I've been reading and writing more lately. Did you know I've kept a diary since I was 9? I would keep notebooks by me and write. Then sometime around the age of 12 or 13, I began to write even more regularly, about 2 - 3 times a day. Then when I was in high school, I wrote in my journal at least once a day. It wasn't anything special. Mostly I recounted my day in my journal because I didn't feel comfortable sharing the minutiae of life with any of my friends. And for a good 3 years while I was a teenager, I kept a public livejournal where I made lots of virtual friends through the internet. My virtual friends and I would read each other's livejournal entries and comment on each other's day. They actually did feel like my friends, even if I had never met them in person. This is not sad. Please don't read this and think what a sad life. It was actually the opposite. How wonderful that I was brave enough to share my teenage written true-life stories with strangers! I'm no longer that brave.

For most of college, I kept up my habit of writing in my journal everyday. In addition to that, I'd even write hand-written letters and send them via post. I remember I had a callus on my right ring finger where my pen often rubbed against. I no longer have that callus and it causes a deep nostalgic pain in my heart. All for a missing callus. Most people try to get rid of their calluses but that is one callus I wish I could have back.

But sometime in college, I met a boy who is now my husband. Sometimes I wonder why I don't write as much anymore. And I beat myself up over it. I want to record my days in my journal, just like I used to since I was 9. But sometime in college, I met a boy. During my last year of college, for the first time in almost a decade, I stopped writing in my journal everyday. I wrote almost everyday, but not every day. That was a big difference. My journal no longer became my confidante. It was no longer the holder of my secrets or--let's be honest--the keeper of all my boring stories. Sometime in college, this beautiful boy suddenly started listening to all my retellings about my days, and he actually enjoyed them. He wasn't a blank empty page waiting to be filled. He was a human being who responded to my stories. He'd laugh or smile, groan and scoff at the right moments. I don't know why this is so important to write down. But I need you to understand that when I stopped writing consistently after a decade of dedication, it was for a good reason. One that I never regret. I started loving a boy, and he loved me back.

Now, I am writing and reading more. And the beautiful boy who I met while I was in college lives with me. And now it's him who nudges me towards my laptop or notebook. Now he's the one encouraging me to write, and who understands if I'm not ready to share a story yet but instead tells me to write it down.

It's come to a full circle and I finally have the same joy and passion I had when I was 9 -- when I received my first diary and discovered what it meant to write.

Back to Basics

We had the housewarming and I must say, it was a success. Successful for these reasons:

1. We did not run out of food.
2. People showed up.

This past Saturday was such a blessing. We love having people in our home and hosting was so much fun. I gave quite a few house tours that by the end, it felt like it came from a script. When our night finally ended, I had no voice. Our last guests left a little after midnight. Both Russ and I felt tired, but happy. It reminded me almost of our wedding since it zoomed by in a whirlwind of laughter and love. When Russ and I got in bed that night, I looked at him and exclaimed, "I miss you!" This event was both ours but I felt like I hardly saw him that day. I quickly asked him to retell the day from his perspective and afterwards I shared mines. Both of our stories made me smile.

I am beyond thankful for everyone's kindness and sincerity. Hopefully I'll be able to blog and post pictures of the rooms we updated in time for the party.

Now that the event is over, we can finally rest. We are celebrating by planning a plan-free weekend. So far we decided we will do some hardcore chilling. Also, there will be an indefinite hiatus to building/crafting house things until we deem it okay to start again. Either way, no mass production of home decor will be coming anytime soon. Russ won't be building for awhile and I think I'll put away my sewing machine. So for now, I'm going back to my first hobby love: writing. I miss writing so much that I ache for it. (I can't believe I actually just wrote that sentence)

I hope to see more of this blog! Until next time--

Aches

Oh internet peeps, whoever you are wherever you are, I do not know what to do.

Life is so very good. The other day I went on a very long hike that involved water streams, salamanders, waterfalls, and dear friends. Today my whole body aches but it is the good kind of ache. I have eaten so much good food. I’ve tasted Earl Grey Pie and I am a changed woman.

Life is on a speed-dial pause. We still haven’t heard back yet about the offer we made on a potential new home. But our apartment is emptying, yet filling up. It seems like the more things I take down and pack, the more boxes pile up all around our space. The lease will still end when it ends even though we’re in limbo. Also, Russell’s birthday is coming up and it’s weird to think that I’ve known this man since he was 20 and in a couple weeks he will be 26. But I swear, when we’re on the couch/car/bed together, time stops.

