. Why is the subway here so clean?! There’s not a single piece of trash on the subway tracks anywhere. In New York, it’s laden with trash to the point where we get track fires because of dumb people’s littering and laziness.
7. In markets in New York, the common fruits and vegetables you will see are the most boring ones: apples, regular Cavenish bananas, oranges, tomatoes, carrots, broccoli. In markets in Spain, you get to see their version of “common” and “everyday,” which include cherimoyas (WHAT?!!! I’m in heaven), dragon fruit, endless artichokes, and the most beautiful and colorful tomatoes ranging in shapes, wrinkles, sizes, and colors (even purple, pink, and bright green). And the produce is cheap. It’s like robbery.
8. There’s a massive obsession with preserved white asparagus. I really don’t get that. The clear glass bottles of preserved white asparagus are literally everywhere.
9. People jay walk here. We really haven’t seen this at all in any other European city. Chris fits right in.

This trip, at least the Barcelona portion, has become the trip all about Antoni Gaudi. Yesterday, we visited his Sagrada Familia cathedral. Today, we’ve visited his Casa Batllo and La Pedrera, and tomorrow, we’ll be seeing his Parc Guell. Gaudi was a deeply religious man, and hence he was called “God’s architect.” He felt that his work was a calling from God and the Catholic faith. Though I found little information about his wealth or lack thereof, we assume based on how he died that he did not live a materially wealthy life, as he got hit by a tram during his walk to confession and was completely nondescript, wearing shabby clothing and having no identification on him. No one knew who he was and all assumed he was a beggar, so they took him to the hospital for the poor. The next day, he was recognized by the Sagrada Familia chaplain, but by that point, it was too late. He died two days after being recognized. He was 73 years old. That made me feel so sad; all of life seems to be about material wealth; people care about you if you are rich and dismiss you if they think you are poor. Or as Chris said, “Why didn’t he have any money? What a loser. This is why we need capitalism.” Great.

These moments also make me question what my purpose here on earth is. Gaudi felt that the Catholic faith drove him in his quest to build architecturally stunning works of art. What drives me to wake up every day, and what contribution am I going to be remembered for one day when I die?

Our first day in Barcelona began with a timed ticket to the famous Sagrada Familia cathedral built by Antoni Gaudi, the revered Catalan Spanish architect. The cathedral is one of the very few churches that Chris and I have actually paid to visit (the only only church I distinctly remember paying to get into was the Sainte Chapelle church in Paris in 2011), and after visiting it, I have zero regrets. Given the number of times it was started and stopped and incomplete, it makes sense that it shows so many influences, from Gothic to Art Nouveau to Catalan modernism. When inside the cathedral and looking up, I can’t help but feel a little spooked at how eerie the entire feeling of this massive complex is. It’s like I’m in the Twilight Zone, except this is reality. It also felt like A Nightmare Before Christmas was going to begin in the church at any moment.

If that wasn’t already surreal and overwhelming, we then went to La Boqueria, the famous market in Barcelona, and sat at Pinotxo Bar for lunch. I’ll be honest: at the risk of sounding uncool, I’d never really been that into Spanish tapas before. I was never sure if it was me or the restaurants I was going to, but there was never a Spanish restaurant I’d been to where I had small plates and thought, “wow, I can’t wait to go back there!” or that I had a craving for those same dishes again. Pinotxo Bar made me realize that there was plenty to be obsessed about with Spanish cuisine. We shared four small plates of ham and cheese croquetes, grilled venison, grilled lamb, and grilled octopus, and from that point on, I will never say I don’t care for Spanish tapas again. The croquetes were teeny tiny and literally bite-sized, but they were fried to a point where they weren’t greasy at all and had a rich melty cheese mouth feel. The venison was the best venison of my life: a bit medium rare, perfectly seasoned and gamey. The lamb was the same; no confusion about whether it was really lamb or not. But I think the octopus was really what blew both of us away. This little plate of sliced octopus was lightly grilled, then sprinkled with Spanish paprika, grey salt, and drizzled with the most delicious and fruity olive oil. The salt itself was spectacular and so distinctive that I found myself picking off tiny grains of salt off the plate and eating them.

