Detachment

Just screened an incredibly gritty film "Detachment," with Adrien Brody and Christina Hendricks, for a piece I'm writing for the Daily News. A few quotes jumped out and struck a chord with me.

"To deliberately believe in lies while knowing they're false - that's doublespeak." This is also why we read, to cultivate our own beliefs.

"It is easy to be callous. It takes courage and character to care."

"Do you see me?"

"Some days, we have limited space for others."

"No one wants to think about the struggle it takes to be somebody."

"We guide our young so they don't become insignificant."

Day, shift

How do you describe what it feels like to rejoin society, to reconstruct what was formerly habit into routine into lifestyle? At times I feel like I haven't left the conventional daytime work hours at all, but at the same time - so much has happened in this past year that it's impossible to discount the memories.

It's kinda like this. Wandering through unfamiliar terrain in the pitch dark is terrifying when you can't identify what's around you. Your brain panics and it feels as though your imagination will run wild for miles into a million different directions. And you're literally just stuck.

It's hard to even tentatively move any which way because you don't know what the rules of this place that you occupy are - what if living in that space defies some law of physics? What do you reach toward when you're without direction?

Having an odd schedule, I often felt a mild variation of that. Working on a different timetable from the rest of the world was like being in the dark, with barely recognizable figures, reaching out into pitch black spaces. It's difficult to gauge where you are relative to everything, get a sense of rank or placement, when you are bound to one spot.

A starting point.

From there on, however, wherever you move to, it'd still be uncertain. But at least you'd know that it was okay to move. It didn't matter which way, but you could...MOVE.

This past year, whether of my own volition or because it really was the case, I've felt caught. Stuck. Immobile. And frustrated because I questioned whether I was the one who was creating and contributing to my own mental block without realizing it.

The thing is, if you can define the root of a problem as either internal or external, you can do something about it. But if you balance on the precipice of "it's you, not me," then you don't know the rules. And then you don't know how to react.

People say to react to how you feel. I say it's more important to feel how you act.

Really feel it.

Absorb all the consequences of what it means and why you did it and what will propel you to do it again.

This past year has truly been unlike anything I have ever been through before. I was at times lonely, frustrated, self-conscious, prideful, stubborn, jealous, possessive. I think I saw myself at some pretty low points, but I also think that forced me to venture out and feel my way back toward a semblance of a self-created path.

And though I'm treading lightly, at least I'm moving.

How bout them directions?

Just last year, a few weeks into my new schedule at the time, I wrote about how it felt to be living in opposition to the mainstream, to have my own bubble of New York life. And rereading it now, the sentences still ring true.

Solitude will be my best learning tool.

It's easy to get lost in New York City. But last night/this morning, as I glanced over my shoulder at bedroom lights flickering on in high rises as I crossed the bridge, people starting the day just as I was about to end it, I felt found. Their dawn is my dusk. My reality is only, really, in my head. And I was very much aware that I was coming home -- on my own terms.

Here's to personal realities, and redefining them over and over again.

Hustle and Flow

It's only been a brief two weeks since I've been back in the flow of, vibe of, feel of the work pace of life in NYC and it's a pretty stark contrast to the relatively lackadaisical days I've been having for the last three months. This isn't to say, of course, that the change hasn't been welcome, just that there is such a distinct difference between residing in New York and really living here.

Summer was filled with sun-lit afternoons pounding the pavement, lounging in parks, being drawn into the beat and pulse of living in a -- pardon the trite phrase -- urban jungle. Given the number of tourists who flock to the city, cameras and maps in tow, trying to haphazardly match their footsteps to those of the stiletto-heeled women around them, it's no wonder that the buzz of the city was particularly pronounced in the summertime. But more than that, the crowds that positively melted into place in parks, at cafes and on subways were somehow more vibrant than the standard monochromatic workweek fare.

The only responsibilities I had during the week were to myself; my appointments were my own. I operated on my own daily schedule, and any deadlines I set and met (or didn't) would be of my own volition. Study for the GREs, search for jobs, work on freelance assignments, develop my knowledge and skills by reading everything I could lay my hands (fingertips?) on and by writing constantly. There may never be a time again in my life where I have the luxury of only worrying about, well, myself.

Now the weather is cooling down, summer "lasts" are plentiful, and the reality of bracing for another go at the NYC work life is rearing its daunting head. But though I will miss summer and all the mental acumen it provided, I'm equally excited by the prospects of a new season and its consequent shift of energy.

Autumn is soothing because it marks the do-over, restart phase of the year, a grounding calmness with a running stream of conversation underneath. It's the perfect kind of weather for a little hustle, a little flow. So it begins again.

On wealth

Original posting found here.

Wealth is what happens when luck meets opportunity. Or is that success? Or was it that luck is what happens when preparation meets opportunity? The infinite combinations and equations that make up these cross-concept building blocks ultimately all point to the same thing: in our society, wealth, or something like it, is attainable by anybody. Hard labor, combined with the right dose of perceptiveness, charisma and yes, luck, have proven to be enough to promote any citizen from one tax bracket to the next. This is, at least, the promise of America, a land where opportunities are here for the taking.

