Friends and Serendipity

FRIENDS, they're great. Today, I got to speak with Kathleen, one of my best friends from home, whom I've known since 9th grade, on the phone for like eight minutes this morning. Those eight minutes were amazing. Oh, to hear her voice! =)

Then, I spent the day with Linnea, someone who is quickly becoming a friend who has experienced with me all the ups and downs of living in a foreign country. We have bonded as we've gotten lost, butchered the beautiful language of Thai, hopped on the wrong buses, and shopped for essentials together. And we've shared many of our creature-comforts from home together, like walking and shopping with iced coffees hand-in-hand – something common mostly only in America.

One of the most exciting parts of the day was meeting up with Chelsea Laun for dinner, one of my sorority sisters from USC who is here in Thailand teaching English on a Fulbright Scholarship.

[with chels in bkk by the siam paragon ctr]

She and I went through this whole process of applying for teach-abroad programs together – only a few months ago, really (wow, how time flies!) – and it's exciting to finally be here together, carrying out the dreams we had previously only spoken about in class together. She and I dined on the most delicious fish-n-chip dinner at the Siam Paragon Center “food court”, if the fancy place can even be called that, and caught up on our most recent adventures. She is wonderful, wonderful, wonderful. And it was so amazing seeing a familiar face in this new place.



THEN, Chels and I went to the bathroom in the center, where I ended up running into some of my dear CIEE friends who are also teaching in Samut Prakan, across the river from me. This was random. We've all departed and have gotten settled in our respective towns, and to run into Lauren, Choua, Regan, and my lovely Tina, in the bathroom of the big freakin' Paragon Center, was plain nuts!

Finally, after saying bye to Chels, Linnea and I made a (potential) new friend today. As we stood at a bus station, confused yet again as to what bus we were to take home, a guy in his 20s asked us if we needed help. After assisting us with directions and making small talk with this Thai 20-something-year-old, who was maybe 5'6”, had laid-back fashion, really nice skin, and was pretty darn good at English, we hopped on the bus and waved goodbye to him, grateful for his help.

When we got off the bus and were busy being stunned by the beautiful light festival that has been set up on the river, the dude popped up out of nowhere and told us that he's studying to be a pilot for Thai Airlines and needs help practicing English. In exchange for our help/conversation (he said he needs to hear and practice speaking with American people because he's only been tutored by a Kiwi), he'll take us around Thailand, or wherever we want to go (don't worry, he's not shady, he's so cool! And harmless! And he's in a band! And he has four German Shepards!). Tor is his name, and we saw his Thai airline badge. We're wondering if he got in a taxi and followed our bus just to catch up with us, which is a wee bit weird (??), but also cool in a serendipitous way...

PV friend – check.
CIEE friends – check.
USC friend – check.
New Thai friend – check.

Good day. Plus more shopping, but at MBK. However, that's a different story and another hole in my wallet.

Vehicular Manslaughter

I have volunteered to forfeit my life via vehicular manslaughter many a time within the past few weeks. My previous post touches upon the danger of Thai taxis, but in comparison to the next two stories I am about to tell you, these taxis seem gentle.

A few nights ago, our group of CIEE teachers spent our last night together dining on the River Kwai. The food was great, other than the spicy chili I ate from the Papaya Salad; weather was kind; the company was enriching. Before this romantic and froo-froo scene, though, let us rewind to the part when I crossed the bridge over the River Kwai and ran from a train.

The bridge over the River Kwai, other than being a very iconic piece of history (do your research), is still a fully-functioning railroad track, but people are still allowed to cross it. This is dangerous because the train could come at any moment and the only warning one would have to move the F out of the way would be the two railroad guards who merely blow their shrilly whistles at you to seek haven at the nearest “safety spot”, which is like, a 5X5 extended piece of metal from the bridge, available only every 10 feet or so, as the train approaches. It's also dangerous because the bridge has very wide gaps between the wooden panels. There are so many people crossing the bridge, too, so people are frequently jumping from the main track to the little wooden plank to teetering on both plank and track, with the lolling brown water visible with one peek down...it's just mayhem.

