to smell the meal that you are preparing for me

bits of meat among a steaming bowl of seaweed soup

Homecoming

I want to feel your gentle gaze while I satisfy my hunger

the taste of rice that heals

your fingers on my lips as you so lovingly feed me

with warming mouthfuls of pungent fruits

Family

The truth of the matter is that her 74 year old mind got my 29 year old mind thinking that sometimes it’s truly better to simply not give a shit.  Lately I have noticed that I am more frequently asking myself “Why do I even care about this?” or “Why does it matter what others think about my actions (assuming that I’ve acted in a respectable manner).”  At the end of the day I answer to myself.  If someone doesn’t like what I have done they can either bring it to my attention or keep it to themselves.  If they choose to do the later then they are dealing with the consequences of keeping quiet, and I am not.

Joan Dye Gussow, 83 and a local food pioneer wrote “In my twenties and thirties, I use to think worry about what I said to people at parties—who I didn’t talk to and who might have thought I was rude.  Eventually, I just stopped caring.  It would have been nice to know then it wasn’t worth worrying about all of that.”  (“Wisdom and Age.”  Whole Living .  October 2011:  pp 104-110).

As I enter into my thirties I hope that I can live this daily.  I want to care less about doing, thinking, or believing what others deem is “right.”  Instead I want to do what I feel is right for me.  I don’t want stage IV cancer to force me to think this way.

I miss getting in my car and driving home after work, relaxing and decompressing along the way.  I miss calling up my best friend and twenty minutes later walking into her home and feeling like I am truly at home, with her.  I miss our trips to the mall simply to return something she or I bought impulsively due to an emotional event or out of pure boredom.  I miss pointing out the obviously still in love elderly couples or the sweet geriatric men I find so precious.  I miss having her randomly tell me that she (or even her boyfriend) saw one of these people (“my people”) and that they immediately thought of me.  I miss the spontaneity of wine nights and lazily watching too many episodes of Sex and the City, knowing that there are about a hundred other more productive things I could be doing, but not caring and remaining side by side with my best friend, filling the room with occasional bursts of laughter and silly remarks.  These are the events that have been absent from my life over the past three years.  I miss my friendships the most.  Mainly I miss this particular friendship.

My decision to move back to Seattle is unclear.  It has been muddled for a very long time.  Honestly once I left I never thought I’d return with the thought of residence.  Wanting security and comfort seems strange and foreign, but I find myself craving the familiar presence of the people I love and vice versa.  Three years ago it was clear that I needed to leave.  I wanted adventure, something new and exciting; I just needed to get away.  Looking back you could say that I left to find myself.  I needed to embark on a journey that would lead me to a better understanding of who I am as a woman.  I’ve tested the limits of my independence and oddly found that it is no longer independence that I want, but dependence.  I’m looking for it everywhere and wondering where it truly exists.

Last year I grudgingly gave up meat for Lent, beginning a few days late because I was that in love with meat.  My last meal was lamb so tender and succulent it fell off the bone and practically melted in my mouth.  But the whole point of Lent is abstinence; to challenge yourself and to think of Christ when you are tempted.  Am I right?  Meat was my temptation.  It was what I was daily craving.  At work I would obsess about what I would pick up on the way home to cook that night.  I was always browsing the NY Times Dining and Wine section for places to consume fleshy dishes.  Now that I think about it, gross, was that really me?

Of course after Lent commenced I was back to eating meat.  Then this Fall I again flirted with being vegetarian, but again chose to keep fish and dairy in my diet.  Being lactose intolerant I always had Lactaid in my bag.  Never leave home without it!  In fact I think there are still a few pills hanging around in the bottom of my pocketbook.  God forbid I am out with friends sitting in front of a large pie covered with melty, gooey cheese, I reach into my bag, and oh no, zip on the Lactaid.  Eat the pizza and face the consequences or forgo the pizza, order a salad, and sulk because let’s be honest, the consequences are never worth the act that got me there in the first place.  In situations such as this I always sulked.

