And I just got broken -- broken into two.
Still, I call it magic when I'm next to you.

-- Coldplay, Magic

-+-

"Every single time I walk by, you always have the best smile.  I just want to put up a banner that says, 'Happiest Person in the Entire World!'"

-+-

When I look at myself in the mirror, I already know exactly where my wrinkles will form and how my face will age.

I know I'll get bunny lines beside my nose from the way I scrunch my face at little babies, and I might even get forehead lines from how much I raise my eyebrows whenever a cute dog trots by.  Definitely, my nasolabial fold will deepen and the corners of my mouth will go to hell, because I know how little I restrain my facial expression when I smile.  My crows feet will need to wear a size 10 shoe from how much I laugh.  Not just laugh, but laugh with incredible wholeness.

If there's at least one thing I love about myself, it's that every time I laugh big -- which, as some of you may know, is quite often -- I erupt with heart and soul.  It's grown into a laugh of reputation, a laugh that has become part of me -- a laugh that is distinctly Christa.

Someday, the lines on my face will come to prove it.

Guess it's true,
I'm not good at a one night stand.
But, I still need love 'cause I'm just a man.

-- Sam Smith, Stay With Me

-+-

"omg the sweetest girl is selling honey.  that is too perfect."

-+-

My entire life, I've never been particularly passionate about the slogan, "Shop local!"

I've been told that I'm an outlier of a person -- "weird," "quirky," "super fucking weird," -- but as far as shopping habits go, I'm pretty mainstream.  I don't turn my nose up at stores like Target or even Wal-Mart.  Rather than visiting the Farmer's Market, I regularly get my groceries at Albertson's or Safeway.  I even spend many mornings picking up a yogurt parfait and a large unsweetened iced tea at McDonald's on my way to work.  Most of my clothes, beauty supplies, and foods all have some sort of corporate brand name on them -- H&M, Mossimo, L'Oreal, Dole, General Mills.

I don't think much of it.  Back when I went on a few (regretful) dates with an anti-capitalism anarchist (yes, you read that right -__-), I had so few opinions on the things that made him angry.  I'm typically a talkative person, but I was so passive with him that he said he liked me because it was like he was "talking to a pillow." (yes, verbatim -__-)  He hated The Man and Capitalist Assholes, whereas my shoes are from Payless (and although falling apart, 5/10 would buy again 'cos still... cheap), and my cardigan is from Target.  My make-up is from Sephora, and my jacket is from Forever 21.  I've just never minded.  I wholly play into the profit-making games of big private companies, and I've never lost a wink of sleep over it.

As far as "Shop local!" goes, I have some mild exuberance towards things like coffee and eateries, but in earnest, I have only one real exception:

Honey.

It's an exception that, surprisingly to me (although maybe unsurprising to others), has become part of my reputation over the years.  People text me and Facebook message me that something honey-related reminded me of them.  For many, I've become their "friend that likes honey."

I care 0% about the brand of most things that I buy, but when it comes to honey, it really matters.  I always try to support local honey and promote ethical beekeeping.  I always look into the apiaries and honey companies that I buy my honey from.  I have checkpoints for ethical beekeeping, e.g. honeys from flowers based in a variety of seasons (focusing on blossoms from only one season promotes poor bee health during off-seasons), and I try not to support companies that sell royal jelly (royal jelly harvest is more stressful on bees than honey/beeswax harvest).  I don't have a history of frequenting farmer's markets except for when I learn that a local honey company is selling a honey varietal that I don't own yet.

My fascination with honey goes on -- I've taken a beekeeping class and am flying to the Bay Area next month to take another, and I've been collecting varietals of honey from around the country.

Most recently, as I've lately written on, I've started a Sunday gig selling honey with The San Diego Honey Company.  When I was first interviewing for the job, I thought of it so one-dimensionally, "I'm going to become part of the local honey scene in San Diego!  I'm going to learn so much about honey!  Honey honey honey!!"

While I knew I was going to dive into the local honey scene, it wasn't until my second weekend on the Market that it sank in -- I'm not just part of the local honey scene, but I was part of the local scene, period.  When people in San Diego exclaim, "Shop local," they refer to so many walks of life.  They refer to Du Vita jewelry, to the San Diego Salt Farm, to Mikolich Farms, to the San Diego Honey Company.

I was slow to learn, but I realized that when people exclaim, "Shop local," they refer to me.  I couldn't see the forest for the trees.

Witnessing the local vendor scene as a fellow local vendor has critically changed my perspective on "Shop local!"  When the vendors come around and ask how my sales were that day, and they comment with worry on whether they'll make rent that month.  When the vendors not already know just my name after only two weekends, but they know their customers' names, too.

It finally made me rethink the way I shop.  I could buy dinner at the Chipotle next to my house, or I could help the delightful people at Gourmet Tamales make rent.

Since then, I've resolved to attend the Farmer's Market near my lab job every Thursday, and to act upon the mantra that I've long neglected, "Shop local! (even if it's not honey!!)"

after all this time
i'm still into you

- Paramore, Still Into You

-+-

"Life is too not serious to be taken seriously, Christa.  I mean, we come from pee-pees.  How serious can life be when we come from pee-pees?  Honestly, I take a lot of comfort from that.  When life gets me down, I just remember that I came from a pee-pee, and it makes me laugh.  [laughter] See?  Life isn't serious, Christa.  We came from pee-pees."

-+-

"#100happydays"

I have a clear deficiency when it comes to technology, social networking, and all around keeping up-to-date with the latest apps and trends.  Hashtags are a new addition to my life, and but have now grown into an element of my everyday routine.  I'm now almost 1/3 through the 100 Happy Days! challenge.  The image I uploaded to my Instagram yesterday was tagged with "#day31," indicating that it's now been one month since I've started.

Here are nine of my faves from the first month (click on photos for respective Instagram link!):

Yesterday
is not quite what it could've been,
as were most of all the days before.
But, I swear today.
with every breath I'm breathing in,
I'll be trying to make it so much more.

- Relient K, Up And Up

-+-

Leaving work after 13 loving hours in my lab, I was torn.  Should I hit the driving range, go to the gym, or should I run home and work on my lab meeting some more?  As I started whizzing by stoplights, wondering in what direction I should drive my silver sedan, the answer suddenly became obvious: empty my bladder and eat dinner.  Finally handle my human needs.

I'd normally implore myself to slow the fuck down, but after spending so much time running in place, the breathlessness is incredibly refreshing.  Even I'm surprised by how much has happened since my last post, hardly a week ago.

I'm not very religious, but even then, I like to think that when I'm getting it right, like... really right, God goes out of his way to give me a celestial fist bump.  There are good days where after a few good deeds or a few right choices, karma goes into overdrive and gives me the perfect day, the kind where the stars align just right -- all the stoplights are green, I barely make my bus, an onion ring sneaks into my fries, and I suddenly get all the second chances I was secretly praying for.  It's like The Big Guy wants to ever-so-slightly skew the universe in my favor, just enough to communicate, "You go, gurl."

It was shortly before I wrote my last post that I decided to completely re-evaluate the way that I was living my life.  Before then, my priorities became a mess.  My daily routine was abysmal.  Go to work, come home, make dinner, go to sleep.  Go to work, browse online meet-up sites in desperation for friends, meet for dinner, never contact that person again, go to sleep.  Go to work, come home, have a beer, go to sleep.  It was this weird self-pity party that just really wasn't like me.

