The Five Stages

On Monday I made a huge move and put my two weeks into work. If anything it made my departure official it was the announcement that I was leaving my company. It wasn’t necessarily news to most of them but my chat activity still blew up with the outpours of “future miss you’s” and “good lucks.” If you weren’t aware I consider a large amount of coworkers (past and present) my genuine friends. It is the best part about my job and even when we all move on we manage to keep in touch very well. The difference with me is that it’s beyond the company—I’m leaving the East Coast.

I’ve come to realize that ALL of my NY friends are experiencing some stage of loss or grief. No joke, I’m fucking honored. I find it highly endearing, even when they’re purposely being dicks to me because they’re stuck in the anger stage.

The first stage is denial. I will safely say everyone hit this stage as expected, “you’re just talking about moving back, there’s a chance you won’t or it won’t be as soon as you say it will.” Many of them were hoping I would meet a man because they’re aware that is a solid piece missing in my puzzle. Obviously that didn’t happen. Kellogg has flat out told me that he’s in denial, even though he’s aware the clock is ticking down and I have a one-way ticket booked.

Anger comes next. Law is currently living in the anger stage. If you follow my twitter I’m always quoting him because he sits across from my desk and we are constantly distracting one another with various subjects. He has told me I am the “female Asian version” of his best friend and it trips him out. He has jokingly insulted me all week for leaving. I’m familiar with the anger stage because all my best friends on the West Coast never left it.

Olivia is perpetually stuck in the bargaining stage. “Move back in the spring, just leave for winter. Sublet your room. Just freelance there, come back and find a new job here. Come back. Come back. Come back.” She’s the most difficult one to have these discussions with because she won’t accept me leaving. I love her for trying. Pretty sure Jorynn and Karina are forever trying to bargain as well.

I’m not full of myself enough to claim anyone is really in the depression stage. Ohh but they will be. Kiddingggg. Jokes.

Acceptance is last. I think Britt is owning this stage, Laura is at this point too—except she still manages to switch back and forth between here and bargaining. Britt is probably my most rational friend. We get along amazingly well because we are basically the same person sometimes. She hit denial and bargaining along the way but she got to acceptance much faster than anyone else. I knew this when she was the first to claim a visit to SF as soon as I was settled.

Jun has gone 0–100 through all of these. He has an advantage because I will never lose touch with his ass as the years go by. Still, 0-100 real quick. Real fucking quick. P.S. If you ask him he will deny this because he refuses to lose his street cred of being a jerk to me all the time.

Overall I am incredibly thankful that my presence and friendship means enough to these people that they’re all feeling some type of way. 

New York has been amazing, mainly because of all of them.

Company

I honestly still have no clue who reads this or why.

I imagine most of you know me in person, maybe you don’t and I just came off as interesting, intriguing or entertaining so you stuck around. For all I know you could be judging me completely, or getting confused by my brutal honesty—one minute I give zero fucks, the next I am breaking down succumbing to loneliness. 

So which is it?

It’s both, but the latter is not that common for me. Swear. However I need to express it when the lows hit. I’ll write it down as its happening, as I find difficulty falling asleep, to see past the next five seconds and when my own negativity sucks me in. My life is balanced when you see my travels on Instagram and my struggles on paper. You get the highlight reel, but you also get my frustrations, temptations and fears.

Believe it or not I still consider myself somewhat of a private person. You only get what I give. There’s plenty that I don’t give.

Maybe you’re here because you’re with me 200%. You’re waiting for the day I publish that one post where the universe has granted my prayers and I’ve crossed paths with my unicorn. Perhaps you’re here anticipating the moment when I finally confess I’ve fallen in love again. FUCK—can we all fast forward to that, please? It could be that you just enjoy being my company, via some odd vicarious internet means. Trust me, I enjoy this—whoever you are (except if you’re a creep, and real talk I’m aware you could be).

It’s possible that I make you laugh when I’m not complaining about my love life or when my ego is not inflated at least a dozen levels. I like to think I’m amusing, but no one ever really confirms this. I also think everyone enjoys laughing at me and not with me, I’ve mentioned this before. Pretty sure it’s true.

