Gmail-land.

Or rather, in the largely developed country of Gmail located on the Google continent.

Because if Reddit has one, I have to assume Google** does too.

Map of Redditland

4) Tie-up your loose ends in the idyllic era of college and join the real world. 
Now would be the time to start moving over your e-mail subscriptions to a permanent e-mail address. Let me hit the big ones: Facebook, Amazon, eBay, etc. I found that my travel points (travel websites such as Hyatt and multiple airlines) were still linked to my edu account, since I did a fair amount of traveling to research conferences back in the day***. Speaking of which, my favorite travel website–student universe–will be lost to me.

Additionally, let’s not forget to mention all those discount bookstore accounts you opened up in order to meet that already insignificant student budget you had per semester. You probably won’t be needing those anymore, but you should make sure you close that account since it has your credit card number.

Link to Google reader should you dare to be awesome

Once your done with that, head on over to Google and fist-pump that account! If you already have one, congratulations on being a great human being.^† You can start being responsible^†† by labeling your incoming e-mails as work-related, bills, family, friends, travel plans, and many other things. Plus the newly updated outlook allows you to sort between Important and Unimportant in addition to your Read and Unread e-mails by use of Google magic.

Speaking of Google magic, they also use this sorcery to sort your subscriptions on Google Reader. You can follow news and any blog you want in the world, and possibly even outwit those company firewalls in doing so. I am not, however, endorsing subscription to any ridiculous NSFW sites. That is entirely your business.

Having said that, I firmly believe that every individual has a civic responsibility, especially in the global sense, in terms of keeping up with the news. No longer are we piggy-backing on the finances and support of any third party (I leeched that scholarship for every penny it was worth. L.i.t.e.r.a.l.l.y. ). What happens down on Wall Street is no longer a mere shiver or tiny reverberation in our gas tanks. Political action and socioeconomic situations will manifest in your dailies. For example, how many of you panicked, got a stroke, or dropped dead when Wikipedia blacked out for the SOPA protests? How many of you actually did something about it? It’s one thing to be affected, and another thing to be effective.

Our generation today is fundamentally dependent on the free exchange of a cosmic amount of information online. Join the real world.

We’ve got cookies. (Pun soooo intended)

5) Read on the daily! You’ve actually got time now.

You don’t have to subscribe to your local newspaper (I don’t because my university gave it to me for free when I was in college, and I’m pretty spoiled so I look it up online now). Here you go: Newsmap.jp.

Also, should you decide to not be a completely boring individual, I’d also dabble in a bit of fiction. There are lots of books nowadays. ^†††

If you used to be a member of your local public library, I would suggest picking that membership up or applying for a new one. I’d also suggest being a member of several ones if you’re able. (Currently a member of three: my home public library, the public library in my college town, and that of my current city). Why you ask? Because everything is digital now! Well, almost everything. That feeling of nostalgia and new-world sense of fantasy, elicited by the scent of old leather-bound books and the texture of coffee-stained antiquated paper is non-transferable byte-wise. But having three different databases of digitally stored literary material allows me access to a wide variety of fiction, history, and non-fiction (I like to point out that I believe history falls in neither fiction or non-fiction since most of it includes things that were true once upon a time). Most libraries nowadays have OverDrive access, where they store audiobook and ebooks of many modern (and sometimes not!) titles the library owns. My long drives are now made useful when I download a new book onto my iPod. Seven hours of battling dragons, muttations, monopolizing evil companies, and Voldemort is more interesting than seven hours of silence. (But since 8tracks has come out on Androids, that is no longer an option. Yay!)

I would also recommend getting a tablet. Not only is it handy for looking up recipes while in the kitchen, or immediately hitting Like on that friend’s new Facebook status on his loss of ability to metabolize alcohol since graduating, but you can also download programs, such as Kindle Reader and B&N’s Nook, that allow access to free titles and Daily Deals ($4.98 for the Hunger Games. Wut. Book review to follow)–in addition to a vast collection of recently published books of any type. Additionally, Amazon Prime allows Kindle owners to borrow books from their Amazon Kindle Library, a feature that comes free with the membership! Alas, it is not available on any other tablet such as iPads or Androids. They make this function available to Kindle owners only .

Want to see what all the hype is about the upcoming movie because no movie nowadays is made without a book and fan-base behind it? Read. (Or listen. Whichever floats your boat.)

6) TRAVEL!!!

Allows you to track flight prices!

I can’t stress this enough, but take this time of yuppiness to see the world.  I understand the wonder of video games and poker night. I do! But there’s so much to see beyond that dominion you call your daily life. Even if its just to drive to the next town over to see what they mean by Mardi Gras (um YES), or saving $50 a paycheck for that weekend in Las Vegas, no investment is considered too small. I recommend Hotwire.com, Kayak.com, and Farecompare.com as essential tools for any spontaneous^‡ desire to travel. If you travel in your line of work, set aside time to look at the daisies. Take a few pictures, drink the local alcohol, and make a few connections, Facebook or LinkedIn.

