My George Costanza Year

One of my favorite episodes of "Seinfeld" is the one where George Costanza decides he's tired of being a loser, and that the way to remedy the situation is by approaching everything in life the opposite way he would naturally be inclined to.  As the episode goes on, he finds that as he's taken this approach, everything is starting to go his way in all areas of his life.

I feel this is a George Costanza time for me in the area of my singleness.  Clearly whatever I've been doing or not doing has not been working.  Maybe I've picked the wrong "type," maybe I'm not looking in the right places, maybe I've closed doors to people or avenues that felt distasteful for wrong reasons.  Whatever it is, I know there is still no guarantee that everything will turn around.  But feeling a little burned by my own tendencies, I'm willing to try doing the opposite of me for a while.

Top 7 Good Feelings

7. Around 5:30 PM everyday when I'm getting off work -- especially Friday

6. Spinning a DJ set and getting in the zone

5. The feeling just after cleaning up for bed after a long day

4. Finding the perfect clearance deal on an item I've been long looking for

3. Unexpected gratitude expressed by someone you have worked hard to care for

2. Watching a great movie that helps me have a breakthrough about my own life

1. Realizing that God made something really good out of a really shitty situation

A Very L.A. Dilemma

When my roommate moved in two years ago, we got an all too familiar notice on our door informing us that some filming or other was to take place on our block. She was very excited that the cast of a TV show she loved was actually going to be just down the street from us.

Just a few months later, the novelty wore off quick when she realized that this happens once every few weeks. The street is overridden with trailers, portable high-wattage lighting and cops. Woody Harrelson, Queen Latifah, R&B group Cherish and the cast of Heroes have all spent time on my block. Once in a while we might see a small check for our inconvenience, sometimes there is blaring music on repeat for hours, and always we lose all of the parking on our street. I won't lie: It sucks.

I live in the historic West Adams district. The neighborhood that began as the wealthy center of L.A., now home to mostly lower-income Black and Latino families, has apparently recaptured the attention of the upper class.  

I do find it fascinating that this dynamic exists here in my lower-income hood, on the north border of South Central. Only in L.A. would the poor find themselves so regularly displaced and inconvenienced by movie stars. 

Forever High School

In my time, it was the Brat Pack. But through the decades, it's clear that whatever the form -- from "Grease" to 90210 to High School Musical -- high school drama sells. There's something about high school that captures the beginning of our understanding of individuality, socialization and relationships that is unique to most other experiences people willingly enter into. Beyond graduation, we disperse further into segregated, specialized environments based on wealth, ethnicity, class, religion, and interests. But in high school, the sportoes, motorheads, geeks, sluts, bloods, wasteoids and dweebies (as coined by John Hughes), one and all are stuck on one campus.  

But though we all leave it eventually, our issues often follow us right off the school yard. Whoever you were on campus, many can't seem to shake the ghosts of their high school past.  Guys chase that cheerleader they felt like they could never get, girls pine after the people-pleasing football captain or ASB president.  Or sometimes we are also drawn to the person they used to be: fat or nerdy or on the outside, converted to socialized, improved adult cool.  We chase those images of strength or beauty that we feel make will make us feel like one of the cool kids, when if we just took care of our own inner children, we might grow up and realize those dynamics should have been left at the senior prom.

The problem is, even the head cheerleader can never actually do the job of getting rid of your ghost. If we can't get to a point where we can grow up out of high school ourselves, we can't get someone to do it for us anymore than we can do it for someone else. But plenty of us try. Relationships and even marriages are built on these dynamics, and people can make them work -- as long as they both commit to staying in high school...for as long as they both shall live.

Obama and the Unexpected

This year, my best birthday wish came from my friend Kevin, who wrote to me, "May God bless you this year in so many ways that you don't expect."

The words speak directly to the law of diminishing returns between expectations and age. As each year goes by, and certain hopes are continually deferred, I need to be reminded that God can surprise me with just what I need when I least expect it. And that sometimes it only takes a moment for things to change entirely, one way or another -- for better or for worse.

