21.

Today is my brother's 21st birthday. This picture was taken almost a year ago - we were picking up my friend Catherine in Andrew's new Scion and going to Abbot Kinney's First Friday. Andrew's playing with my Ipod Nano, Umi, which he had just given to me for my birthday, which is 6 days after his birthday. That Ipod has been an anchor for me this year, grounding me when I've felt overwhelmed by life. Who would have thought?

Wherever he is, I love and miss him very much. Happy birthday to my not-so-little brother. I hope it's his best one ever.

Witness.

This is now my last full week of work at the Foyer. Next Wednesday is my last day. It's going to be a bittersweet goodbye. I'm going to really miss the staff and the residents there. I really have loved my work this year.

I've formed such unique relationships with the residents at the Foyer. One resident I see regularly at my workshops and she always provides wise-beyond-her-years insight. With a Maya Angelou-esque voice and gravity. Another resident and I are always talking about working out and making good social decisions. He has been trying to get me to go for a run with him during the fitness workshop, so that might finally happen for the first and last time this Wednesday, if he is able to attend. Another resident and I attended a youth rally planning meeting to protest Mayor Bloomberg's budget cuts toward city youth funding. We planned and then we attended the rally/protest together.

I honestly love each and every one of the residents here because they are so full of character. I definitely have stronger bonds with some, but in being at the Foyer 40 hours a week, I have gotten to see everyone's individual personalities.

For this entry, I wanted to include the "placement story" that I had to write up for GSV's end of year paperwork. The instructions were to write a short story about a relationship that we built with a client, coworker, or community member. We were told to make it personal and discuss something that we learned, how the other person learned or grew, or what we discovered together. I chose to write about one of the residents on my caseload, Alex (name changed for privacy purposes). Here's the story, which provides a little glimpse into my relationships with the Foyer residents.

When I first met Alex, the second resident assigned to my caseload, I felt positive that together we would find a job for him and he would start quickly adding to his savings account. His polite manner and articulate way of speaking seemed to indicate his ambitious, self-starting skills. Despite his intelligent conversation, however, I discovered that Alex struggled with motivational issues and anxiety, tied into his ADHD and bipolar disorder. And because he was not treating the disorders, Alex really struggled with the independent living environment at the Foyer. He regularly blazed through his SSI check and food stamps at the beginning of the month of junk food and online games. He rarely got himself out the door to look for jobs because he had a fear of traveling alone. He regularly lied about his budget and job searches.

After several months of being at the Foyer, Alex still hadn't found a job and still hadn't stabilized his budget. And I had to learn that even though I established a good relationship with Alex, I couldn't make him do anything, nor was I responsible for what he didn't do. All I could do was continue to motivate him and listen to him and be a resource for him.

I discovered that Alex liked to write. One day, a creative writing workshop I helped facilitate led Alex to show me some of his old notebooks. I encouraged him to start writing again to express his feelings, his hopes, his frustrations. He seemed thoughful about the idea but said "maybe" and put the notebooks away.

A couple months later, now about 8 months since Alex had arrived at the Foyer and was placed on my caseload, Alex and I got into a conversation about his anxiety. I asked him about his family history and his life experiences and he opened up to me. He told me he had been physically abused by his mother and had gone through boarding and group homes for most of his life. At the end of the conversation, Alex said, almost childishly, "We just bonded!"

A couple weeks later I received an email from Alex with a short piece of writing he had done, which indirectly reflected his hunger for acceptance and love. He told me that he had remembered my advice and took it.

At the end of my volunteer year at the Foyer, after working with Alex for 11 months, he still does not have a job. But he has grown. He budgets his money better. He goes out into the neighborhood to job search and has even traveled into other boroughs.

As for me, my working relationship with Alex illustrates my biggest role as a volunteer Independent Living Counselor at the Foyer this year: I am a support for my residents, in ways I cannot predict or control. And I am grateful to be a witness to their lives.

Intensity.

Reckoning: I cannot make myself less or worse. I am this intense. I am this alive. I am this powerful. - from Insecure At Last: A Political Memoir by Eve Ensler

I am intense. It's taken me a long time to admit this. By intense, I don't mean manic or neurotic or aggressive. I like to think that even after a year of living in NYC, I've held onto my easygoing West Coast vibes. By intense, I mean that I am a deep thinker, feeler, communicator. It's taken me 22 years to realize that I think a lot, feel a lot, and communicate a lot because I am intense.

My dad wrote me a letter a couple weeks ago mentioning that he knows I "try very hard" and that I may be "a little OCD!" I immediately felt defensive about this. Then I tried to process why it was I felt defensive. (See the intensity?) And I realized that it was because I knew he was right. For example, when I talk to people, I am constantly subconsciously thinking about how my words are coming out and how they are being perceived. I am constantly subconsciouly thinking about why people say or do things the way they do. I have a radar perpetually alert to read the undercurrents and emotions of people around me.