I did not feel comfortable at all while crossing this track. My heart just was thumping the whole time; the thought of tripping, as I frequently do (yes, laugh all you want), and landing in the river, which was soooo far below me, did not appeal to me. But my friend, Tony, and I, vowed to cross the bridge just so we could say we have crossed the bridge over the River Kwai. Yeah, yeah, yeah okay so after crossing and taking a few nice pics, we touch the end of the track and we're walking back to the other side – strolling, really –when we hear the guard blowing his whistle and yelling at us in inaudible Thai. I look back in terror. I freeze. No, Kristina, DON'T FREEZE! Run!!!! Find a safety spot!!!!!! Holy CRAP FIND A SAFETY SPOT!

And then I start running. On the bridge over the River Kwai. From a train. In my flip flops.

Mind you, I made it to the safety spot with minutes to spare, and I stood behind the three-inch thick red-line that really was like, two-inches away from the raging train, with a random Thai man asking me if I was from China, and I made it out alive and had a great dinner afterwards, but can we imagine this scene together one more time? I was already nervous as hell as I tip-toed across the bridge, but then I ended up running along it, trying to not trip on the huge bolts on the rail track, which would have definitely caused a splash on my behalf in the River Kwai, as I fled from an oncoming train.

[view of the oncoming train]

That was potential and voluntary opportunity for vehicular (er, train, whatever, you get the point) manslaughter #1.

#2 is as follows.

Today, Linnea (the other English teacher), Pe Tuk (our lovely school coordinator), and I hopped off a bus on the freeway because the traffic was at a stand-still. One second I was looking at my iPod, singing along to Colbie Calliat's “Realize” – which, by the way, is played ALL over Thailand right now, it's quite bizarre – and the next I see Pe Tuk waving at me to join her on the freeway.

“What.............”

is how I responded.

But no matter. We took an eight-minute stroll down the freeway and down the off ramp, along with about a handful of other Thais. I was probably inches away from getting run over by a taxi. Not only would that taxi have broken my foot, it would have also ruined the new Rainbows I just purchased at the USC bookstore a month ago. Tragic.

[Cue end of my vehicular manslaughter stories]

After strolling along the freeway, Linnea and I went shopping at Platinum Mall (where we saw our first Westerners since we've moved to Phra Padaeng – ooh, exciting!) and bought, basically, an entirely new wardrobe for work and leisure purposes. The mall is huge and the clothes are SOOOOOO cute; it's definitely a dangerous place for shopping-maniacs! We have found that most all the clothes that we brought from home are not conservative enough for the town in which we're teaching, Phra Padaeng. No “short shorts”, no tank tops or spaghetti straps during leisure time, all because we are the highly revered teachers and parents would frown down upon us if our attire suggested that we are shhhloootay.

Have I told you yet about Phra Padaeng? It's a town right on the Chao Praya river, the largest in Thailand. Really, the school at which I'll teach starting November 2^nd, which is called Amnuayvidhya, it RIGHT on the river and is under a gorgeous, majestic, golden bridge. It really feels as if I'm living by the Golden Gate Bridge in San Fran. I'll be teaching conversational English to grades 2, 3, 4, and 9, by the way.

Phra Padaeng is about 40 minutes away from Central Bangkok and can be quaint by the river, but turn one corner and you're in the thick of a street crowded with food and clothing vendors, stray dogs, motorbikes, and people, people, people. Linnea, Pe Ning (another school coordinator who is 26 years old and very funny; she also wants to marry an American, so she says), and I had the BEST Pad Thai on this street yesterday evening; today, Linnea and I ventured down it to have brekkie at a local bakery, and then later boarded bus 82 to transfer to bus 140 to get to the mall. That was a freakin' adventure in itself. The buses here do not stop at their designated bus stops; no, no. They stop, like, in the middle lane of the road and you have to DASH OUT in front of the taxis and tuk tuks in the lanes blocking you from it. We definitely heard some chuckles from the local Thais when we failed at running to catch bus 82 on the way home. Mai Pen Rai.