If you can convince your HR to allow you to go to professional conferences without having to take vacation leave, I would highly advise it (even better if you can get them to pay for it). I’m thinking about doing this myself. It allows you to make connections and brush up on the current techniques of your industry. If you’re looking for a key-phrase for a highly impassioned argument, mention any of the following three: 1) Safety, 2) Public relations/commercialization, 3) Environmental Standards and Practices. These are all valid points in most professional conferences today. It gives the employees that make up your company’s professional community a competitive edge. Investing per individual betters the company from the ground up.

So my darlings, I’ve managed to tell you how to live your life for the day (fear not, I’ll probably continue to do so). I hope it took you to read and digest this post as long as it took me to write it… aka an entire work-day.

And bam! Time to go home!

—Footnotes— ^‡‡

*Normally I’d take the time to explore such a metaphor, but do with it as you will.

**Just a hint, googling “Map of Google-land” is not effective. I suppose Google is too classy to allow artist interpretations of their infrastructure. Or are they? Hmmm. Challenge accepted.^‡‡‡

***The terminology “back in the day,” I declare, shall henceforth be applicable to 6 months past and beyond. Otherwise, I’ll forever be stuck in the unit of semesters when counting back in time. (i.e. “Yeah I got these car a couple semesters ago.” “Dude, next spring semester, we should go to NY.” “I think I lost weight this semester.”) Not classy.

^†Now that’s not to say you can’t be a great human being without it, but it becomes a lot easier. True story.

^††If you were like this already in college, hats off to you. Eighty-five percent of the people in the honors wing alone do not even categorize their closet (because shoes and socks are often found in the same cabinet).

^††† I like to assume my readers know nothing before coming to my blog, thus their minds are blown by reading my rants… Just Kidding! ^_~

^‡Being spontaneous only means fun. Not expensive. If by default, it does for you, that is a personal problem that needs to be dealt with in another yuppie post hahahahaha.

^‡‡ <–this is pretty ridiculous.

^‡‡‡ You know I’m enjoying myself when I make footnotes in my footnotes. But maybe, just maybe, I actually will be able to make a map of Google. Or I can wait for someone highly more addicted to the Internets than I–though I seriously question the existence of such a person.

Looking back at all my Christmas breaks in college, I’m reminded of all the things I wanted to do while I was an impoverished yet idealistic undergraduate. Now that I am somewhat financially secure, my quality of life has improved significantly in that I can actually act upon my desires to travel. I never thought I’d come across a different dilemma.

What happens when I come back.

Surely I don’t have to explain how three days of street-food exploration, knock-off purse bargaining, theater-stalking activities, and shopping* have rendered me stuck on the idea that I should not move on with the rest of my not-so-sleep-deprived-video-game-centric Louisianan life. As if that wasn’t the perfect end to the wonderful year of 2011, I managed to keep the gas pedal floored as I rode a couple of roller coasters and spent hours visiting with friends and family at home. But as far as calling it a syndrome or a disorder, I don’t agree.

Maybe you’re part of that 5%* that actually encounter a physical enlargement of a certain organ (don’t know what you’re thinking about, but I most definitely mean the stomach) after the holidays–then maybe you can call it a medical phenomenon. But I don’t think we should be so quick to call it a disorder or a syndrome. Already, my e-news subscriptions are full with articles on how to deal with  post holiday stress, or lack thereof, food problems etc etc. And I’m not a loony or anything of that sort, but I do subscribe to health literature. The holidays have been around for all of our lives, it’s not something new. It’s just a length of time when a person’s routine is rocked hardcore and he or she becomes vulnerable to some past-due reality checks and introspection.

I do believe that it is a purposeful and apportioned length of time that allows you to realize how far you are in (or from) your dreams and goals as an individual. Life is too short to wave these feelings aside as another stress disorder, so maybe the next time the holidays come around, you can actually answer John Lennon with an “I’ve done lots” to his overplayed, yet nonetheless meaningful, “What have you done?”

*Duh.

**More like 95%, am I right New-Year’s-Resolutioneers?

Sushi is a simple dish, but it is not something that you can easily prepare. The cut of the fish, the type of rice and all sorts of things. Sushi in general can contain as few as two ingredients or as many as you want it to be depending on your taste for spice and how big of a roll you can manage to fit in one bite.

Friendship is a simple concept– two or more people sharing a commonality; a gradual development of tastes together, and a niche in each other’s life. But no one in the world can ever say that friendship is easy. People are never simple, but it is arguable that you can fit them in your life in however and whichever fashion you may deem convenient…or deem necessary. Because it is never both.  No one, in a sense, can ever fit that one proverbial bite.  Others, you find, might be as hard to swallow as an entire lump of wasabi.

Now I can sit here and write…or I can show you pictures.

