Clashing Minds and Hearts

Hello everyone. It has been a while, hasn't it? About half a year since I last wrote to you all, and since I last poured my mind out onto this blank template. Many things have changed since then. I am starting a new career, a partly new life, and a new heart? 

Last time, I wrote about how I had broken up with my partner of four years. How do I feel now, you may ask? I feel a bit odd actually. I do not have any feelings for him anymore, but I do feel terrible for how I had ended it. He told me he never really saw it coming, but I realized that perhaps I wasn't so clear to him on how I had felt, and that if I had made it more clear earlier on in our relationship, then he would have been less hurt and it would have been easier for him to move on. 

A quick update, as while this will not be the focus of this post, but it is something that I wish to reflect upon in the near future- I am in love, with one of my closest friends of several years, someone that I have known since my first year of college. I never knew how much we had in common until we started getting closer to each other; ever since I opened my heart to him, and he opened his heart to me, we have had an amazing, heart-warming relationship. While it is long-distance a majority of the time, we try hard to make it work the best we can. We talk to each other daily, and say good morning and good night to each other. When we talk, it feels like we are right next to each other, and when we are both busy, while I miss him so much, I never feel lonely. It is an amazing feeling, to trust and have complete faith in someone that I love and care for, and not be afraid of being in love. 

Well, I could talk for many blog posts about him, but I wish to talk about something entirely different, and something that is the source of my current frustrations and has made me turn back to blogging. :) 

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I am still living at home, much to my confusion and frustration. Yes, the same home that I grew up in, the same tiny house where I have a bunk bed with my younger sister, and almost no space to myself. I miss and crave the freedom that I had while I was living in San Diego, and having less time to myself only makes me grow more and more frustrated with my living situation. Yet, at the same time, I know I should be so thankful to have my parents let me live at home without paying for rent, and allowing me to save money on living expenses. While I do shop for my own groceries, pay for my own gas and bills, they have provided me with a lot of financial support- paying for my LASIK (though they asked me to pay them back in installments), and not charging for rent or utilities. 

The main source of frustration is the clashing and arguments that I have with my parents, mainly my dad. My dad is a very headstrong, stubborn, dependent person, who often does not agree with other people and bases his arguments and conversations solely on facts, and never on feelings or passions. Myself, on the other hand, argues with passion and emotion, rather than just facts, and I love my independence. When I was living on my own, I went to the gym and ate out as I pleased, went grocery shopping when I needed to, and ran in the neighborhood when I felt like I needed to exercise. Now, living at home, my dad requires me to ask him for permission and let him know EXACTLY where I am going, when I am going, and why. He "does not let me" go to the gym in the evenings or randomly, and always questions every decision and purchase I make. This clashing leads to a lot of passionate arguments and tension between me and my dad, and I am not sure how to solve it. 

Another source of our arguments- he wishes me to commute over 100 miles a day for my work, but I wish to move into an apartment to decrease my commute time. Besides sleeping 5 hours a night at home, I live, eat, and sleep in my car or outside my house, and never spend time at home (unless the rare time on weekends). His argument is to save up money to purchase a house, but my argument is sanity, health, and time. Which one is more right? Who is to decide which is better? 

I understand where he is coming from, or at least, I try to understand. He has been the sole "bread-winner" in my family (my mother does not work) and almost all of his stress and frustrations stems from money and "not earning enough" in my mother's family's eyes. However, I know how hard he works, and he works hard to the point that he rarely finds time to relax or enjoy life or take care of his health.

I am at a loss of words, and I am not sure how to approach him besides just taking a deep breath and avoiding arguments. 

Traveling Back in Time and End of an Era Part II

I apologize for the lack of posts on this blog. Things have been...a bit hectic to say the least. As I previously had mentioned, I finally moved back home, to a small town in the middle of nowhere. It's still a bit of a shock, and very much depressing as an understatement. As a comparison, it would feel like moving from the urban, lively and bustling city of New York to a small town in Kansas. Everything is the same, and yet different. Everything looks smaller than when I had left. I suppose after leaving home for college, I was exposed to so many perspectives, cultures, opinions, and experiences that it broadened my horizons and my heart, but now I feel that I have to pack them away in a tiny carry-on suitcase and fit it under my tiny bunk bed in the small, quaint home that I was raised in. 