Having grown up with parents who immigrated to the States in their mid-20s, I am always acutely aware of this perception, and the consequent implications. The idea of social mobility is something that isn’t as encouraged in Taiwan — whatever “class” you are born into tends to be where you stay, even in the advancements of your career. And hence, the draw of a country like the U.S. where “anything is possible” is pretty hefty. If it is true that wealth springs from luck and opportunity, and luck itself is composed of preparation and opportunity, then, in the immigrant generation’s mind, hard work (preparation) is the only part they’ll need to contribute, now that the other controllable variable (opportunity) is present.

And hence the immigrant mentality stands: work hard, and you can succeed. And by success, I mean of course in monetary and materialistic terms. I’ve always looked to this model as part of the reason why children of immigrant parents tend to place a different emphasis on the value of wealth (read: money) than either their parents or their American counterparts. To second generation Americans (those born in the States, but whose parents immigrated from another country), there is a balance to be made.

Their immigrant parents insist that attaining wealth — working hard and forfeiting enjoyment in many cases — is the justifiable ends to a life of just getting by. Because the opportunities are here, it is unwise to throw them away — and for immigrants, all opportunities point toward monetary stability and development.

American society itself is filled with contradictions, but the overarching theme at present seems to be that money can’t buy you happiness, and it is therefore almost insulting to the Constitution to “sell out” and do things just for the money. (At the same time, of course, we observe the lives of the rich and famous and aspire to reach that level of social acceptance and wealth. Oh, the irony).

Somehow consolidating the two viewpoints into one coherent view on wealth is near-impossible, but it’s somewhere in the struggle that the third piece of the equation falls into place. Luck. Because even with a rigid mindset regarding the value and definition of wealth, we always find success (however we define it) at just the right time, don’t we? And if that can’t be attributed to luck, then what can?

Underground

And another! I swear, I'm just posting these for easy reference later on down the line but MAN does this bring back memories.

Underground bars, please.

Anger management

Hilarious. Am going through all my clips to compile for my site (ETA TBD), and found this online.

It's been a while, but I do miss the days of snagging empty offices instead of having my own as an intern at LAMag. Whenever a writer would return unexpectedly to the office, I'd be given the polite nod and be expected to grab all my stuff and slink back into the hallway to find another empty office to occupy.

Classy.

Corrective vision

One of the simplest, but most poignant questions I've ever had posed to me was this:

"How do you SEE the world?"

At the time, I was sitting in an auditorium full of admitted students in SGM at USC, all 17 and 18-year-old seniors looking to leave the constraints of high school and eagerly tromping ahead into the next big chapter of their lives.

"How do you SEE the world?"

At that point in our (still-young) maturation, sight had everything to do with what you saw and not how you interpreted it. I remember thinking, when the professor at the front of the room planted this kernel of thought in my brain, that I didn't understand. I SAW what was set before me. Isn't that what sight is all about? From a young age, you learn to see and appreciate the details of the things you come across -- ask any high school graduate to describe for you a wintry scene, write a paragraph about the intricacies of the human heart, or dissect the strokes of a Monet painting, and (with much grumbling) it can be done.

But ask that same student to tell you HOW they see the world, whether it be in pockets of patterns, numbers and figures, or abstract concepts, and he wouldn't be able to tell you. Until I heard that question thrust so casually into the air, I hadn't ever stopped to think about my own frame of vision.

"HOW do you see the world?"

The significance of this question was, of course, many-fold, but perhaps the most important reason she posed the question was for direction. In answering, or attempting to answer, that question, we would each gain insight into our talents, our expectations, our future; what made us tick.

Those who see the world in terms of numbers and figures -- measuring days in minutes, achievements in points -- would be well-suited for careers in engineering, accounting, finance, something wherein their measure of success can be determined by a given point system.

Those who see the world in patterns, series of events, would probably fare best in history or literature, a profession wherein their contributions would come from a big-picture mentality.

And those who think in abstract concepts, pinpointing various elements of their everyday lives as significant and looping in philosophy and sociology -- those are the crazies, the revolutionaries.

So many paths, all beginning with a renewed definition of sight. I think about that question a lot these days, about how I SEE the world, because I know with each new experience I take one step closer to an as-yet fuzzy definition of sight. How I see the world will determine how I can contribute to it, though I can't truly see the world until I've become a part of it.

It's a paradox, that.

"How do you SEE the world?"

"HOW do you see the world?"

Thoughts.

Things I think about when I cannot sleep:

- Sometimes I try to imagine what buskers and panhandlers looked like as carefree children, before shame and wrinkles and pleading settled into their faces.

- Does frozen bread really go bad by the expiration date, or can it stay edible for double the amount of time?

- How much of an impact does being raised by a nanny have on a child?

- Does every generation assume that it's a watered-down version of generations past or is that just ours?

- Why do fears evolve from the tangible to the intangible over the years? What's more mentally draining -- missing the past or worrying about the future?

- Does monetary compensation make a passion less valid or less rewarding?

- Why can't I sleep???

- When you enjoy what you do as a profession, why does that make people feel like they're entitled to ask you when you'll get a "real job"?

- The only thing you have control over is quality of life, not quantity.

END random thoughts. Now to attempt to sleep.

10 years, 2 minutes, go.

Educational assessment

What is the value of education? Of universities and schooling and this abstract concept we like to term "higher education"? Several things have been happening recently that have me thinking about education and WHY it (dumb assertion, I know) really does impact everything you do later on in life.