In a sense, it is the best of times, it is the worst of times. The best because anything can happen. The worse because anything can happen. I am very content yet sometimes I want more. I am happy most days but occasionally melancholy. I write then stop. I read then stop. I am either doing everything at once or nothing at all.

I want to decorate a home--to fill it with flowers and curtains and guests (and maybe, one day, babies). I also do not want any responsibilities. I want to grow old with Russ. I also want to stay this way forever with Russ. Want, want, want...it is just too easy to keep wanting.

I picked up my old journals the other day and felt a deep pang in my heart for the girl I used to be. Silly, too self-conscious, ambitious, shy, and everything I am still now but hopefully wiser by a teeny tiny bit. I am very sentimental. I think that’s how writers are like though--or actually any human being if they were just honest about it. I do not ever regret feeling too fully about anything. It is worth it.

Anyways, I ramble the last bit because I think it’s okay to feel the little bit of nagging yet welcomed melancholy. It forces me to reflect and write so that I can understand where it stems from. Right now, I think it stems from the speed-dial pause I am currently in life. Everything is speeding past except for the things I want to slow down. But then again, we can only get the good kind of aches in life when we force ourselves to climb the mountain. The view is so gosh-darn beautiful though. Salamanders and all.

Simplicity

Since getting back from Philippines, Russ and I finally collected all our plants from my parent's house and placed them back on our patio. A lot have died because of the weird Southern California freeze that happened while we were gone, but some are still alive. I've been working/writing in our patio every morning where it's peaceful and nice to be surrounded by plants while I type.

Not a bad home office:

Sun!

Lewis loves the sun as much as I do so he hangs out with me until noon which is when the sun leaves our patio :(

This next month or so, Russ and I decided we won't spend money buying art stuff or home goods. I was inspired by a blog post by Thrifty Decor Chick and decided to give it a try. We have lots of leftover wood and art supplies--it'll be interesting to see what we can make with the things we already have.

The Great Outdoors

Thursday morning I dusted off my picnic basket, made a quick salad, got the goat cheese out of the fridge, grabbed a bottle of wine and headed for my friend's apartment. There, we packed more goodies in the basket--gourmet cheese, salami, olives, figs, dates candies, fruit, chocolate, sardines, spiced nuts--put the basket and blanket into the back of my car and headed to LA.

We ended up at the Old LA Zoo which my friend knew about and which we wanted to explore. We hiked a tiny bit of the area and looked through some of the old animal cages. Pretty neat and I guess something not many people know about.

What's great about the Old LA Zoo is that it has a picnic area. This is where we set up our lunch.

All organized.

Great selection of goodies

The food...oh the food was lovely. I think this is how all picnics should be like from here on out. We sat on the grass for hours while the shade from the trees came and went. We chatted, we ate, we sipped, we laughed. These kinds of moments make me thankful for good friends and the kind of friendships that help us grow.

After lots of eating, there was a moment where we laid back down on the grass and blasted some Taylor Swift music. There was dancing, singing, and lots of fun-having.

Looking up

Things are looking up. Sometimes I need to remember to lay down for a little bit and be content. There are so many beautiful things to explore and find outside. As I'm writing this on my apartment patio, the tiny birds in the trees are chirping. Lewis is sleeping in the sunshine. And I'm...writing. All is well.

Daydreaming in a Cubicle

I wish I was underneath a shady tree, a book in my hand and a slight breeze ruffling my hair. The sound of tree leaves overhead and birds chirping on branches surround me and those will be the only sounds I hear. The green grass below and around me sway with the breeze as if dancing in the morning sunshine. Clouds in the sky lazily drift by. Some of them, with the help of strong imagination, look like animals and others just look like fluffy cotton balls or the bushy tail of a bunny. The paperback novel I have in my hand has creases on its spine and dog-eared pages. Everything is so peaceful. Everything is right.

Some Scattered Thoughts

Hello there.

Life has been great lately. The days just zoom by, I can't believe it's almost June! In June, we are going to Georgia to watch two very very cool people get married. Woohoo!

I've just been reading a lot. About a book a day. It's getting pretty bad—this addiction. Russell comes home and I'm sprawled on the couch, reading. At lunch time, I read books through the Kindle app on my phone. When I get home, I almost entirely ignore our dog, drop my purse on the kitchen counter then grab my Kindle. Russ and I also finally got our Carlsbad library cards. I rented some books I'm pretty excited about. I have to remind myself to look at Russell in the eyes and smile when he gets home.

