Remembering our heroes

I had an amazing weekend.  But honestly, I feel a little weird saying that considering that this weekend is the ten-year anniversary of the 9/11 tragedy, when so many lives were lost, and we as a nation grieved for them.  But personally, I think it was also a time when heroes stepped up, and provided hope.  And it is because of those heroes that I thought why not just write about this amazing weekend? 

You see, there are many heroes in our lives although many of them are often unrecognized.  But this weekend, I remembered mine.  And I realized that God does place certain people in our lives, at the precise time when we need them, and those people become our heroes to help us through, and give us hope.

On Friday night, I went to see the Tchaikovsky Spectacular at the Hollywood Bowl.  And just to warn you, you'll probably see the word amazing on this post many times, but it was just AMAZING!  The moment the orchestra started to tell the story of Romeo and Juliet, I felt as if this huge, heavy drape that was over my body began to lift up.  And as the music got louder, intense, and then soften to a romantic melody, I felt the drape drop away from me, and my body was free.  At that moment, I felt every sound, every note, that came from the orchestra.  And by the time Swan Lake began, I was me again.  Me before the tragedies of my life happened.  And I remembered the girl who wasn't afraid to express herself.  The girl who wore faded jeans, peasant tops and mismatched shoes, and always had daisies or sunflowers (or both) in her hair, even when she was often reminded that she was in the wrong decade (and was so out of season).  The girl who took her oversized Keroppi to school, and made sure he had a seat next to her in class (and this was senior year of high school).  The girl who made tape recordings to declare and profess her love to her high school boyfriend.  The girl better known as the memory keeper.  And the girl who was not afraid to stand up for a cause, and speak her mind.  The girl who wanted to be a dancer, an actress, a writer and a lawyer, all at the same time.

The girl before the conglomeration of tragedies. 

You see, the unfortunate consequence of tragedies are these protective layers that start to hover over us .  And the more tragedies that come our way, that protective armor, those huge, heavy drapes, or big, stone walls, become so great that we get lost in them.  And eventually, forgotten.

I became lost in mine.  For a long time.
 
But something happened this weekend.  Maybe it was Tchaikovsky.  Or I've just been reading a lot of old letters and journals.  Or it's the 9/11 anniversary.  However, I realized that we all have our stories and we all have our tragedies, but the tragedies of mine are no longer relevant.  What matters is that I survived them.  Because tragedies happen and will happen, but what matters is what we do with those tragedies.  How do we respond?   Do we fold?  Or do we fight for our lives?  For our happiness?  Now, looking back, I realize that although I was battered, bruised and broken for a long time, I always had some hope.  And when that hope was diminishing, God placed people in my life, to remind me of it.  To give it back to me.  To believe in me when I didn't believe in myself.            

On Saturday night, I went to the Harvest Crusade at the Dodger Stadium.  It was the most humbling experience.  And I felt rejuvenated.  Found.  But most of all, grateful.  And blessed.  As Chris Tomlin sang Amazing Grace, I thought, yes, it's because of God's grace that I'm here.  Happy.  Really happy.

And like the wonder of life, today I came across a treasure.  As I was cleaning up boxes of old documents and letters and books, I came across a manila envelope with the word "Speech" written across it.  Inside were copies of my junior high newspaper with my bylines in them; my elementary school "yearbook" where "lawyer" was written under my ambition; cards from my Speech coach encouraging me to be a winner; and a college letter recommendation from my English teacher.  By the time I finished reading the letter, I was crying.  Because, like I said, life happened and it was not so nice at times, and the letter reminded me of how God placed people in my life to help me through my battles.  My English teacher wrote the letter as a second, special recommendation after I got rejected from the university I really wanted to go to.  I hand delivered that letter to the University head of admissions after sitting in the waiting area outside of his office all day.  I still didn't get into the school.

But I am a lawyer as I aspired.   

And I thank my heroes for that. 


 

Photo: Flavio

Some things remain the same ...

... like my love for daisies.

I think they're beautiful.

Simple.  Lovely.

Yesterday was awesome!

I felt pampered and spoiled.

Relaxed.  Very relaxed.

I-just-want-to-nap-kinda-relaxed.

So, when I got home last night,

I decided to turn off my phone,

and just read.

No, I didn't work. 

I read through old emails between my cousin and I.

She lives in a different country, so we write.

A lot.  And so, I read emails from 2006.

I was being nostalgic. 