The obvious answers are there - school teaches you a skill set, the building blocks with which to construct a career and hopefully, a life. Basic math, writing, vocabulary, reading comprehension - SATs and GREs would have you think that these are the things that guarantee success or job placement down the line. But what about those brain teasers, the logic puzzles and different games that we used to play in grade school, the ones that actually taught us more about creativity and problem solving?

I know that with the way the economy and the job market is now, the higher-ups are looking for ways to restructure the education system to better prepare students for the challenges of the real world. And likewise, students are turning toward more practical means of existence; better to sacrifice a dream now in favor of some stability and monetary compensation for the future. This is practical. This is the kind of mentality that will help graduating young adults grasp a more tangible reward for their years of schooling.

But call me impractical, but I think this is the kind of mentality that will hurt us in the long run.

I read an article in the New York Times that mentioned a change in curriculum at several universities, including the elimination of philosophy as a major because it lacks "practicality." My thoughts when I read this were varied - yes, "practially" speaking, it doesn't make sense to major in something that won't yield an immediate skill set.

But if you don't have those courses to learn to THINK and only learn how to do "practical" things, then you wouldn't ever question and invent and see the world in a different light, and then where would humanity as a whole be?

Kant? Utilitarianism? Will these words cease to have any meaning? Social engineering will become a kind of trade. Artists will create for a cause or a cost, but not just for the sake of creating. Writers will be funneled into law schools and textbooks, and psychology will give way to psychiatry. Meds over meditation. Hollow substances over concrete thought.

And then how will decisions be made? This all sounds a little too oddly Giver-like. Kids set into certain jobs early on, learning how to perform a duty in society, taught NOT to think outside the box except for a designated Giver...an elimination of feelings and color and difference. Smooth operations oiled by cooperation and standards of living.

If we don't think for ourselves, we cease to exist. We might have money in the bank, but we'll have lost purpose and drive. When we work for others, we'll not have the capacity to question the why or the how; we'll be too focused on the what.

The value of education is that it provides a solid foundation for creativity. We learn the rules to break them, know the fundamentals to build upon them. Looking back at college, I know for a fact that the classes I got the most out of inspired me to think in ways I wouldn't have thought to think (tongue twister) otherwise. Skills, I can adopt as I go. But thoughts and questions, I need to develop at the get-go.

Classrooms are only vessles, after all. It's what's in them, in the minds within them, that count.

New. Year. Thoughts.

Time for the all-encompassing, reflective blog entry that speaks of lessons learned, progress made, goals reassessed in my time at home over these past two weeks. To a large extent, I was hit with a lot of things at once - returning to L.A. for the first time in six months (nay, almost 6.5?), going home for the holidays, ringing in a new year (and decade) and ultimately, figuring out what type of relationships I was establishing with my loved ones now that I have the experience of this tricky thing called "distance."

This wasn't quite the same as London, simply because that had a timeline, an impending deadline so that it was permissible for me to fall out of contact or let things ride out their course overseas because I would be back in the States in a countable number of days.

But because I've now moved to New York and made this my primary residence, I can't rightly just assume that it's okay to let relationships fall through. I realized this break just how terrible I am at keeping in touch with people - and that it's inconsiderate on my part to just hope that other people will make an effort to touch base.

Being busy isn't an excuse, and my not getting back to emails, calls and texts asap translates as exactly that: an excuse. Not only do I need to organize my life - I need to maintain it. I let so much maintenance of my living fall to the wayside in favor of just getting by day-to-day. This is the easier route. And I know that nothing that's worth it is ever easy, so why not act accordingly?

Something else I've rememberd over break (thank you, psych classes...):

In the short-run, people regret the things they've done.

In the long-run, people forget about the stupid things they've done and regret the things they haven't done.

The reasoning makes sense - you realize in retrospect that you learn from dumb mistakes. You move on and endure the consequences. But when you don't do something, you'll only learn one lesson, which is that if an opportunity arises next time, you grab it. You'll always wonder "What if?" otherwise, and that's just exhausting.

Being home really affirmed how blessed I am, to be in NYC doing what I love at such a young age (yes, I'll still call it young...); I really can't live life with excuses. Now is the time to hustle, to learn to live life through the ups and downs and really explore all your options. The 20s is the time for roadtrips, heartbreaks, marathons, new jobs, bad jobs, too many commitments, no commitments, solitude, too many people, new ventures. Settling into your life - well, you can always do that later.

This isn't to say that life needs to be lived recklessly, but there are definitely things that you can get away with when you're younger. Like dreaming. Life is short. One of my mom's dear high school friends passed away just a week ago from a 15+ year battle with cancer. She was just past 50. A month ago, my great-aunt passed away after five years of being extremely sick. She was 80. A family friend recently had three heart attacks and died suddenly on Christmas Eve. He was in his 40s. Not to be morbid, but life. is. short.

And they all lived good lives, but I wonder about the different phases that they've each experienced in life, the multiple lives they've touched, the tasks they've left unfinished. At the end of the day, isn't quality of life most important, since quantity is never guaranteed?

Life never has to get stagnant. It can, of course, all too easily, but it doesn't have to. The system. Comfort. Security. These are the things we're always taught to abide by. Living a life by a certain structure - people who deviate don't exactly fall into the categories of success we have set before us. Some rare few make the crossover, blazing their own trail and accumulating a following enough so that they end up leading the pack.

But these are the exceptions. Because while schooling teaches us to think independently, creatively (well, depending on what field you were schooled in), it also focuses on teaching us about guidelines.

