!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

FREAKING OUT RIGHT NOW.

Para Tu Amor

Fun fact: I am trilingual. I grew up speaking Chinese, then had to transition to reading and writing in English, and then finally discovered in high school I had a natural knack for Spanish. And while my English is undoubtedly the best of the three, I have to confess that my real passion and clandestine love ultimately lie with the Spanish language.

It's hard for me to explain what Spanish means to me. I could go on and on and talk about how useful a language it is to know, how I have become fast friends with the Spanish-speaking maintenance staff in my building, how I can easily give directions to City Hall to tourists from Buenos Aires. But for me, it's so much more than these things. Hearing people speak Spanish the way it is supposed to be spoken, with that perfect rising and falling of sounds crafting together words and sentences and ideas, that slight but so natural emphasis on the "yo"...it makes my heart beat fast, race. Reading books upon books about the Latin American identity, as authors poignantly search for new ways to portray a disjointed, marginalized and still deeply misunderstood historical existence. It is an existence that I, on some level even I don't quite understand, also identify with.

I remember the very moment in my life when I became aware of it, this love affair I now freely admit to having. It was years ago, and I was listening to a Juanes song, "Para Tu Amor." It wasn't as though I suddenly (en espanol: "de repente," a term that has always evoked images of sinning) knew all the words to the song in some brilliant flash of an epiphany. Rather, I simply understood everything. I understood the song in its entirety, its meanings -- all the pain and desire and desperation and acceptance of perfections and imperfections -- suddenly just became so impeccably and undeniably clear. Everything was simple, illuminated. I just understood. Something in that song and ultimately in that foreign tongue had translated itself into a language I could finally understand; something that had been so foreign at first felt like a thing that had been a part of me all of my life. If that makes any sense. And being cognizant of this understanding was so inexplicably beautiful. It was, all told, a real metacognitive, metaphysical, meta-everything kind of moment.

From then on, I became absolutely ravenous. I wanted to consume everything, know everything, be everything. And needless to say, I'm still just as ravenous now as I was back then when everything clicked and I just knew. Now if only this sort of clarity and ease would somehow come out of my relationship with that most dreaded of disciplines, Math...I could probably conquer the world.

Exhilaration

5 miles today! Okay, okay, with a short break in between. But still! I'm slowly becoming more and more addicted to running. There's something so indescribably personal and intimate about it. Only you can control the pace at which you go, the distance you choose to run. It's so difficult, and yet simultaneously so easy, yielding. And I like that. After a certain point, you find your rhythm and the physical pain and mental torment just...melt away. All you need to do is run; nothing else matters at that unique moment in time. I find that I fall into this zone where I don't really see anyone or anything around me. There is just this lull, this quiet noise that surrounds. It's almost as if everything has fallen into place, and there's no need to think about anything anymore. It's just me. I become so profoundly aware of everything and nothing.

Back It Up

This past weekend, I had a rather unfortunate thing happen to me. And when I say unfortunate, what I really mean is ABSOLUTELY, MINDBLOWINGLY, UNFATHOMABLY TERRIBLE. While I consider myself to be more tech-savvy than most people, one thing that I have long neglected to do is backup my files. To be truly honest, the first time I had ever even heard of such a term was via an episode of Sex and the City, when Carrie's old but trusty laptop suddenly malfunctions and she ends up losing her entire life's work.