Some people can be really amazing and have all the good stuff upfront. Chirashi often has the fish served on top. But then you realize that after you’ve experienced all that, you get to the bottom of it and you have all this left over rice. Rice is good. Rice is necessary. But when you get used to all the awesome, how do you deal with the rice left over? You’re so full and you think the rice is just a nominal part of the price, but you leave out the fact that this is still part of the dish and the chef never intended you to leave it to spoil. It’s wasteful. If you just wanted the fish, why did you not just order sashimi?***

Rolls are a mix of fish and things that have nothing to do with fish. Spices, cream cheese, avocado, tempura, sauces.  They all work together. But they can either drown out the taste of fish or bring it out. Whatever the effect, it is absolutely necessary that the overall taste is delicious. You don’t serve something that isn’t tasty. But can you still call something sushi when the fish portion is relatively insignificant? Can you still call it sushi if you put it in a foil wrapper and set it on fire? Can you still call it friendship when you realize it’s not what you first expected? Yes, but that’s not the question.  The question is would you. Whatever preferences you may have, no matter how many times you read the description of the Hurricane Roll or the Geisha Roll or the Volcano Roll, you don’t know how it tastes like until you taste it. You can look at the picture, you can analyze the description in your head, but if you really think about it, you’re not making a choice, you’re acting on what you’ve already chosen. That’s what preference means. You prefer non spicy tuna over tuna, you prefer escolar over any other white fish, you don’t like avocado, etc. It’s just trickier and more subtle with people, and  you don’t ever know what you want in a friendship starting out because people don’t come with menus!

Only two ingredients are necessary for it to be named sushi. The fish and the rice. Only two things are necessary for it to be considered a friendship. The other person and the mutual desire to become friends. Obviously.

But you may lose sight of this obvious fact. You may be walking that road assuming that there is an equal desire to become or remain friends, but it’s quite necessary that it is established. In fact, you can get blindsided, and realize that the other person might have intended something other than friendship. In which case, you’re probably screwed.**** Not really, but it is a common disappointment in life that  you learn to deal with, and should the desire to be friends still continue to exist, you learn to backtrack.

So why am I trying so hard to make these connections between raw fish and raw people?  Because I have began to understand the difference between liking something and loving something.

______________________

* This happens alot.

** This too.

***Why don’t you just pay someone to be nice to you?

****You’re not really screwed,  but it does become a petty little problem of distractions and accidental …er…outcome of negative feelings?

This is the first fall in the last sixteen years (also known as the “conscious part of my life”) that I’m not gearing up for any sort of educational establishment. If you’re like me, a noob in the real world no longer bound by the margins of college-ruled paper (or in my case, engineering paper), then perhaps you find yourself with a light case of the twitches.

What are the twitches? It’s my term for the physical manifestation of a psychological condition wherein your body, out of habit and expectation, would lead you into an action that you deem completely unnecessary midway into it. Sometimes, your realization of its pointlessness comes as a sudden jerk, or a sudden twitch of the hand or foot–depending on the activity–the impulse being the result of a harsh and sharp “WAIT” in your mind, which is most of the time unnecessary in its intensity.

Cue picture that will interest you in reading this post. Presto!

An example, you ask? Here’s many.

A) Trying to put change in a nonexistent pocket because you are wearing a dress.
B)  Fingering your house keys because you thought the car keys would still be on there, go into a split-second panic, and then you realize you had given it to the valet.
C)  Use the wrong remote because you’re too lazy to buy a universal one.
D) Put away clothes due to reasons already specified.

Okay so maybe that last one is unique to me, but that’s only because I like my closet looking lived-in (by some crazy hobo who likes to sleep on t-shirts).

Whatever. Let me get to the point.

Point is, I’m no longer enrolled in school of any kind. So. How do I cure the office-supply-shopping withdrawals (Drafting pencils for $1.98/each FTW!)? How do I cure the brainless movement of my fingers on the keyboard, typing in the website that tells me my class text books? How do I cure the desire to go bargain-hunting on Amazon, Ebay, Half.com, and TextbooksRUs? (That last one might be made up.)

It’s not an easy task. It requires much self-control, let me tell you. I’ve put together a list that will keep me from buying stacks of copy paper, engineering paper, and scantrons, keep me from wondering what drink specials are coming this fall on the favorite party street that I now know very well…keep me from missing it all. Cause, for those who know, college really is a great time of your life. As a newborn Yuppie, settling into a new environment, I had to figure things out on my own.

1) Find a physical activity.

For a girl, all you gotta do is put on a sports bra and look cute. These guys are convinced that you need to do some crazy monkey moves to become attractive. Kudos to you, men. I think it's working.

Anything that you enjoy and can easily be used to persuade yourself to not veg on the couch. List includes running, swimming, rock-climbing, hiking, biking, dancing, dance classes (there is a difference! the sober kind), martial arts classes (not kidding), gym memberships, hunting, geocaching (so fun), paintballing, dance dance revolution (for us Asians at heart), basketball, baseball, volleyball. The list continues.

Or if you’re anything like these guys, and you want to look hot for the girls who run around the lakes. You can add “looking hot” to the list. It’s a physical activity, I assure you.

2) Officially learn a new atypical skill.

My Batl'eth. My Excalibur. Thou art awesome.

I do mean “officially” and I do mean “atypical.”  As in not just finishing the most recent Final Fantasy game that you had put on hold for a six months because of school. Or learning how to “cook.” That could mean any number of things.

Do something different. Curious. Something that no one would have thought of learning on doing. Like for me, I learned how to shuck oysters. Can you believe it?! So proud of me!

Shucking a dozen oysters took me at least an hour. But I did it. With my puny girly muscles! I am a very impressive specimen.

And depending on the length of how long you take to learn something, you could learn something new every weekend. Because, guess what. You no longer have homework. Oh My Gosh.