Organized chaos.

Writing with lines. Art inside a structure. Jobs that follow a preset path. And while I know it would be naive of me to lambast these standards and call them foolish - that would be ignorant, for that kind of structure and system lets society function properly - while I realize this, I also know that the reason why fantasy and rebels and criminals and celebrities fascinate us so much is because they have so much abandon.

Artists, musicians, risk-takers, they live the life that we all want. They have the kind of freedom I'm sure most of us simultaneously envy and fear. But why does there have to be a separate them and us? Why can't we live these lives? Take the best of the worlds that we know and really have a hand in shaping our existence?

I like labels. On food condiments, hair products, items that I purchase. Mostly becuase this gives me a way to judge the standards of the product and item. I know a brand like Sara Lee will have quality bread. I know the store-brand bread might be just as good but will cost me less. I know about brand loyalty.

But I also know that if you remove all labels and preconceptions, these items can taste identical. So why not apply this to people? Why not stop trying to fit the mold of what it means to be an engineer, a law student, a journalist, a guy, a girl? Why not try to create an identity and avoid the labels altogether? It's scary because there are no means of comparison that way; no means, that is, except to yourself. But sometimes this is the best way.

By doing something so dramatic, you're willingly isolating yourself so you can self-examine, have no one to live up to, no expectations to meet but your own. This is what New York has done for me. It's stripped me of my labels, allowed me to figure out my own constitution, my strengths and weaknesses and how to deal with them.

Going home this holiday season showed me that life is too short and too precious to wait on the sidelines, to keep a distance between them and us. I can honestly say that I'm growing and changing every day that I write more, read more, talk more, observe more. And tradition and structure are great and all - you can't break the rules until you know them - but they're not the only way to form your existence.

Life is for living, and part of the game is figuring out on whose terms you're playing.

The Roaring 20s

The 20s aren't meant to be easy - but that fact gets buried fairly often. Nestled somewhere between the trying years of adolescence and the feared complacency of routine that characterize the teens and the 30s, respectively, the 20s are supposed to be "the best years of your life." Old enough to drink, young enough not to care about mortgages and "real" responsibilities. Idealistic enough to believe, pragmatic enough to execute.

Tacking on that label, however, can mean that those who aren't yet out of college, and those who are too far removed from the 20s, soon forget just what a weird and tumultuous time it is. Gone is the security of familiarity, with friends and family scattered throughout the state, country, world. Gone is the dependability of routine, of knowing that even the worst circumstances will come to an end coinciding with the end of a semester or school year. And most importantly, gone is the degree of certainty that there is a "correct" next step to take moving toward the next phase of life.

Being in your 20s means that, ultimately, for the first time in a long time, you really have to evaluate what it is you want, how you're going to get it, and why you want it. Prior to this vast slate known as "the real world," everything in life was comparatively neat.

Everything could be traced back to expectations. After elementary school, you moved on to junior high and high school. You worked hard in high school with the knowledge that your standardized test scores (ick) and grades would promise you success in the form of a college acceptance letter. You spend four years (or more or less) in college trying to solidify your beliefs, your thoughts, your goals as a genuinely active member of society. You expect that this, and all the things you have learned in and out of classes in your 20-something years of life, will also guarantee some form of social success. You have, after all, paid an arm and a leg for it. And then...you graduate.

Everything from there on out has absolutely nothing and everything to do with expectations. With the exception of going to grad school (this is still being in a system, in a more managed chaos), college grads are then really hit in the face with the question they should have been answering all those 20-something years ago: What do I want to do in life?

Short of hanging out with friends and exchanging woes and ideas about what it is that makes us happy, we are no longer armed with the leisurely time to really question things. There are no more classroom lessons, scheduled vacations, or discussion sections that will prompt us to think in these terms. Life after college can become pretty draining, pretty monotonous, pretty quickly.

But questioning...it's just something that needs to be done, else we toil mindlessly and just kind of drift into our 30s. And this is why the 20s are so tricky. Because the truth is, once you're out of a system, everything becomes a juggling act.

It's like piecing together a puzzle. All your years leading up to your 20s involved forming the pieces by means of learning about your likes, dislikes, interests and talents. Your 20s become, then, the years where you start to gather the disparate pieces and try to make out a discernable shape. You see what pieces you can use, which ones you can't, which ones are misshapen, and where they all fit together. But perhaps most importantly, you can, after attempting to mold all these bits together, see what is missing.

Living through the 20s is difficult because without the expectation that there is a correct route to take or a right way to piece together the puzzle, there is so much uncertainty. Life has given you enough experience and "wisdom" to recognize that you don't have all the answers and that you can't force things into place. But because the 20s involves honing and building and connecting, it's often difficult to take a step back and see that big picture.

And the missing pieces? They'll always be in the last place you look.

Thoughts, unfiltered.

I woke up this morning with a thought in my head, a strangely blissful in-between of sleep and awake and awareness. And so instead of really trying to grasp at the details of that thought, which I think would have ruined the moment, I just grabbed a pen, my journal, and wrote. And these are the thoughts coursing through my head:

I'm in New York City. I live, breathe, smell this town in a way that I never thought I'd get a chance to. Every November, as the holidays draw closer and the prospect of returning "home" begins to fade back into my consciousness, I stop. And think. About how a whole year has gone by, and what I did last year at this point in the semester (because back then, my life was measured in semesters) and what I was most concerned with at that point in time, what made me happiest and what I had envisioned for the future. Because I think what you worry about at a given stage of your life tells a lot about what's the most important thing on your mind at the moment.

