"funny the way it is, when you think about it..."

 

(via)

"I now realize that she's no longer my best friend..."

Those words escaped my mouth as I was sitting at my kitchen table, having dinner with one of my girl friends.  We talked boys, jobs, money, and friends, yet the subject of friendships held a more sustainable conversation.  

As we get older, we discover the importance of things like finances, relationships, careers and friendships.  We learn that we have to allow others to grow up and just hope that there will still be some kind of bond that ties us together after all those years.

I reconnected with my childhood best friend through Facebook about two weeks ago.  We spent nearly every weekend going to the pool or hanging out together growing up.  When she moved away, I knew our friendship wouldn't be the same.  Over those years, we've both graduated from different high schools, graduated from different colleges, moved to different cities and got married (her, not me).  Even now, knowing she only lives one hour away from me, our friendship still will never be the same. 

One reason I'm in therapy is to find a way to fix my friendship with my [now] best friend.  Whether that means rebuilding, restructuring, or ending it, is for me to decide, but I knew that if our dynamic continued the way it did, it would have led to a drastic and painful ending.

As my friend continued to rant about some of the issues she was having with her best friend, I knew exactly how she felt.  She doesn't listen to what I have to say.  She doesn't seem to take much of an interest in my life.  She always wants something to revolve around her.  

It was then that I realize that my best friend isn't my best friend anymore. Not because I don't want her to be my best friend, but because of the mere fact that both of us are growing up and growing apart. 

"Distance makes the heart grow fonder."

Whoever said that needs to be shot in the head.

Just kidding.  Kind of.

Long distance friendships are hard to maintain.  When I look at my friendships now, most of them are with friends who are in my city.  It was easy when my best friend lived 300 miles away, but we were still in the same state.  Now that she's moved to Flo-rida, it's much more difficult to schedule weekends, birthdays and holidays together.  At the same time though, friendships are a two-way street.  You have to put in, just as much as you're getting back.   

Perhaps part of our problem is that we hold too high of an expectation of each other.  Or maybe it really is the distance.  Or the fact that we are at completely different stages in our lives right now.  Whatever it is though, has caused me to cut the umbilical cord remove my emotional tie from her.  At first, when my therapist recommended this I thought she was nuts.  How am I supposed to remove my emotional tie from someone I've known for 14 years and confide in?  But for the last month I've been so consumed with other things, other responsibilities and other friends, that I discovered I'm at a much happier place now in our friendship, than I was when we were best friends. 

"funny the way it is, when you think about it..."

- Dave Matthews Band -

how do you make those life-changing decisions?

(via)

"The doors we open and close each day decide the lives we live."

- Flora Whittemore -

When faced with a big, life-changing decision, what do you do?

Do you make the more sensible decision or do you take the risk, not knowing what the outcome is?  How do you evaluate it?  How many people do you talk to about it?  Which people do you talk to about it?

I've never been good at making those tough choices.  Especially ones that could change your life.  But lately I've been re-evaluating where I am in my life.

I'm almost 27, with a job that's starting to make me miserable, in a city that is slowly becoming unsatisfying.  The only thing keeping me here, really, are my friends.

My decision?   

Quit my job at the end of August (when my lease expires) and buy a plane ticket to my home land and spend a few weeks traveling abroad.  Risk the unknown - both in a new country, and when I return to the States - not knowing if I'd be able to find a job when I return, not knowing how long I'd be able to live off of a small savings account, not knowing .... anything.  

or

Stay at my current job (and hold onto the benefits of having health insurance and growing my retirement fund), in my current city, and settle for what I have.....until I can find something better.  IF I can find something better.

I have every intention of re-visiting my home land, but I've always had an excuse not to.  I don't have enough money.  I don't have the time.  I don't... I don't... I don't... I'm starting to run out of excuses.  I'm starting to realize that I need to do this, but it's a trip that could potentially change my life and that?  Is scary.  Because this time I have control over it.  I can do it on my own terms.  

