How do you remember things in your life?  I’ve always found it to be a roundabout process to recall what year something happened.  First I think what I was doing at that time and tie it back to a location – walking to the bus stop while reading (St. Louis, MO), riding my bike into town (Brewster, NY), or playing in a beautifully large backyard (Topeka, KS)?  Once I pinpoint the location, I am able to identify what grades I must have been in: preschool (Pennsylvania), 1st/2nd/4th (Kansas), 3rd (China), 5th-7th (Missouri), 7th-10th (New York), 11th-14th & 16th (California), or 15th (England).  I then need to think of what year it must have been based on what grade I was in.  What a mess!

Similarly, when I recall what age I was when something happened, I think of the situation based on location, tie it back to a grade level, then calculate how old I was .  I’m not sure why it’s such a lengthy process, but that’s always how I’ve drawn on memories in my life.  It makes me wonder how other people who don’t move as much do it, since much of their memories would tie back to the same location.  They seem to do it much better too!

Today someone put on 90′s music at work and one song came up that was of particular interest.  Each song that I recognized put me back to a place and time in my life when I heard that song most prominently.  Backstreet Boys took me back to the summers I spent in China with my cousins and extended family.  Destiny’s Child took me back to the fun I had biking down a huge hill by my house in New York.  TLC took me back to getting driven to swim practice at the YMCA over in Connecticut.  Tupac took me back to the lounge I studied in my first year at UCLA (yeah, I learned of him later in life).  I wouldn’t be able to place a year on when those songs came out, but I could definitely get close.  Somehow other people seem to be able to remember just what year it was though.

I’ve never understood that ability and I wonder how I will remember things if I don’t continue moving around a lot.  When everything merges into one physical space, what cues will I use to differentiate between time periods?  The way I’ve put my life into context for over two decades would become irrelevant.  I’m sure I would adapt, but at this moment I can’t fathom how.  So I wonder, how do you do it?

I went out to the east coast for the weekend and on Saturday, it was raining or sleeting all day.  At times, it almost got cold enough for us to get some snow down in the DC/VA area.  Almost.  I hear that more northern parts did get snow, and quite a bit, and I’ve got to say I’m a bit jealous.  I was hoping for some snow to enjoy here as well.  While I’d all but forgotten the experience of getting into a cold car and trying to defrost the windows while warming up, I do miss snow.  Nobody said I had to miss all the unpleasant experiences that come with it, right?

My selective memory allowed me to remember a brisk walk with snow crunching under my feet.  Pretty positive memory.  It allowed me to remember building snowthings and catching snowflakes with my tongue.  Very positive memory.  It did not, however, allow me to remember the bitterness of a freezing cold car.  Not so positive memory.  Well, that’s how it goes I guess.  After so many years removed from this kind of life, I chose to focus on the things I did like about it rather than that which was less desirable.  Nevertheless, with all the pros and cons trying to weigh each other out, I still wouldn’t mind moving back to more volatile climates for awhile.  It’d make me appreciate LA even more when I returned, right?

My, how 10 years have gone by. It’s hard to believe that it has been so long, yet it went so quickly. Before we know it, we’ll be another decade along. And while we will never forget 9/11 and the effects of terrorism have forever changed the course of history here in the US, the world must go on and so too, will we.

It’s so strange to look back. I feel like the 15-year-old sitting in math class that morning has nearly become someone else entirely. I even moved clear across the country in the year following 9/11. For the first three years of coming to California, the horror and memories of the footage we saw that day were fresh. Each anniversary, I’d show up to class dressed so patriotically it was silly. Those years I yearned for my old life in New York state and still identified as a New Yorker. I wanted to represent all who I knew were affected by the tragedy and show that I hadn’t forgotten, either.

As time went on, my identity as a Californian, an Angeleno, solidified and the thoughts of what happened in New York got filed away into my memory banks. Anniversaries were easier to handle and I didn’t always cry on the day anymore. This year I spent a quiet day with loved ones and since I don’t have a TV, have no idea what kind of coverage there was. I hope there was a lot though.

I’ll never forget the confusion our class felt as we heard the news, nor will I forget the look on my teacher’s face when she was told. It took us awhile of sitting around talking amongst ourselves to fully grasp the situation. When the school decided to let us go home for the day (which was only half through), I went home to sit in front of the TV with goosebumps as I watched again and again the terrible images.

I hope that we’ve learned enough as a country to prevent this kind of thing from happening again. I’m glad that we were able to get to Osama before today, for that can at least close one chapter of this saga. However, there is still so much to do and I hope we pull out of our struggles victorious and humbled.

It all started with Jaycee Dugard… and ended with TV shows from my childhood!  Yeah, I know, random.  And you will never guess how I got there.