A few months ago, when it became clear that Barack Obama would be the next Democratic candidate for President, I had an odd reaction. I had voted for him in the primaries, and been a strong supporter, but realized in that moment that I had a very low expectation that he would actually get the nomination in the end. Obama was the least likely to succeed, even against a woman (though I can't not mention the political power and race card for Hilary). I found that I had hoped for and supported something I deep down thought was surely a lost cause.

But tomorrow night, Obama will officially accept the nomination of the Democratic party. And at this point, it's very possible he'll be elected the first Black president of this country, and the first candidate I've felt excited about maybe in my lifetime. To me, the hard part was beating Hilary. And when that happened, I felt strangely challenged to believe that anything could happen -- whether in the face of my utter lack of faith in the American people or my subtler lack of faith in areas of my own life that I want to hope for, but deep down find myself thinking are lost causes.

Though I have experienced unexpected things on the painful or disappointing end this year, I am fighting hard to get to a place where the deeper places of my heart that have given up will be revived and catch up with the hopes I still haven't lost in my head.

The Narrow Road

It is a terrible feeling when you realize you have given someone too much credit. It means that a person you trusted and respected on some level has disappointed you, and lost that relationship to you. Though it doesn't necessarily mean the end of a friendship, it does inevitably mean an adjustment to who they really are. I think in general I want to believe in the best in people, and sometimes this gets me into trouble. 

But if there's one thing I've learned about people -- both men and women, it's that as much as we want to believe that age and time bring about the same results for all, that is not the case. Growth is a choice, not a given.  It's a choice we make or don't make everyday.  And as time goes on and days add up of choosing or not choosing to deal with yourself, you reach your 30s and suddenly the difference between two people's cumulative choices becomes startling. Dynamics and issues you gladly left behind years ago are ever-present for someone else.

I'm glad for the choices I've made that have made me the person I am today, different from who I was 10 years ago.  But I don't forget that much of that growth has come the hard way. And so as I pick myself up and dust myself off, I'm determined to choose to grow from my circumstances rather than let myself shrivel into a bitter, jaded woman of 32.  Bitterness and jadedness were so last decade...for me.

That Olympic Moment

I have always been a sucker for medals ceremonies. Nothing gets me choked up like watching someone get something they have worked so hard for.  Whether the obvious glory of Michael Phelps, once an awkward student picked on in school now being called the greatest athlete in the world, or the quieter story of 33-year old gymnast Oksana Chusovitina, who has continued competing over the years just to financially support her son's leukemia treatments and just won a bronze for Germany, there are amazing stories of beating the odds for a full two weeks. 

But part of the excitement of the Olympics is never knowing what will happen. The very same athletes who are favorites to win gold could lose in just a moment.  The most talented, disciplined and amazingly strong people of the world are at their super-human best and very human worst.

As I watched my favorite gymnast, Shawn Johnson, win at her last chance at gold for the women's individual medal for balance beam, I found myself longing for the day when I can look back and see the fruit of hard decisions or circumstances in my life. When asked what standing on that medal podium with a gold was like, commentator and former Olympian Tim Daggot said all you think about are the failures, the struggles that brought you there and the many times you could have quit, and how all of it is worth that one moment where you've reached that goal.  I guess only the suffering makes the glory real and fully understood.

I hope that someday I can stand before God and many witnesses to how I well lived my life, rather than look back with a regretful list of getting caught up with things that didn't really matter, or only served myself in the end. A medal for hoping against all odds, or helping people know they are fully enjoyed and loved, or perseverance in trusting God even when it felt terribly lonely -- those are medals that would make me cry on the podium.  

No Words Required

I love my family very much, but they have never been ones to deal well with any sort of pain. But I've said it before, and I'll say it again: I'm one blessed girl when it comes to my friends. If ever I find myself feeling kicked to the curb, I know exactly who to go to. Sometimes all you need is to sit with someone that you know is feeling you, no words required. With a knowledge and love for me that comes from much conversation, prayer, laughter and tears over the years, I can share a brief summary of either disappointment or celebration, and they know just what it means to me. And at times when I have only questions and few words about a circumstance, it sure is nice to be understood.