Like I said, birthdays do that to me.

And wow!  I was surprised how things have changed.

I have changed.  A lot.

I'm happy.

I guess, what hit me most was how my heart wasn't

broken anymore.  As I read words I wrote about

someone I loved and lost, I didn't feel anything.

Not longing, not missing, nothing.

And it wasn't the I-don't-want-to-feel-anything-for-him feeling.

I really felt nothing.  Not a pinch in my heart.

I didn't become overwhelmed with nostalgia about him and us anymore.

There was no reflecting.  Nothing.  The words I read

about love, loss and regrets became just words.

And, I really don't know when all of the feelings stopped.

But they did.

Over dessert, my dear, best friend said to me,

I think all of the broken hearts and disappointments

were meant to prepare you for something greater.

I've seen you love and give it your all.

You will do that again.

And the thing I realized last night,

is that things do change.  We change.

But in the midst of change, some things remain the same.

The people I laughed and cried with five years ago,

ten years ago, even twenty years ago,

are still the same people I laugh and cry with now.

And I know that we'll continue to laugh and cry together

until we can no longer stand straight.

Some things remain the same. 

No matter how life has changed us.

And as much I welcome and embrace change,

I also embrace those things that remain the same.

I also know now, that our ability to love

never dies.  It may go in hiding for awhile.

But it'll always be there.

Because broken hearts have the ability to heal.

Our hearts do get restored.

Put back to pieces.

And we can love again.

Today, I celebrate new beginnings.

And an amazing year ahead.

Photo: Kiwi GaL

that was then, this is now.

I've been feeling nostalgic.  Happens every year around my birthday.  I think about the person I was.  The dreams I had.  The people who are no longer in my life. 

And in all honesty, my life is not how I had pictured it to be.  Ten years ago, if someone asked me how I saw my life in ten years, it's not this.  This is not what I would've described.  The girl I was ten years ago would not recognize the me now.  But modesty aside, I think she would be proud.   

photo: Lindsay Brynn

A little romance

I saw this movie when I was ten years old.  And I fell in love.  With Italy.  With Diane Lane.  (I've been a fan since then.)

After watching this movie, I was a confirmed, bona fide hopeless romantic.  And I thought I was going to marry my best friend, a nine-year-old hopeless romantic poet, who loved the Beatles, serenaded me with Lionel Ritchie and Stevie Wonder songs, and introduced me to his dad as the girl he was going to someday marry.

I thought, one day, we will go to Italy, ride a gondola, kiss under the bridge as the sun sets, and live happily ever after.  Wow!  I can't believe I just wrote all of that.  I haven't thought about that in a VERY LONG TIME.

I guess, those are the kind of dreams that only come from the hearts of the very young.

I should really go to bed.  I must be really tired.

nostalgic L.A.

I've always found it fascinating how foreigners view Los Angeles.  I'm always curious about their expectations of Los Angeles, and interested in how to some extent Los Angeles does or does not live up to those expectations.  Talking to foreigners about L.A. always reminds me of why I love L.A. and why I dislike L.A.  I guess you can say I miss the L.A. I knew growing up, and that I do not care so much for this trendy-Hollywood-brand-name L.A. 

I miss the blue collar neighborhood I grew up in where ice cream trucks were the best afternoon treats, and the two-dollar double-features at the Clinton theater was the happening spot.  Way before the Beverly Center became a trendy tourist attraction, and when Shatto Lanes and the college arcade were the coolest places to go to.  The time when LACMA and the La Brea Tar Pits was the favored after-school hangout.  And when taco trucks just served tacos and burritos at unknown/unpopular neighborhoods. 

I'm nostalgic for old L.A.  I miss the old L.A.   

I miss the old us - the neighborhood kids that came from different cultures and backgrounds but saw no difference in each other.  The neighborhood kids that naturally bonded because we came from similar immigrant-working class household, and we understood how it was to have limited means but big dreams.  I miss the old us that appreciated the smallest treats - a quarter for a scoop of Thrifty's ice cream, or a Big Stick popsicle, or a Caramba soda.  I'm nostalgic for the time when our interracial neighborhood was the most fascinating place because really, it was.  I miss the old L.A.  I miss the old us.   

*photo via americanimages      

chilly night + sicky + nostalgic = felicity marathon

the things that comfort. 

i still love this scene.  yay for felicity!  you tell him...

rainy day + perfect song = nostalgic heart

Sometimes, we just really don't know ...