Work is plentiful right now. I've been doing contracting work since we moved down to Carlsbad and it's going great. Russell's busy crazy season finally stopped so we've been able to go out and watch movies on week nights. Oh, and Russ takes the train to work now.

I went on my first outdoor run this week. I typically stick to the treadmill because I feel like it gives me purpose while I run in a moving stationary workout machinery. With some convincing and prodding, I got the courage to run outside on the sidewalk. I took Lewis and we jogged through neighborhoods while looking for hidden running paths. We found a few. Let me tell you, running outside is definitely worth it when you look down at your dog and see he's running alongside you with his tongue lolling out. I wouldn't have ran as much if Lewis didn't look like he was having the time of his life.

Until next time,
Katrina

Uncertain Hopeful Possibilities

I've never been so excited yet nervous of the future as I have been lately. There are so many possibilities yet I do not know if I have the courage to take the leap of faith into any of them. But I am still giddy by the thought of possibilities.

Life has been slow yet fast all at once. We've been married FIVE MONTHS, can you believe it? I know in the big scheme of things, that is a blink of an eye and that is exactly my point. I feel like I've been married forever and at the same time I feel like a fumbling newlywed.

Anyways, I talk about the cliched topic of "life" because that is what Russ and I have been trying to figure out lately--our life together. We're not exactly sure where we're going to live next year after our lease is up and because we don't have a set plan yet, we have so many...possibilities of where we're gonna end up. Do you feel my excitement/fear yet?

While we are still in the process of opening doors and having a few slam shut, I am excited/anxious to see what we'll be doing a year from now. There is so much uncertainty and hope right now that it makes me nervous.

So for now, I'll post this picture of Russ and I at our honeymoon because there are so many places I want to be but in all of them I know I want him there.

Puerta Vallarta

Busy Lives

We are a busy bunch, a lazy bunch, a tired bunch, a broken bunch.

We are busy working up a storm. We have no time for that one hour lunch--too long, too long--so we sit in our desks and eat our hastily made packed lunches or fast food sandwiches. We eat while we work, forgetting to taste our food and sometimes forgetting to chew. Instead of the sunshine outside we see the glow of the computers. Instead of the sound of birds or the rustle of the leaves, we hear mouse clickings and keyboard typings. And this goes on yet we do not catch on. We don't see what we can't see and we don't see what we do not want to see.

We're too lazy to do our chores. A clean house is a happy house but a productive you is a frustrated you. So we come home and we see the dishes and the laundry but we sit on the couches and surf on our laptops. This is our weeknights. Rest, we say. We are resting from a busy day by sitting and spending our days away.

Then before we know it, the sun has set and the hours have gone by too fast. Again. Our bones are weary, our minds are lazy, and our eyes are drowsy. The feet are dragged to the bedroom. The covers thrown aside. And all too fast sleep has come and another night has passed.

While this all happens our lives are going. We're spinning in circles, chasing our tails. We think we're going but we're exactly where we started. What we want is not there. What we want is not here. So what is it? What do we want? We waste our time pondering this and all the while lives are breaking. We work and we sleep and we hesitate but we ignore everything besides the work in front of us. We're a broken bunch and a needy bunch.

The conversations past, the vacations that were never rested, and the living that was never lived...it haunts us. We cover up the jagged edges of life yet still, we remain busy, and lazy, and tired, and above all, crumbling human beings.

Overflowing

Stacks of unsent invitations sit on my desk: an address stamp, a pen, postage stamps, and empty envelopes. Library books are piled high next to them. Last minute cast off scarves are piled on top. When did my desk get so burdened?

My closet is bursting from clothes. I worry I will not know which to take and which to donate when it is time to get married and move. There's barely any room for anything new yet I continue to purchase the new. I want so much--clothes, money, beauty, everything. I want it all. 

The dresser is stacked with hair products and lotion. I want shiny hair. I want it silky like commercial-perfect women have their hair. A couple broken brushes are lying next to it. A box of Kleenex, a box of chocolate, and a can of candy hearts also join the chaos. My trash is close to full and God knows when that will get changed.

Scarves and purses hang behind my door. Books are bursting from my shelves. Headbands hang on my desk lamp. I have too much of everything but not enough. Totes, book bags, hats, jewelry, winter jackets, house slippers--they all play a part in the messiness. Discarded tap shoes are forgotten in my closet. Half-finished scrapbooks, hidden diaries, and even more secrets are hidden like jigsaw puzzles. I want to get rid of it all but I wouldn't know where to start.