Need suggestions? Why not take classes on: Wine-tasting, Sushi making, any type of dancing (this also falls under physical activity, so you’d be killing two birds with one stone!), painting, carpentry, bike-making, build your own computer, cake decorating (not the same as baking a cake cause its an entire new set of tools), learning how to play a musical instrument, etc. As you can see I tried really hard to list things out for the guys too, but it was quite the effort. Haha.

3) Get into the arts! (Unless you were an art major or something of that type, in which case, ignore this)

One of my visits to New Orléans inspired an appreciation for Cajun art

I know it may not be your type of thing, maybe you don’t even have the resources, and if you don’t, skip this. I’m not trying to make you blow your money on things you don’t feel interested in (it’s really not that much money, some museum fees and whatever featured books in Barnes and Nobles), but I am trying to jog your memory of all the things you wanted to try when you were trying to get through that fifth all-nighter you were pulling for that stupid core class you never used in real life.

Theater, sculptures, even just learning a little more art history. Bernini, Michelangelo, Renoir, Frank Lloyd Wright. You’ll realize there is a world out there that makes life richer than a box of Chicken McNuggets (20 pc/$5 FTW!).

So, this is just the first part. I feel that I’ve been pretty long-winded already.  I should be doing some of these things right this very minute! But I wanted to share these things with those of you who are wondering what to do on your fall Saturdays if painting yourself up for a football game is no longer an easy option. Much love to you. <3

Personally, I like them Raw. With a capital R.

At Parrain’s, the oysters on the half shell were served almost as if they were just fished out of cold water–meaning the temperature was quite perfect. The size of the oysters, I think, were what I remembered to be most impressive. One of the shells was of greater size than my very own fist. (Though in actuality that probably doesn’t say much, considering how the tips of my fingers always only reach to any of my friends’ second knuckle when we compare hands. But that’s okay. It’s not about size… Oh right. Not that kind of blog.*)

Anyhoo. The oysters in Parrain’s were delicous. Served with my very own personal basket, nay, bin of saltines**, cocktail sauce, and a unique tartar/horseradish sauce with a single lemon wedge, it was quite the experience. The tartar/horseradish sauce was something I’ve not seen before. Loved it? Why yes. Horseradish = plant family that produced Wasabi = Asian = Awesome***. Oh yes. I went there. However, when I eat oysters at home, I eat them with a bowl of vinegar that has a splash of soy sauce, diced onions, and pepper. Sigh. I think back to the days when I used to make oyster runs with my mom to the nearest Kroger. How sadly desperate we were.

Oh yeah. The food at Parrain’s was good. Btdubs.

Oysters, in my opinion, is the physical and very edible manifestation of all the flavors of the sea. When served very fresh, which is highly preferred by this foodie, it has less of a fishy taste and more of a… sea taste. It’s hard to put into words, but here’s me taking a whack at it:

If I were a meat lover (I eat meat, and I love steak, but I don’t consider myself a meat lover) a truly amazing mouthful of raw oyster is analogous to a 4-star-restaurant’s filet mignon. Not to mention that oysters help with your sex life.**** Again, not that kind of blog.

This one was from the famous Acme Oyster Bar in New Orleans. It rates second on Urbanspoon, second only to Cafe du Monde (which, if you knew New Orleans, is admittedly a good “number one” but in a very casual, very sugary, and very beignet-y way. But that’s for another day’s scribblings.)

Now the oysters here are quite possibly the freshest I’ve ever eaten/consumed/inhaled since I’ve left the sunny tropics of my country. And in fact, these were not the best that Acme could offer. I’m quite immovable with my choice in seafood, and when I saw I like my oysters raw. I. Like. Them. Raw. Despite the fact that the Chargrilled oysters came highly recommended. But no worries, I’m only an hour away. <3

I think that perhaps the best serving of oysters I’ve had, other than the oysters on the half shell here at Acme were the Oyster Shooters that Acme also served.
 It was amazing. If someone took that same bite of filet mignon I mentioned and stuck it in a shot glass, added A1 steak sauce, and filled it to the brim with vodka, I highly doubt that the result would come out half as awesome as these. Only $1.49 (which is butt cheap since a proper shot is around $5 on Bourbon street), it entails the oyster (without the shell duh), a spoonful of cocktail sauce,  a pinch of Worcestshire sauce (I think, you can never tell with all these secret ingredients), and of course vodka (not much of a secret there).

Ask for a second dollop of the cocktail sauce. It gives a nice kick as it goes down your throat, and is a definite contrast to the vodka. You in fact don’t even taste the oyster. Just a brief glimpse of the wonderful soft texture.

Oysters, in summation, are amazing.

*HAHAHAHAHAHA. Er, I don’t know. It must be because oysters just do that to you.
**I never understood what role saltines played. It brought out the flavor, but not as well as the cocktail sauce. It could give a break from the texture, but in my opinion, that’s the best part of the oyster.
***I’m pretty ethnocentric. If you’ve not noticed.
****Yeah, it must be that.

The night started with the decision to dress up like a million bucks. Level accomplished. We strutted in with our million-dollar selves and came upon the hostess who promptly took us to our table. Our waiter, a guy by the name of Chris, was nothing less than welcoming. I thought we had the best waiter around, but it seemed that everyone who worked at Zea’s pretty much loved their job. When asked to give us recommendations about what we should order, I almost thought our waiter would cry out for joy. He didn’t waste much breath in telling us exactly what we should get.

