Old neighborhood

Today, we went back to Elmhurst, Queens, which is my original neighborhood that I lived in when I first moved to New York City almost ten years ago. A lot of my most favorite restaurants are still in Elmhurst, mainly because of the diversity of the cultures and foods, and the low price points, as well. The neighborhood has changed quite a bit since I lived there: the rents and property values have gone up significantly, more potentially trendy bars have opened, and even more interesting restaurants have since opened in the Asian and Latin categories. Some of the things I’ve enjoyed have remained the same, though: my beloved Indian Chinese restaurant, which we had a late lunch at today, the hand-pulled noodle and handmade dumpling shop (which has actually expanded and moved into a larger location); my favorite Chinese supermarkets. More delicious Thai restaurants have opened, and even Thai dessert spots have started appearing, which excites me given that Thai desserts aren’t very well known. It’s comforting to know that I can come back to my original New York neighborhood and still feel at home and find the foods I love.

Fostering parents MIA

I met up with my foster care mentee for lunch today to find out that since her foster mom disappeared to the Dominican Republic for a secret vacation away from her and her foster dad and sister that she’s come back depressed and is refusing to leave her bed. My mentee gets cash to buy food, clothes, or supplies that she needs, but she doesn’t have any support system anymore. Her foster dad is always working and rarely home, and her foster sister is no longer on speaking terms with her, mostly because she’s jealous of how well my mentee has been doing in school (she herself dropped out of college and refuses to go back).

I sat there and listened to her tell me about her situation at lunch, and hoped that her social worker could get involved to intervene, but I wasn’t sure what else to offer other than my ear. I couldn’t really intervene myself, and she just needs someone supportive in her life to talk to. I wonder in these situations if her venting to me actually helps her, or if she really does see me as a supportive, role model type figure in her life. It’s hard for me to see any tangible or measurable benefits, but since she keeps messaging me to see me, I guess I must be having some impact, even if it’s tiny?

Cinco de Mayo celebrations

Today, our office celebrated early Cinco de Mayo with a taco party at the end of the day. One of my colleagues, who has a newfound fascination with the “hottest hot sauces in the world” as he discovered through some TV show he watched. He proceeded to buy a bottle of Mad Dog 357 hot sauce, which is supposedly so hot that some people vomit or have really bad… bowel movements after.

I’ve never really been attracted to heat for the sake of heat in food. Spice needs to complement flavors, not exist solely for the purpose of burning one’s mouth. But I actually do love hot food, and I have a pretty high tolerance for it given the Vietnamese food my mom brought me up with, plus my love of Southeast Asian and South Asian food in general, plus Sichuanese spices.

So when it came down to taco time, multiple guys in my office were crying, red faced and eyed after trying the hot sauce. I had it… and was pretty fine. It definitely burned my tongue and I got a bit hot, but it cooled down after about half an hour, and I was one of two people (both women) who actually was able to tolerate it just fine. It’s comical when a bunch of macho guys start crying over a lick of hot sauce and the women are actually the ones who can handle it extremely well.

The Leftovers

At the suggestion of a colleague, I decided to try out watching The Leftovers. It’s an HBO TV show that is based off of a book about how randomly one day, 2 percent of population suddenly disappears off the face of the earth, and the rest of the population is left to cope. Some really gripping images confront you when the show begins: a mother is securing her baby into a car baby seat, and as she hops into the driver’s seat to start the car, she looks back and her baby is suddenly gone. A man is cheating on his wife, mid-coitus with another woman, and just like that, the woman he’s having sex with disappears into thin air. As society is trying to move on and decipher what exactly happened, another minority group joins together as the “Guilty Remnant” to torment and constantly remind everyone of who they lost and how they shouldn’t move on. These people don’t speak, only communicate with writing, and wear white tarpy outfits and smoke. They’re like a cult.

It’s hard to imagine people you love randomly disappearing from your life. The idea not only that you’d have no closure, but that random people smoking and wearing white would constantly remind you that those people left you without explanation would be torturous and bring even more pain than you’d already have. I already feel so uncomfortable when I don’t have proper closure from people in my life now. I’d probably go insane in a world like the one in this show.