I don't get stared at because most everyone here assumes I'm Thai (wooh!), but Linnea, ohhh Linnea. She's a beautiful blonde girl who is from Chicago but could easily be plucked straight out of Sweden or something. Today, while browsing for bed sheets at Big C, the equivalent of Target + Wal Mart here, a little Thai girl literally stood in our aisle and gaped at Linnea. When we walk, we hear “farang, farang!” (foreigner) everywhere, all directed toward her.

Last night was my first night alone. I was scared, frankly. I wish Linnea and I shared an apartment, but I'm on the first floor and she's on the second. To make matters worse, there was the most booming and frightening thunder storm last night. My music was on so I thought my air con was going berserk and that people were lighting up fireworks outside, but no. It was a thunder and rain storm. MOMMY!

I've already met most of the directors of my school, but I'm meeting the Big Boss tomorrow, Mr. Bryan. All the other directors – Pi Meow, Mow, and Wattayayayayaya???? (I have already forgotten her name, help!!!) have been so kind, warm, and plain funny. They remind me of aunts in my own family. They are fascinated with the fact that my mother is from Burma. Many of them speak Burmese and I hope they'll communicate this culture with me – via both language and cuisine. Hehe.

Cheers to adventures.

Let's Talk Thai Taxis.

(post from October 24) --

As you grow up and gain independence, you sometimes make life decisions whence you might hear your parents, in your head, scolding you for putting yourself in such compromising and often plainly stupid situations. But you do it anyway. With a twinge of remorse.

This is how I feel every time I get in a taxi here in Thailand.

Taxis are notorious in Bangkok because they often try to rip foreigners “farangs” off; plus, the traffic in Bangkok is so painfully congested and road rules are flagrantly nonexistent. It's quite astonishing how dangerous these roads are, honestly. One might see, for example, Thai children of all ages on motorcycles, squished in between the father and the mother, the latter of whom is riding side-saddle on the back in like, a nice dress and sequined flats or something, the whole family sans helmet, on the highway – not around the neighborhood block, but the highway. I saw this scene with my own two eyes a few hours ago. And no one looks twice, other than my fellow teachers and maternalistic me, who normally stares with wide eyes and a hand over my gaping mouth as I shake my head at these traveling-families-on-motorcycles as I terror-grip onto my seat in the front of the taxi, where I normally sit when my friends and I go out.

But this post isn't about motorcycles in Thailand. No. It's about something that feels arguably more dangerous. You see, normally I like sitting shotgun when my friends drive somewhere. But in a Thai taxi, where I frequently feel like I am on the brink of losing my life, the seemingly fortunate and spacious position in the front of the vehicle offers me a full panoramic view of exactly how 'The End' could play out for me. This just doesn't bode well with my psyche. Sure, I trust that these drivers know what they're doing and can navigate well in Thai traffic, but it's truly very scary when you're in a little baby Toyota Corolla that's battling against huge trucks and weaving through weaselly little Tuk Tuks. What makes matters worse is that these taxis are colored neon orange, pink, and green – HOW NON-MENACING IS THAT?!

To top if off, let me give you some more recent examples of why Thai taxis are crazy:

1. Our taxi drivers both yesterday and today picked us up on empty tanks. The gas lights were definitely on. Our first drive out lasted like 40 minutes; today it lasted like 20 minutes. Pardon me, but my idea of a “night out on the town” does not include pushing any jelly-bean colored taxis anywhere, thanks very much.

Note: I couldn't decide which of the following situations was more disheartening, so you can choose.

2. Thais traditionally “wai” to each other as a sign of respect. Rather than shaking hands with one another, they put their hands together in a praying-like gesture and bow their heads to each other while muttering a greeting. Normally you'll see Thais “wai-ing” to figures of the King, to Buddha, and to other figures of superiority.