At first, my friend and I were thinking of skipping appetizers, but after listening to Chris talk about the Mediterranean humus–how it would change our lives, we couldn’t help but give in.

And he was right.

I don’t think I’ll ever buy humus in Walmart again.

The pita bread was warm when he brought it out. And the humus spread was UhMayZing*.  The humus was creamy, almost as if it had some sort of dairy in it. It’s hard to fathom what all went in there, but there were Roma tomatoes, which gave gave a zesty aftertaste when you are able to load a piece on your bread. The feta cheese was balanced well with the rest of the garnish. I love contrasting flavors, and the cheese helped bring out the flavor of the humus. It would have otherwise totally drowned in the black olives and other herbs, but the cheese tied the flavors of the entire dish. Oh and don’t get me started on the perfectly softened garlic halves. I like to chase things around with my bread, but the garlic halves surprised me at how they mushed against my bread. If I hadn’t spent so much time looking so good before dinner, I totally would have dropped my dignity and asked for a small plate of those garlic halves. Suffice it to say, This Humus Was Perfect. I can’t stop thinking about it.

We also couldn’t finish it. So if you just want a place to hang out. Go to Zea’s. Get a drink at the bar, and order the Mediterranean Humus. I’m sure the bartender would oblige you with a good conversation. The staff was wonderful.

For our entrees, I had the Rotisserie Chicken with Sweet and Sour glazing and my sides were buttered sweet potatoes and roasted corn. My friend had the Thai Style Rotisserie ribs, steamed broccoli, and Zea potatoes.

The chicken was well-marinated, and the skin of the fowl was very tasty. The breast was a little on the dry side but only on that side. The rest of the chicken was well-cooked to taste. The ribs were juicy, not overly succulent, just well put together. They didn’t drip of marinate either, which I think is a sign of well prepared meat: to have the marinate taste through without the excess slopping around it.

Now the sides were also very good. My sweet potatoes were rich and buttery, and almost reminds me of homemade carrot souffle**. My roasted corn was also very good. Quite oily, but the salt and the natural sweetness of corn was a very good compliment to my potatoes. The Zea potatoes my friend had were a little on the salty side, but they were soft and had a good spice. She says that she really loved the brocoli, it was simple, it had no garnishing, and it was perfectly steamed, as in the top green seed-like part didn’t fall off when she ate it, but it was soft and just… “Goood.”

We had our drinks as a dessert. She had the Tiramisu Martini, which we promptly discussed as ” exactly like how we make our Screaming Orgasms…only on the Multiple Level.” I had the Sunset Slowdown. A Midori based cocktail that was amazing and the perfect drink to end an amazing meal. I had never had a Midori based cocktail at a nice restaurant, most restaurants stick with Gin and Vodka and none-international liquor. So in other words, it was kind of awesome.

So that’s my first entry. I think I may have gone on a little too long, but I think when food is that good, it deserves some time, some thesaurus-looked-up-words, some TLC on a blog, a good Urbanspoon rating, and a smiley post-it note on top of the boxed leftovers put aside for tomorrow’s lunch.

*Sometimes, I like to misspell my words. Because correctly spelled English words just don’t cut anymore!

**Carrot Souffle from a Thanksgiving dinner I had at a friend’s place. I still think about it from time to time, whether or not she used cinammon spice or just brown sugar. Sigh.

It’s a hard thing to reminisce: my future prospects from a decade ago. Twelve-year -old me would have probably told you that I really wanted to become a scientist, but that I was more likely to become a doctor. (Then, since I was a hardheaded little twelve-year-old,  I’d ask you to not tell my parents that, because Asian parents always want their children to become doctors. My ambitions of becoming a porn star wouldn’t stand a chance*…). Doctors are revered in Asia. They achieve some extent of financial freedom, and no other respectable, fluid career is as easily made in the Philippines. Unless its corruption. But truly, back then I didn’t even think about my future. Much less, how it could have been in a different country altogether.

This story really starts all the way back to how my dad met my mom.**

Great story. Ask me about it sometime and I’ll tell you. I will give you the point of it though. They met each other, were converted to Christianity with a Gideon’s Bible (those things are actually really significant—I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for those), and were disowned for their change in faith and getting married in a Christian church. Crazy crazy start for them, you’d think. They started from scratch, living on two pesos a day. What am I living on right now? A credit card and the promise of a nice five figure sum for this year. Can I live on the equivalent of two pesos? Uh no. That wouldn’t even cover the amount of air-conditioning I require to breathe FOR five minutes.  I would die of asphyxiation.  But I digress.

About 14 years later (I know this because I’m two years shy of how old their relationship is), my parents visited America. And all I could really get from their stories about this wonderful country was that the hotel served a free breakfast with things called Bagels. So if you had asked twelve-year-old me why we moved to America, I would have told you that my mother was crazy over Bagels.

(I mean really, who isn’t? I love lox and cream cheese, and the chives… yes. So good.)