The food was all so simply prepared but so incredibly good and satisfying. We didn’t leave too full or hungry, but just satisfied to the right point. And with rioja wine at just 2.75 euros a glass, I wondered why we hadn’t indulged in much Spanish wine before this trip. If this is what Spanish food is about, lots of small plates of simply but beautifully prepared food with perfect little ingredients, I could get used to this.

Today, Mai, Chris, and I visited the Little Rock Central High School National Historic Site where one day in September 1957, the “Little Rock Nine,” who were 9 black students, tried to attend what was an all-white school in an attempt to end racial segregation in schools. They were prevented from entering the school by a mob of hundreds of whites and the Arkansas National Guard ordered by then racist Governor Faubus. The Brown v. Board of Education Supreme Court ruling meant nothing to Faubus and the majority of white people of Little Rock, who insisted integration would ruin their “traditional values” and ways of living. The Little Rock Nine were pushed, screamed at, kicked, hit, and spat on to the point that one of 9 wearing a dress said it was soaked to the point that she had to wring it out when she got home. Almost 60 years after this event occurred, segregation still exists in our neighborhoods and schools, as well as unfair treatment of non-whites in society whether it’s conscious or subconscious. It made me sick to relearn all the things I had learned in history classes growing up — that the police and National Guard did nothing to help these kids simply because of their skin color. They just stood by and watched; in other cases, as with the Bloody Sunday in Selma, they actually beat them, tear-gassed them, and clubbed them. 

The world has changed a lot since the Civil Rights Movement, but I will never say that we’re color blind, that race doesn’t matter, or that blacks and browns and Asians and whites all have the same rights and opportunities because that is just not the case for anyone who has any perspective or keeps up with the news or spends time with anyone who is not the same color as they are. Some people, in their deluded, ignorant thinking, say that race doesn’t matter anymore simply because we’ve had our first black president. Barack Obama is the exception; we all know he’s not the norm of what we stereotypically think of in the black community. Yet, I will also not be the person who is so extreme as to say that nothing has changed since the 60s. Police brutality still exists, but not to the degree that the Freedom Riders experienced. It’s not normal to be black and get spat at and called the “N” word regularly on the streets or in school and have law enforcement or teachers not do anything about it. We also don’t have separate “whites” and “colored” water fountains, bathrooms, or bus sections. I can’t even fathom how bad it truly was 60 to 70 years ago.

I’m still waiting for the day when we can stop discriminating based on the color of our skin or hair and judge people solely based on their actual character. As congressman John Lewis said at the Salesforce Connections conference, we just need to love and support each other. It seems corny, cheesy, and/or trite out of context, but it makes sense. If we cared about each other more, maybe the Little Rock Nine wouldn’t have been so intense. If more black people had supported the Nine, it could have been a bigger success, and the black students trying to integrate could have actually gotten into the school that day and gone to class. If more white people stood up for the students in those mobs and in the classroom, they could have set a better example for their white friends and families. The power in numbers cannot be underestimated. 

This weekend, Chris and I are in Arkansas, where we will be visiting historical sites, eating what will likely be a lot of fried food, and visiting my good friend from college who lives down here and is doing her medical residency. This will be my second time in Arkansas, as well as my second time visiting the Clinton Presidential Library and Museum. After having visited so many presidential libraries in the last four years, it was interesting for me to revisit the Clinton Library with a new perspective. It’s actually an even more interesting time to be visiting the Clinton Library given that Hillary Clinton may soon become the next president of the United States in less than two weeks. It made me look at the First Lady exhibit much more differently and the impact she had during her husband’s administration. At the time, she was the very first First Lady of the U.S. to have had a professional career, a degree higher than a B.A., and a very active role in her husband’s administration. She then became the first and only First Lady to run for office and then become a senator. Times have really changed since the 90s. The world really is moving forward, even if it does feel very slow right now.

Tonight, I enjoyed a delicious Italian meal by myself on an outdoor patio at a restaurant resembling a little cottage in the middle of Midtown Atlanta. I had a beautiful yet simple arugula salad, wild mushroom ravioli, and one of my all-time favorite glasses of Sangiovese. The temperatures were still in the mid-70s in the early evening, so it felt like a warm summer evening as opposed to an autumn evening. There would be zero chances I’d agree to dine outside, day or night, in New York at this time of year.