Whatever the reason is, please know I see you. I see you when I barely have a chance to publish a post and there is already a “like” as I’m still attempting to proof and edit it at least 5x. I see you when I get a random anonymous submission or a direct email. I hear you when you mention this blog and I fucking cringe. Love that you read this. Hate when you refer to it out loud. Well, I don't hate it completely.

Thank you for the love and your company. <3

Possibilities & Potential

I was at a wedding in the Bay when I told a fellow transplant New Yorker that after nearly two years in NY I was ready to move back home.

She was a bit tipsy and asked me candidly: “But how? Doesn’t SF remind you of your Ex? Doesn’t it haunt you? I mean—I can’t do it yet, EVERYTHING reminds me of ______.” Apparently she left behind a past love too

My response was swift and easy: “Nah. Not at all. I’m absolutely sure about this. My past isn’t preventing me from a new future back in SF.” 

Personally I knew I was fine when I passed my old hood / apartment building during my June visit and I smiled. I stared at my old building with fondness and not an ounce of sadness, so yes—I’m good.

Not. Gonna. Lie. Tho…

That doesn’t mean I’m not anxious as fuck about my decision, because I am—completely. There are no givens, no plans and nothing is set. 2015 back home is filled with unknowns.

No job, no place to live, and still… no man.

But then I’m reminded of my journey in NY and I’m coming back with much more than I could have ever expected during such a short period of time. I had no clue my career would take off, no idea I’d create so many relationships with people I’ve crossed paths with (definitely including connections made back home). I had no notion of what the possibilities were and here I am completely fulfilled and more by my experience.

So although I fully admit to being anxious about my return I’m also excited as hell. NY has taught me about possibilities and I already have a head start back home.

Cheers to the unknowns, please be good to me (and more).

Honest

I don’t want to listen to anything but Cashmere Cat mixes. This one in particular is my favorite, he goes into a soft variation of Poundcake at 17:40 and I die every time. Someday I’ll make a baby to some Cashmere Cat, or at least practice.

I am in a terrible funk that I cannot shake. I thought it was just a bit of post-vacation withdrawals, but its deeper than that. I’m desperately waiting for it to pass, but every morning I still wake up dragging myself out of bed without any motivation. I have no sense of time, sadness feels like its sticking around forever. Geez. So dramatic… Excuse me, it will go away… Eventually.

I’m sad as fuck that I am leaving NY, however I know for a fact that I must go—as much as New York and its people have been generously kind to me. I want to start 2015 back in the Bay, although I have absolutely no set plans in place. Ohh well. If I did it in NY—I can do it at home. Right? Shit. I hope so. I want a solid routine in SF as soon as humanly possible.

After about two weeks of living without bank cards (because of an irresponsible night in Miami, including a lost wallet), I finally have the means to pay for my own belongings / meals / life. I’d like to thank other people’s cash flow, Venmo and SquareCash for allowing me to live without even stepping foot inside a Bank of America.

My lost wallet is forcing me to FINALLY change my last name. Legally I am still “My last name-his last name.” As soon as I get back to Cali my first order of business is to change half a dozen legal documents back to my maiden name. I’ve been avoiding this because: 1. I like the photo on my CADL along with the SF address still attached to it. 2. I do not want to switch out my passport with all the awesome international stamps. 3. IT’S A FUCKING BITCH TO DEAL WITH ALL OF THIS. I’m taking my lost wallet as a sign, “Girl, take care of your shit. It’s time.”

It bothers me so much that I have no idea when I will have sex again. Honest confession. As a non-disgusting-looking female my male friends tell me all the time that I can determine this timeline, “You could have sex right now if you wanted to.” Yeah, yeah, yeah. I get it. Just because I have the ability to lure an able-bodied man into my bedroom does not mean I will do so. 

GAH. 

Restless

I can’t tell you which way is up.