I immediately jumped back into applying for graduate school and jobs and community college classes, not realizing what an emotional, physical, and mental toll it would take on me. At the same time, I was trying to rearrange everything in the house, help out my siblings, and make sure that my parents are doing okay. I began reorganizing everything- the pantry, the garage, my sister's room, and many cabinets and closets. It wasn't even a month before I started to burn out and feel that sinking feeling creep into my skin. 

I had also realized that, at the same time, I started retracting from my relationship with my boyfriend. I had approached him with my concerns of lack of communication, but in hindsight, I realized that he began making more of an effort than I did. I wasn't sure if it was because I was subconsciously preparing myself for a long-distance relationship, or if I knew what was going to happen next. 

Even though I slowly started communicating less with my partner, I began communicating more with closer friends, the friends that I had started college with. I wasn't sure why this happened either, but it seemed so natural to initiate a conversation online with them on a daily basis. Perhaps I felt lonely, or maybe I was just seeking reassurance. Either way, it seemed to fill a void in my life that...I felt was missing with my partner. I also began feeling less physically and emotionally attracted to my partner- though these feelings surfaced years prior in the relationship, I had chalked it up to "relationship ups-and-downs" and hadn't considered it further. When I had moved home, I was hoping that the phrase "absence makes the heart grow fonder" would hold true, and that my love and feelings for my partner would return. Instead, the void and empty feelings towards my partner began to deepen, all the while my yearning for my friends steadily increased. 

I eventually ended things with my partner, on a sunny and seemingly innocent and cheerful Saturday afternoon. I had discussed the idea with my friends for years, but finally mustered the courage to tell him how I truly felt. It was heart-wrenching and guilt-wracking, and possibly the worst thing I had ever done in my entire life. I hated myself for speaking the truth, and wished that I could have taken the words back. But the phrases had already left my lips- "I don't feel the same anymore, in our relationship. I don't know when it started, but I don't feel that spark or attraction or love anymore. I care about you as a friend...but I think that's it. I don't know what to do and I've tried to change how I feel, but I don't know how." 

The fact that he was so understanding about it made me hate myself even more. He remained calm throughout everything, even though I had already cried away my mascara and my makeup and my eyelids started to become puffy and swollen. He thanked me for being honest with him. In the end, we had agreed to give me some space, so I could try to figure out how I truly felt- about myself, about my friends, and about my partner. What was it that I was missing? Why was I feeling this way? How can I change this? 

After the breakup, I cried during the long drive home, and hid from my family under the pretenses of studying for my exams. To this very minute, I have never felt more scared and alone in my entire life. I knew that he was my rock, my support, and my best friend. And yet, as a lover and a partner, the connection was no longer there. I didn't crave the touch, the caress, the kiss... and I didn't feel any emotional connection. The relationship felt almost...too comfortable, to the point where I no longer wanted sexual intimacy, or emotional intimacy. Was that emotional void filled by the friends I had talked to daily? I wasn't sure. To this moment, I am unsure of anything. I just know that, at this moment, I feel as if I were a table supported by only two legs, ready to fall at any time. I feel very unsupported, unstable, shaky and...scared. Did I make the right decision? What is this relationship that I want? Is physical and emotional intimacy just as important as companionship and comfort? 

"End of an Era"

I made the decision to move home about three-four months ago. Yes, move back in with my parents, while I apply for grad school. The decision was one of the heaviest and most strangest decisions I had ever made, and thus even to this day, the day before I leave, my heart is aching and protesting against my decision.

I made the decision to leave as far as I could once I graduated from high school. My parents had been encouraging me to go to UC Riverside or community college, so I could stay close to home. Being the first out of all my siblings and cousins to go to college, I suppose they were a bit anxious about me leaving the nest and going out into the "real world," away from the bubble of high school. Being my rebellious and strong-headed self, I was fighting with my parents all the time, and couldn't wait to leave home for college. I chose San Diego as my new home, the farthest school I was accepted to. I packed all my things and left as eagerly as I did on the first day of kindergarten- no parents, the learning-is-fun mentality, and a whole world of new friends. 