We weren’t wealthy by a long shot, but we made do. My parents owned a t-shirt making business and the year we hit 6-figure profits (Pesos), they made the decision to buy our family a life here rather than an SUV. Anything is a better decision than an SUV, but again I digress. We sold the entire business, the sewing machines, the mountains of folded cloth that my siblings spent hours climbing, the big table that my mother bent over and worked on, sacrificing tears, sweat, and occasionally her fingers—she used an industrial cutter that slices through layers of cloth. We sold everything. The house.  My things.  My precious, stupid, twelve-year-old things. My entire life was reduced to two cardboard boxes.

It’s ridiculous how often I find myself reducing my entire life to a couple of cardboard boxes.

Then we were on an airplane for 14 hours. Fourteen, long, troublesome hours, made so by my brothers who, at that point, could not sit still even at gunpoint. Then suddenly we were in America, The United States, the land of opportunity, and all these other pedestal-ic names. But it wasn’t that easy getting through (not that any of the aforementioned parts were easy), because the customs officer at Los Angeles international airport, seeing a family of six on travel visas and twelve cardboard boxes, could not contain his excitement in making our lives a living nightmare for two hours. My parents were not without a plan when they decided to move us here. They wanted to establish a small t-shirt business in California. On travel visas, that is completely legal, almost recommended. It was the appearance they had a problem with. Twelve cardboard boxes and all four of your children? Ha! No way we were planning to go back when our travel visa time is up.

And they were absolutely right on that point, but completely wrong about how we were going to do it.

Because we didn’t do it illegally. That’s just plain stupid.

My five months in California was almost idyllic. There was a pool, I spoke English well, I was making friends with White People (I know I give you guys crap, but you guys really are awesome) and I had no worries whatsoever about the future. My parents? Not quite. In fact, they spent much of their afternoons praying in the bathroom (they told me this later, I didn’t understand a thing back then), because we had absolutely no surety of staying, and if my dad didn’t get a job soon, we would finish all of our savings. We were living with my aunt and uncle in their one-bedroom apartment. We were so blessed to have them as family—need I emphasize how there was six of us? And Four Of That Six Were Children.

Anyways, my dad finally got an interview with a ministry television network in Arkansas. At that point, I have never heard of Arkansas. In fact, I didn’t think it was still in America—but I was so oblivious to the entire thing, I don’t think I really cared. What I did pay attention to, and it was only after the fact had already happened, was that my dad was scheduled to fly to Little Rock on September 11, 2001.

Needless to say the interview didn’t happen that day.  The entire nation was put into turmoil, and it seemed like a very likely possibility that my family was going to have to go back to the Philippines.  After all, who would hire my dad now? Not yet an immigrant even, who would sponsor our family for a visa?

But this network did. They needed an engineer who had extensive experience in broadcasting and that was my father. My dad is a high-baller. He writes articles for several electric engineering magazines, he’s the head of some electric engineering society. He put the cool in Electric Engineering. (Yeah, I just butchered that saying, deal with it. Be thankful it wasn’t worse.) Thus with many anguished tears and thousands of dollars later, we were sponsored to stay in America in Little Rock, Arkansas. All this done very legally.

After 9/11, some sense was knocked into me and I realized I am actually part of this place called Earth–and I began to listen. Not well at first. But then it came to the point that I was accused of Vulcan hearing because I would always know when “ice cream” was said. (In actuality, my parents don’t know how to whisper. They think they do, but they fail miserably at this point.)

Life wasn’t all sunsets and sushi though. We were in debt from all the visa applications and trying to start up. We lived in a sketch apartment complex, but we were happy. I used to wear one outfit to church and I didn’t care. I used to have holes in my tennis shoes, and when it rained, my socks would get really wet. But we were happy. We were happy whenever we’d go to Burger King and my sister and I would split drinks.

We still do.

After I started listening, I came to understand that that happiness cost more than I really could understand. Yes, we were paying for it slowly but surely, but we had an amazing Co-signer. No debt was too great for Him. No cost too overwhelming. No ocean to great, no mind too small.

Six years later, I graduated high school with a full scholarship to college. Three years after that, so did my brother.  Ten years to that time we set foot on American soil, I, a chemical engineer graduate, just finished watching the sunset and am about to run to the pool…in a completely different state, starting a completely new job in approximately 20 hours.

Sunsets, cardboard boxes, decisions between a new car or a new country…it all just becomes insignificant when you realize that there is something far greater than the moment you are currently living in. That there is a guiding Hand in all the crazy. Twelve-year-old me may have known English well enough to speak without an accent, but I did not know God well enough to imagine that I could be speaking it in America.

I’m pretty happy. Take away the apartment, take away the sunsets, and take away the sushi and shopping trips, and the stiletto heels I now own. Take it all away. Because you know that place where you have nothing? I’ve been there. And you know what?

It doesn’t matter when you have Him.

Footnotes, dears.

*Sarcastic…You know, just in case.  I don’t think I’d be good at porn… I’m good at scrabble.

** I LOVE HOW I MET YOUR MOTHER. I really want a story like that someday. One that will last more than SEVEN SEASONS.

I don’t think I’ve blogged about my obsession of raw fish.

There you go.

I don’t think I’ll live without sushi. I’ve always been in love with this stuff, long before I ever studied abroad in Japan. In fact, I’m one of the three co-founders of “awkward sushi night,” which is when my friends and I invite other people who have never met each other to come and take part of this wonderful dish.