WELL. During my first ride in a Thai taxi the other night, when I was almost hyperventilating in the perilous rush hour, I turn to the driver while we're in a busy round about – the center of which was a figure of the King – and I see my driver (read this carefully) take his handS off the wheel, turn to his right window, and wai to the statue of the King. That's right, my taxi driver took his hands off the wheel to bow/pray/greet the King. In rush hour. In one of the busiest parts of Bangkok. It was only like, a one-second wai, but shiz could have hit the fan in that one second. I don't think my eyes have ever gotten that wide with terror in my whole life.

3. The taxi ride today to the mall proved interesting, for the man who was driving the car did not at ALL match the picture of the man on the displayed license. No, no. The man driving was definitely 20 years older and uglier. So I turned to the back and explained my concern, with a bit of shaky humor, to the girls in the back. But what could we do other than say “mai pen rai” (“whatever!” ???) and proceed to discuss the movie, “Taken”, which is about American girls who are sold into sex trafficking after accepting a taxi ride with a stranger in Paris. That conversation really quelled my fears of this mysterious taxi man – hah, hah? (Note to all women: if you're ever sold into trafficking and are given an opportunity to call your parents to “tell them you're alright”, use the code phrase, “I'm eating a steak dinner” to let your parents know that no, your vacay is NOT all happy and dandy, and in fact, you're being sold into slavery – yeah, “bon voyage” my arse. The girls and I decided this after one of the girls in the cab, Ali, made this agreement with her mom.)

Those are all the stories I have for now. But hey, I'm alive. I went to the Central Mall today in BKK with a bunch of the girls and truly had an Amerrrican night in this mall, which is the biggest in Asia, btw. Who knows how many stories it is, but it's a great, great place. And so random! You can buy all types of shoes and clothes, get your eyebrows shaped, face threaded (what a painful concept), eyelashes extended, legs waxed, and play arcade games and eat ice cream to celebrate a successful day – all in this one mall!

We had KFC (yum, so much better here), then shopped, bought things at prices that equate to thievery, then had ice cream. Oh, how we miss America. But man, Thailand rocks. Other than the effing crazy taxis.

Gastronomical Chili Attack

It is 12:15am and I have just experienced a gastronomic catastrophe. The culprit? Chili pepper.

I thought my stomach would be immune to the notoriously frisky and unassumingly spicy Thai food here because my mom is from Burma and I have grown up eating cuisine similar to that which I'm eating every day. But, no. I'm in a different playing field right now. As I write this (in post-agony), my stomach feels like it's still expanding from the fumes of a burning fire ball in the merciless cage of my tortured tummy. It's just, wow, a realllllllly a great time right now considering I can't even stand upright, and no, the mock Pepto-Bismol that I bought didn't do jack for me (It was either that or the stomach ulcer meds, and I didn't think I had to go to that extreme).

During my time in Thailand, I've eaten some street food and almost all dishes I've had then and in “legit” restaurants have contained chili, but I've been able to handle it. Ironically, as a group of us went to Khao San Rd today (infamous backpacker district – think Bourbon Street. Loads of Euro-trash tourists; desperate and vulture-like vendors; crippled/homeless natives sleeping and begging for money; flourescently-lit kiosks with surprisingly cute clothes; loud American music; loud American people; shady streets with massages and “massages”; motorcycles plowing through the crowds...you get the idea) and stopped for some grub, I thought, well WHY haven't I had any Pad Thai yet – the most harmless, simple, and westernized of Thai foods? Heck, I'm on the tourist street, there's GOT to be Pad Thai.

So I got Pad Thai. And like a foolishly foolish fool, I added chili pepper to it because a) it's what I do at home; b) I thought I was invincible because I've been downing so much spicy food lately. Pure idiocy. I'm sure I'm the butt of some drunk European's joke right now, for the mixture of the phet (spicy) noodles with my puny two glasses of Singha beer – probably in addition to the malaria pills I've been taking, the irregular sleep schedule, the heat and lack of hydration from the exorbitant amounts of sweating I've experienced, the long orientation days, the diet change, and the lack of exercise – caused me to limp around Khao San like a pregnant woman about to give birth – keeling over, panting, sitting on steps with my friends surrounding me/blocking away the random Thai man who was playing the banjo to console me/beg for money; sweating because it was effing hot out there; dodging and glaring at the very inappropriate and shady vendors who asked us if we wanted to see a “Ping Pong Show” (do your research – no, we weren't going to watch a traditional ping pong match, ugh); and running to the nearest restroom to...well, help save myself. It's not like I felt the need to relieve myself, though, in any natural way; I literally just felt like a ball of fire had entered my stomach and was churning and expanding in the most merciless and fuming manner imaginable. Awful. Just awful.

