Charmed

Despite what I may be experiencing at any moment or what I may be feeling (which is a little sadness if you must know), I know that I lead a charmed life.

No. I'm not uber wealthy and hob-nobbing with the uber powerful and uber famous.

No. I don't have the privilege of getting away with whatever I want simply for my fame, title, last name, position, or money. I have neither of these things. (Well... I have a last name -- number 80-something of Chinese surnames, I believe -- but nothing that brings prestige like a Vanderbilt or Kennedy name.)

And, no, I'm not the life of the party, hanging with the "it" crowd, or on the social scene around town.

But, you know what?

I have two parents, a sister, grandparents (three still living), great aunts, great uncles, cousins, second cousins, third cousins, aunts, uncles, and other relatives who care about me and wish to see me happy and successful (however I define happiness and success).

I have friends who will be there when I really truly need them, even if most of the time I feel very alone.

I am passionate about many things in life, which, in and of itself, makes life worth living all the time.

I possess many skills and talents and have many, many goals for myself and others.

I have a family who sacrificed a lot so that I could be born in the United States, receive a decent education, attend a prestigious public university (though I don't always see where the prestige comes from, mind you), live a warm home, have food on the table, and be able to afford nice clothes (I am a fashion freak after all). I mean, how many kids can say that they are not in need of finding a job in this recession because their parents made it so that they didn't need to? (Don't get me wrong, if the primary income-earner in my family lost his/her job, we'd fall through the economic ladder in no time.)

I am healthy. What more do I need to say? (Okay, I have crazy year-round allergies, used to have crazy migraines, and still am affected by asthma -- will I ever outgrow it? Still... I'm basically healthy.)

Truth is, I don't need a lot of money or prestige or fame to lead a charmed life. I have the basics and then some. I can enjoy trips across the country or across the globe on a very limited budget. I can enjoy beautiful clothes from thrift stores and discount stores and am not ashamed of it. I can enjoy this rare thing called lots and lots of free time to decide my next step in life.

I'm not here to gloat or brag. I'm just saying... I can't and shouldn't complain about my life. It's relatively drama-free (oh, no, we still fight, a lot) and my parents have taught me how to enjoy a lush life with very little. And that's a life I wouldn't trade for all the money in the world.

I hope you all can see the beauty in your own charmed life. Happy Holidays.

Today is the Giving of Thanks

And give thanks I shall try to do today.

Thanks.

Fade into the back

Lately I have been noticing a trend (in my own life) towards the subtle and the muted. I feel a great urge to return to the pure and the natural (or, at least, my interpretation of pure and natural). Subtle, muted, pure, and natural are piggybacking on the simple and minimalist lifestyle I have been trying to craft for myself.

There is something very freeing about colors that fall into the back, neutrals that seem both luxurious and, well, natural (like it's something we are meant to enjoy, that we know we will enjoy), and soft, muted shades that sometimes feel like a second skin. They feel so natural, like it is no big deal to be so drawn to them, yet so new, like rediscovering an old favorite.

It is a glorious discovering.

And my love for natural fibers seem like a natural, usual, appropriate affair. Linen, cotton, silk, cashmere. They are my lovers. My natural-born lovers. My birthright. And it feels like a nasty cheat when I am near synthetics: polyester (ouch), nylon (ew), rayon (OMG), and this thing they dare call "stretch" (just kill me).

This simple-subtle-minimal-faded love affair evokes states of rest and nourishment. Yearning and hungering only for that which is provided by mother nature. Mentally and emotionally fed by calm soothing shapes, shades, and gestures.

I feel as comfortable in hazy browns and grays as I do in my blues, greens, and teals. Something sumptuous. Something right. Something that is like the earth and the water that we cannot live without.

Glorious. indeed.

Collecting 40 cents Ma'am

The oddest thing occurred to me today. Well, not really me. My sister, since she answered the door first. The postman came to our door to collect 40 cents for postage due on two envelopes.

It all started a couple weeks ago when I was bidding ferociously for vintage stamps. Just a little something to perk up my mailings. I bid and won two auctions from the same seller for vintage stamps from around the world.

They took a long time to come, but, today, they finally arrived. Why it took the USPS an entire week to send a first class envelope from Nevada to California is beyond my comprehension. It wasn't heavy. It wasn't a real package. It was just a thick envelope of old postage stamps. Go figure.