Since my last post, I've realized how terrible, stagnant, and useless I was letting my days become, and I've since been making strides to fix it.  Incredibly (yet unsurprisingly), when I stopped dwelling on my loneliness with angst and pity, I learned just how much room there was to be happy.

As the poet Matthew Thiessen once said: it's funny how you find you enjoy your life when you're happy to be alive.

Good things come in threes, and likewise, I've had three good things come my way within the last week.

-+-

Part I. The Drive

I was sitting in the car with my sister's boyfriend, Patrick, as we waited for my sister to finish salsa dancing.  We made small talk, when eventually the topic gets to golf.  My interest piqued, "You know, I'm looking for hobbies to do, and I forgot that I used to be really interested in golf.  Maybe I'll look into that!"

By the next day, I registered for a golf lesson.  Two days later, I went out and bought a golf shirt.  I started watching golf videos, and I started getting really amped.  I was getting more excited for this than I expected.  I found a hobby!  I was elated.  Reading "Golf Tips for Beginners" and "How To Get Into Golf" was much more rewarding than my habits of Woe-Is-Me!

I got to my first lesson, and I giggled at my instructor, "teehee i no kno how play gulf," and he was extremely supportive, saying that these classes are all PERFECT for beginners, and that if I want to get into golf, there's nothing in my way!  He said I was learning really quickly, and had me quickly proceed to learning top swing.  Compared to everyone else at the lesson, I sucked, but really -- who cares?  I managed to make contact with the ball, and that was enough to make myself really proud.  From my unfamiliarity with golf posture, my shoulders hated me and my back was stiff.  It was awesome, and I loved it.

I read that for newbies, the priority is to learn how to golf before caring too much about golf clubs.  I went out to town and visited various thrift shops, when I laid my eyes on the most gorgeous ghetto piece of shit golf set I've ever seen.  A driver, a putter, irons out the whoop-dee-doo, golf shoes that don't fit me, tees, and golf balls -- all for $4.

I brought it out to the range to figure out wtf is the difference between the different types of golf clubs, and it was the hardest task with the worn-out grips of my "new" golf set.  My full swing was terrible -- my golf club kept slipping within my grip -- and was worse than my horizontal backswing.  But fuck it, it's my first golf set, and that's awesome.

Can you tell I'm growing to like golf?  If that wasn't clear enough, I'm hoping to start a monthly membership for golf lessons -- "You are starting golf the perfect way, Christa.  I've been playing for a year, and I'm still trying to get rid of my bad swing habits."

Anyone wanna be golf buddies? ^~^

-+-

Part II. The Deal

I had finished my first round of golf lessons, and was overall extremely excited about my new ambitions and viewpoints on life.  I started getting in touch with old friends, and was focusing on being content with myself.  I was pretty much paving the way towards a life where I'm grateful for what I have, yet I'm also ambitious towards self-improvement -- much in contrast with my previous methods of being not just dissatisfied, but stagnant.

It was then, at this pivotal point in Christa's Life in San Diego, that the stars banded together and decided, "Let's throw Christa a bone."

You may have read that I like honey, and I'm growing to stay updated with the San Diego local honey scene.  The day after my first golf lesson, I learned that The San Diego Honey Company had a job opening.  At first, I was just, 'Oh, that's neat,' about it, but as I read about the position, I learned that it fit with my schedule.  A Sunday job at a new local Farmer's Market as a honey vendor.  I read it over again, 'Wait, what?'

It just seemed too good to be true.

"Do you know an energetic person who wants a one day a week job? I need someone to set up my booth and sell honey and some skin care products at the market at The Headquarters Certified Farmer Market on Sundays. They would also need to pack up, so it's about 9 am - 3 pm. I'd be there too for a portion of the day to give breaks and boost sales. Pass my email along to anyone who you think would represent me well with a nice big smile and helpful attitude!"

I told my sister and Jacob about the job, and they both insisted that I apply -- what's the harm in just applying?  In my e-mail, I mentioned my adoration towards honey, and I was asked to come in for an interview that Sunday.

At my interview, I met with Rachel, the head of The San Diego Honey Company, and we chatted about standard interviewing topics, such as my experiences in customer service, my schedule, her expectations, an outline of the job description.  We went back to the San Diego Honey Company booth, and she let me have some honey for free (YES!!1!), then she left to re-park her car.  Meanwhile, the remaining woman at the booth was complaining of hunger, and I told her, "Well, if you need to eat, I can watch the booth for a while."

Customers passed by, and I was already armed with the honey conversations that I've longed to have with fellow honey fans for ages.  One man approached the booth with his theory that light honey is always sweeter, and dark honey is always more bitter -- I taught him that acacia honey, while being so pale that it is almost white, has a surprisingly floral taste while I, too, also previously perceived all light honeys to be on the sweeter side.  One woman asked about applications for honey, and I taught her about a cafe viennese -- a lovely latte concoction prepared with cinnamon and honey.  Another woman mentioned allergies, and I told her about the helpfulness of local honey towards attenuating environmental allergy problems.  By the time Rachel got back to the booth, I had made my first sale.

I essentially made my first honey sale during my interview for the honey position!

She gave me free honey lavender soap as a congrats on my first sale.  I shook her hand, "Thank you for considering me!"

Rachel gave me a look of confusion, "No, I think you're hired, actually.  I'll see you next Sunday at 9?"

"YES!!"

I am now the newest vendor of The San Diego Honey Company.  After all these years of honey fandom, I am now officially a part of the local honey scene of San Diego, California.

I told one of my labmates about my prospects as a honey vendor, and he was discouraged, "I wonder how long before it gets tiring."

Tiring?  I am about to spend my Sunday mornings and afternoons getting paid to talk about honey.  I do that all the goddamn time already, and I'm about to do it not just as a girl that likes honey, but as a Honey Girl!  By golly, that's awesome!

This Sunday is my first official day as a honey vendor.  My thoughts?

Baby, I was made for this.

-+-

Part III. The Date

"Alright, I guess I have a middle-school crush on Alex, that's cool, whatever," has been my reaction to life since the day we grabbed a beer together.

In parallel to my decision to stop dwelling on my lonesomeness to focus on myself, I also decided to accept my immature crush for what it was -- an immature crush. We had only gone on a total of six dates, so I spent weeks being in denial towards missing Alex. No way I still miss him. No way! Finally, I just threw up my hands and took it for what it is, "Okay, I guess I like the boy. I suppose that's a thing now."

Interestingly -- much like how my loneliness quelled as I accepted myself for what I am -- as I decided that I have an irresolvable crush on Alex, my longing for Alex also dissipated.  I'm not sure if that's really how it correlates; maybe it's the irony of deciding to like him, or more likely it's the fact that I just wasn't so lonely anymore.  Either way, I did notice that as of late, I've spent less time hoping that I'll bump into him at the cafe, and more time wondering about which variation of mocha to order.

Alex is still cool like school in summertime, so I just settled into my crush on him.  I mean, why not?  A crush on Alex would be practical, after all.  My logic was this: if I let myself have a hopeless crush on Alex, then I won't have any interest in dating, and alas be more comfortable with myself as an individual and have a better ability to focus on work and platonic relationships.  Ta-dah!  Easy formula for a happy single Christa to stay happy with being single.  That's strategy for ya'!