Thankfully I met some new and very freakin' cool people tonight (there's MORE of them!) who took care of me well. Markus, the biggest sweetie who walked me to the pharmacy/found me a lil girls' room, etc.; Andrea, Nicky, and Maddy, the latter of whom went to UCSB, who let me lean on their shoulders and took a cab back with me. Maddy, as we determined tonight, by the way, is my soul mate, or “my white sistahhhh!” Shweet.

We took a cab back early, again. I wished I could've stayed later because apparently the road gets nutsos with Euro and Amerrrrican backpackers post 12am – really, I would've danced in the streets – but I was in so much pain that I was honestly about to punch slow walking people in the back of their heads as I tried to dash to the nearest (pink) taxi. And to touch one's head is a bad, bad cultural mishap in Thai culture, mind you (the head is the closest entity to heaven). To punch one in the head would have undoubtedly yielded me a lifetime in prison and then bad karma for the rest of my supposed after lives, if I even were to make it that far after such a crime.

This week has been my 21^st birthday week but so far I've been home by 12:30 every night. But mai pen rai – whatever! I've had a great time and yeah, my stomach hurts (you can say that again), but life could be worse, right? I still got to see Kho San Rd today with a bunch of genuinely amazing people from around the world. I got to dance with Thai kids on the street to the tune of a very out-of-tune acoustic guitar player as he strummed and sang, adorably and fob-ily, “Satisfaction” by Neil Diamond, albeit the fact that I was in much pain as I waited outside 7/11 for my friends to buy beverages; AND I forgot to mention that CIEE conducted a very special Thai welcome ceremony for us teachers today, where I received blessings from the CIEE Thai people and a bracelet that claims to bring me good fortune and much love while in this Land of Smiles.

Look, don't let my tummy attack deter you from traveling to Thailand. My roomie, Tessa, another very cool girl from NY, experienced the same symptoms this afternoon, and she has traveled everywhere from Cameroon to Ecuador to Thailand and beyond. Everyone is rumored to experience what I'm currently going through. In fact, I'm almost glad my stomach is getting acclimated now than later so I can expand my palette. But I might just be saying that now that the worst of my pain is over.

Still though, I'm going to try to sleep this baby off. Wooosah.

Mariah Carey on my 21st birthday

This post is dedicated to Kimmy.

I spent the last hours of my 20^th year of existence doing four very simple but glorious things: eating Thai food (fried rice, to be exact) with two previous strangers-turned-friends from Texas, Nancy, and SF, Maddy; downing Singha lager beers (shout out to Tim from Singapore) and, AND (get this!!!!!!!) watching Mariah Carey concert dvd's – the volume of which was turned, I believe, to its maximum capacity, thanks to my observant and uber friendly Thai waitress. We spent over three hours at this restaurant. The name? Who knows? All I know is that there were lizards and geckos crawling all along the walls and I did not care.

Let me explain.

After a full-day of necessary orientation classes, during which I learned the vital foundations of how to be an English teacher (more on that later, of course), I conjoined with the people with whom I've basically formed a group in the past few days: Reuven, a Wisconsin U grad originally from Santa Monica, and Nancy, a Dallas, TX native who went to a liberal arts school in Mississippi and majored in Anthro. Can I just say that Nancy is fawesome and that she and I share very similar personalities.

We decided, along with a group of others who all have pointed and winked at me, saying, “Ah, it's YOUR birthday tonight” at least once within these past few days, to go into the city tonight. But then when we realized that we had to be up at 7 30am tomorrow morning and that the 1 hour ride to/from the city, not counting the fact that we had no idea what to see in the city, was not conducive to a pleasurable/functioning experience during our field trip tomorrow at the Grand Temple, we decided that the local “Bar 'R' Us” down the street would suffice for the night. Any walkable bar is good in our books, we decided.