Up until about a month ago I was eating meat, but sparingly.  The last time I consumed meat was July 3.  My sister was visiting from MA.  Her being a foodie right down to the bone (haha) we went to Eatly and decided to split a pork sandwich.  It was prepared to order.  We watched the butcher slice a more than generous amount of meat, place it on a baguette that was crispy on the outside, but soft in the center (mmm), then drizzle (actually drown) the meat with olive oil, large crystals of salt, and fresh black pepper.  It was a gorgeous mess.  The first few bites were amazing.  We sat in silence, quickly falling in love with lunch.  Then I became curious.

“What are the crunchy bits?”

“That’s the skin.”

“Oh….”

I continued to fill my tummy.  I grew full.  I still ate and my half of the sandwich disappeared.  About 5 minutes later I felt horrible.  My insides felt like they were swimming in oil and fat.  My fingers were covered with grease.  I thought to myself, “Whoa, I just consumed the amount of meat that I would normally eat in about a week.  I’m no brain surgeon, but I don’t think that’s something to feel too good about.”

July 4^th we watched the Cooking Channel.  They were making sausages.  A mixture of ground meat and “unmentionables” spurted out of a machine and into a clear film forming one long skinny roll.

“What do they use for the casing of sausages?”

“Intestines.”

Still recovering from the pork sandwich this was almost too much information for my former vegetarian brain to handle.  I needed to look into the matter of food further.  Intestines?  Seriously, it doesn’t get wilder than that?  Or does it?

Michelle Obama tells school aged children that one of the most important things they can do to get ahead in this world is read, read, and read some more.  “Never quit reading” is what she says.  Never quit reading and never quit watching is what I believe.  Don’t be afraid to fill your head with uncomfortable facts, especially regarding the ethics of eating, an issue that for most of us, if we choose to confront it, occur at least three times a day.  If the only reward for eating healthy meant looking good in a bikini then I would skip the veggies and go straight for a steak and probably pick up a one piece bathing suit while I was out.  It doesn’t hurt to be prepared, right?  Veganism is not just about having a healthy body (it is a perk though).  Instead it is about being educated and informed.  It is about discovering where your food comes from and the process it took to get on your plate.  It’s choosing not to believe everything the big food corporations are telling us.  It’s questioning what “natural” and “free-range” really mean and in many cases what they do not mean.  For me, the eye opening materials and what lead me to this change were Jonathan Safran Foer’s “Eating Animals” and the documentary “Earthlings.”  In an effort to not sound too preachy I am going to let these mediums speak for themselves.  The images are haunting, but real and true.  You can’t make that shit up, and who would want to?  If you are at all interested in why a girl who use to order her hamburgers pink and slightly juicy would switch to a plant based and for lack of a better term, “cruel-free” diet, then give at least 20 minutes to “Earthlings.”  It’s narrated by Joaquin Phoenix and who in their right mind could pass up that sexy voice?

http://www.earthlings.com/

http://www.eatinganimals.com/

I have set you on my windowsill.  In the corner, yet completely exposed should I choose to turn and look.

For a while I wished only to see your face in my memory and even then it was often too overwhelming.

I wonder if you still think of me daily as you said you did…everyday for 23 and a half years.

I was your baby.  I am your youngest.  I was your sweet child.

I will not know you to the extent that I would like, but there is an image that I have of you:

Strong, compelling, devoted, and caring.

You have a gripping and undeniable presence in my life.

I am your child, and you are my mother, and we have been joined wordlessly for over 29 years.

On most days your influence is hushed and subdued, but dwells deep within my being.

I know you through careful glances and sentiment.

This is how I am connected to you; this is how I make peace with you.

This was the story I got last night when I spoke to my nephew on the phone and asked about the well-being of my mother.  It made me laugh, but it also struck me on a very personal level.  Any story about my mother is precious to me.  The last time I saw her it was winter, nearly two years ago, and she was bundled up in an oversized jacket.  She was wearing her normal array of mismatched clothes and had the scarf that I had given her the first time we met wrapped around her head.  It was quite a sight, but I still thought she was beautiful in that moment.  She resembled a woman that does not put herself first.  Her age spots are evidence of the long hours she spent as a farmer earning money to send my eldest sister to elementary school.  She always eats the slightest amount at the beginning of a meal and attributes her meager appetite to nerves and diabetes.  It is only after everyone has finished that she will take the last bit of soup or rice so as not to let them go to waste, inhale them quickly, and hint at someone who once had very little time to eat, or who rarely let herself be satisfied and always put her family first.  That act is beautiful and kind and although it is not always comfortable to witness, it allows me to know the woman that she was and still is.