This event is spread by word of mouth. We don’t believe in Facebook events when it comes to exclusive pagan practices and sushi. (I don’t participate in the former, but I just don’t think that sort of thing should be Facebooked…I don’t know. I cant remember the last time I’ve been to a virgin sacrifice. {Ok really Just Kidding}.)

There are rules for awkward sushi night. 1) All of those who partake in the sushi during this even must be known by one of the three co-founders. Those who are invited do not necessarily need to know everyone else. 2) One cannot use a fork, chopsticks only. This is non-negotiable. A friend of mine did this once. He’s only alive because I wasn’t present to witness such a defiling act. 3)Trades are a must. If you do not trade, you probably will not be invited again.

I’m a very avid sushi connoisseur (if there is such a thing). I know my way around textures, tastes, ratio of soy sauce to fish and rice and, most importantly, the Japanese names of the fish. And I love taking pictures of these works of art. (As to whether or not my photographs do the dishes justice, you are not allowed to comment on.)

The pictures are all taken in restaurant that my friends and I have visited since we started college. Awkward Sushi night was born on the first Friday of our undergraduate careers. Alongside two of my best friends, we partook of this beautiful dinner. I still remember the rolls we ordered. Spider, Dragon, and Super Crunchy Shrimp. It was a pivotal time for us. A wonderful time. We had all dressed up (in subconscious preparation for our first Friday night as college girls) for dinner. Easy yet nice tops, open-toed shoes (there was none of this snow nonsense that is currently happening now), and clear fresh faces.

The first hour we merely walked around to look for a nice place to eat. The street that leads up to the University center is famous for a number of its bars, restaurants, and truly infusing the word “college night life” full of spices and meaning for all those who went to my school. We were walking around until my eyes settled on this whole-in-the-wall, petite sushi restaurant. As I read and wondered to myself the title of this restaurant (which for safety purposes I will not devoid on this blog), I had apparently slipped into a world of my own (which I’m very known to do when food is concerned).

Two things happened.

1) I lose sense of my surroundings.

2) I get truly hungry.

Hahahahaha. Unfortunately, I missed out on the best compliment of my life at that very moment. Because while I was wondering whether or not to bring my friends into this sushi place that I’ve not even googled yet (because it is always best to background check sushi restaurants! always!), a man–nay a college boy–had apparently paid me the compliment of simply telling me I’m beautiful, out of the blue.

And in my stupor over whether or not I wanted a roll or just a couple of nigiris, I had completely missed it. My silence and lack of acknowledgment of his existence was taken as a shy rejection, and the boy walked away.

All this was related to me after my friends had knocked the wind out of my already empty stomach. It was only while sipping green tea after we had made our orders did I realize that I might have just let slip possibly the best drama of my life. (Actually that’s not true, I had the best/worst drama of my life last semester. I don’t think having drama with some dude who tells me I’m beautiful and doesn’t follow up on it could have even compared to what happened last semester.)

This restaurant has gone through several owners. I can recall the different names its undergone–and how it became a game between my friends and I to try and call it with its most recent name when we plan our Friday nights for dining out. We don’t often dine out anywhere else. I don’t even remember eating out on a Friday night that didn’t involve sushi. We tried other restaurants of course, we wanted to know what other places could offer, but we always came back here. To this place.

This semester, it fell into the hands of a Japanese owner. (For some reason, Koreans own a lot of sushi places. I don’t understand. They need to stop that.) It has been the best it has ever been. The servings are bigger. The appetizers are complimentary–miso, salad and ginger dressing, and edamame–all free! And the artwork reached the level of pièce de résistance. (You know, in my limited knowledge of the French language, I don’t understand why they call it that. Because it always seems to me that anything that is called this is, quite plainly, irresistible. So French people, why isn’t it called pièce de IRrésistance?)

寿司が好き

I love sushi.

My internship is almost over. I have less and less to do now, except for the one project that I cannot stand, of course. That and the miscellaneous chatting I have on the work-network that I have access to (Since they banned facebook, I suppose this is one of the smaller privileges I can actually take advantage of.) Things are slow here. Nothing to do, all those three months, down the drain. I’m quite glad I’m going back to school.

On that note, I do have to confess that a lot of self-discovery has happened this summer. Much of it to do with how I feel unused and how there is so much languor in my days of working at the plant. I mean its interesting, but nothing here elicits any fervor in me. I have no purpose here. I don’t feel like I’m making much of a difference in the world if I calculate some flow rate or another here. In that sense, I realized that my purpose involves going to graduate school and doing research in biological systems. Shortly after that realization, I had another one. I realized that doing a second internship in the fall, one that will effectively throw away a whole semester that should be used to finish up my last year, is totally the wrong move in my life. Thank God I have parents who are supportive of my academic passion, even when the alternative involves buckets of money. I’m so glad to have been shown a little bit of what God has in store for me. I mean, people look all the time for a direction in life, and I was one of those people for the past two years, at least. Then suddenly, utter clarity. Not complete clarity. Just enough, to get me where I need to be in the next phase of my life.

I didn’t get to read as many books as I would have liked. I got so far as to finish Ender’s Game and Ender’s Shadow. I even had Persuasion on audiobook during my two-hour drives home and back. But all that pales in comparison to the Kite Runner.

One of the greatest books I had the pleasure of listening to.