Nancy, her roomie Maddy, and I, went to this restaurant after bypassing the bar underneath “Bar 'R' Us” as the rest of the group took a head start on the Heinekins (did you know they're brewed in Thailand, btw? A Dutch beer, but brewed in Thailand!). Because I'm sure you're dying of curiousity, let me just say that this local bar caters practically only to American tourists/suckers like ourselves who are in the beginning stages of their travel experiences, during which they/we are comfortable only with congregating at venues that remind us of home. Toys 'R' Us, Bar 'R' Us, what's the diff? A slice of home is exactly what we need during this time of cultural transition.

Well. N, M, and I get to the end of this Soi (road) and see a semi-outdoor, flourescently-lit restaurant with glorious smells wafting down the street, feeding out growling tummies. My days of freaking out over restaurant grades have long passed me (I wouldn't survive here if I still kept that mentality); the geckos/lizards crawling on the walls, the dog that was lazily strutting around the eating premises; the dirt from the street that sprinkled through the dimly lit ambiance meant little to me. I was sold. (PS did I tell you that the other day I ordered a tofu dish and before dipping it into its designated sauce, I saw the lady chef spoon a BEE – or wasp????? - out of the sauce? But what can I do. Mei Pen Rai! “Oh well/NVM/Whatever”).

Well hey, I was craving CPK but obvi that wasn't going to happen. So then I asked for Pad Thai and dangit, they didn't have it. I settled for the fried rice, which turned out to be muy delicioso (I say this in Spanish bc lately when I'm at lost for words, I resort to the default foreign language that has been stored in my lexicon – oh wait, that's all the time bc I don't know an ounce of Thai. Haha. It's been so bad that today I said “si” instead of “chai” because I forget how to say “yes” in Thai. Shoot me now.) One fried rice, four Singha (pronounced “Sing” btw) beers, and THREE hours later, N, M, and I found ourselves mesmerized by the Mariah Carey dvd's that our Thai waitress has blasted for us, mainly because she was amused by my passionate sing-alongs to MC (or MIMI as her 2009 dvd calls her)'s “Hero” and “Dreamlover” and “Fantasy” and even songs from her crappy newer albums.

I definitely was in the zone during this dinner. I mean, really. It's hours before my 21^st, I'm in Thailand with a bunch of strangers dirnking Singhas on a street in a random, small city, with a Thai waitress smiling amusedly at me, eating fried rice that was made by hopefully clean hands, after which I had used the venue's restroom that did not contain toilet paper nor soap (thank you, hand sanitizer); watching Mariah Carey's 2009 and 1990-something dvd's on full volume, analyzing with N and M the either hideousness of MC (2009) versus her natural beauty and true talent (1990 something), doing everything in my mental/physical capability to stop myself from belting full-out the lyrics with N accompanying me, and eyeing the baby lizards on the wall in this street restaurant.

MC always reminds me of Kimmy, so I got really nostalgic. But really, it was like, God's gift to me to give me a piece of home on a day that I would normally be spending with my best friends. I wouldn't have spent my almost-21^st doing anything other than what I was doing at that restaurant.

My actual 21^st was spent at the good ole Bar 'R' Us with some other CIEE folks. We had a great time chatting it up and everyone is stoked to go into the city, hopefully tomorrow, to celebrate my 21^st and Alida's 24^th (another participant from the UK whose bday is on the 21^st).

This is life. Celebrate. Meet new people. Keep the old. Move on. See new things. Travel and people are truly the biggest gifts one can give to the self. Agree?

Alive in Asia

Greetings from Hong Kong -- the Chinese University of Hong Kong, to be exact. Two days ago I arrived, after a 14 hour flight from LAX, in this familiar city of which I have visited numerous times for family purposes; this time, it's for a friend.