So of course, it was then that I went out to the bars with Julie, and these two guys approach us.  Despite thinking one of them is actually cute with a likeable personality, I was established in my decision to be wholly disinterested in dating.  As a result, I chose to completely ignore the concept of flirting, or even the concept of following norms in social interaction.  Everyone engaged in relatively mature, sensible conversation, whilst I started rambling about Pokemon, Yu-Gi-Oh!, and spent a lot of time kicking my feet and making faces at everyone.  I ran around giving people high fives, and I zoned out of conversations to enjoy the decor of the bar.  One boy in particular, who was still making a surprising amount of conversation with me, was standing with his feet shoulder width apart.  I announced, "My shoe goes here nao," and I slipped off my ballerina flat between his feet.  He looked me with confusion, and I giggled, "uhuhuhuhu!"

At the end of the night, after all the weird shit I pulled off, he still asked me for my number.  And truly, that was my first time thinking, "Man, this fucker earned my number."  If you still want my number after I spent the evening singing the Pikachu song and literally running around, then yes, go ahead, have my number.  Take it!

I don't know much about him, but clearly, he is accepting of me in my eccentricities, and that is admittedly good foreshadowing.  I met someone kind of cool -- I'll have to wait and see -- right at the moment that I least desired/wanted/needed it.

So lul, I apparently now have a sushi dinner date on Wednesday.

gg

I made a lot of mistakes
in my mind, in my mind

- Sufjan Stevens, Chicago

-+-

When Jacob came back for Spring Break, he was still that lovable asshole that I remember, but with a bigger beard.  He was ripping on me when a girl exclaims defensively, "You're so mean to her!"

Jacob replied, "Oh, she doesn't mind, she knows I'm just kidding."

She turned to me, hoping to get my input, clearly expecting me to vent some sort of quiet distress, "Is that really true?"

I turned to Jacob, straight-faced, "Actually, you've just been slowly eating away at my self-esteem this entire time."

I stare at him long enough that his eyes shed a flicker of worry.  Then I start giggling, and we both break out in wholehearted laughter.  And after all those years of depression and those years of recovery, that was actually the moment that I decided,  'Aha, so I guess my self-esteem is actually pretty A-OK now, isn't it?'

-+-

Lately, I haven't been as happy as I'd like to be.  It's a hard thing to admit, but if admission going to happen anywhere, it's going to be here.  I'm sure that with some hindsight, it doesn't really come as a surprise.  Underneath it all, people are social creatures.  Loneliness has an incredible effect on a human being.

This is a morbid viewpoint, but loneliness was actually a lot easier when I had depression.  It's easier to accept defeat when you've already thrown in the towel.  The loss of hope made it acceptable to stop trying; having hope is synonymous with resilience, and that actually makes things more challenging.  When wielding the determination to keep pushing on, it's a far greater task to resist the weight of an avalanche than to succumb to it.

As a working adult in a big city, my attempts to make friends have ranged from starting conversations at bars and coffee shops to meeting people from various online venues -- I've been shy with the confession, but in hopes to make friends, I've met with people from Meetup, OkCupid, and craigslist alike, all with varying success.  I've solicited my co-workers to friendly dinners outside of lab, and of course, I've reconnected and maintained contact with friends from undergrad that happen to be living in San Diego.  The latter has been my greater triumph.  For months, I was satisfied with only spending time with undergrad friends and co-workers.  It was enough to keep a girl from going crazy.  However, a few months ago, my few friends in town were MIA with illness and travel, and I had to become far more comfortable in my solitude.

For a while, I managed well.  However, I hit my breaking point at the San Diego Contemporary Museum of Art.  Since then, for most of the last month, my giggles were punctuated with a sullen dissatisfaction.  Everything touched by sunlight was covered with a film of despondence.  For more than a month, all I craved was a decent conversation... and actually, I did get that, numerous times.  I've met a variety of characters across a wide realm of people.  Yet, my situation never changed.  Except for brief periods (i.e. lunch with lab, dinners with Julie, a visit from Jacob), I continually felt dissatisfied.  I still felt lonely.  I never seemed to be achieving what I was hoping for, despite spending so many dinners in someone else's company.  I would consistently fail to follow through with a second meeting, because nothing seemed to ever change anything.  I just never felt content.  I always felt so reprehensibly alone.

To make additional moves towards alleviating my unhappiness, I started the 100 Happy Days! challenge on my Instagram, which consists of posting one happy thing a day for 100 consecutive days.  I tell people a variety of reasons of why I'm doing it.  I tell them it's out of solidarity with my sister who is undertaking it with me, or I tell them that it's all for the free booklet you get at the end of it if you complete it successfully.  In reality, I'm doing it for its anecdotal benefits of mood improvement and improved mental health.  I started it because I wasn't happy and I wanted to be.

While I was the midst of this 100 Happy Days! mission, I sat in front of my on-call lab building that overlooked the Pacific Ocean.  I was sipping a cup of hot coffee, about to use a photo of my amazing view as my happy moment of the day.  Then, I heard a booming voice behind me.  I recognized the voice instantly.  Alex.  I overheard that he was having a bad day, and I afterwards texted him, "You were the loudest person on this patio," and I extended my sympathy towards his failed mouse experiment.  Towards the end of my workday, I followed with, "This text is a coupon for free coffee on me, whenever."

He replied, "Right now."

With that, I left work, and I got on the next shuttle to his building.  We ended up enjoying a beer together during his one-hour bacterial incubation period.  "Christa, how's life?" he eventually asked, "It's been a while."

"A month and a half," I smiled.

"What? No way, it's only been three weeks, at most," Alex stared in disbelief, "although I do have a bad perception of time."

I let him think that it's been three weeks.  In reality, I've all but counted the days.

We spent a lot of time laughing.  The hour came and went, and he offered to drive me to my car.  For the length of that beer and that car ride, I felt it again.  I felt that spark, and even though the sky was overcast, colors seemed beautiful and saturated.  As he sang along to his car radio, taking me on the scenic route along the La Jolla vista, I felt content.  Of course, I asked Alex to be the highlight of my day for my 100 Happy Days! project.  In the resulting photo, he's a blur of a thing, booping me on my nose.  Absolutely perfect.

A few days have passed since then, and many more happy moments, but everything keeps taking my mind back to that boop on the nose.

It hit me like a baseball bat when I came to the realization that my insatiable loneliness is so much more simple and juvenile than I led myself to believe.

I'm just a girl that misses a boy.

The revelation was asinine but incredibly refreshing.  I felt dumb from its simplicity, but I also felt free.  I’m taking forever to get over him, and that makes me incredibly sad and frustrated.  However, it’s not a permeating emptiness that contributes to my identity.  With that single epiphany, I retracted from "lonely" to just "alone."  That was an incredible start.  Without the desperation of lonesomeness, my shy cries for help quelled almost immediately.  I ducked out of my superfluous involvement in meet-up websites, where I was grasping at every straw for a friend, and then rejecting every offer for one.

The answer was slow to come, but I’m finally managing my way to it.  After that leap of a first step, my mind is so much less fixated on unhappiness.  Rather than focusing on my Have-Nots, I’m starting to shift my attention to my Haves. I’m starting to see my sadness with a new perspective.  I’m spending so much time looking for a social life that I’ve neglected myself entirely.  What’s that old saying?  You have to love yourself before others can love you.  Something cheesy like that.

Instead of focusing outwards, longing for dependency, I’m finally making strides to focus inwards.  Instead of sitting in various coffee shops constantly forcing small talk, I’ve decided to pursue my adolescent interests with golf, and I registered for golfing classes (for which I am MEGA excited about).  While I was incessantly fishing for random faces, I was losing touch with my current friends and connections.  Instead of spending my evenings lethargically wishing I wasn’t so alone, I agreed to join a coed social sport with an old friend.  Instead of running through new potential companions at a mile a minute, I’m finally sending messages of, “It’s been a while since we’ve talked!  How have you been?”