Teachers prepare you for certain things in the "real world," but they don't prepare you for those life-changing decisions you have to make.  Moments that could change your life, for better or worse.  Time that cannot be undone.  Experiences that will shape another part of your life. 

A decision (and trip) that could potentially change my life and I'm too scared to make it. 

it's about accepting and owning the many pieces of your life

(via)

I sat there, talking about Elizabeth Gilbert, Jennifer Lancaster, David Sedaris and Augusten Burroughs.  

"I just can't find my voice." I said, "all of those authors talk about the detailed intimacies of their lives like it's no big deal."

"And why do you think that is?" she asked me.

I thought about it for a second.  "I don't know."

"What do all of those writers have in common?" she asked.  

The questions were getting a little annoying, but I know she was trying to get me to see the bigger picture.

"Me.  Because I read their books."  I smiled.  As she let out a laugh, I knew that probably wasn't the answer she was looking for.  

And then it hit me.  

It's about owning and accepting your life.  

...Accepting your past in order to get to your brighter future...

...Owning the mistakes you've made, the lessons you've learned and the experiences you've witnessed first-hand when you tell your story...

I've never been good with the whole acceptance thing.  Unless it's money or alcohol related.

Why yes, I will graciously accept that crisp $100 bill that I see poking out of your zipper wallet so you can buy me a drink.

See?  Easy acceptance.  

But accepting the dark and scary stuff?  It's too hard.  

TWSS.

As much as people tell me how brave and strong of a woman I am, I am embarrassed about my past.  The reality is, people look at me differently - whether in a good way or a bad way - and I hate that.  I hate being that girl with a broken past.  I know it's something I should be proud of, but I can't get myself to that point yet.  I can't accept how my life has turned out.  Which leads to the failure of owning it.  Which also leads to the failure of completing my memoir.

I've been working on my memoir a lot lately and I realized that I can't find my "voice" until I own my past.  David Sedaris and Augusten Burroughs are such great writers and they write about the intimate details of their life because they have accepted and owned up to it.   

I want to get there, I just don't know how.

Where's "there?"

You know, there.  That point in life where you are completely comfortable.  You don't cringe when you have to recapture those tragic moments of your life.  You don't feel embarrassed when the only reply you get is, "I'm sorry." or "That sucks."  You don't feel judged or criticized.  You just feel... you.

I know getting there is a long, slow process.  It takes understanding and accepting the smaller things (like accepting the act of suicide before volunteering with suicide prevention) to accept the bigger things.  It's difficult to accept certain things in life that you feel you could have changed.  Or even prevented.  At 12 years old, I feel like I could have done or said something to change my father's decision.  I felt like I should have done something, even though none of us had any idea something was wrong with him.

Acceptance and ownership could be the missing pieces of my happiness, but at least I know I'm on the right track of getting there.  And one day, I'll be able to own my story.  And my memoir.

"Don't ask for an easier life; ask to be a stronger person."

yours truly, age 2.

I never really fully understood racism until I got to Junior High school and kids slung derogatory names at me.

Chink.  Gook.  

They would stretch the corners of their eyes, making them look small, thin and slanted, mocking the typical Asian eyes.  Or talk to me in broken English.  Or put their hands together and bow down at me.

Kids can be so cruel.

I cried every day after school for nearly a year.  I cried myself to sleep, praying kids would stop torturing me.  Even worse, I prayed I would wake up and look "normal" like all of my other classmates.  At one point during my childhood, I despised my parents for adopting me.
 

In my school district, you were either Caucasian or African American.  Any other race and classmates would torture you until you went running down the hall, crying to the Principal's office.  Over time, it eventually got easier to be accepted as Asian, but I secretly hated being a different race than all of my friends and even my family.

I was an abandoned baby in South Korea, left in a basket at a bus stop and brought to an orphanage by an elderly gentleman.  I have no records of my birth parents and I have no way to trace them.  Rejected.  Not even my own birth parents wanted me. 