Needless to say, my story does not end quite so happily as Carrie's does (No perfect hippie woodworker of a boyfriend of mine up and surprises me with a girly Macbook complete with an even girlier-looking external hard drive...ugh). Instead, I found myself at the helpless mercy of the Geek Squad, who, try as they may, could not help me retrieve all the files I had inevitably lost. The upside: all of my Microsoft Suite-related files (Word, Excel, PowerPoint) were found. Whew. The very, very, very downside of things: I no longer have ANY picture or audio evidence from the last 3 and 1/2 years of my life. That's right, folks. All of my picture and music files are irretrievably and irrevocably gone. Vanished into thin cyberair. GONE, I TELL YOU. When they told me the news, I was literally speechless. How do you even react to something like that, anyway? I have lost all physical evidence of being 18, 19, 20 and 21 years old; there are no pictures that I can look back on, no song I can play, fondly remembering how I once thought that song would change my entire life. Even now, while writing this, I am still at a complete loss for words to express the overwhelming sadness I feel. The first thing I did after, of course, was to buy myself an external hard drive. Duh. But looking back now, I can't help but wonder (a la a certain Miss Bradshaw): would I have rather lost all of my document files or my pictures and my music? Which really means more to me at the end of the day: the first paper I ever wrote in college or a picture of my first college love?

The sad thing is, I think I know the answer.

Holly

I have to admit, I've never been a huge fan of Breakfast at Tiffany's. There was just something so incredibly irksome about the character of Holly Golightly; something about her lackadaisical demeanor, her damsel in distress attitude, her fragility left me completely unsympathetic and made her a little less than desirable as a person in my books. I guess all the characteristics that make her persona so compelling to millions of women -- and gay men -- everywhere are the very qualities that turn me off. IMDb describes her as "a sweetly vulnerable bundle of neuroses," which according to me can basically be interpreted to mean she is a veritable hot mess. No? And this is not to say that I've never before pined to be in the same position as Holly. On the contrary, I'm the first to admit to being quite the hopeless romantic myself. Of course I'd love to be saved by a handsome rugged writer (with a mysteriously vague and never quite fleshed out relationship on the side). Of course I'd love to flit from place to place wearing only pearls and toting my customary coffee and croissant duo (which I do, in fact, do...sans the pearls). Of course, of course, of course! What, am I not a girl? Do I not have a vag? I completely understand the movie and the concept, yet I just can't bring myself to understand nor relate to her character. I can't pinpoint it, but the sentiments are just not there. Perhaps it's the cynic in me, fighting and trying to override the hopeless romantic. Maybe it's a lot more chic these days to play the jaded card. Regardless, after dozens of views and hours of endless pondering, I've come to realize that I just don't like Holly Golightly, and probably never will.

Back

A poem I wrote today.

Back
I remember
wet sand, wet lips as you kissed me
and my burning tears, you promised
you would never leave me
with myself, that blackest nightmare.
I remember
we were covered in rain, wildly dancing
to songs, foreign
and familiar, to the secrets
at the fiery depths of this earth, to those shadowy halls.
You held my trembling heart
and hands, you carried me back, tenderly,
brought me back to myself.

Eggy Cheesey Goodness

I've decided to come clean about something. I am wildly and ridiculously obsessed with quiche. It could probably hold its own as another food group for me. If I could, I would eat it for breakfast, lunch and dinner. And in between. And for dessert. Preferably in a sweeter form. I can't quite remember the origins of my love affair with this eggy, cheesey, flakey goodness, but these colder days are definitely bringing out a severe and daily hankering for quiches galore. Here is some quiche porn, admittedly more for me than it is for you.

smitten kitchen

Not

I am going for a run, and I am not coming back.

Inaction

Sometimes it feels just like I'm falling down the rabbit hole and there's no way out again. There are no detours, cheats, rendezvous points, trap doors, alternative exits. There is no way out. Things in my life start growing, like hungry vines that surround and intertwine me, envelop me, overwhelm me. There is no way out. I cannot see a way out. These aren't problems that can be resolved with a quick fix, not something a band aid can remedy. They stem from deeper, more unconscious issues. My issues, issues that I have with myself, issues that I am cognizant of but cannot come to terms with, cannot resolve. I cannot find that perfect intersection between all these problems, that solution, that compromise. To be able to balance everything, make everything and everyone happy. To be able to make myself happy. My life is just characterized by this boasting of action and progression. But nothing ever happens. I am a liar, a thief. I lie and make promises that I cannot keep. I steal people's time and patience, my own time and patience. Things that are supposed to happen never do. Everything that I have ever promised, every action that I have ever initiated never actually happens. It is a facade. My life is one continuous inaction.