Dammit all, I’m living in America’s Finest City, and I’ve squandered it by focusing on how pitiful I am.

well then, SELF-PITY NO MOAR!

HUAH!!

-+-

Me: Eep I saw Alex
Me: We had a beer together
Jacob: orly
Jacob: how was that
[…]
Me: So we chatted the whole hour and he even drove me to my car
Me: So it was rly nice
Me: Like too nice
Me: I’m so pissed that he’s so likeable
Jacob: whatever im better
Me: LOL

After mentioning the above Facebook conversation to my sister, she simply goes, “I like Jacob.  He’s cool.  He has no tact.  It's awesome.”

Man, I like my loved ones.

Everybody said they were glad to see you go --
but no one ever has to know.

-- Alex Wong & Vienna Teng, In the Creases

-+-

I sigh in defeat.  I'm trying to listen to a lively anecdote, but the persistent flashbacks distract me.  The memory of an index finger booping me on the nose takes me aback, and my mind comes back to the restaurant.

Relatively speaking, I'm not supposed to take this long getting over someone, especially someone that I saw for such a short period of time.  After all, what's the rule?  However long you were seeing each other, you're allowed half that length of time to get over that person (i.e. I was with Phuc for nearly six years, so technically my grace period for that relationship is still ongoing).  Now this kid?  I saw him for a month, and it's now almost a month later.  Isn't this illegal?  My current state of mind is, well, unlike me.

Yet, even after reaching acceptance and agreeing that it was all for the best, the jazz music keeps playing in my head.  God, I can still feel that soft blonde hair between my fingers.  I still think of that gaze as he admitted, like a sinner in confession, "I have to tell you, Christa.  You're absolutely gorgeous.  You are stunning.  You are... the perfect girl, and I have to keep stepping back to remind myself that this is all real."

It becomes increasingly clear that this, right now... accepting a naive invitation to coffee, to dinner, to converse and exchange warm glances -- this is a charade.   I relax the tension in my shoulders as I spill unfamiliar words, surrendering to honesty, "I have to be upfront with you.  I'm not the most emotionally available girl in the world right now. ..."

I have to say, I'm happy with where we are right now, and I hope so dearly for us to grow into friends.  Yet, still I wait for the day that I can get him out of my head.

-+-

As far as this blog goes, the better part of my last month has existed in half-written scribbles on random pieces of paper whenever I could scrounge up free time.  There are half-written hooks and pieces of exposition.  There are quotes out of context and dialogue with no meaning.

A lot can exist in hindsight, but those heartbeats -- as crude as they are -- are pulses that seek permanence.

Rather than re-writing history to tell you my life as it was, here are those excerpts as they exist in my scraps of paper -- trapped in time and in poor handwriting.

-+-

Not dated.

I am currently writing this in the basement of my lab building -- in the vivarium, where we keep our laboratory mice.  Life has been good since I've last written, although maybe not as typical and predictable.  My "lonely bug" days have been steadily decreasing as the city slowly feels less and less new.

-+-

1/23/14

something near me smells delicious

is it this omelette?

it must be

-+-

2/20/14

how to be alone

A long time ago, at a time that I always euphemistically refer to as "The Old Life" in writing, I used to date a boy named Phuc, and one fair summer afternoon after a few years together, he broke up with me.

I don't bring that up in implication of longing or melancholy for that lost love, but to mention all of the incredible foreshadowing that I chose to ignore.  Namely -- one day, he sent me a YouTube video titled "How to Be Alone" several weeks prior to leaving me.

Honestly, I don't remember much about that video.  Or article?  (To be honest, I really don't remember the form of its content -- I'm really just guessing.)  I was so lost in my dependency on Phuc that it completely went over my head.  "Why would I need to read/watch (whatever it was) this?  I don't have any reason to -- I have Phuc."

Of course, in the end, it wasn't a lesson that I learned at the the time, but it was something that I would eventually learn all the same.

I mentioned my ongoing battle with loneliness in an earlier blog post, after which I ended up going through a hell of a time.

Just romantically, these past few months have been remarkable in their events and frustration, especially after a long period of absolutely nothing. I spent Thanksgiving with Jacob, upon which I thought I witnessed the death of our friendship, then I spent my birthday with Jacob, upon which we both rekindled our affections, our mutual respect, and finally resolved our existence as friends.  I had a month-long kind-of-dating-until-i-uhhh-dumped-him with Jon, during which I was integrated into the tattooed vegan death metal community of San Diego -- whatever your mind's reaction to that is, that's probably true.

Then there's Alex.  You don't know much about him.  For now, just know that it's over.  And that he's tall.  And that I miss him.

My platonic life has little current, but it's not so stagnant that it's attracting mosquitoes.  I have an undergrad friend from UCSD who I regularly grab dessert with.  I have a friend from UC Merced who I visit sometimes.  I most frequently see my labmates and my friend from my first TSRI internship, and sometimes my sister when our paths collide.

It's something -- at least enough to keep me from going insane -- but it's definitely a world away from the extroversion that I explored during my undergrad.  I've been touring museums by myself all month.  I watched the Lego Movie by myself the other day.  Hell, right now, I am writing this alone in a bar.  Yes, I am that girl, writing the draft for her blog in a notebook at a bar.

With that, I can't help but remember the day that Phuc sent me that link: How to Be Alone.

I just came from San Diego's Contemporary Museum of Art, and I think that's the moment it happened for me.  I stood there, beholding a remarkable view of the ocean and the sunset.  I heard voices around me echoing off the marble floor.  I looked around me, and I came to a realization: I am the only person here alone.  Everyone else here came with someone.  Except me.  This was not the first museum where I've reached this conclusion, but this was the first time that it significantly bothered me.  Maybe it's because Alex called it off so recently.  Maybe it's because I've gone too long without human contact outside of my lab.  Maybe it's because the sight of this massive ocean just overwhelmed me, making me feel so miniscule. Whatever it was, it was magnified by the cold white walls and looming photos around me.

In that moment, I felt so small.

"Alone" crossed the line into "lonely."

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Not dated.

I was going to start drafting a blog but lol j/k I'm drunk and sleepy

-+-

Most recent.  Not dated.

It is clear to me that the way I feel defies logic.  We didn't know each other that long, and we didn't see each other that much.  Effectively, he was destined to become a blur.  Wasn't he?

Nonetheless, just as it takes mere seconds to marvel in a breath of fresh air, it takes just as little time to feel trapped without it.  In the midst of what should remain a passing dream, it becomes difficult to bargain with these moments of lucidity.

On all counts, I reason that he was incredibly frustrating, borderline flaky -- his devotion to his work made him constantly unreachable and seemingly undependable.  I spent a lot of time wondering if this was worth the emotional investment, or if I should just give up.  If I should stay patient and hang in there, or if I should throw in the towel.

While I describe my canonical work ethic as "self-motivated, albeit at times to a fault," referencing my senior year ulcers and ending college with doctor-prescribed senioritis, I would describe him as actually having a genuine addiction to his work.  If there was an available afternoon in his life, that afternoon became dedicated to optimizing his mouse surgeries.  A day off simply meant an opportunity to lyse his mouse earpieces for genotyping.  It was hard to argue with the suggestion that his life was his lab.

What really makes it difficult is that after weeks of neglected opportunities to see each other, I spent a lot of time battling with the thought, "Is this really worth it?"  I was caught between A) I have a great time when I'm with him, and B) but I never see him.  A week before it was over, I decided the answer was yes.  I decided he was worth hanging in there.  He decided to give up exactly when I decided not to.