Then my dad wrote, in regards to the OCD, that "the apple doesn't fall far from the tree" (referring to himself in this case, not my mom). And as soon as I read that line, I thought, we (my family) are all so intense. My dad. My brother. Me. My dad is a triathlete and probably works out 40 hours a week (this might be an exaggeration but could also be close to the truth). Intense. My brother left home and cut ties with everyone he knew. Intense. I moved to NYC, came out, and decided to move to Malaysia next year. Intense.

So as intensity dictates, I proceeded to respond to my dad's letter item for item. I often send emails like this, just another indicator of intensity I think. If I send pictures to my family to share my weekend, I have to send little blurbs describing the photos. If I am on a coffee date with my best friends, I always surprise myself by sharing more than I thought I was capable of.

It's surprising to me because for so long I have defined myself as a reserved shy girl. And perhaps at some point I was in my childhood. But I think it's now safe to say that I am no longer that girl. As is so true to my personality, I've repressed a lot over the years.

So today, in the footsteps of Eve Ensler, I declare myself an intense, emotional creature.

And with that declaration comes the admittance that I am not always such a calm, peaceful, quiet person. Sometimes I like to dance like I'm possessed by a crazy bird spirit. Sometimes I have to sob myself to sleep. Sometimes I have to rant about people's insensitive and ignorant comments. Before this declaration, I liked to say that I am a reserved person. And that it takes a lot to shake me. Well, screw that. If I'm a reserved person now, it's only because I have great reserves of feelings and thoughts within. Yes, I am still contemplative and peaceful and quiet, but there is great intensity in my silence.

I must be myself. I cannot break myself any longer for you, or you. - Ralph Waldo Emerson

I wanted to include a brief snapshot in this entry, of the day that the gay marriage bill was passed here in NY state. That evening was intense. My grandma has told me that she remembers watching historic events on TV like the first man on the moon or JFK's assassination. I couldn't help but think that I will never forget how I felt when the marriage bill was passed. I will store that memory and it will remain fresh for a very long time, right alongside the night that Obama became president.

That Friday when the bill was passed, I worked til 10pm. It was the start of Pride weekend though and I knew I just wanted to be out and about. I had no idea the announcement was going to be made on the Senate's decision, but I wanted to start off Pride weekend surrounded by other revelers. Anyway, what seemed like 100 texts later, I convinced 2 friends to go out with me (my usual partners-in-crime, my roommates, were too tired after a long work week).

Jenny met me at work and we got onto the subway towards Christopher Street in Greenwich Village. I wanted to go to Stonewall, the gay bar/club. I hadn't seen Jenny in a while, so our subway ride was spent catching up. Then we arrived at the Christopher Street stop. My phone vibrated in my pocket as soon as we exited the train and it picked up on the signal lost underground. As Jenny and I walked up the subway station staircase, I opened a text from Jess that simply said, "It passed."

It was funny though. I read the text, turned to Jenny, and read it to her - but something wasn't clicking. I think I was a little bit in shock. I don't think I believed it right away. It wasn't until the second that we had fully emerged from the subway station onto street level, stood at the light on the corner across from Stonewall, saw masses of people in the street, and HEARD the collective roar of ecstatic excitement and joy that erupted like a gushing geyser - it wasn't until that moment that it clicked.

And I had the most PEACEFUL sense of rightness within me in that moment. Even as I was jumping up and down, hugging Jenny, tearing up. I felt that I was exactly where I was supposed to be. A California native, who had found a home in New York. Standing on that street corner, waiting to walk, well really run, across to join the celebration, I felt shook up. I felt so proud and honored to share that moment with New York.

Needless to say, the energy that night was unforgettable. My roommates couldn't stay away and left our house to meet us there. While Jenny, Valerie, and I waited for them, we just stood in the street and soaked in everyone's happiness and love. And then we all finally got into Stonewall and danced, through a power outage no less. I will forever think of that night when I hear Lady Gaga's "The Edge of Glory."

Intense.

Spark.

Last week, I submitted a personal essay to Asian American Justice Center, which was asking for submissions about what sparked young Asian Americans' passion for justice. I saw a call for entries on AngryAsianMan.com.

I waited til the wee hours of the morning the night of the deadline to write something up. I had a lot of fun working on it. And lo and behold, it was put up online!

I really do love what I wrote, but I have to mention two mistakes I made. At the end of my essay, I say that some of my uncles had a falling out with my aunt. That is not true and I feel terrible that I misunderstood and misrepresented a story my mom told me a couple years ago. I also say in the essay that only my mom supports my cousin Joanne, but in fact, one of my uncles does as well.

If I hadn't written the essay the night of the deadline, I could have checked my facts with my mom before submitting. But I didn't. And now I can't change what was put up. But that is definitely a lesson learned. In writing, especially in writing about personal matters, I have to check my facts.

Aside from those two mistakes, I am proud of the essay and hope you enjoy it!

"The Spark of Love Within"