Listening to this on audiobook might be a mistake though. It literally moved me to tears, and I was sobbing so hard on the interstate I had to park on the shoulder and get a hold of myself. It made me cry three times. Not once. Not even twice. Three times. That is amazing. I don’t cry over stupid sappy love stories, and this amazing adventure of two boys, from childhood friendship, through troubled puberty, through incomplete adolescence, and finally, absolution–was an entire genre of its own. It is a masterpiece so well-written, and so breathtaking, none of the books I have so far read can compare. Now that is saying something*.

I plan to cook Sweet and Sour Chicken soon. I just don’t think I’ll post a picture of it on here though. I think I’m going to use the Kikkoman Sweet and Sour Sauce for the basis of the taste, and just drown well-sauteed chicken in sauteed bell peppers, carrots, and some soysauce. Then mix in a can of pineapple chunks and just go by trial and error. I feel like the BAMF of novice cooks. I love the fact that I’m Asian. I’m so excited to be living off-campus this school year! (Okay, end of vapid outbursts of how awesome I am. And how awesome my poolside** apartment will be.)

Also, just as a note (since I don’t believe in publicizing very intimate and personal thoughts—hmm, makes you wonder why I’m blogging…makes me wonder why I AM blogging…), I think there’s a very real possibility that I like someone… and that they like me back. I mean, I’ve never had anyone like me back I think. In fact, I think we developed our somewhat still-unfounded feelings at about the same time and rate because of all those miscellaneous chats, that all started with a story involving two girly cocktails and a shot, and one weird elevator ride. But I digress (or am becoming too specific, and am fearful for my little heart!), I just thought I’d mention that as a thought.***

So yeah, I am now 44 minutes behind my schedule of Sleep. Sleep is good. Unless you’d rather do something else, then it becomes a bother. Or rather, sleep is overrated until you do it. Then it’s awesome. Yes that thinking is not my own, sadly enough. But I was there (in facebook spirit) when it was thought of, and verbalized, and made permanent as a double status between myself and my brother.

Less than three to all of you who will never read this blog. <3

*I read. It is one of the thing I do best. I used to dabble mostly in the young adult genre, but nowadays, I find nothing to hold my interest in there. I hate how everything seem less and less meaningful in that area. Everything is so superficial in that genre nowadays, everywhere I look its vampire this and vampire that. Suck it.

**Yeah, you read right. Poolside.

***Makes you wonder how long I can write about the entire thing if that paragraph can count as a note. I know, my friends hate it too.

But enough of the drama. I passed my classes and am now on an internship that seemingly wants to take my very will to live. Oh, not that it’s awfully hard like my classes. It’s just that I’m so bored. But that’s not the point of this post.

Lately, I’ve been cooking. Alot. Ever since I moved in alone into this…habitat? It’s a home of some sort. Something between an apartment and hunter’s lodge (evident from the gun rack complete with casting lights in the study room. Interesting yes?). I’ve so far realized that soy sauce is my savior, and tomatoes with a pinch of salt will save me from over soy-saucing anything. Not that that makes any sense but take for example an attempt* to make fried chicken. I somehow have it in my mind that to put more flavor, a tablespoon of soy sauce ought to make my poultry cooking skills better. It was in fact better than the tasteless version I had the other day, but I had left it in the marinate too long (thirty minutes only! Not 35, not 40. Thirty minutes.). So as a side dish, I cut up a tomato and very lightly salted it to spread over my rice. It was quite wonderful. Nothing so satisfying as a well-cooked meal. (Version number 1 of fried chicken was something you can call a number of things–but not well-cooked.)

So other than this vent on fried chicken, what else do I have to offer for your reading, might you ask. Well here you go. Book review time!

Ender’s game is one of those treasures that I had stumbled upon–well not really Stumbledupon(R),  my research mentor recommended it to me. It was a well-crafted plot, complete with vivid strategy, almost** relate-able characters, and–my favorite–bug-squashing. If you have ever seen Starship Troopers, it’s like that but with brains. There’s hardly any brawn since the leading character is a child. And this is no Harry-Potter-alike plot. The child is a prodigy–but it takes the other characters so long to figure this out (it was quite obvious to me, I mean, there’s only so much an eleven-year old could do before I know with absolute confidence that he can kill big gigantic bugs–notwithstanding the fact that the book is titled after him) that he had to own each and unfair challenge set before him until they allowed him to become the apprentice of the last military genius that Earth had to offer. But enough of my spoiling. You can go read it for yourself.

I plan to read many more books this summer. But I’m not sure how I’ll manage it with my 8-hour work days. I get up so early and come home at 5 PM, that I barely have time to actually cook if I’ve truly committed myself to running an hour everyday this summer. Sometimes, I think that I’m a little more out of time during the summer than during fall and spring semesters. No, I must be losing my mind. It’s this internship. But no matter, Christ’s strength, I will overcome this obstacle. AND I WILL GO BACK TO SCHOOL AND LOVE IT.

*I hardly think I’m successful at it yet since it’s water content is slightly lower than the desired “Juicy”, with the capital J. But it was good, not bad for a first-time all-time cook on a gas range (hate gas ranges).

**Well I can hardly relate to a little pre-teen boy who has the inherent knowledge of overpowering all of his enemies. But if there was a bug invasion, I would be his friend.