A week ago I was checked out of reality, on a boat on its way to the Bahamas with some of my favorite people. I didn’t check my phone for social media updates. I was clueless about news regarding the outside world. I was gone, extracted from my normal everyday life until I had to formally face it again. I have never escaped real life as much as I did while I was on that “cruise.” I’m still fucking struggling to get my shit together on a day to day basis, I haven’t completely acclimated to normalcy and responsibilities yet.

This week I am freezing my ass off in New York City. The other day it was about “21 degrees but felt like 11.” I keep dozing off at work because of general sleep deprivation, its so obvious that I have gotten called out on it multiple times. I still haven’t caught up. I’m on the brink of getting sick, which is a rarity for me, but my body is angrily rebelling against my behavior over the course of the past two weeks, plus this drastic change in weather. It’s pissed. Ohh well. It was all worth it.

Next week I will be spending Thanksgiving in Virginia with my Uncle and his family. This is the first time I won’t be at home cooking for my family, I’m a bit sad about that, as much as I complain about my yearly volunteer duties. We’re all in different places this year, pops is currently in the Philippines, moms & kid sister are the only ones back home. I think its insane for me to be in another new place within such a short amount of time, my wanderlust and restlessness is backfiring on me, but I wanted to spend the holidays around family.

A month from Monday will mark my last month in NY. I’m already in some sort of transitional period, I can feel it. Sadly my room doesn’t quite feel like home anymore, it’s lost a bit of its comfort because I feel the energy transferring somewhere else—probably on its way back to Cali. Maybe I’m just crazy. Maybe I just miss my old routine of which I will never replicate again due to so many changes in my work and commute life. I don’t feel grounded to anything at all, that’s obviously my fault. I’m always doing too much.

I’m always doing too fucking much. I’m just distracting myself… for a thousand reasons.

I would love to just sit still and hold someone’s hand. 

This is your life, Nov Edition

I just finished having dinner with Molly & Adam. Molly moved out at the end of July while I was still in South America. Its been a good minute since the three of us connected. Aside from our general catchup monologues we didn’t skip a beat. It consisted of Molly’s never-ending quest for love, my pessimistic views on (attempts at) actively dating and Adam shooting down our lady-like rom-com fantasies and trying to bring us down to reality. It’s the same ‘ol shit every time and I've missed it more than I realized. Molly and I get into long and drawn out debates with Adam (who happens to have the most logical and pragmatic viewpoint out of every man I’ve met in my life). He argues against romantic ideas such as fate and destiny, but then he turns the conversation around and makes up for it by assuring us that we are both great and will meet the right person, eventually. I thank the Craigslist Gods for introducing me to these two, I don’t believe other people are nearly as fortunate as finding random roomies on the internet. Sometime during the course of the evening they tried to convince me that I shouldn’t leave New York. I would’ve been offended if they didn’t try.

We didn’t speak about Adam’s cancer, maybe they caught up on that subject before I arrived. Adam goes to chemo every other Tuesday. He locks himself in his room for the first few days after treatment and eventually emerges about 3–4 days post-chemo. One day I got home from work and his head was shaved, “You just went for it, huh?” I hesitate to ask him how he is because I think it’s a loaded question. Once in a while I just try to beat him to the punch, “How shitty do you feel today?” Everything else I ask him is objective. I’ve pushed it out of my mind that he has cancer. I just keep thinking that he’s perpetually sick, nothing along the lines of a life-threatening disease. Every once in a while reality hits and he’s emailing us, asking us to be mindful of minuscule details. The last one had a note to please not run down the hall while he’s sleeping. WHOOPS, that one was for me. If you didn’t know, my feet sound like an obese child is running your way. I like to run down the hallway practically stomping. Yes, my apartment is large enough that I can run through it. He’s always home so now he’s aware of the amount of packages I receive, he told me I have too many clothes. He asked me why I need so many clothes. I told him I need them to attract my future mate and that he shouldn’t judge me. I lightweight feel judged now every time he tells me I got a package in the mail. I was a pussy when it came to telling him that I was moving out at the end of the year. I wrote him an email. I watched so much fucking baseball with him for the past month, fully knowing that I would be leaving soon… and I wrote his ass a fucking email. I didn’t have the heart to tell him to his face. Weak ass…