And this thinking makes me grateful. Because at this time last year I think I was starting to unravel a little bit. There was the stress of trying to stay on top of classwork while interning in Beverly Hills at a job where I could tell the other employees were miserable; the impending panic of being able to find a job or have a more defined direction before graduation; the creeping feeling that I was running on empty because my mind was just veering in too many directions at once. I remember the break-in in San Francisco, the break-down in my apartment, the unabashed tumble of emotions as I tried to figure out why I was so internally stressed and still so adamantly in denial.

To say that a lot has happened in the past year is perhaps a moot point - of course it has. So perhaps a better thing to say is that a lot has simultaneously shifted and solidified within the last few months. As of the end of October, I've been in NYC for just over five months, and there are so many emotions associated with that anniversary of sorts.

Life can only be understood backward, but it must be lived forward.

I was so focused on other people's lives and helping them out so as to avoid taking a good hard glimpse at my own life and figuring out how to fix any outstanding problems. Spend time catching up with friends over dinner or a drink? It was preferential to actually studying for exams or finishing up projects, or heaven forbid, reflecting. I've always grown up as a nostalgic child, looking to the past and trying to figure out how to recreate it in my head so that it fits the mold of the steps that have taken me to where I am now, if that makes any sense. In other words, seeing my current position for what it was - at the time, on the brink of meltdown - meant that I wanted look back on my upbringing and my personality and see what it was that caused me to be so discontent at that point.

And everything pointed to two things. First, I was raised to be a perfectionist - follow-through and initiative were drilled into me from a young age. If I didn't know the answer to something, I just had to ask. And there was never any question about whether or not I would be able to accomplish something I put my mind to. I was fortunate enough to grow up surrounded by positive influences and strong role models. Failure was not something I knew, though potential was. Too many teachers, too many people always saying that I had "potential" - untapped potential - to do something. It took all the way until high school to fully understand what that meant. Potential. The only thing stopping me? Myself.

I was shy beyond words. I would hide behind a book, prefer silence and awkwardness to trying to get to know other people. But while I might not have gotten to know other people very well, I knew my own personality inside and out. My likes, my dislikes. My fears, my talents, my weaknesses. All this plays into the here and the now, the fact that I'm striving to become a journalist, a profession that thrives on, honestly, learning about yourself through other people. The focus, on the outside, is off me. I'm a reporter: I absorb, I learn, I teach. Who would have thought that a profession that's so notoriously people-friendly would in the end begin to turn me introspected again?

The point is this. At this time last year, I was doing a lot of reflecting, about how I had become the type of person that I was, just mulling over my shortcomings, questioning my own motives to stay busy and stop thinking, but today...today, so much has changed. This year I reflect on being in New York and about how my experiences have shaped me. How being independent and stubborn in my beliefs, naive at times to the ways of the world, has gotten me this far. I know people say it's a combination of luck and skill that guarantees success (and what does that word mean, even?), but I also know that I can only control one half of that equation. Sometimes I do genuinely wonder how I got to where I am, able to talk to celebrities and big-shot editors without so much as a flinch. How did that even happen?

I do know this, though: I learned early on that if you don't ask, you'll never know. So these days, I'm just asking myself more questions than usual.

A good song for dancing, a good song for dreaming

Didn't realize the song I heard at Mandela Day was featured in (500) Days of Summer. Only more reason to like the film. (:



Beautiful.

Love at first living

Call it a culmination of good timing, fantastic people, healthy eating, sleep, exercise, being on-point and focused, or some reason completely independent of all of this, but I feel so ALIVE in this city. I sincerely love it, and sometimes (okay, most times) I can't believe I'm actually waking up every day in a bed somewhere in the middle of it all.

It's such a blessed life I'm living, and I absolutely feel at home here. I'm finally getting a chance to sit down and reflect after a busy week, and there's a groove and rhythm to this city that I've fallen easily into.

You know that fantastic feeling that you get when you meet someone new and you both mutually, silently, agree to skip over tedious small talk? You introduce yourselves and five minutes later find yourself deeply immersed in conversation about purpose and passion and how blips of your childhood have helped to shape your views. You tell each other about your grandmothers, your fears, your proudest moments - things usually reserved for those who have built up your trust over the years.

The connection is uncanny, and you wonder how you've gone so long in life without meeting someone just like this, the yin to your yang and a true reflection of the kind of person you are and kind of person you want to be.

This is how I feel about New York.

I feel comfortable with the pace of life and the people around here like I really haven't ever before. Back in L.A., I always felt as though I was having to put myself out on the line to be judged, and a lot of the people I encountered in L.A. didn't feel quite solid, if that makes any sense. So many people were floating or just hoping to get by from one deadline to the next, one exam to the next project, just doing what they could to stay afloat. A lot of the time, I felt as though I was doing that too.

Something about urban sprawl makes it so easy to lose focus of what's important - why you do the things you do - in favor of smaller, less relevant details.

But in NYC, I feel like more people live for a common purpose - to live. There's so much energy, positive energy, flowing through here that it's hard to really feel like an outsider, or to stand still for very long.