Strangely enough, the first year in college I became very homesick. It was the first time I was truly away from home, and I ended up going home often (every other weekend I suppose) to revel in the comfort of being with my family and my younger siblings, Saturday morning cartoons, and warm Inland Empire weather, a huge contrast to the cooler San Diego weather. 

Once I started getting more involved on campus, holding club positions and jobs and finding my group of lifelong college friends, I started visiting home a lot less. I realized that the times I went home I always felt like I was missing out on things back in San Diego- Fourth of July BBQs, visiting breweries, food adventures, and random inside jokes that were eventually explained to me but without the magic of being there and present. My parents became surprised that I was visiting home less often, and often tried to persuade me to come back. 

When I graduated from college, I still couldn't leave San Diego. I had a boyfriend in the longest relationship I had ever been in, and all my friends became part of my San Diego family. I knew how to get to my favorite restaurants, I had memories of many places over the past several years, and it just felt like...home. I struggled to make earnings to afford my San Diego home, working a few part time jobs, eventually working a full time job in a field I wasn't passionate about, and then ended up taking the leap and getting certified as a nursing assistant- a move I had been trying to make for a year but could not afford to until recently. I jumped into the next job, hoping that this was it- my job would sustain me for the next year while I applied to grad school. However, I ended up being more unhappy, my hours kept getting cut, and I realized I was not able to afford applying to grad school.

I had a decision to make- stay in San Diego and live paycheck to paycheck and possibly move my application period to the next year (when I could hopefully afford grad school apps), or move back home and continue with my journey to grad school. I felt torn. After six or seven years in San Diego, it had felt more like home to me than my home back in the Inland Empire. I knew the freeways, the areas, I knew where to get food when I was craving it, and I had friends to go out and explore the world with. Back at home, I realized I was getting lost when I was driving back from places, and I knew almost nothing about the small town I had grown up in. 

I finally sat down and had a heart-to-heart talk with my parents. They encouraged my decision, and tried to point out the positives- I could save up money, go travel, apply for grad school, spend more time with my siblings, have real cable TV, find a better paying job in healthcare, and not be constantly stressed and anxious all the time. I went back to San Diego and told my closest friends that I had decided to move home. 

It didn't seem real at first. I wasn't too concerned about moving home, and my life continued almost as normal. My roommate suggested I make a bucket list, but my heart truly didn't feel like making a bucketlist, so it wasn't made until we sat down together and brainstormed. I only thought of a few things- The Farmer's Market, scenic places, and a few of my favorite restaurants. Funny enough, through the past few months we ended up adding many more places to the bucketlist- a Padres Game, Sea World, etc- than I had imagined. The past few months seemed to fly by, and it all seemed to suddenly stop on the Saturday before my move-out. We went to a Padres game, walked around and tried different foods and drinks, and had a wonderful evening out with my closest friends and roommates. During the drive there, a couple of my friends were talking about going camping during the summer. My heart lurched at the conversation, realizing that I wouldn't be there for that event, and possibly many more adventures to come. That night, I realized that this was my last weekend in San Diego. Sunday I finished studying for my GRE, and I felt almost depressed, wanting to be left alone but also yearning for interaction. Eventually I snapped out of my depression and went to the gym with my roommate. While on the treadmill, my roommate turned to me and said, "This is the end of an era, isn't it?" I just nodded, not knowing what to say, but in my mind and heart I knew it was true. I had lived almost a fourth of my life away from home in this city, and I had lived it all with my roommates- from freshman year in the dorms to moving to our first apartment off-campus, to graduating with our degrees and living in a house together, we had been there for each other since the beginning. 

To this very moment, my heart still aches and protests my decision, but I know deep down that this is the right decision, at least right now. All this time, I thought that I had fallen in love with the city of San Diego, but I realized that it wasn't the city I was attached to, but rather the memories, experiences, and friendships that were created during my time here. As a friend told me, it isn't the location necessarily, but rather the friendships and connections that make a place meaningful. 