So there I was driving and listening to the radio when I heard that there would be a special on Jaycee Dugard.  Hers is a fascinating story, so I went online to take a look since I don’t have a TV to tune in with.  As I watched that story, I was reminded of one of the shows I used to love to watch (maybe because my dad loved to watch it): 20/20.  Since I was already on the ABC site, I started to watch videos of 20/20.  The episode I watched ended with a tour of the Spelling mansion that was just sold recently.

Now I’m not really into this pop culture thing, so I had no idea the Spellings were rich.  I had only heard of Tori Spelling here and there, and I have no idea what she has acted in.  I went digging more into this story of the sale of “the Manor” and eventually that led me to some related articles that covered 90′s pop stars.  Aha!  So that’s how a kidnapped girl leads to stars from my youth.

I started perusing the listings (you can read them yourself too) and there were so many great memories!  From Full House and 7th Heaven to Xena and Dr. Quinn Medicine Woman, I started to remember all those shows I used to watch.  I had all but forgotten about Boy Meets World and Home Improvement, Touched By An Angel and The Secret World of Alex Mack.  But then there were some of my favorites: Sabrina the Teenage Witch and Buffy the Vampire Slayer.  Oh, and Bill Nye the Science Guy and Lamb Chop’s Play-Along!!  I did enjoy those learning shows.  I also remembered some not mentioned: Early Edition and Mister Roger’s Neighborhood.  Boy do I miss the good old days of good old television.  I didn’t know all the shows covered, but I was surprised at how many I did recognize and watch.

It was nice to look back on those shows and if they are available to watch… I’d love to remind myself of how good they were.

I was walking by some rooms in Saxon Suites on the UCLA campus when this kitty caught my eye. We’re not supposed to have animals in the rooms, so I wonder if those blinds were supposed to hide the cat, not frame him in the light. Oh how I miss having a cat! I can’t wait until I can get one again, one that will be naughty like this cat and let his curiosity guide him, defying any rules.

That’s what my cat did back in NY. He got us kicked out from a temporary living situation because he peeked through the blinds when management was walking by. We weren’t supposed to have a pet there. So, we had to move into the Hilton in Danbury until our house was ready for move-in. What a naughty little cat.

Once upon a time, when I was at the intersection of Gayley and Strathmore driving into Westwood, a pregnant woman was crossing the street in front of me.  To my friends, I commented that I never wanted to be ”that pregnant” and they laughed, arguing that there were no degrees of pregnancy – you either were or you weren’t.  But alas, they totally missed my point!  I have absolutely no interest in my belly bulging so much that no shirt will cover the lower part of it.  I don’t want to be that pregnant.

Then, recently on radio they spoke of the “very pregnant” Alanis Morisette, which implies that you can be more (or less) pregnant than the average woman.  Hah!  I thought to myself.  She is very pregnant; I don’t want to be.  It was a little bit of vindication for a viewpoint that my friends did not share.  Sure, biologically you either are or are not, but that doesn’t mean that when you are, you can’t be more or less.  I’m just sayin’.

Cats control.  Perhaps that’s why I like cats.  They like to be in control, just like I like to be in control.  Here’s an interesting video on how they use purring to get what they want.  They know how to get what they want and I generally do too.  And they love to nap!  I think more than that, it is their independent lifestyle though.  I don’t like dogs because they’re too needy.  I can leave a cat alone for days with no issue.  A dog would probably destroy the house and find a way to hurt himself.  Plus, cats don’t smell the way dogs do.  One of my greatest peeves is when a dog tries to lick my face – I don’t want to be anywhere near that, because their breath just reeks!

I think it’s fascinating that cats only purr for people.  At some point, they learned that doing so would make us happy, so now they know how to use it to get us to give them what they want.  I respect their smarts and love that they present a challenge.  They don’t always do what you want, but when they do, you can bet something went right.  I feel like you really have a relationship with them – some give and take and learning how to work with each other.  Dogs, on the other hand, just follow you around and give you all the attention and love you could ever need.  It’s suffocating.  I like pets that also can leave me alone.  And I like knowing that I’ve earned the good treatment I’m getting, rather than getting it because that’s all my pet does.  I suppose I prefer the depth of personality versus the unconditional love.

Cats are really misunderstood and it’s unfortunate.  They make for richer relationships.  Not to say that dogs don’t have personalities, but they’re not as complex as cats are.  And they certainly aren’t as clean.  It’s much easier to maintain a cat than a dog!  No walking, no barking to deal with, and so much less energy required.  It’s perfect for me; low-key and laid back, just the way I like it.  I can’t wait to get my next cat.  All my childhood ones have passed on.  :(  I miss that sort of companionship and nothing is more soothing than hugging a purring cat.