But I'm Already With Someone

Totally underrated band.

Edge of Desire

I can't stop listening to this song over and over again. It's literally on repeat all day. I had a hard time working through his new album; it felt disjointed, disorganized. But this is usually the case with all of John Mayer's stuff. On the first run-through, everything feels vaguely familiar, like bits and pieces of things you've heard all of your life. But what I've realized over the years is that his albums require a lot of time to "understand." It takes time and patience to tread through the overall "feeling" of his albums and recognize the genuine authenticity of his melodies coupled with the nuances that embody his lyrics. And even though Battle Studies still feels a bit awkward to me as a whole, I've finally decided that I do, in fact, like it. It's different, and maybe not in a good way...but I like it all the same.

Even If

"I think I'd miss you even if we'd never met."

View from My Desk, 8:30 AM

It's pretty cool to be able to wake up and see Brooklyn every morning. Hi Brooklyn!

Alone Together

A picture from the talented and poetic ThePhotodiarist. Two people dancing alone together to their own music, their own song. Alone together. I like the juxtaposition of those two words and two concepts. To be together, in a writhing sea of people and buildings, but feel like you are completely and happily alone in the calm of the person whose arms are embracing yours...

I think every person wants to find someone else to dance with.

5!

Just signed up for my very first 5K running race.
Let the games begin!

Um Abraco

It's no secret that I have a terrible sweet tooth. Case in point: I baked a loaf of apple bread this afternoon just to make sure I would have dessert after dinner tonight. But something that has only recently surfaced and developed is my new found love for coffee. Like all kids growing up, I used to watch, with complete and utter disgust, my parents guzzle down that muddy brown liquid with the headiest of scents. It was totally revolting to me. But over the last year or so, I started drinking and experimenting with coffee and espresso beverages. It began tentatively, with late nights and early mornings forcing me to grab some Starbucks or a cup from the corner breakfast cart on the way to class. Then, slowly but surely, it evolved to dabbling in espresso drinks, pondering the minute nuances between lattes and cappuccinos and macchiatos ("And what exactly is foam again?"). Which leads us to the present, and to my current torrid love affair with good coffee. It took a while to get here, though. It was several months before I could even distinguish good coffee from bad, and came to the sudden realization that the coffee I was drinking from Starbucks was actually complete shit (And trust me, it is). I can't exactly say I'm some sort of coffee connoisseur, but I do believe that these days I know what's up in coffee culture. And that would be Abraco.

I've been coming to this little joint for several months now, and can honestly claim that it makes the best cappuccinos I have ever had. In. My. Entire. Life. I am constantly craving it, yearning for it, dreaming -- and daydreaming! -- about it. And with their fresh and always rotating selection of pastries and sweets, Abraco is really changing the way I think and feel about coffee.

How every cappuccino is supposed to be

Rose Water Pain Perdu

My favorite, the Olive Oil Cake

My mom's favorite, the Cured Olive Cookie

Outside Abraco

The man behind the coffee, Jamie. He's a little crazy, but I kind of adore him.

If you haven't already been there yet, I really encourage you to go. And I'm talking now. Like me, you'll probably never be able to look at another cup of Starbucks the same way again. And believe me, that would be a good thing.

photos via kathyylchan

Serious Girl Crush!

JUST DO ME ALREADY.

fashiongonerogue

The Other Side and Back Again

The Brooklyn Bridge, via mrnewton. That certain solitude that one gets, a necessary emotional and physical release, that yielding, all-consuming, mind-numbing weightlessness that you feel when you find yourself alone and tearing down the bridge's narrow pathway, that forgiving closure when you touch Manhattan soil again after a brief visit to the other side...all these qualities are what make the Brooklyn Bridge my favorite place for late night runs.

Sometimes I Feel Like Doing This Too