With so many people around, everyone has to be a people-person. I think that's what's such a draw for so many people to come to NYC. Here, the human condition is ever-present, the kind of personalities that collide on the streets so diverse. Regardless of what people initially came to the city for, everyone is looking to learn and grow just by being among and with so many stories and persons.

New York is the kind of place where everyone is willing to help each other out because it's understood that people are working hard just to earn their keep here, and I kind of love it.

People have been nothing but pleasant so far here. At work, there are no egos and everyone works in tandem toward deadline - it's the kind of work environment most people only dream of.

I'm never bored and there's always something to be done, but at the same time, there's no stress. I'm finding that living day-to-day is so beneficial to both health and state of mind. I've never been in a single place and met so many like-minded people all at once. Open-minded, curious, ambitious.

I miss home just a bit, but for now I'm won over by life here on the east coast. It makes me swoon, haha.

The city's like the counterpart I never thought I'd find. (:

Heart, meet sleeve.

... and so it begins.

It's been just a little more than a day since I've touched down in NYC, settled into my flat (yes, I'll always insist on calling it this) by Union Square and attempted to readjust my jetlagged sleep patterns to some semblance of normalcy. It was appropriate that my plane departed from Long Beach last night at that peculiar point of day - twilight (no reference to the book or movie, haven't read or seen either), because as we lifted off over water before making a grand U back toward the east, it was hard to tell whether the day was beginning or ending.

Moving to NYC has been a long-time coming, something I've looked forward to for years upon years on end. And to think that I'm currently sitting in residence, in the thick of it all, is just bizarre. It's not anticlimactic or anything or everything that I imagined it would be.

It.

Just.

Is.

And I love it. People have always said (and I've always agreed) that the best mentality you can have going somewhere is to be anticipating and moving toward something, rather than dreading and fleeing from something. To this end, I've always had it in the back of my mind that I wanted to be in NYC at some point in my life, better younger than older, better naive than jaded. And now, it's really happening.

Not to say that getting to this point, of starting a new life on a different coast, has always been the end all be all of my existence. Far from it. As much as this experience will be a new book in a collection of many (I hope) that chronicle different fragments of my life, I also recognize that not much will change in the coming weeks, months, years. At the core of it all, it isn't my expectation that everything will miraculously be okay and that my joint work and passion will combine forces to forge a new kind of reality. But it is my hope, and I think that's the more important point.

I don't want everything to be dramatically different - I think at a different point in life I would have expected this much from the fresh start, blank slate that NYC has to offer. Instead, I want to expand my experiences subtly, and revel in the nuances of change.

I hope.

I think.

I dream.

I'm going to get better at blogging regularly. It's a must. I think, over the course of these next few (fill in the blank here), I'll want to share with the blogosphere my thoughts and experiences, because let's face it: part of the thrill of starting anew is being able to bounce ideas and life plans off the people who know you best (and those who know you not at all). What good are life experiences if they aren't shared, right?

Which takes me to today, to now, to the present. I had a good chunk of time to just wander around the surrounding streets yesterday, and I reveled in how good it felt to put foot to pavement and let whimsy guide me through the city. I set my iPod on a playlist, kept one ear earphone free so I could hear NY with above the lull of my soundtrack, and turned corners when I felt like it. I ducked into random shops and snapped photos of memorable sights and people, and chatted to the occasional stranger because hey, why not?

It was fantastic.

All the people I pass by on the street, the life and the things happening everywhere I look - this is like coming home to something I've been missing all this time, but hadn't really known existed. There's so much life here that it almost hurts to breathe in the energy of it all.

And more than that, my feeling is that everyone's in this together, in this pseudo-waiting place. People in NYC are living in the moment, but also looking for THE moment, the spark that will make their hard work, great risks and high rent all worth it. The city's just brimming with passion for life - musicians on the street, thinkers in cafes, even the Evangelist stalking down the street. The feeling is infectious.

Someone wise once told me that everyone comes to New York City looking for something - a job, peace of mind, passion, themselves. It's a city of restless souls sifting through a transition from who they were to who they want to be, and it's the place all my thoughts and experiences have pointed me toward.

More than a physical space, less than a metaphysical place.

Somewhere in between.

LIVE WELL. LOVE MUCH. LAUGH OFTEN.

Here's to a new beginning.

Countdown

Anyone who's ever experienced New Year's Eve (and that should mean everyone, sans those who fall asleep before midnight and just wake up in the next year) knows that the most important part of the night isn't the booze, the food, or even the umpteen number of resolutions that immediately follow.

No, the most important part of New Year's Eve is the countdown, the anticipation of the ball dropping in Times Square, the feeling of hope that accompanies those last few seconds before a new year arrives.

Five.

I just got back last night from my spring break trip to New York City, and I'm still reveling in the remnants of what had to be one of the best decisions I've made thus far in life. New York felt like a dream not just because it was a whirlwind of interviews and coffees and dinners and wanderings, but because it was a snapshot glimpse of what my life could be like in just two months' time.

Four.

I bought the tickets for the trip back in January with the idea that it would be a great way to explore NYC and really discover what it was about the city that drew me to it ever so much. I wanted to prove to myself that the city I was always drifting toward had more to offer than just a romanticized escape from the familiarity of Los Angeles. And I discovered that indeed, the two cities are too different to compare, and it's not that I prefer one over the other, just that one is probably better for me at this point in life than the other. I'm going home.