Over the years, I've learned to grow a thick skin.  People make racist comments and sling racist jokes at me like it's nothing.  Boys date me because they've never been with an Asian girl.  Or boys won't date me because I am Asian.  All I've ever wanted was to fit in.  Since when did it become so hard to be accepted and treated equally?

My internal issues of rejection and abandonment never surfaced until lately.  I'm becoming more aware of the way people [outside of my friends circle] talk to me and treat me.  I'm learning that there are more people in this world - more than I noticed - who base someone on the color of their skin, rather than the goodness of their heart or the adversity in their soul. 

I've always hesitated to tell my story.  Abandoned right after birth. Adopted. Abandoned again by age 20. Cancer survivor by age 25.  My story isn't glamorous.  It's not made up of butterflies and rainbows and glitter; it's dark, deep, painful, emotional and heart breaking.  And even after all of these years, it's still embarrassing to talk about.  For years I've always portrayed a sense of strength and resiliency.  Nothing really seemed to phase me.  But as I get older, the strength deteriorates and the vulnerability becomes more apparent.  It gets more difficult to take those racist jokes with a grain of salt. 

"The past has left its stain
Now I feel the shame
I'll seize the day
If you take away
The chains of yesterday."

- Lifehouse -

wise words:

"There are moments in our lives when we find ourselves at a crossroad, afraid, confused, without a road map.  The choices we make in those moments can define the rest of our days.  Of course when faced with the unknown, most of us prefer to turn around and go back.  But once in a while, people push on to something better, something found just beyond the pain of going it alone, and just beyond the bravery and courage it takes to let someone in, or give someone a second chance, something beyond the quiet persistence of a dream.  Because it's only when you're tested that you discover who you are, that you discover who you can be.  The person you can be does exist beyond the hard work, faith, belief and beyond the heartache and fear of what lies ahead."

- One Tree Hill -

you can take the girl out of the city, but you can't take the city out of the girl

"Never forget your roots or the people who watched you grow up."

Conversations of family, friends, relationships, work, and memories over a three hour brunch with a former boss-turned-friend.  She provided me with my very first job, working at the University Library during my junior year of high school.  It was my first real experience in the work force and it was down right intimidating.  She showed me the ropes, introduced me to her colleagues and co-workers and before I knew it, I returned every summer thereafter.  Sure, the work was dry and mundane, but that experience set me up for my professional career.

As we get older, we sometimes forget those people who have watched us grow.  The neighbors and family friends who have, and always will, genuinely care about you: the neighbors whose children you grew up with and spent sleep overs at their house; the family friend who held both of your parents funerals at his Funeral Home and witnessed your worst moments; the former boss who nurtured the start of your professional career.  These are the people who truly matter.  These are the people who would do anything for you [or your family] because they have done nothing but love and support you after all of these years.  These people have watched you grow up, perhaps even along side their own children. 

Family isn't always defined by genealogy and DNA.  For some, it's defined by those people who have watched you grow up, seen you at your absolute best and worst in life, and have continued to stay a part of it.  When we lose someone close to us, we tend to lose touch with those who knew the deceased.  Whether it's a sibling, a best friend or a colleague - we forget that it wasn't just us who lost a loved one; they did, too.

"Don't say it to me unless you mean it."

We often say something just for the sake of speaking and not necessarily because we mean it.  We say something because it makes the other person feel good, not necessarily because we want to say it.  

I said "thank you" to my former boss-turned-friend as we were sitting at brunch, wrapping up our conversations.  I said it - not because she paid for brunch [although yes, I did thank her for that, too], but because she has provided me with undying love and support since I was seventeen, just as my own parents would have done for someone.  She lost a close friend and a colleague the same day I lost my mother, and it wasn't until we had brunch over the weekend and started reminiscing, that I realized she had been mourning for the last seven years, too.

We remember the impact of close friends and old lovers, but we forget about the impact of those who have literally watched us grow up.  We [sometimes] forget what kind of impact our hometown has on us - cultures, diversity, social scene, restaurants, sports teams, buildings - until we are old enough to appreciate it.  The beauty a city can have on a person is something to admire.