While I know I'm hurt by losing him, I'm also hurt by losing what he symbolized for me.  Since Phuc, I've never really settled down.  Jacob was the closest I've gotten since then, but even then, I never expected it to manifest into anything more than summer romance (I'm honestly incredibly surprised that we still talk now as friends).

This was the first time in ages that I looked someone in the eyes and thought, "Damn, this guy is just... really, really awesome."  No mixed feelings, no conflicted emotions, no hunting for red flags.  In spite of spending so much time being jaded, I let my guard down quickly with him.  That is, if I even ever had it up at all.  Every time we smiled at each other, I melted.  Even the first time we made eye contact, we were both just glowing.  I couldn't help but think that, man... this is the guy.  This is the guy I can see myself being with for a long time.

My beef was specifically with my lack of seeing him; when we managed to find time together, everything was pretty damn perfect.  He was clearly self-aware that I was frustrated at how little I managed to see him -- "I can't give you what you deserve.  I don't have my shit together, and we both know it.  I'm just not cut out for a relationship right now."

From the second that he asked, "Christa, can we have a chat," I've agreed with no hesitation.  Ending it was really for the best.  I know fully well that the way things were, we weren't cut out for much.  Compatibility can only go so far.

Nonetheless: dammit.  God, I really liked him.

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With that, these notes in purple and green ink (lol I left all my black pens in lab) will now find their way into a welcoming recycling bin -- from there, they'll turn into a recycled bench or something.  Or more paper.

lol whatever

Q:

Oh, I was born to live without you...
But, I'm never going to understand,
never understand

- Vampire Weekend, Everlasting Arms

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While I haven't been updating as frequently on Xanga lately, I've actually successfully become better at updating a couple of my other social media venues.  For example, you can check out my Twitter if you long for even more updates on Christa's life!

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I am at a good place in life.  I can tell myself that I'm no longer a fragile person -- whether or not that's actually true, I don't know.  However, I know exactly how brittle I used to be, and I'm not that girl anymore.  That's for sure.  And that's a relief.

I do, however, share in my fragile moments.  Today was a fragile moment.  Not for any spectacular reason -- I was just sleep-deprived.  Maybe hormones, too.  Stressed by expectations and failures.  By disappointment.   In any case, whatever it was, the cumulative discomfort was to the point that I was vulnerable.  Susceptible to emotion.  My boss gave me the usual lecture, that I usually face with my chin up.  Today, I was too exhausted.  I was getting upset.  I felt my eyes wanting to well up, but I fought those tears like a motherfucker.  What is happening?  I am not this fragile.  But I often lack self-awareness.  My body knew, even if my mind tried to deny it.

I am not this fragile.  But this moment definitely was.

In my fragility, there was a ghost that came back to haunt me.  A moment that came back to bother me.  Today, it managed to affect me so much that I was upset as I pipetted my qPCR.

(Note to self: I suppose I do tend to cry more when I'm sleepy!)

My frustration is directed towards one person, but I don't think it is worth communicating it directly to him.  I honestly don't know if he would understand.  So instead, I'll attempt to get it off my shoulders to the world, to no one in particular.

In the past year, there have certainly been moments where words and actions have hurt me.  Yet, although it happened almost a year ago, there is one surprising, specific exchange that bothers me to this day.  One that freshly offends me and hurts me each time that I think of it.  I never would have anticipated it at the time, how it would still bother me months afterwards.

At face value (or even deeper than that to anyone other than myself) it's actually really dumb and minor, and maybe shouldn't bother me so much.  But it does, and that's the reality of it.

First, I'll share what the dialogue was:

It was May of last year.  I handed him a button from the Metropolitan Museum of Art.  I explained, "The entire time I was at the Met, I spent a lot of time staring at the floor, looking for admission buttons that people dropped so that I could collect them all."

"Oh," he smirked, "so you're giving me trash that you found on the floor?"

I felt my stomach sink with personal offense.  I elaborated, "No, I went to the Met specifically because of these buttons.  They didn't have them at the gift shop -- I looked everywhere -- when I realized I could find them randomly when other people lost them..."

He reiterated, clearly feeling witty in his sarcasm, "Then you're just giving me a hand-me-down!"

Every time I come across Met buttons that I found during that trip, I now think of that moment, where he called my Met buttons trash.  Every time, it bothers me like a grudge.  It bothers me more like a dagger than a thorn.

But why?  It seems so minor.  Why would I be so bothered by this?

I need to explain.

It's a backstory that I've told few, but it's a backstory that's very dear and personal to me.

When I was growing up, I idolized my mother's fine china cabinet in the dining room.  The cabinet was full of taboo treasures that I wasn't allowed to dine with -- beautiful plates, cups, and whatnot.  It wasn't the whole nine yards that you see in other homes (for example, one plate was a Collector's Plate from Disney's Hercules) but it was charming, and I grew up admiring it.

One day, as a little girl, I went to the thrift store with my dad, and found a beautiful mug set.  It was two perfect, matching mugs in a little brass-colored box.  They were decorated with various colored circles, each circle adorned with an embellished "M."  Tucked in the box was a little piece of paper, describing the story of the mugs: at the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York City, a colorful piece of metal was used as an admission ticket.  Over the course of decades, these M-adorned metal buttons became iconic of the Met.  These mugs were a celebration of that icon.

(The buttons!)

Even though I had never heard of the Metropolitan Museum of Art before, it was love at first sight.  I pleaded with my dad for this mug set, and he bought it for me.  In the midst of all my childhood playtime, I took care of these two dear mugs in their little brass-colored box.  For years, I never told anyone that I had these mugs.  I didn't discuss them with anyone.  To me, they were my equivalent of my mom's fine china cabinet.  These two colorful mugs -- they were my fine china.  This cardboard was my mahogany cabinet.  When I held that brass-colored case in my hands, I truly felt like I was holding treasure.

(My mug!)

As I was growing up with my treasure of two mugs, I had a dream.  There were two cups in my little box, and I decided that when I met "The One" -- that boy that I would someday meet and be my happy-ever-after -- I would give him one of my mugs.  It was my version of a fairy tale: to meet the boy that I would give my second mug to.

On my one-year anniversary with Phuc, I decided that it was him.  By this time, he knew my story about the Met Mug, and how I was saving the second cup for that special person.  At the park where he first asked me to be his girlfriend, I gave him the second mug.  You should have seen his face when he opened that gift, and found that second mug, realizing that I was passing it on to him.  He knew how important that gesture was to me.  His face was absolutely glowing, overcome with shock and gratitude.  He knew that to me, that was among the most ultimate gestures of romance that I could ever give.

At the time, it seemed like a safe call.  After all, we dated for almost six years.  The last time I ever saw him in Davis, I still remember him actively using his Met Mug on his desk as a penholder, so that he could look at it everyday and think of me.  The entire time we were together, he understood the importance of my Met Mug to me, and I appreciated that more than I ever expressed to him.

When he broke up with me, I pondered what ex-girlfriends ponder: what happens to the gifts that I gave him?  Finally, almost a year after we separated, I decided that all I wanted -- all I wanted -- was my Met Mug back.  That Met Mug was supposed to be for my soul mate, and if it wasn't him, I wanted it back.  That's all I wanted back.  In a moment of weakness, I wrote him a letter.  All I want is my Met Mug.  Please give me back my Met Mug.  I don't care about anything else.  Please just give me back my Met Mug.  I never got a reply.  I never got my Met Mug back.  I would never be able to give my second mug to "The One."  As time passed without reply, it became increasingly clear to me.  My dream was ruined.  That second mug would never go to the right person.  My treasure was doomed as Phuc's trash.