Neglected knitting, random Christmas presents, old memorabilia, and other whatnots are clustered and ignored. I don't want to think about how my room used to be like when it was clean. I don't want to think about how it looks like now.

My life is overflowing. I have too much and I am too much. I am becoming a storage room of the present and the unused. The phrase My cup runneth over comes into mind and it is a sense of overwhelmingness that spills over. Instead of trying to make sense of all this chaos, I sit in the middle of it. 

"I go to seek the Great Perhaps" — François Rabelais

I want the beautiful unknown and the Great Perhaps. I want to know that everything will be okay or not okay. I don’t care for lies today. I want the cold hard truth. I want the awkwardness, the budding fear of walking into a dark room. I want to be told that I will be okay, but sometimes not okay—and in the end, this makes it all okay. Because what are we but dust made from the earth, living for a purpose that is either misdirected or profound?

I want the crushing feeling of a thousand burdens because I know I will not have to bear it alone. I want the pain from being lost then the joy of being found. I want the rock bottom because then I will relearn where my foundation is. I want to know where my weaknesses are; I wonder if they will be where my strengths lie.

I want the extremes. I want the epiphany that makes sense for only a brief passing second that ebbs into confusion. I want the lightning, the uncomfortable feeling of wet clothes sticking to my skin, the desperate longing for an umbrella and not knowing if the longing is futile or worthwhile. I want the journey, the great commission, and having a faith so strong that it could move mountains.

Oh I want the stuggles. And I don’t want the comfortness of words that I write. I want the written word. I don’t want to find the familiarity of my own. I want the tears and the anger and the realization that I am nothing nothing nothing but something in they eyes of the one who holds truth.

And after all this, I want rest. I want my jubilee, I want my peace. I want to remember that I am human in the hands of mercy and grace.

Writing

It's too bad that when life gets busy, I put writing on the back burner. It's also too bad that I cling onto this blog so tightly. My poor diary hasn't been written in in months; blogging has become a primary way for me to record days/dates/moments. And it's also too bad that people actually read this. The whole thing about grammar and spelling and the pressure of being an English major deters me from typing my days out. Oh, the pressure! That, and life. Life is speeding by faster than I can ever write. I gave up trying to record everything in my diary since I'll always be a couple pages behind. The very act of writing gets in the way of even more writing. It's sentence after sentence after sentence while life simultaneously ticks by.

Tick tock.

I guess I'm writing this because I am getting defensive--against myself--for the guilt trip I've been having since I can't find the time to write stuff. Then I think about all my favorite authors who write in their blogs and always emphasize Write! Write! Write! and I feel even more ashamed. Like right now, I was supposed to write about something profound (maybe) but here I am. Phew, I'm tired. Enough writing.

Building Bookshelves

(Source: forthosewhohavheart)

The only time I can ever remember my parents getting into a fight (not even a big fight, just a mild disagreement about something I don’t even remember anymore), my dad built my mom a bookshelf. Even when I was little I knew that this action was something special.

A couple years ago, my mom was looking at the bookshelf in the garage—which she uses to place her shoes on by the way—and asked my dad when they bought it. My dad blinked then told her he built it that one time she got mad at him. Mom laughed and said she didn’t remember. I didn’t want to tell them that I remembered. When I saw dad building that bookshelf when I was little, I knew that the mood in the house was very tense and gloomy; but seeing dad hammer the nails into the bookshelf and sanding down the wood, I realized that the driving force behind every hammer and scrape was love and a conviction to prove it. In an odd way, it was beautiful.

Anyways, I told this story to Russell when we first started dating. He said he would build me a bookshelf. And I don’t doubt it since he and his brothers helped their dad build their entire house in Reno. But it’s really not about the bookshelf. It’s about the boy and the love and the action. And because I love books. Who knows, maybe he’ll even build me a couple bookshelves so I could use one for shoes… ;)

On Writing...Even More

The past few days have been a whirlwind. As things are settling down, I feel like I can write again.

This previous weekend, I got an unexpected sideline freelance writing gig that has caused me to do even more writing per day. When I graduated from college with a degree in English, I was a hopeful individual. I loved writing and couldn't wait to go out into the working field and write. You see, I'm a firm believer that words can change the world.

However, after writing article after article everyday, there's only so much sanity that I can pretend to have. The feeling is similar to the one I get when I'm only on page three of a seven to eight page English paper and it's 4 a.m. It's that moment of panic, of wanting to give up and just crawling under your desk willing to give up books and writing and words.