Branching off from my description of generational gaps in my family…

For my parents in particular, my maternal grandmother heard of my dad through the wife of a professor at the local university, which is where my parents both went to school.  My maternal grandfather was also a professor at the school and his professor buddy had my dad as a student.  Through the women talking, my grandmother learned that this young man was the professor’s star student and first in his class.  My parents were introduced to each other and my grandfather approved without ever meeting the young man.  All he had to know was that he was a hard worker and an excellent student.  My grandmother, on the other hand, wanted to meet and get to know this potential suitor.  As the legend goes, she sat him down for an interview (probably mostly asking about academics and his professional future) and liked him as well.  My mom decided that of the guys she’d been introduced to, she liked this one the most, and so they were married.  Or something like that.

It turned out to be a great decision, since my dad was smart enough to be allowed to leave China, which was a bit of a mess back in those years.  The country had been in lock down and it was extremely hard to get out.  My dad got into a PhD program at Penn State, which is what took him abroad.  About six months before I was born, he left for the land of the free and began his studies.  A year later, when I was a few months old, my mom followed suit, going to Penn State for her Master’s.  I was left with relatives in China and I believe my paternal grandmother was mostly in charge of raising me those years.  By the time I was three and a half, my parents had saved up enough money to fly me over.

I don’t remember much from those years, but I did have one strong memory from the plane ride, about the lady who escorted me from my family in China to my parents in America.  I have also been told by my mother that when I first arrived, I refused to let my dad sleep in the bed.  After all, it really was like meeting them for the first time – my dad had never seen me before and my mom had only been with me for about half a year.  My mom attributes this behavior to a child’s need to cling to one adult they trust.  Apparently between my parents, I chose my mother.  So I clung to her and slept with her, but initially wouldn’t allow my dad to share the space.  Poor guy must have had a couple of rough nights camping out on the couch or something.

And so that is how I spent the first couple of years of my life.  Most of it’s a blur and photography was too expensive back then to have many pictures capturing my toddler years.  The few I do have are quite amusing, with me all bundled up in winter clothes with a red dot on my forehead, or hanging out in a crib with my cousins standing around me.  Perhaps I’ll dig those up someday and share them too.

I usually just write about my thoughts and opinions, or include pictures and videos I find interesting.  I think it’s time for a little story – an anecdote from my childhood.  After all, stories can be a great thing for entertainment.

When I was about 12 (or maybe I was already 13 by then), I was set to return to China for the summer.  It was my first time flying alone, but I loved exploring things on my own and was perfectly happy to make the trip without supervision.  I was living in New York at the time and my parents took me to LaGuardia Airport, got me checked in, and sent me on my way.  Well, after waiting with me until the plane actually arrived, that is.  You see, it was delayed (as planes quite often are).

So when it was finally time, I got on my flight to O’Hare International Airport in Chicago.  When we landed there, I quickly exited the plane to rush to the gate of my connecting flight.  When I arrived there, I was happy to see they were still boarding.  Most people had already gone on, so there wasn’t much of a line left.  When I got to the front, the steward took my ticket and stopped just as he was about to rip off the stub for me.

“You aren’t going to Amsterdam, are you?” he questioned.

I paused.  ”No…” I replied, confused.  ”I’m going to Beijing.”

“Well,” he said, “this isn’t your flight.  That one has already taken off.”

Whaaaaat?!  I hadn’t noticed the sign saying this flight was headed to Amsterdam.  And I was baffled that I was so late that not only had my flight packed up and gone, the next flight was nearly ready to back out of the gate!  Oh no.  Not good news.  The steward directed me to a customer service area where I could be helped and I trekked over, for the first time unsure of my travels.  When I arrived, I found that a lot of others on my flight had come across the very same issue and were all standing in line to work it out with the people at the counter.  Frantic, I called home to talk to my parents about the disaster.

I don’t recall much of the conversation, except that they told me to remain calm and go talk to the people at the counter, then let them know what was going on.  I obediently went to stand in line and was told that the next flight out was the following day.  At this point, realizing I was a minor traveling alone, the airline sent a representative to be my escort.  They planned out the rest of my trip and called my parents, informing them of my new itinerary.  Now I was to stay the night at an airport hotel and take a flight to Tokyo, then transfer to a flight to China.  Slight detour, but that was the next available flight so there wasn’t much of a choice.

The airline stewardess sent to watch over me led me off to a room hidden away, where a whole room full of kids sat around playing with a variety of toys!  It was an awesome game room and I quickly settled in to play a Yoshi video game.  I’ve never owned a gaming system, so it was a joy to be able to play for hours.  For lunch, I was taken out to get some food at one of the food court type areas.  The lady had a voucher of some sort for me to use.  For the rest of the day I played games until dinnertime, when I was taken out again to eat.  Throughout the day, kids had come and gone as they waited for their flights.

