Your Hands

This week was really hard. All around - personally, at work.

Things were going well...and they are still. But lately, I've felt much disappointment and longing in some of my friendships to the point where I can't hide it anymore.

I long for human connection, but am sometimes so hurt by it, whether it be from from the insensitivity of it, the withholding of it, or it not being the way that I had hoped, to the point where it takes all of me to still put myself out there and I just can't.

But I see how necessary it is for me to experience the ache of putting others before myself, to sacrifice, to let things go, and to do it all with a joyful heart. I see more clearly how oblivious I'd been to that same grace shown towards me, and I am thankful for this process, and especially God's faithfulness, as much as it hurts. Knowing this has helped me keep it together.

However, I am just as grateful, if not more, for last night, when, at a very dark moment, I received an e-mail from my sister checking in with me and telling me that many times when she heard this song, she thought of me, and wanted to share it with me.

And I was finally able to cry.

know that you'll be back for more

This morning I woke up feeling my abs, thighs, and shoulders for the first time in a while. Although it hurt, it felt good, too. I was encouraged that my first workout session with my Gold's Gym personal trainer was paying off.

I signed up with Gold's just before the holidays to take advantage of the year-end promotions and to try to set up a healthy alternative to my running routine, which has increasingly aggravated my knee pain in the last few months.

This is my first time joining a gym, and I have been easily amused by Gold's motivational mottos hung around the space. As I change my pants in the locker room, I notice one that says, "If it hurts to tie your shoes, you know you're doing something right." Right above the handle of the door that exits from the gym, you're warned with, "Know that you'll be back for more tomorrow."

Although I snickered and wanted to brush it off as a gimmick, I sincerely asked myself yesterday, as I exited the door:

"Will I be coming back for more?"

Yesterday's PT session was hard, as well as embarrassing with my frequent grunting and grimacing (oftentimes, the PT would say, "Your face says everything - we're doing a good job here..."). But I have to admit that I found it very meditative to do bicep curls as I ever so slowly lowered those dumbbells on each rep, and found myself feeling at peace with the aching in my muscles that I was imposing on myself. And as much as I hated doing the other exercises, it was fun to do different activities and try to win the approval of my PT. It's amazing how much my people-pleasing nature accomplishes.


Yes, I think I will be coming back for more.


And the motto came back to me as I woke up this New Year's Day morning with the sore muscles, and the uncomfortable task of greeting my parents this New Year's Day with the news of the break-up, and facing yet another year at a job that I was not crazy about, another year of not having finished my music album, another year of not knowing what the hell I want to do with myself. However, I knew deep down that I was going to "come back for more". . . more challenges, more misfortunes, more opportunity, more risk-taking, more love, more frustration, more joy, more work, more of this thing I call "my life."

And it's all good.

a time of silence

For the last few months, I've been fighting a battle in my mind. Yesterday, that battle ended, and the noise has stopped.

Although I am glad to have reached this place of silence, I am struggling with the acute sense of pain from the loss, emptiness, of the death of a relationship. Like remembering a lost loved one, in the quiet moments, you recall the funny exchanges you had with the person, how you felt with them, how handsome they were, and the defining moments when they were there for you. And though not much time has passed, you miss them sorely because of the knowledge that things will never be the way they used to.


But I believe everything will be okay.

And I realize now, more than ever, that what I really need during this period is to just be alone, here, in the quiet...

age-appropriate attire

Today I tried out a couple of party dresses for my 30th birthday party next week. I was down to two choices which represented two different personas.

The first one was a cute turquoise braided-halter dress with flower prints at the hem. When I tried it on for the first time, I fell in love with it, mainly because it fit very well on my small frame. The second time I tried it on, however, I noticed that it revealed a lot of skin and I felt (and maybe appeared) a little naked, with my pale farmer's tan-esque upper arms and shoulders overpowering the pretty braided straps I was so impressed by previously. I realized that I no longer had the girlish figure that could wear that dress very well, and realized that I had to let go of looking like a Mischa Barton ingenue-wannabe.

The second dress was a purple va-va-voom dress that fit like a glove and gave me curves I didn't know I had (and slightly accentuated my pot belly, but in a flattering womanly way, if possible). Think sort of Isabella Rosselini's mistress character in "Big Night." It looked a little funny on me with my usual ponytail. However, I let loose the ponytail, and *voila* I transformed into a "woman" with sexy shoulder-length hair bouncing off my shoulders. This dress celebrated the fact that I had a little more meat on, compared to my earlier ingenue days. I felt like a cougar.

In the end, though, I opted to get neither of the dresses. I felt like they made me look too old.

I realized I felt more comfortable with my outfit from my 29th birthday party last year - a tank top with jeans, black flats, and a spankin' new haircut. As I walked out the clothing store, I wracked my brain for ways to re-invent myself. I thought of cutting my hair even shorter than I did last year...maybe a buzz cut? or Rihanna cut?

