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.