For some strange reason, I have always had trouble with optimism and trust in others and myself. But as my parents and many other people have told me, I just need to have trust and faith that my decision is correct, and have faith in that my friends and family will be there for me, and that I can be there for them. As a friend pointed out, San Diego will always be there, but friends will eventually move away and pursue their own careers and dreams. as such, I shouldn't worry about where I live or where I am going, but rather measure my happiness based on my goals, dreams, and own emotions. Distance is only a quantitative measurement separating people from one another, but true feelings and emotions are not limited by time or space.

As such, even though it is an "end of an era" of my San Diego chapter, there are many other chapters of adventures in the future that I must look forward to. And I will look forward to these new chapters, knowing that I still share love and companionship of those most close to me. 

Funny how things don't turn out the way we expect

It is funny how things don't turn out the way we expect them. It can be even more frustrating and confusing when we not only expect things to turn out a certain way, but we also strive hard to achieve that end goal or product. I suppose that's just what life teaches us- to make lemonade when given lemons, to make the most of what you have, and to never put all your eggs in one basket.

For instance, yesterday I made an attempt at Indian food. For all those who know me, I love cooking, and I love exploring different foods and recipes. However, people who know me best also know that I am not particularly savvy with cooking, and even less so with baking. Earlier this month, I made a chocolate ganache pie with raspberry and strawberry glaze topping the pie, and although people really enjoyed it, I knew it was only a success because I didn't have to use the oven for it. Yesterday, I tried making oatmeal chocolate chip cookies- with an instant mix from the store!- and it ended up being slightly crispy- or burnt- and flat like pancakes. Why do I have this baking curse, you may ask?

After years of attempting to bake cakes, cookies, tarts, muffins, and other delicious desserts, I realized that I wasn't cursed to be a failure at baking my whole life, but rather I do not have the patience that a baker needs to perfect recipes. In cooking, I love to cut corners, throw spices in and taste-test here and there, and eventually end up with a product I am satisfied with. However, this doesn't seem to work in baking- or at least, for me it doesn't.

After realizing I failed at making delicious cookies from an instant packet- to me, this would be the equivalent of failing at making instant ramen- I decided to continue with my Indian cooking and hope for the best. Throwing in spices like garam masala and tumeric powder, along with my favorite addition to Indian cooking- cilantro- I ended up making seekh kebabs, chicken and potato masala, and chicken and peas biryani, along with raitu (cucumber yogurt side dish). While I enjoyed eating what I had made and felt confident in my cooking, I realized it wasn't the exact same flavor that made my tastebuds dance when I first tried these dishes. The seekh kebabs were missing mint and more spiciness, the biryani ended up being more sticky like khichidi, and the chicken and potato masala dish was too sweet for my taste. I would have rated my own cooking 5/10.

Surprisingly, however, other people who tried it seemed to really enjoy the dishes, so I was taken aback. Had they not had these dishes before in restaurants?! My mere spiceless seekh kebabs were no match for the sizzling, delicious, fiery and juicy seekh kebabs served on those metal plates with grilled vegetables and aromatics, or so I thought.

The next day, I came home from work, feeling so drained and exhausted after working with the patients, and all I wanted to do was shower and crawl into bed and sleep until the next Ice Age. I dragged my feet to the fridge and used what felt like my last ounce of strength in my arms to pull open the fridge door, to find my leftovers from the other day staring me in the face. I contemplated between eating instant noodles and eating my leftovers, and after a few minutes I gave in. I warmed up my leftover dishes from the previous day, and sat down and opened my laptop. Without giving a second thought, I shoved a bite of the seekh kebab in my mouth, only to be surprised by the different spices and flavors that overcame me. My taste buds started to crave more of the flavors, and suddenly I looked down at an empty bowl. Within only a few minutes I had devoured all the food that I had thought yesterday to be tasteless and uninteresting.

So in conclusion, I still think what I made was not up to par with how I expected it to turn out. It definitely was not comparable to my mom's homemade food, and not even close to the hot, fiery and sizzling foods that I had in good Indian restaurants. However, as my mom always tells me, cooking is a process that should be fun and enjoyed, not a stressful experience. If a dish doesn't turn out the way you expect it to be, it is okay! Sometimes we are our own harshest critics. Similar to how a slow-cooker over several hours results in the most delicious stews and dishes to the imagination, the process of learning how to cook and perfect dishes takes time but is worth it in the end. :)