The past 48 hours have been surreal in that I tearfully boarded a plane (give me a break, I've never lived away from home for this long) in LA and de-boarded halfway across the world, ready to embark on an adventure that will take me not only to HK, but mainly to Thailand and other SE Asian countries. I leave for the latter country in a few days.

HK always was, to me, as I was growing up, a humid country to which our family traveled to spend time with grandparents. And to eat and shop. I never liked how muggy it was and was not a fan of what were, in my eyes, unsanitary practices of living. I needn't go into details, but let's just say that I was scarred from the one time as a child when I requested napkins from an HK noodle shop and received instead, much to my disgust, a roll of toilet paper. Used or not, the whole butt-to-mouth correlation did not suit well with my appetite. Ugh. Barf in my mouth (not really). I wish I could say that my opinions have changed, but no. Hong Kong is still considerably less sanitary than my beautiful, pristine, smog-free home of Palos Verdes, but I'm getting used to it here -- and I better, soon, for Bangkok will be 100 times worse. Really, I'm trying hard to enjoy the water from unknown sources that drips on you as you walk on the sidewalk, as I try to dodge killer taxis and un-supervised construction sites that spew iron ore onto pedestrians like it's no biggie. It's quite endearing.

Aside: But don't hold these criticisms against me. I'm all down for cultural oneness but I must admit that I still am subject to ethnocentrism. The only cure for this is travel, so I guess you could say I'm trying to cure myself. Please bear with my carps.

In America, we value personal space. We always say "Oh, sorry!" whenever we make even the slightest body contact with a stranger (or in my case, even friends). After two hours in Hong Kong, though, I quickly learned that "Oh, sorry!" isn't going to get you anywhere. No one cares. By the third hour of walking around in the malls on my first day, I lost all sense of the so-called personal bubble and was rubbing against people, shoving my way through the crowd (perks of being taller than the majority of the population here). By the second day, I was elbowing pesky girls in the clubs...to which I got elbowed back, but that's another story.

I can already say that I miss the diversity of America, or California. Like I said, I've been here before but the sea of black hair always puts me back and makes me think about how fortunate I have been to have grown up around people of all different ethnicities. I used to wonder if people could tell I'm not from HK, but this question was quickly answered as Lauren, my friend, and I have constantly been stared at on the MTR for our clothing - or lack thereof, in their eyes - or the volume of our voices. It's weird -- Americans are notorious for being loud, but have you ever stepped foot into a Chinese restaurant? I swear, you can't hear yourself think, everyone's yelling so loudly. So I see not why we Americans are mad-dogged for speaking in excitable voices when Chinese restaurant-speak is equally comparable. Shrug.

If I may be honest and if you are really curious (this is mostly for my girls back at home), HK has, to the extent of my knowledge, a small pool of attractive men. True, beauty is relatively subjective, but from my standard, look not in HK for a hunkin' heartthrob. You may, however, find many an attractive and particularly wealthy European or American in Hong Kong, many of whom are businessmen. The first night I was here, and also the first night I went out to Lan Kwai Fong (club district) with Lauren, we ended up hanging out with these great guys -- well dressed, clean-cut, well-spoken, international -- who proved their baller-ness via purchases of the liquid matter at their respective table. Turns out they're vp's (or something like it) of XYZ financial institution (think JP Morgan, Morgan Stanley, and all the businesses USC Marshall kids dote upon) and were returning from a yachting trip around HK. Etc. Etc. Etc. HK has a very materialistic culture with opportunities to shop nearly everywhere you look, but these guys were humble. Nonetheless, moral of the story is that these businessmen/women are everywhere. Whether they're happy here or not is a question in itself.

More updates to come. Miss you all!

My Eyeballs! They're Saved!

I am very sensitive. My senses, that is.

I can't STAND loud noises like garbage trucks or Harley Davidson motorcycles that obnoxiously fart their way through traffic with a flagrant disregard for the public's sense of peace. Is it necessary that you be so effing loud? Ugh, my poor ears. Your noise pollution.

Smells? Don't get me started. I can smell a cancer stick - er, cigarette - from miles away. And my sense of touch? Well, I can't sleep if someone is cuddling next to me, interrupting my personal space, and breathing on me. I need a bubble (and THIS is why I decided not to teach abroad in China). And I have very random cravings. My palette just knows what it wants, I guess.