Listen to Your Soundtrack

Sometimes the songs you are drawn to during a particular period reveal what is going on for you at a deeper level.  Maybe if I had paid better attention to my soundtrack, I would have guarded my heart a little better.  Right now, these are the songs I keep repeating on my iPod:

"Between the Lines" - Sarah Bareilles

"Hold Me Now" - Kirk Franklin

"32 Flavors" - Ani DiFranco

"I Turn to You" - Christina Aguilera

"No One is To Blame" - Howard Jones

"Cigarettes and Chocolate Milk" - Rufus Wainwright

"Just the Way You Are" - Billy Joel

In the midst of disappointmen, there's also a little hope thrown in some of those song lyrics.  I think that's a good thing.

The Worst Part

I have never been one of those people who could pretend nothing was the matter. I might be able to fool people for a few minutes who don't know me very well. But as I walked around today with what felt like a lead weight in my chest, I tried to avoid most conversation and eye contact -- for anyone who really knows me, this isn't very me behavior.

But the worst part is not even that, in 6th grade terms, the boy I like likes someone else. Or that this girl epitomizes everything I strive not to be. The worst part is that I was so wrong in my judge of character yet again, and find myself in an all too familiar place I swore I'd never be again. In the movie "Singles," Campbell Scott's character experiences rejection and processes aloud, "I trusted my instincts and I was wrong... Wrong, the opposite of right." 

And although I can learn more lessons from this round, down for the count once again, and continue to comb through where my judgment derailed, at a certain point I also know that sometimes hurt just happens.  It is the inevitable risk you run when you put your heart out there.  

I'm confident that my past experiences and lessons will help me get through this round faster, though there's a lot to work through. Someday, even this shall pass. But for today, the many questions felt like one big rock in my heart.

Denial, the Long Running River

It's never easy to be shaken out of something you had hoped for, no matter how much you have tried to stay level-headed about it.

I had my hopes dashed today about someone I had ventured to open my heart just a little bit to. And though I had been asking for a sign about it from God, I was in no way prepared for the answer, as much as I had convinced myself that I was. Sometimes it's only when you get a negative answer that you are forced to admit how invested you got in an unsure thing.

Still, I have to admit that my own attraction to the guy you can't read is somewhat responsible. Though I wanted to believe I had been cured, here I am again on the other side wondering how I missed the signs -- everything always clearer in hindsight.

One thing is clear: When a guy chooses someone so completely the opposite of you, you have to breathe somewhat of a sigh of relief. If that's what he wanted all along, he never would have loved and appreciated the things you have grown to love and appreciate about yourself. And that is not someone you could ever be happy with.

But the rubble of disappointment remains. I have to believe that God will be with me once again to pick up the pieces, and heal me again.

32: The No Mores

Over the weekend, I DJ-ed what I decided will be my last wedding for a while. When I realized I couldn't remember the last time I've been to a wedding as a normal guest, I knew it was time. No more going to weddings I wouldn't otherwise attend. No more skipping the ceremony because I'd rather not feel like I've worked the entire day. No more dealing with feedback from people who aren't used to talking on a mike. No more taking requests for swing music I don't have (do people still do that?). And no more lugging my heavy Technics to and from my little Corolla.

Coincidentally, I also turn 32 today. And I have a growing list of other "no mores" as I get older. No more taking drama from highly insecure people. No more trying to control things that I can't. No more feeling bad about not being the typical Asian woman, or trying to be someone I'm not. No more fooling myself into seeing people for who they are not. No more second-guessing my ability to make good decisions for myself, with a little help from my friends. And no more fear of suffering. It will come just as surely as the good times will.

Although we never think of the word "no" as a word that frees us, I have found that these No Mores have made me breathe a little more freely. The boundaries have fallen in pleasant places.

Single Person Pet Peeve

Over the past few years, I have found myself the victim of email forwards of a certain kind that tops my pet peeve list: dating advice. Friends, family, journalists, Oprah -- everyone seems to feel the need to give their advice about settling or never settling, having standards or letting them go, having more self-respect or being more accomodating, and on and on and on. Really, there are a few basic principles on repeat over and over again -- all things I've learned myself from firsthand experience, and things that anyone struggling with can only learn the hard way. I have one response: Delete.