Then I wondered if maybe I was trying to delay the inevitable, of looking "my age" and like "a woman." I noted how resistant I was to wearing my hair down and going for the curvier dress because it seemed hyper-feminine. Was my wanting to boy-ify my hair and, essentially, my party-wear, my way of re-living my edgier college days, but now into my 30's adulthood?

I'd like to think not, and that I just happen to be a gal from the Bay Area who's in touch with her casual and funky side brewed in the mixes of Los Angeles and Boston. But who knows.

What do you think?


Image from La Dolce Vita

giving up is not an option

After watching my orchid plant lose all of its flowers and its stem turn brown for a while, I needed to decide whether I was going to put more effort into keeping it alive, or let it die, and act immediately.

I decided to save it, which meant doing some research and later de-potting the plant and airing out what I later discovered were some overwatered and now rotting roots that were unable to absorb the water the plant needed.

Coincidentally, I was doing some de-potting in my personal life. Not surprisingly, just as I was approaching my fourth week of non-stop briefing for work, I was feeling stressed, frustrated, and like I was going to die if something didn't change. I was depressed and anxious. This was nothing new. I already knew that my job didn't fulfill me, and that I ultimately want to do film and music, or "art" full-time. But there were deeper issues I had to confront, like the painful question or statement (depending on how you viewed it), "Carolyn, you are almost 30 years old; when are you going to stop waiting to live your life, and just live it?" I, of course, revisited the cliched dilemma of balancing your dreams with the need to make a living; but I knew there was something more uncomfortable at the core underlying this.

What did I really believe about myself? What I had to face was the possibility that I thought I didn't have the talent worthwhile to sacrifice the security I have in my job now. While I whine about how my job doesn't allow me to follow my dreams, I may be the one that's stopping me.

How was this informed by my experiences with my family? There is no denying that my parents have emphasized to me that I am not talented enough to do anything more with my crafts except to keep them as hobbies. Although a futile exercise, I sometimes fantasize what it would feel like to have parents that believed in me in something I felt so strongly about. How I wished I wouldn't be so afraid of failing.

It hurts to recognize these things, but I know it's necessary to just lay it out there, exposed, raw, if I'm going to be able to receive anything good out of life.

And I must act immediately - I can't lie to myself anymore. And I must try to revive the person I want to be that I may have been neglecting for some while. So, on the upside, I am not waiting anymore to make films again. I have started researching on and am making plans to make movies in the near future...


To be continued...

pining

Movies like this fan my desire to make a simple, charming low-budget film.


This stars Justin Rice, the frontman of the band Bishop Allen, and also the lead in "Mutual Appreciation," a film by Andrew Bujalski. Bujalski's films, too, have given me hope that I can maybe one day make an interesting film with "limited resources" (i.e., non-professional cast members played by his friends) and a non-traditional narrative style.

Since we're on the topic of great indie films, "The Motel," directed by Michael Kang, is another movie that I've been meaning to see but haven't had a chance yet (since it was a limited release). Before I started law school, I actually interviewed to be a script reader for Sundance, and my "test" was to read two scripts, analyze them, and determine which script was better suited for Sundance. "The Motel" was one of the assigned scripts and I couldn't put it down. I got the gig, but unfortunately, I couldn't be a regular script reader while going to school outside of Los Angeles; so I turned it down. I was so thrilled later to see the script come to fruition into this film.

One day, one day...

rainbows

Today, as I was turning a corner on my pre-sunset walk in the light rain, I was suddenly bombarded by a vibrant rainbow ahead of me. It was so loud and robust, so technicolor-ally present, that all I could do was just stare in awe as I walked "closer" and closer to it. As I continued to walk onto College Avenue with my eyes fixed on the sky, it was as if I had walked into a movie scene where people everywhere were stopping, coming out of the coffeeshops and their cars, and all - adults, children, old people - were looking up and pointing at the sky. As I was marveling at the people's reactions to the rainbow, a car driving near me opened its window and the passenger inside called out, "Look at the rainbow above you!" to make sure I didn't miss this magnificent sight.

When I saw people taking pictures, it deepened my nagging thought throughout this entire walk, which was to run back to my apartment and grab my camera so I could catch this moment forever.

But I just wanted to relax and enjoy this walk with this rainbow (and its fainter neighbors). I studied the "ends" of the rainbow, which made me think about pots of gold, leprechauns, and lucky charms. I then looked at the sides of the rainbow where I saw the rain-mist varying the intensity of the colors in a steady, fluid rhythm. Then my eyes meandered closer to the center of the bow where the light seemed the most intense - my thoughts became about Noah and God's promise to him after the flood had subsided. I imagined the rainbow that God gave to Noah was very vibrant and intense like the one before me, as if to demonstrate how steadfast and passionate his promise and love to Noah was. As I walked onto Broadway and observed how the view of the rainbow changed as it landed in the trees of the high hills of North Oakland, I thought of unicorns basking in the rainbow's light in mystical forests.

I decided that as much as I was worried about regretting it later, I simply did not want to go back to get my camera. I then seemed to console myself by asking, "Is life about getting a picture of something, or about living in the moment?"

Tonight, I'm glad I chose the latter.