My biggest surprise was seeing the postman at our door asking us for 40 cents. That has never ever happened to us before. In the past, if any mail was missing postage, it would be sent back to the sender before I'd ever receive anything. Is this a new policy?

It doesn't seem like an effective policy change. It slows down the mail carrier's route by having to walk up to the door, ring the doorbell, wait for anyone to answer the door, and then collect money, before continuing his/her route. And what if the mail I am paying for was junk mail? Or unwanted, unsolicited mail? Why would I pay for that? Shouldn't it be the sender's responsibility to affix proper postage? Gee... am I now able to send mail to friends with a 5 cent stamp and let them pick up the rest of the tab? Doesn't seem like the best way to do things.

However, at the end of the day, I'm not too upset over losing 40 cents. I'll live. It's the irony that kills me and gives me cause to laugh. My package of postage stamps lacked the necessary postage to get to me. Postage for postage! Get it? Oh, how it kills me still. :)

Tom, or so I think

There is a man who lives in the open garage of a multi-story brick-laden house that is a part of "The Co-op"* (better known as the Berkeley Student Cooperatives, doing business as the University Student's Cooperative Association). And there he lived for years and years and probably many more years before.

Sometimes he comes out to play. Sometimes he likes to talk. Or give a hand when he sees someone in need. Always he says "Hello, good day" with a smile.

He is an odd sort of man. His only belongings (as far as I could tell) were the clothes on his back and the old black radio. He listened to that thing all the time, or, at least, all the times I passed by. Music, I believe. It was always music. Sometimes the news or a talk show. It is hard to recall. I have been away for a year and it is hard to recall.

At the first house council**, or maybe it was the second?, during my freshman year of college, after being on my own for an entire week, I was told this story about a man who resides next door, occupying a part of the garage whose doors are never shut. I was assured he was a kindly folk who meant no harm but also warned that a few people have had some issues with said man. Mostly minor scuffles over whose responsibility it was to maintain the trash/recycling area that nestles between Davis and Sherman***, or silly things like a verbal fight. Who knows.

A singular man. His keep at Davis primarily falls on his promise not to interfere with the members of the house and to keep to himself. He is allowed a cup of water and a member may make him a PB&J sandwich upon request. He must humble himself to invisibility, to not be in anyone's way or cause disruption. And yet his occupancy at the old brick house has far surpassed any student, for it is the tendency of students to come and go and -- upon completion of studies -- leave.

It may be his long residence at Davis Hall that explains his sense of place. Why he seems to think it is his job to take care of the trash/recycling area. And general maintenance of the small area that separates Davis and Sherman.

He is a nice sort of man. A very nice sort of man. One who never lets a passerby go without a "Hello" and, more frequently, a "How are you?" Whenever possible, I said I was good. Though, admittedly, sometimes I walked by with not a reply. Shameful. I know.

My very first encounter with this man -- or one that I can recall -- was when I attempted to heave a heavy bag of trash over the side of the large trash receptacle parked outside in the parking lot. Without realizing it, a man had come to my rescue. You see, I was neither tall nor of the physically strong nature (not in my arms, anyway) and I always, always had trouble heaving heavy bags of trash or recycling over the receptacles. Sometimes a shiny golden lock was employed and, though I tried, unsuccessful I was with the unlocking. He was always there to offer advice. More likely he would tell me to leave the trash bags on the ground and, getting up from his chair walking towards me, he'd get to it.

A singular man indeed. An existence, I wonder, if he'd led for a very long time. I should have taken some time to ask him about his life and how he came to live in the open garage of the multi-storied brick-laden house that is Davis Hall, or why he never fails to be kindly and gentlemanly.

Tom is his name, or so I think.

(My memory fails in a most disappointingly way.)


Correction: Merklin is his name. Spelling has not been confirmed. But Merklin is his name.
_______
* The Co-ops is a mostly student-run non-profit organization that provides low-cost housing to university students in the Berkeley, CA area, though one need not be a student of the University of California at Berkeley.
** House Council is essentially a house meeting for all the members of an individual housing unit (there are apartment complexes in the co-ops too). Generally bi-monthly, these meetings are a place for the members of a house to discuss important issues, resolve conflicts, and discuss any changes, purchases, policies that may affect the entire house.
*** Davis (Hall) and Sherman (Hall) are two of the houses in the co-op. They are neighboring houses. Sherman is all-women. Davis is co-ed.