Three.

In two days, I had five interviews, and each one of them went a lot more smoothly than I had expected. The reality of actually picking up and moving to New York really set in when every one of the recruiters/editors asked when I would be coming to the city. It wasn't even an "if." It was a "when," and I didn't miss a beat when I told them: "June." There. I said it. There's a time element to this move and I'm going to make it happen.

Two.

Regardless of what happens in the next six weeks as I try to secure an internship or job out on the East Coast, I'm content to know that making that first move is a very viable possibility, and beyond that, a very real next step toward a city that is bustling with promise. Chalk it up to circumstance, destiny, luck, hope. It's not every day that I find myself talking to the news director of TIME or giving an elevator pitch to one of the executive editors at Entertainment Weekly. Or that I tap Elle's creative director on the shoulder and strike up a conversation. Or have coffee with the executive editor over at Time Inc.

These things aren't meant to happen, but they do. It's positive thinking to the extreme.

In NYC, and in life, anything is possible. Whether you think you can or you can't you're always right.

One.

I can.

Small wonder

I've been seeing journalism through several sets of eyes this past week. Being in the Daily Trojan office day in and day out has not only affected my lifestyle, but also the way I view so much of my work as a student, editor, journalist, writer. It baffles me to think that the words and ideas that start in my office every day at 5 p.m. (budget meeting time!) can actually impact so much of the campus, and further than that, the community at large.

When the L.A. Times is picking up some of our exclusive stories and my editors and I spend hour upon hour making sure that word phrases and quotes convey the message we want without creating cases for libel - that's when I really feel the weight of the paper and of the job. This isn't just a small publication to be read by students curious about changes to the dining halls - this is a full-fledged newspaper with depth and weight and pull in how the university is portrayed and how its students are treated.

I found out last week (on Inauguration Day, to be exact), that I didn't get an offer from Teach For America. And in all honesty, seeing that decision on the site and via email and then on the site again (I quadruple checked just to be sure I hadn't misread) really did sting. I wasn't so much taken aback about not getting the offer - I know the applicant pool was enormously competitive this year - it was more that I felt as though I had just plunged headfirst into a pool of icy cold water.

Reality check.

Something I had put some effort (but not my full effort) into hadn't panned out. And I didn't know how I should feel about that. I think all throughout the process, I had been more taken with the message of the organization than the actual work itself. In other words, I've always wanted to teach. To impart knowledge and, in turn, learn a few things myself. And I've always felt that a necessary part of graduating and entering the "real world" is giving back to the community - via service, donations, or conscientiousness. I just didn't know what my "method of payment" would be.

Therefore, Teach For America seemed like the natural fit.

What the rejection told me, however, was that this was not the case. Everything happens for a reason, and I'm taking this decision as a sign that I should seriously pursue journalism - that just might be the best way for me to make the difference and spread the message that I want to. Seeing how much feedback we get with the DT and how effective our stories can be has done two things for me:

1. terrified me, for fear of retribution after publication
2. inspired me, for knowledge that I can impact positive change doing what I love

I like to lean more toward the latter whenever possible. Naturally.

Last weekend, I spoke with my brother about my possible career in publishing and journalism. Based on his opinion, chasing after passions is a lot more rewarding than finding stability and forfeiting ambitions in the long run. In a time when the economy is so shaky and jobs so hard to come by, he said, carving your own path will probably lead you to more happiness than trudging along the road behind other similar-minded individuals.

Break free.

Yesterday, I taught my first class for community journalism, a course I'm taking this semester that brings USC journalists into the neighboring schools to produce a class "newspaper," complete with news, opinion, features, sports and entertainment desks. I was amazed at how much these sixth graders knew, and just how aware they were of themselves and each other. Each student talked about what he or she was interested writing, and the labels were clearly set: I like video games. I like American Idol. I like the Dodgers.

My little writers rattled off their favorite movies, games and celebrities, and asked honest questions, like "What will Obama do to keep his promises for the next four years?"; "Is the train line running by the school a villain or a hero?"; "What kind of relationship does Obama have with his family?"

These are all the same questions that we as journalists always ask, in less unnecessarily wordy, pretentious prose. It was interesting to see the dynamic of the students and really gauge their genuine curiosity about the things happening around them. That they really wanted to know the answer to those questions, while many college students don't care to ask them, was striking to me.

When did we start caring and stop asking?

And why?

The task falls to journalism nowadays, and so anyone who argues that journalism is a dying profession has obviously stopped desiring to learn, to be informed, to grow as a person.

After this past week, I'm seeing that my definition of journalism has become so limited. It's not about puting stories on paper and meeting deadlines. It's about childlike curiosity and the kind of assertiveness that sets off an entire chain reaction of events.

It's about action and reaction.

Live and learn.

Rest & Relaxation

Just got back from an amazing Daily Trojan retreat out in Palm Desert, and I'm feeling pretty dang refreshed. It's been a while since I've been able to literally sit and just vegetate without feeling any guilt whatsoever - and it's a feeling I think I'm going to chase in this coming semester.

Or, I mean, a girl can dream, can't she?

Time's going to fly in these coming months, I can already tell. Granted, I already feel as though I've been back in the groove of classes for some time, and I know 14 more of these weeks will whip by before I really have a chance to react, so I'm filling every moment with something meaningful - perhaps too well.