I am super checked out at work. I am at Senioritis level 100. I plan on putting my 2 weeks in after another month. There has been a ridiculous amount of stress and change since mid-Sept. I’ve never had so many mornings trying to figure out if I can call in sick or tell them I’m going to be late. I never get sick though (knock on wood) and they know this for a fact. I’m also too responsible for my own good that I refuse to let my team down. I’m counting the days until I can go, I’m also kinda freaking out at the thought of being jobless again, money and insurance are nice things.

I’m on a ridiculous text thread with 5 people of which I will be spending an entire week with down in Miami Beach/the Bahamas. I’ve had some epic group trips in my life, I have no real expectations as far as this one goes… but I have a feeling its going to break records. We shall see… I just hope I come back alive.

Rogue Heart

[Hello again, insomnia. I fucking hate you. Published at 4 am. I am going to pay for this in the morning.]

So my heart is pretty busted. I honestly can’t stop crying. I don’t know how that happened, I have that shit guarded. I guess you slipped in somehow (that’s what she said). It must’ve been denial, I had a false sense of security that I could handle whatever I thought we did. 

SIKE. My silly brain believed it ran the show, but my heart had other plans.

Bitch went went rogue.

Now me and my heart are drinking scotch on the rocks at 3:00 am spilling our guts out while my brain is trying to get my shit together. Idiotic ass heart—got us all caught up in spiderweb sex. 

But in it’s defense, it wasn’t just the sex… 

It was the genuine compliments, the sleep overs, the invitations to meet you where ever work sent you, the holding of my hand, a few kisses on the cheek and what seemed like sincere comments while you held me.

It was the excitement of telling you a new funny story and the links you shared that made me laugh so much that I would eventually have to share them with others. It was when you made me laugh in general, which was actually pretty frequent.

It was the certainty that you would message me nearly every work day. I thoroughly enjoyed the consistency you provided in keeping in touch with me—despite our physical distance. I don’t speak to many people on a regular basis as I did with you, and I cried at the realization knowing I asked you to stop. I didn’t want to, but I knew I had to.

It was the refusal to believe that I got small butterflies right before I would see you in person, especially when I got to Baltimore. I play my shit too cool, but I would never in my life get on a bus for 3 hours “just for D,” even if “D had suite tickets to an Orioles game at Camden Yards.” 

It was you stating that you discovered this blog and have kept up with it ever since. I hated/loved every time you brought it up, but you already knew that. I hope you’re reading this now. I’m sure you are.

It was when you sent me this song to listen to, and now when I hear it I cannot help but think of you. You told me you “liked the lyrics” or something. I think I was too preoccupied that day and wasn't fully able to listen or research the lyrics, when I finally did I tried to figure out if you were trying to tell me something. IDK tho, I could be making that shit up completely. I’m also dense as fuck, so its one or the other. *Shrugs* I guess I’ll never know at this point.

It was when I caught odd facts about you as they came along and vice versa. It was the fact that I felt you truly wanted to learn about me, my personality and my habits. You paid so much attention. I hated when you were able to call me out on shit. I also loved it—you already know that.

It was close to 2 years of learning about another man who wasn’t my ex and realizing I could feel something for someone else. It was nearly 2 years of friendship in general.

It was realizing you weren’t “just D” as much as I fucked around and referred to you as that. And to elaborate on your question from earlier, yes, it was definitely more than physical—I have a whole list at this point. Feel free to read this over and over if you like.

It was when you confessed you were concerned about potentially catching feelings last November. I would’ve been seriously offended if you never got to that point.

It was when you would forever fish for compliments or validation and I would always try to indirectly provide an answer for you, because I am a jerk. I'm sure this post is validation x 1,000. ;-)

It was when I realized I thought about you more than I should, when I figured out I wanted more than you could probably provide and that I was getting in way too deep.

It was when tears ran down my face when I said I’d miss you. 