Late night certifications

I was at my office until past 8 last night attempting to take my annual work certifications… then gave up to go home and eat dinner, then study and take the exams until 11:30. Last year, we had only one exam to take, but that has now been broken out into four parts, three of which I had to complete before the end of our fiscal quarter, which was yesterday. I finally got through all of them and when I finished, I just felt frustrated. There’s been a lot of hard work this past quarter, and while the work has been fairly rewarding, I feel like the list of things just keeps piling up of things I have to get done. Although the quarter has ended, that means a new quarter has begun with its own challenges and annoyances. Staying up late to do work is never fun, but I keep telling myself that all of this is going to pay off at some point. I have it pretty good right now, right? I have freedom, flexibility, decent pay, amazing perks. This is going to be worth it. This is going to be worth it. Even if I have to stay up to take routine exams, this is going to be worth it.

And I will also come in at 10:30 tomorrow just because I feel like it and had to stay up late tonight.

Rainier Maria Rilke on Marriage

When I was in middle school, I thumbed through Rainier Maria Rilke’s book Letters to a Young Poet. I’m tempted to read it again now, as when I think about relationships, my thoughts often return to what I read in that book. He was the kind of writer who, when you read his writing, it kind of just stays with you and soaks itself in your head. And then at random moments during the day after reading his words, those words just come back to you without you even consciously thinking about it.

The quote that always comes back to me, which apparently on the web is oftentimes cited, is this one:

“The point of marriage is not to create a quick commonality by tearing down all boundaries; on the contrary, a good marriage is one in which each partner appoints the other to be the guardian of his solitude, and thus they show each other the greatest possible trust. A merging of two people is an impossibility, and where it seems to exist, it is a hemming-in, a mutual consent that robs one party or both parties of their fullest freedom and development. But once the realization is accepted that even between the closest people infinite distances exist, a marvelous living side-by-side can grow up for them, if they succeed in loving the expanse between them, which gives them the possibility of always seeing each other as a whole and before an immense sky.”

It aligns with what I’ve thought to be the ideal relationship: one in which two people do not become one (the idea of being “joined at the hip” has always made me want to vomit in my mouth; those couples I meet at weddings or parties where they cannot allow the other to have a 1:1 conversation have always disgusted me), or the idea that after marriage, a spouse must stop doing all the things she’s loved doing individually or with others. The ideal relationship is one in which the two spouses can still be their individual selves with their individual loves and hates and opinions, but when joined together, enrich each others’ lives with their similarities as well as their differences. They relish in each others’ company, but they also respect each others’ boundaries and allow each other to be themselves and have their own time and opinions. They have shared experiences, but not everything will be shared, whether it’s experience or outlook or opinion, and that’s healthy and fine. They are still individuals, right? They grow together, with each other, and motivate each other to be the best version of themselves. They challenge each other to be better, to be happier and more developed. They accept that they have an understanding of each other, but they may not always understand each other fully, and that is healthy and normal because even one cannot fully understand oneself fully, so how can we expect our partners to? At the end of the day, they trust each other. They may betray each other’s trust at times, but they will love each other to the point where they can have forgiveness and learn from the times of betrayed trust. We’re all human beings. We’re imperfect. We’re going to mess up. It’s okay. And that’s just part of life and growing.

As a society, we have such unrealistic expectations of romantic relationships, of marriage. So it’s no wonder that the divorce and separation rates are so high, that people are always in and out of relationships, that we keep seeking out “the perfect one” but it usually ends up in vain, or we “settle.” But perhaps we should be more forgiving, more open minded, more questioning of these unrealistic expectations to create our own that are more in line with what we think should be right and good for ourselves.

Hoboken

I went and spent the day in Hoboken today to visit my friend who lives there, as he’s been eager to show me his place and also cook for me given that I’d invited him over for dinner months ago. I walked into his condo and was really stunned by how homely it was. I’m not trying to be a jerk about this, but it’s just that when I think of a single guy in his 30s living alone, I don’t really imagine a spotless, well-decorated, thoughtfully furnished place. I think of a bare-bones, minimalistic setup with Ikea furniture and the basics to eat, sleep, and shower. That is not what his apartment was. He had paintings and prints up that were representative of places he’s been and things he likes. His kitchen shelf was lined with cookbooks he’s discussed with me before, and some even had pages that were yellowed and torn from heavy use. He even had a wall plant pot that he created and designed himself. His bathroom had a customized Japanese toilet whose lid opened when you entered the bathroom. And yes, the seat was heated.

Hoboken is a small town, but one that has its charms. Walking down Washington Street to get to my friend’s place, it felt very quaint, a world away from the concrete jungle that Manhattan is. But I get why people like it — it’s a quiet suburb, doesn’t have many cars, yet is just close enough to Manhattan to be connected to the urban hustle and bustle. It’s definitely a nicer place for my friend to walk his dog around, too.