By the end of the night, it was just me and four teenage boys left.  We were shuttled over to the Four Points hotel and taken to our rooms.  The guys each shared with one other boy and occupied two rooms.  Being the only girl, I was given a suite all to myself!  I remember it was so big I could have done cartwheels all around the place.  Now that was some luxury!  I happily got under the covers and watched some late night shows, not really caring about TV but wanting to do something.  Outside my door, a gentleman sat on a chair all night, guarding my door and watching those of the boys across the hall.  I’m sure he got a break from a colleague, but I was too busy resting inside to know.

The next morning, we all got up and headed back to the airport.  I stayed in the game room until it was time to go and by that time I’d made a friend with a Korean girl who was going to be on the same flight as me from Chicago to Tokyo, after which she would to to Seoul and I would go to Beijing.  We boarded our flight, another delayed one, and sat together for the trip.  Arriving at Narita International, we found that we’d missed our connections.  We were passed off to Japanese airport officials, who got us flights for the next morning.  With our parents informed of the new development, we were taken to a back room where the airport staff hung out.

All I remember of that place was a dingy feel with poor lighting, guys lounging around watching an odd game show that I couldn’t understand, and the air filled with smoke.  Hating cigarette smoke, I had a difficult time breathing as the guys puffed away.  It was sort of awkward, but late in the night already, so we didn’t have to stay long.  My friend and I were taken to an airport hotel, where we shared a room.  I remember looking out at the peephole to find a very cute guy sitting in front of our door, guarding us for the night.  We girls giggled over our littles crushes and chatted late into the night.

Two days after my initial departure, I finally got on a flight to Beijing.  My flight buddy had gone off to her flight to Seoul and I never saw her again.  Meanwhile, I was babysat until mine came.  I made it to Beijing after many hiccups, but there was one more small one to get through – the train from Beijing to my hometown of Shenyang was delayed!  I can’t remember who got me, but we waited about an hour for a train and by this time it was nearly 1 in the morning.  Somewhere here the details get fuzzy, since it used to take 12 hours to get between those cities, but I distinctly remember arriving at my grandmother’s door right around 4 AM.  The poor woman had been waiting up for me, as good grandmothers are apt to do.  :)

I’m not sure if I’m imagining it, but perhaps – just perhaps, I had taken a flight from Beijing to Shenyang and then gotten driven back by 4.  It does make sense, but I can’t quite remember.  One day, I will rifle through my journal entries to confirm the details.  I hope I wrote all of it down.  And so there you go, a most arduous journey that you could attribute to the domino effect, with pieces falling down and causing the next one to fall down too.  Or you could blame Murphy’s law, where anything that can go wrong, will go wrong.  Not to say that things going wrong can’t be a beautiful thing!  In fact, for me it really was quite a wonderful experience!  I had a lot of fun and got to enjoy the type of adventure not many pre-teens can ever say they’ve had.

Panda and one of my coworkers seem to love the idea of life being like a musical.  Whenever we walk, Panda will start singing a little tune he makes up to go with the rhythm of our footsteps.  My coworker always is talking about breaking out into song and dance (and apparently he’s sizing up everyone to see who he’d want to be near if this did happen, so he could be next to the better dancers).  Yeah, I’m surrounded by strange people.

When I was younger, I used to sing a lot too.  I think for me it stemmed in my upbringing.  My parents would sing old Chinese songs for no real reason as I was growing up.  In the car, we’d pop in a cassette or CD and sing along (that actually served a purpose: keeping my dad awake and alert while driving).  Around the house, they would do so without any accompaniment.  And there’s something really harmonious about singing or humming while gardening, which is something my mother loved to do.  I never saw any shame in singing in public and only in later years did I learn to tone it down.

This unconscious behavior got suppressed over the years as people always looked at me funny or asked me why I would burst into song.  Perhaps my voice is not that great, but I didn’t care.  It felt good and it felt right.  But nowadays, that doesn’t really happen and I wonder if that feedback affected me over the years until I got to this point, where I laugh and shake my head at people who sing randomly (or would like to).  It’s a pity, because I see nothing wrong with it.  I’d like to get in touch with that part of my behavior again.

What is so wrong or strange about singing in public anyway?  I find it to be a great way of expression, and usually a positive outlet.  Though I listen to certain types of songs when I am down and want to get sadness out of my system by having a bit of a cathartic release, I can’t ever recall wanting to sing a melancholy tone to express myself.  I can imagine a sad song being sung at organized events and the like, but not really by a lone person walking the streets.  Instead, I’m always inspired by happy, positive, upbeat feelings – and  it brings a smile to almost everyone’s faces, whether or not they actually like my singing.  The spontaneous desire to sing tends to go hand-in-hand with smiling and skipping.

It would be really cool if life were a musical and people burst out into song and dance more often.  It’d certainly make my world a happier place.  For now, I’ll just settle for the bit of singing Panda and I do from time to time, usually without realizing it’s happening.  There must be something deep down that drives us to do it and why should we deny ourselves that sort of innate joy?  It’s a beautiful thing, really.