Living Spirit

Sometimes I think I am the only one that is like me. We are, in many respects, unique. But, I'm not talking about traits or characteristics or personalities. I'm referring to our soul, our spirit, the us that is beyond our corporeal selves. I want so badly to believe in kindred spirits, to believe in best friends, and twin-like friends. From as long as I can remember, I have always wanted to have someone who I could share everything with -- my secrets, dreams, and wishes. Who hasn't? Who doesn't? And as far as I can remember, I never found such a person. Many times I have been fooled into thinking I found my kindred spirit. And many times I've been disappointed. Let down. Abandoned.

Maybe there is something about me that is unrelatable (that ought to be a real word, we all use it now). Maybe I'm just not deserving of it. Or, maybe, no one can ever really relate because we are, as I said before, so unique. We're all capable of relating in some form or other. How else do you explain the diverse friendships I have? How else am I able to get along with just about every individual I've met on the face of this earth? How else?

And yet... in so many other ways, I feel like a ghost or spirit or invisible being walking the earth. I was hardly ever picked first for games or included in birthday parties. I give my all to my friends and even to acquaintances and strangers. They say you should be kind or perform acts of kindness without ever expecting anything in return -- unconditional love, they say. And I knowingly perform these duties without any conditions, but, at some point, someone needs to perform acts of kindness to me too. Someone needs to let me know that I exist, that I matter, that I am important. (Notice I didn't say I was never included or acknowledged, bless those friends of mine who were filled with compassion, the ability to understand, and who were there for me.) Maybe if I looked closely, objectively, there were indeed many of these acts of kindness. Maybe I'm just blind to them because none of my friendships survived beyond two years (after I left elementary school).

I try so hard to be there for my friends and to show them that they matter to me, that they exist to me, that I am thinking of them. I send them hand-written letters on beautiful stationery, I send them packages, I leave messages on their profiles in social-networking sites, and I try to see them when I can. I try to do the same to strangers and acquaintances, trying to comfort a distraught soul or give friendly advice or just helping them carry their belongings to their car. I do what I can to put a smile on a person's face. Even if all I do is simply say "Thank you."

I'm not a very emotional person and often cannot express this same kind of love in person or in spoken form, so I do it in other ways I know how. Maybe it's me wanting too much, expecting too much, but it doesn't feel like that same love has been returned much in my life. How hard is it for people to take the time to hand-write a short note after I've written a long one and have sent across the globe? How hard is it to check in on me periodically? How hard is it to just say 'Hi, how are ya?"

I don't have the answers. I only know that I will never stop doing what I'm doing. The idea that karma exists, the idea that people do truly care about me, the idea that I will someday find my kindred spirit, it keeps me going. I can't stop now.

I know we're all busy people and there's lots to do, but, sometimes, it's worth re-evaluating what really matters, WHO really matters. Send a quick text, write a quick e-mail, send a quick postcard. You may be saving someone from becoming a living spirit -- a living, invisible, unacknowledged spirit.



(It's funny... but we have this fascination about whether or not people would really, truly care if any of us were ever to leave the world. And, really, aside from a few family members, I'm not sure anyone would. And if that isn't true, then folks have not been doing a good job of letting me know my life matters.)

(We seek attention from those who will not give it to us, or those who would give it to us, but give it so sparingly that we feel neglected all the same.)

The Back Story

I made a purchase at Goodwill this afternoon and two of the items I purchased were ladies' hats. I thought both were vintage but discovered only one could make such a claim. However, I was thrilled to find out that the less vintage hat comes from a store that sells very pricey hats. What a find, right?

History has always intrigued me. The details captivate me. The passing of time. The enduring qualities of that which remains much talked about. And then there are those things which we know little about... ever mysterious, ever elusive. Whether it's traditional history such as learning about George Washington in our school textbooks or learning about family scandals involving ancestors long gone or trying to figure out the story behind a hat you picked up at a Goodwill because it looked pretty, history has always been a mainstay in as far as interests goes. Tracking down the story, the history, doing the research to learn more about an object or person or place... You could call it a hobby.

I thoroughly enjoy getting lost in the historical foray for facts and stories and tidbits of information. Sometimes I come up with pages and pages of information, other times I might get enough to fill one sentence. In the end, it's the happy and gratifying feeling that I own a piece of history, that I am a part of history, that my possession of some thing or some knowledge adds to the story.

History, in my opinion, is one of the most relevant subjects/topics. We're constantly living in it, contributing to it. And I'm ever baffled by the short visit that time makes. It is present one moment; it joins the past - what we call 'history' - in the next.