She is the person that after seeing I wish for the opportunity to see many more times.  I was curious about how she was doing and so I called.  I hope she was happy on the day of my sister’s wedding, and I hope she felt validated when my nephew replied that yes, she was indeed beautiful.

I am also the girl that two or three years ago I would have given the “I think you are crazy” look to. Grad student…why? Enjoy just working, coming home, and then NOT working. Make fun your priority. Why kill yourself over school work when we just graduated a couple of years ago? I’m glad I waited and did not jump on the bandwagon of overachievement. Just achieve. NYU Geriatric Nurse Practitioner student five years out is perfectly fine by me. Any sooner would have been torture. I applied on a slight whim. I told myself that even if I was accepted I was unsure if I would attend. I wanted to wait and “feel” my body’s response to a yes or no letter. If the yes letter came and it felt “right,” I would accept. It came and it did and that is how I in part became a semi-permanent, okay permanent (at least for the next 3-4 years) resident of NY. The present is quite good. A bit outlandish in nature with concepts that still have shock value, but nonetheless agreeable to who I am in the current moment.

The fact is that I love this city.  I felt right at home here from the beginning.  (At least more so than my previous travel assignments).  Don’t get me wrong, I was pleasantly surprised by Texas, and Los Angeles has beautiful weather, but let’s face it, no city can compare.  I desire the subway and bus over driving, and I’ve always wanted to live within walking distance to I don’t know…everything.  I’ve spent the last 4+ months walking 12 blocks to work each morning and the same 12 blocks home each evening.  There is a type of peace and calmness that exists within me here.  Perhaps it is being surrounded by so many people.  For some this would make a person feel more lonely, but for me I feel as though it does the exact opposite.  I interact with few of the people I see, but instead of isolating myself within the confines of my car I cram myself onto the train or hurry past other rushed city dwellers on the street.  There is always the possibility for interaction, although sadly I believe that few view this as a plus or use this to their advantage.  None the less, living here has been fantastic and at this point in my life, the exact experience I have been craving.

It’s difficult for me to accurately describe what my life has been like the last…wow!…third of a year, but here is my random assortment of happenings that will hopefully paint a halfway decent picture.

Let’s start with the BIG one.  I signed a lease and will be moving into a studio apartment on the Upper East Side tomorrow!  (Building entry between a McDonald’s and Indian Restaurant).

Second runner up…I discovered, through the help of a very important fellow travel nurse, what is hands down the world’s BEST brownie.  I’ve included it at all three meals and find that it stands up /pairs well with toast, cottage cheese, sandwiches, and chicken.  (In case you had your doubts).

I’ve been working in gastroenterology “office practice” wearing business casual to work each day, learning the “secrets” to Outlook, and having most of my patient interaction occur via telephone.  The job has included advising patients to 1) take a laxative, 2) include fiber in the diet,  3) try a different laxative, or 4) purchase and ingest either Metamucil, Citrucel, or Fibercon.  Joking aside I teach patients about the procedures they will be having, triage their symptoms (do they need to try one of the four or all four of the above interventions, come to urgent care clinic, or just relax and let “things” happen).  I also call to inform them that their biopsies are negative and they don’t have cancer, of which had already been alluded to, but not officially confirmed.

I’ve learned that living in the city involves actually designating a time for laundry rather than just throwing in a load after work and then leaving the clothes in the dryer for 2 days.

I silently judge those who own large dogs and live in tiny apartments.  I have polite conversations with them in the elevator, all the while thinking that if their oversize pet drools, sheds, or nudges me I will have no choice but to let loose with my meanest dirty look.

I decided to give the Lactaid pill another shot and happily rediscovered all things dairy.

Again I seriously contemplated pursing my writing career over nursing.

