G’Day!

While pictures often tell the story in our Instagram culture, just a few words about my trip to Sydney and Melbourne in Australia last March: In my first overseas trip in 10 years, I realize how much I miss traveling abroad. Like anything that hasn’t been done for a long time, I was naturally anxious at first, even dreading it. Fortunately, I pushed through the fear and with my last trips to Italy and France in mind, it was like riding a bike.

Experiencing the world provides perspective that couldn’t be gained stationary in one’s comfort zone or permanent residence. Although I am three months removed, I am no doubt changed, infused by my time there yet being present here, a thread I am following and exploring. But articulating it is another matter, given my long absence from this page, so please enjoy the snappies in the meantime!

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On Golden Pond

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I am wrapping up a month-long sabbatical of self-reflection fitted in with two quick nature-filled trips to Tahoe and Point Reyes. At this point, I must first reference a New York Times article, “The Meaningfulness of Lives,” I alluded to six years ago. I want to do the things I used to love so passionately, like tennis, dancing and even writing (well, maybe not all at the same time) that seemed so superfluous when preoccupied with other stuff. I literally felt I couldn’t afford to invest in them because of self-preservation until I realize I couldn’t justify it anymore. My self-worth and a worthwhile life hang in the balance.
I’ve come to know that it’s not a matter of being morally superior or even over-the-moon happy. Rather, it is whether I am thoroughly engaging in something, and it may not always be so pleasant as I spent some of the month healing the wounds of past unfairness and indiscretions and confronting such basic impulses as the inability to relax and unplug. My sojourns to Tahoe, which I hadn’t visited in 17 years, and Point Reyes, where I had never been, put me in touch with some emotions I had ignored and wasn’t aware of–this was the time to push those to the surface and tackle them for as much as I could tolerate it, fully understanding they may crop up again. I am human after all.
As my friend Angela had eloquently chimed in when rain and later hail descended on the lake, “Sometimes rain is best because people scatter, and you can enjoy a moment of solitude in beautiful nature.” Driving in a canopy of firs, cruising on a riverboat from Zephyr Cove to Emerald Bay, hiking street level toward the edge of Lake Tahoe, my mind was empty in a Zen-like state I may have never known existed. It was that deep.
On the eve of a new job and chapter and the cusp of Autumn, my favorite season of the year when things come into fine focus, I am of this mindset: There will be parts of my journey that remind me it’s so much bigger than me; but I have an active role to carve out space and bring meaning to bear on my life that I promised will be one well lived. 

The Richness of Weekends

If there’s anything these last two years have taught me, it is this return to me and being comfortable with the things I love and a weekly routine inculcated when I was small. It brings me to this notion of how precious weekends are, especially when a birthday lands on them. This long holiday weekend, I’m discovering the music between the notes of an open road and a small-town charm with which I was first acquainted five years ago with a dear friend. While city-dwellers have now altogether swarmed Pescadero in California, at least for this weekend, I am still quite determined to hear those musical strains in the present in a newer context, with a little more bravado.

Personal Effects

I wasn’t sure if I could travel by myself, since I often go with a friend or family, especially if it’s for vacation. Last month, I went to Santa Barbara, and more than a long weekend getaway, a time of the year I don’t even typically go for a break, it was a reset of the relationship with me.  No sooner was I back in San Francisco, and it was as though my arrival cued in a kind of Spring awakening, one I wouldn’t have imagined as this.

I am effectively getting off that proverbial circular wheel most people I know are on and looking toward the next 20 years with more genuine optimism. A friend told me as long as I am facing the right direction–assuming it is toward the sun–while being introspective and letting the external circumstances take care of themselves, then I am on the right track. I am in the midst of its throes. After all, Spring has only just begun.

The Soul in Architecture

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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.

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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

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photo by Rhodora Ayuyang

 

2015 in Review

IMG_3638I am thinking lately where I was same time last year and remember feeling fair–that at least I was still intact, moving forward and finishing strong.  I would say the same is true for this year but so much more.  As 2015 progressed, I was growing more into my authentic self.  It is indeed a liberating experience. Once there is acceptance, the pace picks up, and life is a rolling stone going downhill.  I feel the power of the present with the notion that my life is also just ahead of me.  I think of my young nephews and how fearless, rambunctious and magical they are–so much hope living inside of them.  I see the goodness of this existence, and I don’t want to miss it anymore because quite frankly it’s much too short to be feeling otherwise.  Here’s hoping 2016 is another adventure, whether it’s crossing a long desert or wide ocean, let it be one more journey to the center of my soul.

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Child’s Play: Our last day in Hawai’i

Je Suis Paix

St. Benedict The Painted Church

St. Benedict, The Painted Church

As is often the case when I’m feeling blue or even trying to fill time, my last trip to Paris was my touchstone.  And now as my beloved City of Light is a victim of terror, I stand with her since she was my respite at the end of one of my worst years.  While I would lean on that trip 15 years ago to center me, other places I’ve discovered since are also instrumental in keeping me sane.DSC02182

A highlight on my recent trip to Kona in Hawai’i was a historic landmark in Kealakekua known as the Painted Church or St. Benedict Roman Catholic Church.  The moniker was given due to its colorful interior of biblical figures and stories rendered by the parish priest Father John in the mid-1800s. When we drove up, it had started to rain, turning to mist, just as it would in Paris or once in Berkeley when I would fall in love for the first time.

Colorful Interior

        Colorful Interior

The moment was both enchanting and spiritual, and I was most present and connected with my fellow travelers, this time with my brother, his wife, my nephew and my parents, just as I was with those whom I went on my Paris trip.  I remember being at a younger age not having the foresight how my life would be as I got older, perhaps because I didn’t know how long I would live.  But if there is one constant through the years, it is my family, and I would count on them for the spiritual love that I am seeking.