No disrespect to the writers and people out there who want to pass on the gospel message of freedom from codependence or independence or whatnot, and you might argue I'm doing the same thing with my blog. The problem is, singleness is a similar-but-different experience for everyone, and the person who is a right match for any one person will fit different criteria for each. That's the blankin' dilemma of it all -- there's no knowing for sure if something will work out until it works out. If only it was as easy as following the Greg Behrendt or Oprah set path where we could at least know for sure which direction we were headed. And while I appreciate the good intentions of all those giving advice, and I'm a strong believer in seeking input from those you trust and respect, I also believe that there is an equally large degree we just need to work it for ourselves. And if or when the time comes for me, I'll be calling those trusted friends, not Mr. Behrendt.

The Problem with Beyonce

Just as people claim "you are what you eat," one might also argue "you are who you like." Meaning, I think the people we are attracted to say a lot about who we are underneath it all. For example, my past preoccupation with emotionally unavailable men who couldn't commit said that I was actually too afraid of a real relationship to find someone who was actually capable of one, and that I was more concerned with getting some sense of validation from getting Mr. Hard-to-Get.

The other day, a friend of mine shared that she had been realizing a subtle form of discrimination that she has encountered since choosing to be a part of communities and ministries that consist mostly of people not her ethnic group. Though there is much talk about racial reconciliation, her observation was that there are few who have considered her or other Black women as romantic options, revealing a level of racism still there. And understandably: well-known Black celebrity beauties like Beyonce or Tyra Banks look very little like the average Black woman, and have more European features they purposefully accentuate.

As we chatted, I realized that the "personal preference" card only can be played to a certain level in the game of dating. What lies underneath that is our issues and what we really value. My heart broke for my friend's experience of being unseen by the majority of men in her life. It also made me realize again how much our culture -- specifically here in L.A. -- worships the idols of beauty on the big screen. No average woman -- Black, white, Asian or otherwise -- will ever measure up. Sure, we all escape to the movies sometimes and admire the Brad Pitts and Angelina Jolies from afar for their very un-average looks and overall charm or image. But how many of us remember who they really are when we leave the theater: a man who justified breaking his marriage vows in infidelity and a woman with some serious Dad issues? In our world, a pretty face and a nice body cover a multitude of sins.

It can be disheartening to see the men around us who claim to love things that are real and lasting, but are actually fixed on fantasy crushes or ideals that have little to do with the real life mess we actually all are. And women do it too. It sucks either way. But despite that totally accepted idolatry that exists around us, I believe that God can do anything, and is the champion of those that the world overlooks. What man intends for evil, God intends for good. Someone -- not Brad Pitt or Christian Bale -- may still come along someday and see me for who I really am. And really like it.


(I looked through scores of photos online and could not find a one of Beyonce with her natural hair.)

Channeling My Inner '80s Geek

Last night I did the best thing I'll do all summer. I went to Diablo Cody's film showcase at the New Beverly Cinema, featuring one of my all-time favorite movies, "Pretty in Pink."

If I could pick two words to capture the golden era of movies from my youth, they would be JOHN HUGHES. 20 years after first falling in love with the Brat Pack and their pre-Gen-X angst, I'm amazed at how these movies hold up. Why? John Hughes is one great writer who gets people. He is unmatched in his ability to take ridiculous high school drama, where the most important things in life have to do with ditching school and going to prom, and put round characters set in real social contexts with real family issues and make you give two cents about what happens to them. Granted, it helps if you have a penchant for good quality sap like I do.

The best part of last night was before the movie showing, when Diablo and special guest Jon Cryer (Duckie Dale fans given permission to freak out now) did some Q&A about the film. I learned the Molly Ringwald had a crush on Robert Downey Jr. at the time and hoped he would get the role instead of Cryer. I learned they actually filmed the *real* way fans know the film was supposed to end, but it didn't work so well with Ringwald's stomach flu. I learned that Trax was actually right on Third Street Promenade, the then-void lot of empty storefronts. And I learned that Jon is just as funny and relateable in real life as his Duckie was.

Then, watching the movie, I was reminded of why I loved it so. I have always identified with the outcast-hero that is so celebrated in the John Hughes canon. Andie Walsh and Duckie Dale, like Keith and Watts, or John Bender or Farmer Ted or Cameron Frye, represented to me then that the one who didn't have it all could still win something in the end. I will always be more Andie Walsh than Amanda Jones (pardon the mixed movie metaphor), and I embrace that. I just haven't found my devoted Duckie Dale yet.