Again I continue to find myself in the nursing profession.

I’ve been cut in line several times and not really cared because I know the person at the register will “have my back” and yell at the customer for me.

Yesterday a patient said, “Good-bye Lucy Lu.”  My response was to simply say “I don’t look like her” and walk away.  (Apparently on the east coast a person of Asian descent can and will be referred to as “Chinese” regardless of their actual ethnicity.  At least I’m not being characterized as “the Oriental girl” as was once the case in Texas).

I’ve expanded my knowledge of the Jewish faith.

I’ve attended more weekday Masses and found that it helped me feel less anxious while I was in the process of finding another job, a place to live, and contemplating whether staying was ultimately the right choice.

I drove a car in New Jersey, contemplated selling my car, then bought insurance for the car I will no longer be driving.

I got a tad restless in the city which resulted in visiting a close friend in Chicago, where by the way I felt like I was back in the suburbs.

I’ve worn every outfit I brought in my ONE suitcase.  I’m now sick of my clothes and glad to be taking a short trip back to Seattle to gather my winter wear as well as other small items that are to soon find themselves in a new home.

I’ve learned that it is 100% okay to want what I want, but to sometimes be a bit more patient and allow the pieces to come together on their own accord…in New York of course.

I think I’ve been under so much stress and anxiety, flip flopping back and forth over where to live and work that I forgot how long I’ve been wanting and waiting to move to NY.  The other day it occurred to me that I have no real reason why I’ve wanted to live there.  I ended up telling my recruiter on the phone that I just love public transportation.  Her response was, “Well, now you can drink more and not worry about having to drive.”  This is very true and the thought has crossed my mind on more than one occasion, but it’s odd hearing it come from your employer.  (Although she does frequently call me “girlie” and “honey” so the statement isn’t too striking).  Basically prior to graduating nursing school the desire has been there.  This winter (after the pain of applying for my NY license) and then recently having it get lost in the mail (twice) it seems that this “dream” is becoming my reality.  My goal was to be there by my birthday and (yay!) it will be met. 

I’m going to give NY an honest try.  Texas and LA got it, so NY definitely deserves the same. 

Taking a travel assignment is essentially A LOT easier than moving to a new place on your own.  2 days prior to receiving this offer (and literally minutes before the phone rang) I was still debating about whether to stay in Cali or just do the east coast thing completely and take a permanent position.  Three months is a good amount of time to figure out if I would like to stay longer.  If it’s not for me I can always come back here.  (Truthfully I anticipate I’ll love it and have to kiss this beautiful weather good-bye, but we’ll see). 

I’ve decided to post an entry (Thoughts on NY) that I wrote  a few nights before I was interviewed for my new position.  It’s honest and perhaps more revealing than this post.  Funny thing though, I continued to talk myself out of going even after I had compiled my thoughts and fears, which is ultimately why I chose not to publish it immediately.  Now that this is all happening my hesitation has mostly dissipated.  I’m packing (organizing what goes and what doesn’t), driving back to Seattle to leave my car (I’ll miss you), and then flying over in a week or so!  It’s quickly coming together, and I look forward to relaxing and exploring a new place very soon (which is essentially why I do what I do).

Honestly, moving to New York scares me more than I care to admit.  It is perhaps even more nerve racking than going to Korea and meeting my birth mother.  (Yeah, really).  And so, I feel that this alone is why I should not take the “easy” way out and stay in LA.  One of my biggest fears is having regrets, and I don’t want to make that fear my reality.  Tomorrow I will probably wake up and still try to convince myself that staying in Cali is a good idea.  I’ll probably continue to do just that until I leave LA and maybe even after I am back in Seattle.  But ultimately I don’t feel that I belong here.  This is not my niche.  If NY had LA’s weather there would be no question whatsoever where I belong.  JFK would definitely be my next destination. 

All I really want is to feel at peace with my decision.  Today while I was at church I prayed for just that, and immediately I felt God saying, “If you choose to go; I’ll take care of you.”  I can’t really ask for much more.  So if the promise is there, I can’t pass this opportunity up.  I’ll just buy a new coat for the winter and anticipate a high electric bill.