It took a while to get over that fact, but my Met Mug never lost its significance.  I still have one mug from the original pair, and it's currently in my cupboard here in San Diego, right now.  I don't own that brass-colored box anymore, but I still own that little piece of paper that describes the tale of the mugs.

When my sister first went to New York City, she came back and visited me in Merced.  Knowing my story about my mugs, and of my heart-wrenching loss of my second mug, she gave me a pair of mugs from the American Museum of Natural History in New York.  As I opened her gift and realized that she gave me two mugs, I realized its significance instantaneously.  She was giving my dream life again.  I sat there, mugs in hand, weeping with joy.  My dream was alive again.  Typing this paragraph, in fact, has brought me to tears (and I napped before I wrote this, so it's like... for real).  I am now saving that second mug for that special someone.  My dream is alive again.  That is beautiful, and I have my sister to thank for that.

When I went to New York City after my college graduation, I finally was able to cross "Visit the Metropolitan Museum of Art" off my bucket list.  When I was getting ready for the museum, my sister teased me for how I got really dressed up to look nice for the museum.  Yet, when we arrived at the museum, I explained that I had absolutely zero expectations for the museum itself, and was pleasantly surprised by how grand it actually was.   Truly, all I knew about the Museum was, "This is where my mugs came from."  And that was enough to spend my life wanting to go there.

As we went through the museum, my sister asked me if there was anything in the museum that I definitely wanted to see.  My answer was simply, "The gift shop."  I wanted those iconic buttons that shaped my childhood, that shaped my perceptions of treasure and romance.  By this time, I made many dear friends at Merced, and I wanted to give them each a button from the Met as a souvenir.  As the mug symbolized my ultimate gesture of romance, I wanted to give my friends individual buttons as a graduation present, to similarly symbolize that I deeply treasured their friendship.  However, I wasn't aware that those buttons are available only as admission buttons, and learned that the hard way as I unsuccessfully sifted through the gift shop.

I bought a pack of button-inspired magnets as a consolation present, but luckily, we decided to come back to the Met a second time during my graduation trip to NYC.  Now that I was aware that the Met buttons were strictly available only as admission buttons, my eyes began to skim the ground for buttons that were dropped by past museum patrons.  I was extremely lucky in this venture -- I found buttons of various colors and created a hearty collection of abandoned admission icons.  My sister ripped on me for my behavior at the museum -- I would ignore all of the art and instead focus on the floor, looking for buttons to give to my friends.

When I returned to Merced with a treasure chest (i.e. ziploc bag) full of little Met buttons, I was elated to share with everyone back home.  I gave them each a magnet button from the pack I bought from the gift store, and an admission button from my grand adventures of button-searching.

Then I handed one to him.

"Oh," he smirked, "so you're giving me trash that you found on the floor?"

The worst part is that he already knew my story about my Met Mugs, and my reaction to my sister's present of AMNH mugs.  So even when he made his remark, he knew what the Met Mugs meant to me.  He should have known better.

Yet, when I handed him a green Met button that I lovingly rescued from the floor of the Metropolitan Museum of Art, he didn't choose to acknowledge how much care and value went into this ghetto little piece of metal that I was handing to him.  Everyone else politely said, "Thank you," and even though their faces reflected confusion and "uhhh... okay... thanks i guess," at least I knew how powerful a gesture it was, and that unspoken celebration of friendship was huge for me.

He took my treasure in his hand, and he denounced it as trash.

By this time, I had a yearlong crush on him, but that was the moment that I could never see him the same way again.  If he couldn't understand how important that stupid, minute, useless little souvenir button was to me, then he wasn't meant for me.

Nearly everything else, everything else that has happened over these past several years, I have been able to eventually let go of.  Over the past few years, I have been abandoned, I have been insulted, I have been led on, I have been used.  But, I have managed to mend those wounds and learn from those painful experiences.  I have been able to move on.  However, as I sift through my things and randomly find little extra buttons that I kept from that incredible trip to New York City, I keep remembering the moment that he took my present in his hand, and called it trash.

This thought always bothers me whenever it comes to mind.  Even months later, it has never failed to keep bothering me.  But today, in my moment of exhaustion and emotional vulnerability, it felt more like a dagger in my heart.  Today, I fought back tears at the lab bench, deeply and freshly offended by this remark made months ago.

Tomorrow, I would like to say I will come into lab refreshed and rejuvenated, but lul I spent quite a bit of time writing and venting this blog post.

But my load feels a little lighter now, and I'm thankful for that.

Good night, world.

What do I do when every "no"
turns into "maybe"?

- Vienna Teng, Stray Italian Greyhound

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I stood at my doorstep as he walked back to his car.  There was still one thing left to do before I called it a night.

"HEY!" I called out after him.  He turned around, alert.  I yelled, "I like you!"

He grinned, "I like you, too!"

"COOL, BYE!"

And as I unlocked my door to my house, I could hear him laughing behind me.

Time to review my resolutions from the start of 2013!

* FINALLY boss the GRE by the end of Spring semester! lol
* Apply to grad schools at the end of this year… Basically the stuff I was planning on doing in 2012 up until my job offer at Scripps! lol no bro, got a job
* Grow out my hair!!! oh jesus christ it's finally past my clavicle but certainly not as long as i intended when i wrote this. i meant like mermaid hair. but technically true?!
* Save more $$$! I THINK THIS WAS OK COS I HAD MONEY LEFTOVER AFTER GRAD
* Finally, finally, finally… go to Disneyland! omg dude hell yea and it was the best time ever
* Stay in contact with my Merced BFF’s after graduation.  INDEED!! i just sent all my housemates christmas presents in the mail, i see omer regularly, and i talk to morrell on the phone all the time!
* Get my post-graduation life together!  Whewww. who again is the fine-ass lady with the full-time job in san diego? oh right, that's me
* Road trip, anyone? <3 uuhh i make a lot of spazzy trips to LA, but i totes been flying more than driving lulz. i think trip to NYC for NYE and frequent flights up north count, i don't even care
* Should this year finally be the year that I lose weight? lol uh, year's weight time course: so i lost 20 then i gained 20 then i lost 10 then gained 5 lul
* Take care of my electronics so I don’t need to buy replacement anything! t__t guess who broke her laptop and her portable hard drive over summer LUL
* Bowl more  - BOWLED.... TWICE THIS YEAR???? aka fail

* Keep up my development as a travelbug

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Within a few days after Jacob left, it was remarkably easy to transition into friends.

He told me about the girl he liked back in Georgia.  He kept me updated on his ventures in pursuing her, and even asked me for advice about her.  We even talked about that strange period between Thanksgiving and Christmas, where we both agreed on his observation, "At the time, I didn't know how to be friends with you.  It seemed very black and white between us."  We agreed that now that we know how to be friends, things are a lot better now.

Sometime afterwards, I also went on a first date.  Then I went on a second date, and a third date, and a fourth date, and a fifth date.

When I decided that it was going well -- really well, actually -- I told Jacob about him, and he was excited for me.  In fact, by the third date, I already could not stop talking about him.  I could not stop talking about the strange lack of red flags, the weirdly perfect chemistry.  It was a genuine first for me in years.

Maybe it was karma, because I kept giving Jacob a hard time about how much he was head over heels about his girl.  No matter how much I insisted, "No, no, no, this is actually really cool and new and refreshing for me," Jacob still teased right back, "Christa, you get infatuated just as quickly as I do!"