My brain had nothing on that one... #HeartWins 

I still lose.

Air time

[Written: Thurs. Oct 23. Newark International Airport]

I'm in an airport again, by myself.

I think 2014 might win for most flights taken, 2013 could still be the front runner. I don't know anymore.

My flight is delayed. Newark airport is minimal and boring. CNN is the only thing keeping me entertained, Ebola is the news topic du jour, particularly because now there is a case in NYC. I forced myself to close my SoundCloud app because I shouldn't be streaming music and I'm continually getting data usage texts. My sister polices me when it comes to this, sometimes I have to be ghetto and turn off my data for the last few days until the billing cycle resets, but I digress...

This is the last time I'm making this round trip journey. It's a bittersweet realization for me.

I have grown tired of these long weekend trips. It's the same 'ol deal: a stressful work week so I can cut out early on a Thurs, non-stop social activity at home only to abruptly leave again with my heart a little cracked. I always patch up quickly, but it's a hurtful cycle.

I'm on the plane now. I prefer checking where the plane is in relation to the map instead of checking the remaining duration of the flight on my watch. We're only nearly halfway, over some middle-America-fly-over state. Once I used this description in conversation at work and I was deemed an "elitist Californian." "Guilty as fuck," I responded. No shame. People let me get away with my over-opinionated comments because I look like I'm 23 years old and I'm abnormally sweet, I always use this to my advantage, but I'm digressing again...

The map makes the distance real. I forget about the miles in between coast to coast. Everyone is usually just a call, text or FaceTime session away. A five hour+ plane ride cannot be shortened, I might as well cross the Atlantic Ocean and end up in Europe. California is so fucking far away.

I'm currently reading a book comprised of personal essays based on loving and leaving New York City. I'm searching for solace. I'm hunting for commonalities in another writer's words. I'm eager to discover my sentiments dictated through someone else's experience.

I haven't come across any essays that speak to me yet, I don't know if I will. I just need to cosign on one, in this book I have 27 chances. I'm inspired to write my own. I'm still trying to figure shit out, to put my thoughts into complete sentences but I’m still at a loss for the proper words.

Wait for it though… I’ll have a complete piece written.

I have two months left.

Spectrums & Highlight Reels

These days I hover between being extremely confident or hopeless and doubtful. Depending on my hormonal cycle and whether or not I can blame bullshit like “Mercury in Retrograde” I am on one side of the spectrum or the other. 

My social media feed is filled with young families, baby showers, baby announcements, engagements, weddings, and milestone after milestone. Instagram is a highlight reel. Trust me, I enjoy witnessing your highlights—no bitterness.

I am lightweight frustrated that I can’t share the same type of benchmarks for my life—yet. Some days I’m terrified I never will. Catch me on a bad day and you’ll hear me refer to myself as a “left over.” What is a left over? Someone who has no match out there because everyone worthy is already taken. Yes, I call myself this. Occasionally. Guilty. I wouldn’t be “left over” if I was kept as a valued possession. *And this is when I start crying… and laughing… but still crying… This is the negative end of the spectrum. I know this is a false presumption, but I get hopeless once in a while.

On the opposite side of the gamut I give ZERO FUCKS. I live. I am entirely aware of the opportunity that was given to me to take care of myself and start anew. The tradeoff is clear, enjoy until the right company comes along—and he will. So I deplete my PTO for whatever adventure you offer my way. 2 weeks in South America with the Kid Sister? Down. A random trip to Baltimore with the Dry Spell Killer? Sure. A week in Miami/the Bahamas even though I’ve exhausted my allotted days off? Fuckit, let’s go. My highlight reel involves being restless, something new almost every weekend. It also involves conquering New York.   

I look forward to the day someone comes along and there is nothing left to doubt. I wouldn’t mind exchanging the endless nights for a Netflix marathon, the constant flights for 1 to road trips for 2 and forgoing pickle backs and sangria for at least 9 months (and yeah + breastfeeding time, I know) so I can have my very own mini-me.

Until then… the highlight reel is still solo and the spectrum is wide.