But perhaps my most delicate and easily affected sense is that of sight. My eyes take after my mothers' notorious tendency of becoming bloodshot after...well, really, anything that's irritating. Tiredness, a wee bit of alcohol, SMOKE, people who chew with their mouths open (kidding), too much light...it's terrible. So many times I've been asked if "I'm alright" because my eyes have said otherwise. I'm fine, it's just that my eyes are pansies. In the simplest of terms, they just turn BLOODSHOT RED. That's the only way to describe 'em (but I don't even wear glasses!).

I started a desk job and for five weeks straight have been staring at a computer screen for a good eight hours a day. No joke. In addition, my work place's ambiance is a recipe for eyeball disaster: the outside light floods in because the office has windows rather than walls on one of its sides; the boss insists on turning on both fluorescent lights; the computers are probably from prehistoric times and their monitors are tiny and poorly placed, leaving the text to be itsy bitsy and pixelated. Bugh! No wonder, with all the brightness surrounding the computer, that my eyes had to strain so hard to concentrate on the screen. Sooner rather than later, my left eye started twitching incessantly -- and when I say incessantly, I mean for three days straight, including Saturday; I started getting headaches and a throb in my left eyeball (wonderful, reaallly attractive) even when I wasn't looking at the screen, my eyes were red (duh), dry, and Visine wasn't doing SQUAT. Nor was Advil. I sat their for a good 10 minutes a day either pressing on my temples or massaging my shut-eyes. A few times I turned melodramatic and thought what might happen if I turned blind. But really.

But praise God! I was at the USC bookstore a few weeks ago and literally did a double take as I walked past this display of yellow, futuristic glasses called Gunnar Optiks. Turns out these suckers are glasses made for people who basically stare at screens for prolonged periods of time. Think gamers, web designers, or people with weak eyes like yours truly. Fast forward a few weeks, with much researching on my behalf, conversing via Twitter with @GUNNARForce (they're AWESOME on Twitter, btw), and minus $108 from my bank account (but well worth the money), I now have a beautiful pair.



Yes, they lenses have a yellow tint but I really don't care. I love reading articles and blogs on the web but never was able to after work during my hellish-eyeball days (lol). Now, I can! My coworkers have tried them on and I believe one is going to get his pair soon. My father was stunned: "Woahh...how...SOOTHING" he sighed in awe.

Thank you, Gunnar Optiks. A great investment on my behalf. Now I don't have to worry about eye strain (or the possibility of prescription glasses, yikes!) any longer!

http://www.gunnars.com

"Where have all the people of character gone?"

From Ian Berry's Blog via BusinessFightsPoverty.org

"Where have all the people of character gone?"

People of character lay it on the line like that.

People of character are unafraid to speak their minds.

People of character always tell the truth as they see it.

People of character are trustworthy.

People of character have integrity.

People of character enjoy being popular but don’t seek popularity.

People of character seek win / win but do not compromise their principles.

People of character do what they believe is best for the common good regardless of the resistance they encounter.

People of character praise in public and criticize in private.

People of character put others first.

People of character are givers not takers.

People of character focus on building people’s self esteem and never engage in put downs or the blame and shame game.

People of character are those we really look up to and admire.

People of character are those we follow when it matters most.

Be a person of character. You are needed like never before.

Full article: http://businessfightspoverty.ning.com/profiles/blogs/where-have-all-the-people-of

Less Afraid

I am becoming less afraid of dreaming big and settling with mediocrity.

FINALLY.

There was always something holding me back, but something recently just clicked.

If you're struggling with this, too -- whether you're at a quarter-life crisis, midlife crisis, whatever -- just simply ask yourself: why not?

Why not. There are many forces that will make your dreams seemingly impossible, but if you want something that badly, fight for it. Be a brat and demand success from yourself. Demand it! Hard work, determination, perseverance will prevail. Have a goal and strive to attain it.


booya.

At least that's what I keep telling myself.