So... when I look at my hats, or my vintage pearls, or my broken engraved I.D. bracelet, I ask and I wonder: where did you come from? who owned you? and why are you here now?

I'm Ordinary

I would like to write in here with something witty and brilliant and smart.

Then I realized it's 2:42am and I'm tired and exhausted and wit-less and dull. But I'll admit I'm smart.

Decisions are Hard to Come By

I read a wonderfully refreshing post on Avis's blog: Avie Designs about decision-making. Avis had read a post from Seth's blog about the same topic. The gist of it is: We as people need to make more decisions. It doesn't matter if we end up making a bad decision, the point is to make them. We can ultimately decide not to make any decisions, as that is a decision in and of itself, but it's not exactly the best way to go about things.

This unexpected pearl of wisdom couldn't have come at a better time. Life after graduation is a tough one and one that I am feeling each and every day. I am someone who likes a clean slate and after so many years of routinized and scheduled behavior, it's nice to take some time off to get organized. Running errands. Checking off to-do lists. Getting rid of the piles of junk I've accumulated over time. Applying for volunteering positions, fellowships, internships, and job applications. Cleaning out my computers. Putting things away. The little things really matter and, at this moment in time, I need a more minimalist way of life. I can't move on until I've achieved some semblance of that. But that's just one side to the story. The other side is my fear that I will fail at whatever I end up doing, either because I'm bad at holding down a job or I'm bad at finding the jobs that I will actually enjoy and want to put effort into. I realize I have many years to go before I find that perfect job that will keep me in my seat. But... envisioning that is scary.

After reading these posts about decision-making, I realize it's okay to fail. Failing is one of the best ways to learn and failing is a great indicator for what I'm clearly not meant to do. It's not the way I want to figure out what I'm good at, but at least it narrows the search field. So, starting today, I will make a decision -- any decision -- and move forward with it. Then I'll make another decision and another until I've reached a happy medium.

What are you waiting for? Decide!

Tick. Tock.

Am allowing time to escape me in a way that disturbs. Unsure of how to recreate a life for myself in the US of A, specifically of the SF Bay. Frazzled and harried and always busy, yet unaccomplished to date.

One step forward and two, or three, and four, steps back. Applied to one job, wholly unqualified. Neglected six jobs, partially qualified. Oops! Dropped the ball there. There will be more, there will be more. Anxious for the company of friends near and dear, mostly near... Where art thou?

Sigh. Breathe one, breathe two. SIGH. Too many thoughts in my head. Too many conversations with the self. Still, excited at the prospect of beginning a new volunteer job at a domestic violence women's shelter. Disturbing, yes. Still -- it's exciting. New makes it exciting.

With financial assistance from the parentals, am hoping to pursue dancing and language. New to dancing, old to language. Beginning adult ballet! Leotard purchased, need tights and shoes. Espanol, I know I can defeat ye! Espana has shown me that I need not be perfecto en la lengua, I just need to pick it up once more and never let go.

Breathe life to life.

I'm back!

Am back from Spain as of yesterday evening and will now attempt to get a control on my life. It's a bit of a mess. Photos will be up soon!

I <3 Kyotofu

During my short week in New York City, a friend of a friend took us to eat at a French American restaurant by the name of Breton Bar -- highly recommend; interior is lovely too. For dessert, we headed towards Kyotofu! (They also serve real food). I had the soymilk ice cream sundae with yummy Japanese-infused whipped cream, berry compote, and matcha mochi. YUMMY! (They also deliver! Am tempted to fork over the money for a delivery of their yummy desserts.) Having the sweet tooth that I have, I found that their desserts were sweet but not overpowering. And, somehow, with all the soy and green tea, I even felt healthy digging into my sundae! It is a shame I haven't yet found a similar place in San Francisco, though I await the next time I return to NYC.

Getting into Politics

Is it just me or have people told me all my life (in the last 4 years or so) that I should go into politics? The most common responses I get are that I should consider a career in law, politics, or a behind-the-scenes career for the first two items. BIZARRE, considering I never once considered doing either things and never imagined myself in such roles. I mean, really, me? A lawyer? (I barely survived undergrad, ain't trying to get into no law school and pore over hours/days/months/years worth of law.) And, politics? Sheesh. (I had to force myself to become diplomatic while managing a household of 40 while in college... not sure if I can handle that in the public spotlight.) So, I don't know where folks are coming up with such looney ideas, but I appreciate the support and confidence. I mention this because a good friend of mine from high school, Almaz, came up with that idea earlier tonight! Silly people. (I am not that ambitious.)