But (yay, light at the end of the writing tunnel)! I did some great time managing and can now handle my freelance writing gigs (for now). It's just...sometimes I'm writing about chemistry and then I'm writing about biology and then I'm writing about law that my head gets all messed up that talking to people in normal conversation terms becomes difficult.

Any my run-on sentences become worse.

Falling Stillness

(Photo Credit: Sugar VIVA)

I am in a state of falling stillness. Everything is so beautiful and peaceful. I can take forever to examine every detail, every intricacy of every person I will ever meet. I can lose an eternity learning the habits and quirks of everyone I know. I can forget the meaning of time and sit here, warm in the embrace of the sun and knowing that it is love that keeps me warm. Every heart beat—dum dum dadum—is a pleasant melody and I close my eyes and dance to it. Time is slowing down; everything is so still.

And like a ladybug who travels on a daffodil fluff (able to take flight yet choosing to fly on a daffodil fluff), this quiet, slow-motion drop is gone.

While I took a day to examine a second, lightyears have zoomed past. I thought I was a child but college is gone. But I am still a child!—No, those years have passed. I am sitting in an office (When and how did I get here?). I am saying goodbye to friends moving on, I am watching my parents grow old, I am scrambling, scrambling, scrambling to make this time worth what it is. When did my little brother grow five inches taller than I? When did I learn to read and write? When did I fall in love? The time lapses. The wind blows. 

I am falling in stillness. 

How to Overcome Writer's Block

"How to Overcome Writer's Block" is a blog post I wrote as a guest blogger for a website. Click on the link (the title) above to read it!

Siri Speaks!

Article: Siri Speaks! Amazing Technology with Human Capabilities

Since I'm practically a ghost writer for my job, I get pretty happy when my name actually appears with my work.

I wrote this guest post because I recently just got an iPhone; I love linguistics; and writing this is better than writing articles about why you should sue somebody.

Tuesdays

Article: I Want A Tuesday Kind Of Love | Thought Catalog

I love this piece. I've always found Tuesdays a bit romantic, ever since I heard "You Belong With Me" by Taylor Swift and I developed a weird attachment to the seemingly ordinary lyric "it's a typical Tuesday night."

For about three years, I would work Tuesday night (a.k.a. Kid's Night) at Chick-fil-A and it was always hectic, always busy, always tiring. For me, my typical Tuesday night was working a busy long night, sometimes wearing the Chick-fil-A cow mascot costume, and occasionally mopping vomit off the floor. Until one day, I got the day off (not typical) and Russell read me a poem on a balcony and asked me to be his girlfriend. Ever since then, it has been a Tuesday kind of love. Hectic, yet absolutely lovely.

City of Dreams

(Flickr: City View)

Wouldn’t it be nice to get lost in a city full of broken dreams and know it was okay if you never achieved yours?

I crave the anonymity a city full of hope, bitterness, and contradictions can provide.

What is happening.

What is happening. No question mark because it feels like a statement. As if there’s no answer to be sought but just a simple declaration to be uttered—what is happening.

I miss so many things. I miss so many people. But none of it seems to matter anymore. These are all statements. I miss you. No question mark because it’s merely a statement and there won’t be an answer from you. It’s just a simple utterance, anyways.

Then there are the people who seem to be angry that life is moving along, that your life has to move along, that you can’t do anything but move along with life, and they’re angry because you aren’t there (why aren’t you there.) when you should be there. But they’ve forgotten that life moved along and when you went that way because that’s where you were supposed to go, they went the other way because they chose to. Then they don’t understand why you didn’t jog after them. Why were you not there, anyways.

Then there’s the grade on the paper you received back. The creative writing paper. What is happening. Your characters weren’t developed enough. You knew this but you still turned it in because you were writing at 4 a.m. and you knew an ending had to come so you forced it to come. The characters weren’t done yet though. I mean, what were you trying to do, anyways.

Then there was the midterm. Oh gosh, let’s just forget the midterm. Why didn’t you study more, anyways.

So many unuttered non-questions. So many things at the back of your head making you question statements. And making statements into questions. (ex. You like to write. Wait, do I? Do I really like it?)

What is happening.

So, I’m sitting here typing. Wondering what words and syntax and punctuation can do. The answer: so many things. Yet, they still ask me what English majors do. What do we do. Haha, no question mark because that doesn’t deserve an answer.