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* 23 Dec 2011: That awkward moment when you wonder if your breakfast burrito has RNase. Answer is probably yes.

* 23 Dec 2011: I'd try to compare us, but there is no comparison. We're on completely different levels.

* 24 Dec 2011: Just woke up from a dream that I was on a hijacked plane, and in the pursuit of saving the day, had to pepper spray a dolphin in the face.

Fondly remembering what you did for me last Christmas. I'm thankful. I wish I could let you know that I'm not alone anymore. #ex

— Christa C. (@merryChrista) December 26, 2011

* 25 Dec 2011: Had a rewarding hike today with my siblings. Spent my Christmas chasing waterfalls!

* 31 Dec 2011: Dude, is it still empathy if it's for yourself, but in the past? lol

* 11 Jan 2012: "Don't let anyone anchor you down, Christa. You're going to do great things."

* 19 Jan 2012: "I HOPE PHUC IS STILL TAKING CARE OF YOU BECAUSE I HOPE HE DIDNT FORGET THAT I WILL STEAL YOU AWAY FROM HIM!" That awkward moment where...

* 15 Feb 2012: "It's not you, it's me" ... "oh but j/k actually it IS you trollolololol"

* 23 Feb 2012: On my wall in my room, a handwritten reminder reads, "DON'T BURN OUT! It's okay to take a break!"

* 24 Feb 2012: "I'd like to make an appointment for a super nap, please."

"I would like to wholeheartedly accept your invitation." I still can't believe I'm really going to work at "The Hub of Research!"

— Christa C. (@merryChrista) March 9, 2012

* 18 Mar 2012: Thank you, Random Elderly Man at McDonald's, for buying me a free small soda. You have restored my faith in mankind.

* 30 Mar 2012: I need to start dating again JUST so I can start using all these amazing "Dinner for Two" coupons. Yeah, I got my priorities straight.

* 3 Apr 2012: On Tuesdays, my professor and I ride the bus together. "Tuesdays with MGO," but they're less sad than with Morrie.

* 7 Apr 2012: Invited to represent UC Merced at Washington, DC. Life gets more and more extraordinary every single day.

* 28 May 2012: "So many paths that wind and wind... when just the art of being kind is all this sad world needs." - Ella Wheeler-Wilcox, Poet

* 3 Jan 2013: I decided it was more important to let my mom nap than to wail on her for all the Punch Buggies on the freeway. I'm a good daughter.

* 5 Jan 2013: Leaving for Anaheim tomorrow morning with amazing company. Time for wishes to come true. #disneyland

* 8 Feb 2013: Just got a tutoring job at #UCMerced! I have until I start in two weeks to become a master of embryogenesis. NBD

* 16 Feb 2013: A good night is one where we're all arguing about the best strategy for viral transfection of epithelial cells. This is pretty nerdy.

* 21 Feb 2013: I don't talk to my mom over the phone much, but when I called her today, we had a heated discussion about Neopets. Good day. #family

Confirmed: Going back to Scripps this summer. Same internship & same lab as last year -- they liked me so much, they wanted me back. Win!

— Christa C. (@merryChrista) March 14, 2013

* 18 Mar 2013: Just purchased my cap & gown, glowing with both anxiety and excitement. The salesman laughed, "What a happy grad!"

* 22 May 2013: About to fulfill a lifelong dream: I'm now en route to New York City! Huzzah!

* 24 Sep 2013: Uh, anyone catch that Bones episode where a bobcat feeds on a human corpse? All I could think was: GO BOBCATS, YEAH UC MERCED

* 20 Nov 2013: Difficult decision: guy has unattractive/arrogant personality, but he knows how to raise bees and harvest his own honey. #HoneyLoverProblems

"This is a direct flight to San Diego. The good thing about this flight is that, well, it's going to San Diego." - JetBlue flight attendant

— Christa C. (@merryChrista) January 3, 2014

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Okay, just decided on another New Year's Resolution: Tweet more in 2014! Because this was more entertaining than I anticipated.

I filtered myself a lot more and tweeted a LOT less more after my visit to Washington, D.C. because there was this really weird phase after UC in DC where politicians and the UC campuses were suddenly paying attention to my Twitter.  Since I was one of only two undergrads at UC in DC, when we had the "Social Media" discussion during orientation, I realized I was probably the only person there in Twitter's target age range.  "Oh god if I don't tweet about UC in DC, no one will," I explained to Team UC Merced -- which ended up being practically true.

After that, I felt like my Twitter should be more professional, and I put on my Professional Hat every time I tweeted for months.  Since it's almost two years later, I'm going to hope that they care less now, and just Tweet about whatevah I want.  lol!

Happy Tweeting!

Watchin’ a movie,
you get closer to me…
Oh, this has disaster written all over it.

- Relient K, Disaster

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“All I ever wanted, all I ever needed is here in my arms.  Words are very unnecessary; they can only do harm…”

“Enjoy the Silence” by Depeche Mode has grown into one of very few songs that inspire me to immediately change the radio station.  It’s a stunning song that I know all the lyrics to, but now it reminds me too much of a boy standing on a karaoke stage, shyly trying to impress me.

While it was a month to remember, I can’t say that it’s a month that I’ll particularly miss.  At first, my month with him was refreshingly different – what was I supposed to make of this vegan guitarist in a dark metal band?  This guy that makes a living by advocating for LGBT rights in San Diego county, and spends his free time at feminist rallies?

What I first recognized as an incredibly admirable passion quickly proved itself to be a pervasive, chronic anger.  We would be in the middle of a movie date when, if any hint of politics appeared in the movie, he would exclaim, “Fuck democrats, fuck Kennedy, fuck Obama!”  We would stand outside bars so he could smoke a cigarette, while I passively listened to him bash on all Christians as ignorant people blindly buying into archaic propaganda.  He would show me pictures of himself burning the American Flag on the Fourth of July, yelling out, “Happy July 4^th, motherfuckers!”

I spent a few weeks giving him the benefit of the doubt, insisting that I was still getting to know him.  However, on our fifth date, he drunkenly kissed me, “I love you.”  My eyes widened in shock and “uhhhhhhh WTF?” I found this hugely sobering, and throughout my New Year’s trip in NYC, I spent time re-evaluating my willingness to spend an indefinite amount of time with a boy consumed by anger.  My willingness to commit to someone who seemed to be incapable of seeing the world in pink… in silver linings as I do.

I decided that I wanted to continue seeing the world as a beautiful place.  Two days before my 23rd birthday, and two days before our one-month anniversary, I met him at the heart of Balboa Park, and I said those words that would ultimately free me, yet would ultimately render me unable to listen to Depeche Mode’s “Enjoy the Silence” without thinking of the boy consumed by anger:

“I don’t think we’re going to work out.”

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“How are you and Jon?” Jacob inquired as he conjured up a bowl of miso soup.

It was the day before my birthday, and Jacob and I spent a large part of winter break dodging each other.  I spent the first week of his winter break absolutely despising him.  Maybe it was to protect myself, but I was letting myself grow to hate him.

“Guess who’s been in town for a week and I still haven’t heard from him?” I bitterly pouted at Julie and Omer while getting boba a few days before Christmas.  After everything that happened at Thanksgiving, and after not hearing a word from him since then, I considered it all proof of my theory that he didn’t care about me anymore.  That I was just a footnote in his life.  Less than a remnant.  Less than a speck of dust.

