An Inner Game of Catch

Now my nephew fits into this equation.

Now my nephew fits into this equation. (photo by Rhodora Ayuyang)

It’s no secret to those who know me that I love sports due to my brother who realized the chances of having a brother were very slim.  So as the closest sibling, I was relatively his equal–more or less shaping me to be one–teaching me every sport he played.  One of my favorite things to do with him was playing catch in our front yard, more than likely because it was a relaxing remove from the competitive nature of sports. 
Taken by one of those friends who see me as me.

Taken by one of my friends who see me as me from the Apple Store on Union Square in San Francisco, CA; the two-level retractable glass door is a stunning design element.


I am reminded of an essay by Roger Rosenblatt “A Game of Catch”: “It’s hard to learn to play catch,” he writes.  “In the beginning, you use your arms to cradle the ball against your chest; then you use both hands, then one.” The natural flow of this carefree play wasn’t lost on MLB batting leaders at the time:  “Wade Boggs and Don Mattingly tossed a ball between them without a trace of effort, bodies rearing up and pivoting gently in a casual parody of a pitcher’s full windup toward the plate. … It was interesting to note even at their level, this was still a game of catch.” 

Connecting the bond between father and son and parenthood, it also points to the
 universal need to be understood and how it could be accomplished by very few words, like some of my closest friendships.  It is rather nice, for lack of a better word, and welcoming that nothing has to be spoken.  There is no talking to death, no need for gruesome or superfluous details, just the reassuring silence that I am seen by someone, and it requires very little conversation. 

The Soul in Architecture

A plaza opened before us on our way to the Academia museum in Venice.

I read an article last year about what architecture means to some well-known practitioners in the industry, and it made me reflect what drew me to my current situation with an interior architecture firm.  I wondered why I hadn’t pursued design in the first place, what took me off track.  When I was 11 and I had my own room, I decided to be creative with some corrugated cardboard and reclaimed toy pieces to create tables.  But it felt more like a passing fancy.  As I got older, a new passion took over and held my interest to this day. Maybe discovering and articulating the soul in architecture is the purpose of being here, while working on the financial and legal side.


It is said architecture is an expression of one’s world view.  It speaks to me none more so than in the confluence of cultures in restored Venetian building facades, and Venice’s plazas, San Marco being the ultimate manifestation of the public “living room” in an increasingly socially isolated world. Its cozy alleys that smack of claustrophobia, which if you let the discomfort pass, offer a level of intimacy that is rather personal, homey even. venetian-flag

Like the bustling under the windows of our pensionado during my 2008 trip there with my mom and sister, the pitter-patter of foot traffic was more a soothing murmur, not the profane cacophony of a major metropolis.  It was rather welcoming, the ambient sounds that would lull me into an eventual nap that afternoon.Serenissima room


photo by Rhodora Ayuyang