It's probably not the best thing when your fingers start itching to check email while you're sprawled out on a couch in a luxury home, thumbing through a magazine. Or when you jot notes for story ideas on your notepad while shopping for burger patties and chips. It's probably not healthy, maybe even borderline ridiculous, to mumble about lists and tasks in your sleep.

And yet, there it is: my waking hours and sleeping hours have merged to form a singular consciousness during which I plan and pace over a never-ending list of things to do.  

I think working is relaxing to me. Productivity is the key to my happiness. That, and cold leftovers and touching Christmas cards and gummi bears. I'm simple, really.

I find out tomorrow whether or not I've officially been accepted into Teach for America, so for the time being, I'm just savoring this limbo, this waiting period, and trying to relax. Tomorrow, no matter what the decision is, I'll have to buckle down and really start figuring out what I want to do with my days post-college.

Obama's inauguration speech is tomorrow morning, and I can't wait for the inspirational push I know he'll give our nation. Change never came about in times of comfort and ease, and I think Obama's perception of nonstop work toward progress as a positive thing rather than as a burden is admirable and should be touted as fact throughout the nation.  

I love rest and relaxation, but I'm ready to carry on with the rest of my life. Tomorrow's going to be a big day, and I think today's lull is something we'll be hard-pressed to find after tomorrow morning, so I'm savoring it.

Aging Backwards

It’s interesting just how much Barack Obama and Brad Pitt have in common. Well, relatively speaking. Outside of good looks, charisma and a lovely voice, the two men have kept me thinking for quite some time now about a number of the same issues, and for this, I think it’s safe for me to draw the comparison, however random it might seem.

Prior to the start of the New Year (aka just yesterday), I had just seen The Curious Case of Benjamin Button (which I semi-recommend, if nothing else than for the fact that the casting and makeup were amazing), and was in the process of reading Obama’s The Audacity of Hope. The theme of age and passion were mainstays in both of the works, and it got me to start thinking about 2008 in a very peculiar way.

In most senses, it would be logical for me to say that I think I aged a lot since the beginning of the year – back in January, I was still packing up the bits and pieces of my life here in the States for what would be 4.5 of some of the best months of my life in Europe. I ventured to London, learned about the backstreets and best pubs, jet-setted and country-hopped, and began to acclimate myself with a lifestyle I had only imagined before. This was my real “going away” to college experience, and I loved every minute of it.

It was a taste of independence that stuck with me throughout the rest of the year.

Come June, I began working full-time at a daily paper in Woodland Hills and lived with my brother and his roommate over in Westwood for three months. From the experience, I saw my own future laid out side-by-side with my brother’s, an investment banker, and his roommate’s, an assistant sports coach at UCLA. The summer gave me time to reflect on what exactly I was doing with journalism and with my career goals as a whole. Would I get sucked into the daily grind of work, home, sleep, repeat?

Not that my brother or his roommate were unhappy, but I couldn’t honestly say that they were excited about the work that they were doing either. It was a means to an end, and I think it scared me a bit to see two such capable people so devoid of passion for their work. When I initially began working in June, I too, saw just how easily I could fall into routine and the status quo, and I went through a lot of internal turmoil (melodramatic, I know I know), trying to figure out what exactly I could do to keep each day fresh, lively, inspiring.

It took a whole lot of writing and a whole lot of reorganizing for me to get back into the groove – finding a happy balance between my life and structure prior to London and the renewed sense of idealism I had picked up across the pond.

At the end of August, classes began in a flurry, and I literally keeled over in my attempt to hit the ground running. There were far too many ideas, projects, tasks floating around in my head, and the result, even at the beginning of the year, was a less-than-appealing mess of all-nighters, missed deadlines, dropped classes.
This wasn’t the formulaic collegiate life I was used to, and it was far from the kind of senior year I had hoped to have. I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was missing the bigger picture in favor of rushing here and there to finish up tasks that I had half-started, but even so, I kept running on empty with what I can best describe now as denial.

November meant the annual dragon boat tournament up in San Francisco, and with that came a whole barrage of responsibilities that caused me to come to a temporary standstill. Post-tournament and post-break down, I decided I needed to just take a few days to reassess and process what I had been doing wrong for the entire semester, how I had let so much pressure build up to this breaking point.

It was an eye-opening, supremely honest look at my own shortcomings, and seeing those problems laid out before me made see that I had forgotten two important things:

1. I needed to take care of myself now, while I was still young – the repercussions and rewards for my actions today would manifest themselves later on down the line, and I needed to act accordingly.

2. My passion, my writing, had fallen to the wayside, and without a physical list of goals before me, I had succumbed to temporary solutions when I should have been searching for long-term goals.

Following my revelation, things in life began to fall into place once again. I heard back from Teach for America, I was elected into the editor-in-chief position for the Daily Trojan, I reorganized my role with Bamboo Offshoot, I finished off long-term stories for my journalism classes, I began to thrive on the adrenaline of getting things done because I finally had an end-goal in mind.

It was the last stretch of a long semester, but finishing out fall 2008 meant that I could start anew.

And now, just two days into January, I feel ready to start the cycle over again, sans the stress and the break-down and the horrible sleep schedules. I’ve had to replace a lot of things in my life in the last few weeks, but this also means that I get to pick and choose what I want to take with me in this last semester of college.

Packing up the bits and pieces of my life, full circle.