With extraordinary hesitation, it wasn’t until Christmas Eve that Jacob and I finally agreed to meet with each other.  I was planning on socking him square in the jaw as a Christmas present to myself, but I sucked it up and met him solely to give him the Christmas present that I bought for him weeks ago.  We sat across from each other, playing with our food and making awkward small talk.  At some point, he admitted that there’s a girl back in Georgia that he had a crush on.  Jon and I had still been at our peak at this point, and I smiled, “I’ve started seeing someone too.”

He grinned, and it was the most sincere smile that he had given me since before Thanksgiving.  “Oh, yeah?  Tell me about him.”

From there, our awkwardness eased up, and while I was still ambivalent, I ceased my longing to punch him in the face.  We spent a few more hours just hanging out and chatting about our lives, and we realized we could really make this work.  This thing called a friendship between us.

With that, I left San Diego to spend Christmas with my parents and to spend New Year’s with my sister in NYC (which also needs its own post soon!).  Two weeks later, Jacob and I were both back in town.  Everyone else was busy on the eve of my 23^rd birthday, but Jacob agreed to spend midnight with me.  I came over, and we filled a bowl of hot water to make some miso soup.  That’s when he asked, “How are you and Jon?”

I scrunched my face into a bitter expression, and squeaked, “Ummm, not good!”

He tilted his head with concern, “Oh, no.  Things are worse?”

I said with a nervous giggle, “Umm... I broke up with him!”

I explained what happened, and we spent some time chatting about that.  Then, we started watching TV together.  Just a few dumb episodes of Robot Chicken, sitting side-by-side as friends.  Then we started leaning towards each other.  Then we started sitting closer to each other.  Then he put his head on my shoulder.  Then I put my head on his.  Then I lied in the nook of his arm, with my arm wrapped around him.  Then he tickled me.  Then I kissed him.

The rest was history.  Or, more accurately, it was history repeating itself.

During Thanksgiving and even when I was in Atlanta, things felt so different between us.  We held ourselves back, and everything felt so much less… real.  We, Jacob especially, didn’t want to create false expectations and hype up false hopes.

In relationships that I feel particularly invested in, I’ve found that I have an impediment in accurately assessing how much the other person cares about me.  As a protective strategy, I set my expectations low, and I underestimate how much people value me.  Therefore, when people begin to make tactics to dissuade me from thinking that they care about me, those tend to work extremely effective on me.  Sometimes, too effectively.  There's the boy that started seeing me less and less before he moved away to Kansas - I quickly moved on, while he continued to send me longing texts for another six months.  There's the boy who I was head over heels about for a year and a half, and when I moved on from him, he finally admitted that he loved me.  For Jacob, perhaps it didn't work too effectively considering our circumstances of age and distance, but enough that I was shocked to discover that seven months after we first met, he actually still adored me.

In fact, Jacob did dissuade my affections so effectively that over the course of time, the moment that I decided I was sick of Jacob was when he reassured me during Thanksgiving break, “I care about you.  I’ll always care about you.”  To me, that sounded so painfully meditated, like he had said it to a million other girls before me.  At the time, it seemed like it was such a transparent lie that I entirely cast him aside.  It was clear to me that he didn’t care about me anymore.  Ironically, it was when he assured me that he cared about me, that I wanted to be done with caring about him.

(freakin’ girls, amirite?)

So especially after all that effort to let our mutual attachment fade away, I don’t know what it was that happened after that kiss, and I don’t know if Jacob knows either.  Maybe it was because we proved we were both fully capable of moving on from each other, maybe it was because both of us already had all of our cards out on the table and knew what our expectations were.  Maybe it was because we felt so tired of spending so long holding ourselves back, or maybe it was just because we spent all week drinking and our inhibitions were lowered.  Either way, after that kiss, we let ourselves crash so hard for each other that seven days later, when he flew away for spring semester, it broke our hearts a little all over again.

But at least for seven days, our winter felt like all those months apart never happened.  They felt like he never flew away to Georgia at the end of August.  He rested his head on my chest to listen to my heartbeat, and he held me like we belonged to each other.  And for one week, we did.  It was practically the "Scripps Summer 2.0" that we jokingly talked about all those months ago.  Each morning, I woke up to him tightening his embrace and whispering to me, “I missed this.”  We saw his friends who I used to see during summer, and Jacob would spend the nights asking me to sit closer to him so that he wouldn’t have to stop holding me.

One night, we were in the pool of his backyard, where he trolled me for not knowing how to swim – he took me to the deep end of the pool, and carried me around as I screamed, terrified.  He dunked my head in the water feature of his pool, drenching my face and hair, and I sputtered and yelled, “You ASSHOLE, I hate you!!”

“Oh, you love me,” he laughed.  I flashed back to that day in Atlanta, where I was trying to decide whether I should tell him the truth that I truly, truly, truly did.  That I hated the fact that he’s not ready to settle down, that he’s the perfect package for me, that I couldn’t remember the last time I felt this way about anyone, that I wanted to go the distance with him.

This time around, I just slapped him and laughed, “Oh, shut up!”

As always, there were moments of drama scattered here and there, but other than that, it was truly a beautiful week.  Every year, I’ve celebrated my birthday as a weeklong celebration, full of little ways where I get a little extra spoiled – ring in January 7^th with 7 days of Christa.  I always thought that this year was going to be different.  But little did I know, I still got my 7 days of celebration after all.  I celebrated by waking up every morning next to him, and falling asleep next to him every night (albeit at varying levels of drunkenness).  Maybe it was dumb to let history repeat itself, and maybe we bit off more than we can chew.  Maybe someday I’ll regret falling for him all over again.  Nonetheless, until I'm forced to revel in my stupidity, it was one of the best birthday weeks ever.

On our last night together, I helped him pack his things and clean his room before flying back to Georgia.  In gratitude for my help, he exclaimed, “Thank you so much, Christa.  Oh, I love you.”

My attention was piqued and my eyes dilated at three certain words, but my reflex was to ignore it.  Protect yourself, Christa.  I laughed, “Oh, I know you do.”

Then I looked at him, and I decided I wasn’t going to let this opportunity pass.  You know what?  Fuck it.  I walked over and I sat down on the bed in front of him, and I smiled, “But seriously… I love you too, man.”

We smiled at each other, and I held his hands in mine.  I may never be able to realize those words romantically, but I equally meant it as his friend.  Realizing that he was flying away in less than four hours, I asked him for all I really hoped for in our future.  At this point, there was only one thing that I truly wanted behind all of the love, affection, and attraction: “Don’t be a stranger, okay?”

He took my face in his hands and kissed me, “Of course, girl.”

We woke up in the morning, and Jacob insisted that I sat in the backseat of his dad's car with him, so that we could sit next to each other.  We quietly sat with his head on my shoulder the entire drive to the airport, except for one instant where he whispered, “Are you sure you don’t want to come with me?”  As we dropped him off, I wrapped my arms around his neck and kissed him, repeating, “Remember, don’t be a stranger!  Keep in touch, okay?”

He smiled again, “Of course, girl!  Bye!”

“Bye!” I waved as I got back into his dad’s car.  As I closed the passenger door behind me, Jacob and I caught one last glance at each other, waving before he turned around towards the terminal and before his dad drove away.

When we made that last second of eye contact, I could see the sadness in his smile and the longing in his eyes.  I wonder if he could see the same in mine.

All I know is that I will remember that moment for a long time.  The final instant in our seven days together.  The moment that my heart broke all over again.

Yet, if that was the price to pay for a week of unbridled adoration, of history on repeat... then I was glad for it.