advice to the boys

it's actually really simple

styska se mi po tobe

It was a short, but sweet trip to Cali. It was definitely nice to see old faces... and it's reassuring to know that if things go wayward in the east coast, I'll always have somewhere to turn to. But I have to say- there is a bit of awkwardness when I see people again... not that people are necessarily awkward towards me, but more on my part. I think it has to do with knowing that things have changed (or at least that I have changed somewhat) and not really knowing how to carry on. I guess I just feel uncertain of how I should act... the last thing I wanted was to give off an air of a snooty New Yorker.

Milan Kundera, my favoritest author of all time (as I mentioned time and time again), encapsulates these concepts of "nostalgia" and "homecoming" so perfectly in his short novel, Ignorance. The main character, a Czech expatriate named Irena, returns home after living in France for 20 years. After years of being away, she feels strangely displaced as everyone still perceives her as if she was the same person she was when she left:

"Earlier, by their total uninterest in her experience abroad, they amputated twenty years from her life. Now, with this interrogation, they were trying to stitch her old past onto her present life. As if they were amputating her forearm and attaching the hand directly to the elbow; as if they were amputating her calves and joining her feet to her knees...Twenty years of her life spent abroad would go up in smoke, in a sacrificial ceremony. And the women would sing and dance with her around the fire, with beer mugs raised high in their hands. That's the price she'd have to pay to be pardoned. To be accepted. To become one of them again."

I'm not necessarily saying that people were trying to discount my experiences or my time away... in fact, it was quite the contrary. But I do understand the feeling of disconnect... and the necessity to let go of, or at least stifle, those experiences and my NY self in order to fully fit in back in cali again.

But one thing I realized as I was basking in the warmth from missed loved ones and the sunshiney weather was that my wandering heart really did find its place in NY. It's strange because as I was talking to people, I actually caught myself referring to NY as "home." And when people ask me when I'll be returning, I find myself answering "indefinitely" or "when I'm old... like 40+". But who knows, maybe one day I'll be stuffed like a sardine in a stinky subway listening to "I love L.A." on my ipod, and my heart will just be overwhelmed with an unbearable yearning for my hometown. But until that day- you know where to find me.

humility

I think when it came to people, I've always been attracted to those who were super confident, even borderline cocky; they just seemed so powerful, so self-assured. But nowadays, I have become more and more turned off by these traits and have really come to appreciate those who are humble. Humility is a very difficult quality to achieve, especially for those who are blessed with intelligence, talent, and wealth. I have incorrectly associated humility with those who are not aware of their gifts, but in today's sermon, Pastor Jimmy defined humility as "self-awareness in light of Christ," or in other words "self-awareness in light of the best." Though you may be fully aware of the gifts you have, you know that you are nothing without God. He also mentioned Derrick Rose, this year's NBA MVP (also the youngest player ever to receive this award), and how his acceptance speech was a true demonstration of this kind of humility:



Though not the most articulate, the heart and sincerity in his speech got me pretty choked up.

mommie dearest

Happy mother's day to the best mom in the world! (I don't want to make people angry, but she really is.)

My mom always reminded me of a mix between these two great tv mom's:

norma arnold (the wonder years)

and marge simpson:

It's the kindness, warmth, gentle spirit, and most of all the patience of dealing with completely neurotic and dysfunctional family members- therein lies the resemblance.

Also, she has a slight gambling addiction:

One day we really will send you on a solo vacay to Rancho Relaxo.

And to commemorate, here's a lovely poem by Billy Collins:

The Lanyard - Billy Collins

The other day I was ricocheting slowly
off the blue walls of this room,
moving as if underwater from typewriter to piano,
from bookshelf to an envelope lying on the floor,
when I found myself in the L section of the dictionary
where my eyes fell upon the word lanyard.

No cookie nibbled by a French novelist
could send one into the past more suddenly—
a past where I sat at a workbench at a camp
by a deep Adirondack lake
learning how to braid long thin plastic strips
into a lanyard, a gift for my mother.

I had never seen anyone use a lanyard
or wear one, if that’s what you did with them,
but that did not keep me from crossing
strand over strand again and again
until I had made a boxy
red and white lanyard for my mother.

She gave me life and milk from her breasts,
and I gave her a lanyard.
She nursed me in many a sick room,
lifted spoons of medicine to my lips,
laid cold face-cloths on my forehead,
and then led me out into the airy light

and taught me to walk and swim,
and I, in turn, presented her with a lanyard.
Here are thousands of meals, she said,
and here is clothing and a good education.
And here is your lanyard, I replied,
which I made with a little help from a counselor.

Here is a breathing body and a beating heart,
strong legs, bones and teeth,
and two clear eyes to read the world, she whispered,
and here, I said, is the lanyard I made at camp.
And here, I wish to say to her now,
is a smaller gift—not the worn truth

that you can never repay your mother,
but the rueful admission that when she took
the two-tone lanyard from my hand,
I was as sure as a boy could be
that this useless, worthless thing I wove
out of boredom would be enough to make us even.

are these cool or what?

night owl/early bird

I love the feeling of "a second wind". I don't usually get them very often; trust me- when I'm out, I'm out (ask my friends), and no amount of coffee/red bull/any other crazy caffeinated supplement will do me any good. But sometimes, I just get this second burst of energy, coming from some unknown, mysterious source (God, is that you?). It feels good to have some clarity in the head.

This week, I truly understood what it means to be "dead-tired." I used to use the word lightly (other words I use rather lightly, but probably shouldn't: "depressed", "pissed", "best tasting", "awesome"). I was literally in pain on Saturday coming home on the train fighting to keep my eyelids open, in desperation of not wanting to miss my stop and ending up in the deep neck of Queens.

On a newsworthy note: Bye Bye Osama. The wicked witch of the middle-east is dead!
Of course, Huffpost would be all alarmingly straightforward about it.
I remember whenever I would check HuffPost back in March for the Japan updates, they'd scare the bejeezus out of me every morning with their enormous HEADLINES in blood red and panoramic images of destruction.

I know some folks say "just give it to me straight!" but I prefer my news hopeful, non-threatening, and coated in sugar:



disclaimer: I'm not saying Bin Laden's death is bad news that has to be sugarcoated, but I'm just talking about the overall delivery of their content in general. The presentation of HP just reminds me of those "WANTED: dead or alive" posters or something. Their messages are like hard punches in the chest, while other news sites are like soft, encouraging pats on the back.

My friend Roy, a soldier in Afghanistan. He's a happy camper.