As I sat and ate my ravioli, I wondered about all the people in the world who are shunning pasta and bread and thought.. what a miserable life. If you cannot appreciate how good something like these morsels are, you must be a very unhappy person. During the food tour I went on over a week ago, one of the women on the tour said that she thought some people waste so much time obsessing over food that it probably makes them miserable people, and that if they just stopped obsessing and just allowed themselves to eat the things they obsessed over not eating, they’d be happier and healthier people. So true. And what a first-world obsession.

It doesn’t seem to matter where I am going or what airport I’m leaving from, but first class (or business class or both, depending on the flight you are on) is so lacking in diversity that it is exactly what is representative of everything that’s wrong with our society. On Monday on my connecting flight through Charlotte to Tampa, I got upgraded to First. First class on this plane consisted of 16 seats. I boarded the plane a little late, so I was the last person in the first class cabin to be seated. I took a quick look around to see who my fellow passengers were. Out of 16 first class passengers, 12 were older white men (at least age 50 and chances are even older than that given the amount of white hair I saw), three were middle-aged to older white women, and… there was me. I’m the only person of color sitting in the first class cabin. I’m also the only person under the age of 40 probably, and a year ago, I could say I was almost always the only person under the age of 30.

To be honest, I was surprised there were three other women sitting with me. Most of the time when I get upgraded, it’s always all men and me, plus maybe another woman or two at most. It was like a tiny glimmer of how women are doing better in our society now, either having the higher earning power to pay for first class seats, or the airline status to actually get the upgrades I get. You could almost call it a slight increase in “diversity” in the front cabin of the plane, as laughable as that is.

How do we get more women with more earning power and airline status, and even more, how do we get more people of color, particularly black and Latino, to have the ability to sit in the front cabin, for it not to be a dream or a reality that is seemingly out of grasp? Optimists say that the world is getting better, that people are less racist. Perhaps they are less outwardly racist, but it doesn’t say much for subconscious racism or the clear lack of diversity on an airplane’s luxury cabin. Articles like these make it hard for me to believe in a truly equal world of equal opportunity. I always get curious looks when I am traveling for work and getting upgraded; it’s like people cannot fathom why or how a young Asian woman would be able to sit with them. Yes, I know you are all used to sitting with people who look like you, dress like you, and probably come from similar backgrounds as you. But get over it and your racist, sexist thoughts. I’m coming to take over and bash all your antiquated stereotypes. 🙂

I’m in Tampa for three days this week for work. Client meetings usually have me coming down here at least twice a year now, along with Fort Lauderdale and Atlanta. On average, I probably travel about every other month for work. In the grand scheme of work travel, this is fairly infrequent, and the distances I travel are pretty short.

I came in around dinner time last night and not sure what to eat, I Yelped a few places that were walking distance from the hotel and settled on the place that had the best reviews but was the shortest walking distance (yes, I was just being lazy). It was a Thai restaurant that was quite large yet practically empty except for four tables, all with older white men dining (this is Tampa, after all, the land of rich, retired white people). It was one of the fanciest Thai restaurants I’d ever been in, with decor that looked like it had been shipped straight from Thailand. The menu was fairly standard for a not-very-authentic Thai restaurant, and because I just wanted something over rice, I got a seafood and chicken stir fry.

As I ate my dinner alone, I thought to myself what it would be like if I were a consultant, traveling the country (or the world) on my own most weeks, four days at a time, living out of a suitcase, rarely having the time or ability to eat or make a home-cooked meal. This would be my life — eating out alone, without many people to talk to. That would get very lonely very quickly and be deeply unsatisfying. I thought briefly of chatting with my server, who seemed curious about my dining alone. I caught him staring at me from the cash register and kitchen doorway multiple times and smiled.

I still think consulting is kind of a bs-y industry, but I guess if companies are willing to pay for outsourced labor to tell them how to run their business, that is what will help make the economy and world go round. But the next thing I thought was… how many of these consultants have these thoughts I do about dining alone and question if they are living a life of meaning?