Relationships and communication

I’ve been thinking about communication in relationships for the last week. Last weekend, Chris and I were out with my friend and her boyfriend, who have been together over six years but are not married. Her boyfriend has been married twice before, and like most of us, has cheated on his significant other. We all have our opinions about infidelity and how to deal with it, but he said something last weekend that made me think. My first inclination (well, initially) is that if I were to ever be unfaithful, that I would tell my spouse. Why? Well, frankly the first reason is to make sure that if he were to ever find out, it would be from me and not someone else (that idea really sounds terrifying). The second reason is to clear my conscience and not feel like I have to hide anything. I want to have open communication about the good, the bad, and the ugly. The guilt would really chip away at me. Maybe it’s the Asian guilt gene in me. But my friend’s boyfriend made me question why I would have any need to clear my conscience.

“If you have one indiscretion, you make out with someone, you have sex with someone else once — why do you feel a need to admit it to your spouse?” he asked hypothetically. “Outwardly, you are doing it supposedly to protect him, to be honest to him, for him… but you’re actually not. Because if you really think about it, you’re being selfish and you just want to clear your own guilt. You’re thinking about yourself, your feelings. You want to make yourself feel better. You want to be in the clear. But you’ve just caused unnecessary pain for your partner. And that’s going to eat away at him and cause him paranoia. And that’s not cool. You haven’t done him any favors.”

I guess it’s one way to look at it. And while chatting with Chris today, I realized he agrees, too. The only reason to bring it up in his mind is if you are having not a one-time fling, but an actual affair that is ongoing… because that’s a true sign that it wasn’t just a random indiscretion in the moment, that it’s actually indicative of a problem in the relationship.

In a perfect world, in a perfect relationship, we’d be transparent about everything, but we’re not mind readers, and we don’t necessarily and should not want to communicate every single thought in our minds because that’s not practical, nor possible, nor is it even human to be able to do that. So then that begs the question of… how much should we be sharing and when?

Understanding

Throughout my teen years, I always thought I was more mature than most of the people my age. I scoffed at the “teen angst” I witnessed, the occasional drug use and the fascination of getting drunk. Maybe that was partly due to the fact that I grew up in a dysfunctional family, got criticized a lot at a young age and had to build a slightly thicker skin, or because I was exposed to my brother’s suicide attempt and mental illness at the age of 11. Or maybe it’s because of something innate within me that just drove a greater curiosity of people, the way they think, why they think what they think, and how I felt I was ultimately understood, if at all. I got obsessed with the idea of deeper meaning when I was 13 and got frustrated with what felt to be endless superficiality that surrounded me on a day to day basis. People my age felt so mundane and trite. I had to find interest somewhere else, or at least with people who could entertain my thoughts.

So that might be why today, when I meet people who have a harder demeanor, who appear to be extremely tough and rigid, I always kind of wonder about them and what drives them to be the way they are. What are they hiding? What experiences have they had that have contributed to the way they carry themselves? There’s no way they could be that hard behind closed doors. We’re all humans with feelings. We share them outwardly in varying degrees. But at our core, when no one else is scrutinizing or judging us, we all seek the exact same thing: to be loved, to be understood, to be wanted. Everyone wants some level of attention, of human contact, of human touch.

I don’t seek to understand or get close to everyone; well, that would be quite exhausting. I’m more thinking about people who have that type of demeanor but have openly reached out to me to be there for me, to provide some level of solace to me when I haven’t been in the brightest places, or when I haven’t actually asked for any attention or support.

Maybe that’s what makes me a little dysfunctional myself. In trying to understand this about others, maybe inside, I just have a desire to “save people,” to help them get to a happier and more open state. Maybe Ed’s struggles and death feed into that. If I couldn’t help him, maybe I could help others? Maybe that’s part of what my actual purpose in life is. I’m still figuring it out.

Java Script class, Day 2

While the first day of Java Script and debugging was mostly a review of HTML, which I already understand and is fairly basic (well, it’s not even a language, so it can’t be that hard), today, we delved into the basics of Java Script. So, I started thinking about how miserable I was when I took my intro to computer science course in college just to test it out, and I did a miserable job. And while in class today, I felt probably just as miserable as I did then, except at least now, I don’t have to get graded, and I just need to have the highest level understanding of this.

Some things were meant to be. Coding and me were not.