HOWEVER, I do have ambitions of becoming a Victim's Advocate with the DA's Office in the Victim Services Unit. That is about as much law and politics I wanna get involved in.

Although... I did, once upon a time in high school, consider becoming a lobbyist for social issues and social welfare. But, quickly gave that up because... well, I don't know why. Must've lost interest and didn't have enough interest to begin with.

Anyway. Now that people have mentioned this to me on several occasions, I do sometimes wonder if that is the path I should have chosen. (I mean, I'm young, so I still can. But - y'know. It's not in my thoughts nearly as long as social welfare or public policy has been. So. Sorry law and politics. You're getting the boot.)

Have you ever had a similar experience? Have lots of people told you to get into a particular profession that you've never dreamed of?

Wicked!

If you've not seen the musical yet. YOU MUST.

LOOOOOOVED it.

I lurved it.

Amazing cast. Amazing singing. dancing. acting. Just great.

However... it totally ruined The Wizard of Oz for me. Can't see Dorothy with her little red sparkly shoes the same way anymore. It's like finding out the back story to some scandalous gossip. Ruins the mystery. Knowing the truth.

But, of course. This is all a work of fiction. I just take it so seriously sometimes.

I need to watch it again sometime.

Driving Me Insane

Two weeks after returning from a semi-relaxing trip to the east coast and I still can't shake this nagging feeling that I do not belong at home in San Francisco right now.

I. Need. To. Move.

It pains me to be here in the wonderful SF all the while knowing that I need more time away.

Blame it on college life. Blame it on newfound independence. Blame it on my parents. Reality is, I don't have the means to live on my own. Truth is, I need to start thinking about what I want to do with myself and I'm beginning to put the pieces together.

Right here. In SF.

But it pains me continually each time I am reminded of New York City. Or even Boston and DC. And it doesn't take much to remind me of the east coast. I have friends in the east coast. I have postcards from the east coast. Several movies I own are set in the east coast. I have travel guides for New York City. I have Sex and the City! (The movie and the book about the movie).

To quote Carrie Bradshaw (from the movie), "I'm an emotional cutter."

I'm straddling two worlds - the one at home in good old SF and the potential home in fantasized NYC. But I make it harder on myself by grabbing for things that only remind me of where I wish I could be. Am I capable of cutting myself off the NYC dream train? (That's a tough question).

I don't have the answers.

I only know one thing.

When I want something really badly, I won't let up.

But does that mean I won't survive spending the next couple years in SF? Of course not!

Just this past Friday I reacquainted myself with an old high school friend - Genn - and she introduced me to the Mission in a way that I have never experienced before. I don't know how I spent 22 years in SF and never really spent any time in the Mission. We walked for miles and chatted for hours. I really needed that outing.

And, could it be? Could my love for SF be renewed in one afternoon?

Maybe.

How I handle the next couple or so years here will be interesting. I only hope that I reconcile myself to a life in SF, because it is terribly painful to straddle two cities and two selves.

I am NOT a Ping Pong BALL.

Meanwhile... I keep dreaming up dreams about life in New York City as a resident with my new-old good friend Genn. And small apartments that we'll decorate into gorgeous live-work spaces creating magical works of art through sun-lit rooms. Sounds like perfection to me.

Pleeease, allow me to dream.

(And I wouldn't be true to myself if I didn't admit that it hurts me so much to be home that sometimes I just want to crawl into a hole and cry. It hurts a lot more now that my closest friends aren't near me, either because of a full schedule, or, quite literally, they're far, far away.)

(And I'd definitely be lying to myself if I didn't admit that a depression might come on if I don't snap out of it fast! I NEED to find reasons to stay in SF; I NEED to convince myself that my life belongs here, for now; I NEED to survive through this. Somehow.)

My Truths -- Welcome

Welcome to my new blog. Completely dedicated to my musings, my insights, my realizations, and my truths. I tell it like it is. I say what I know and what I think. Honesty is my policy and that's what you're here for: a big helping of Shirley Says.

I first started blogging with blogger two years ago about my crafting adventures and recently expanded to a fashion blog. I quickly realized I needed an outlet just for my personal thoughts. Real. Honest. Unedited. Just the real Shirley speaking from the heart. No screens or filters.

Please join me each time as something new unfolds. Or perhaps a revisit to my past.