Best scene: Anyone who would do a little Otis deserves to get the girl.

The Dark Knight

Every superhero movie starts with a normal guy. Last night, I saw the much anticipated new Batman movie, "The Dark Knight." With hero Batman on one side and villain Joker on the other, both victims of pain and loss, the movie explores what happens to people after they suffer. It also suggests that we have a choice in the matter. If there's one thing Batman teaches us, it's that our pain never just disappears in a vacuum, the way we wish it would.

Towards the end of the movie, the Joker poignantly comments that madness is like gravity - it just takes a little push for it to come tumbling down. And as I watched characters in this fictitious world respond in very non-fictitious ways to loss in their lives, I felt glad that we have been given a way out of madness. And in the real world, it doesn't come down to me biting the bullets of pain that sometimes hit, it comes down to where I go with that pain. Though few of us process by wearing freaky makeup and engaging in sociopathic behavior, or donning an animal costume to fight crime, we all process in some way. What do we do with the pain of emotionally absent fathers, mothers who have abandoned us, loved ones lost in tragedy, estranged relationships, broken hearts or hopes completely dashed?

Lately I've been looking around and seeing a lot of rubble -- the remaining schrapnel of my own past and those around me. Gone are the days of youthful idealism, where the future is full of opportunity and possibility. Real life can leave some real scars, and even knowing that anything can happen, I have been aware of the surgery and stitches needed in some of the deeper places of my heart. And in real life with real God, pain is no less real and loss doesn't magically undo itself.

But miraculously, all things can be redeemed. I see it in my own life and I see it in good friends around me who are choosing to wrestle with God and let him give new hopes and new dreams to replace the ones lost. Though we are all mid-process, I'm hanging on the edge of my seat for the dawn that always follows a dark night. I hear it's better than any Hollywood happy ending our human minds can conjure.

A Good Mix is Forever

I popped a CD mix I had made for my sister a few years ago entitled, "Waiting for Somebody." It had been so long since I'd listened to it or thought about it, I forgot what was on it. So I found each song a delight -- clearly they are all songs I love since I had created the mix. Some of them I hadn't heard in years, others I had forgotten about entirely. So there I was driving on the 60 singing things like Sinead O'Connor, The Jesus and Mary Chain, Cocteau Twins and Neil Finn at the top of my lungs.

As I listened to the lyrics of songs I had carefully put together years ago to encourage my sister, I found myself also encouraged. It's been a long time since I've been in the phase of hearing God sing me love songs. But by the time I hit Nina Simone's "My Baby Just Cares For Me," I was actually struck by God's own love for me, that isn't concerned about anything else that can seem so important to the rest of the world, "Liz Taylor is not his style, and even Lana Turner's smile is something he can't see; my Baby don't care who knows, my Baby just cares for me."

I felt emboldened to reclaim strength in my singleness. The longing of a single person is to know the experience of being fully loved, just as they are. And their fear is that no one will ever love them in that way. So what have I got to worry about?

The Power of Promise

I have been thinking lately of the words "promised land." It has become a phrase specifically associated with Old Testament Bible stories of Israel wandering in the desert for 40 years, or as a vague symbolic notion in Christendom. But in the day-to-day struggles of not knowing what is to come, the words have been on my mind lately. There is something amazing about the concept: There is a land of promise of something better that God intends for us. A promise can be so real as to be a land -- a place to live and experience and be.

I don't have a bad life right now. I can't complain of a stable, enjoyable job, the ability to pursue DJ-ing as a creative expression on the side, or longtime friends who know me and love me. But there are days I fear that I have hit adulthood normalcy, and there is no more to look forward to. Is the rest of my life just to be more of the same? One long road of working and some nice extra-curricular activities? A life with no promise of something better quickly loses its meaning. It's the promised land, both in this life and the one to come, that gets me through the day. Though I don't know what exactly it holds, or what that place will be like, I know it will be good.

Ghetto Girl

I just had one of the most pleasant Fourth of Julys I've had in years. I spent the day catching up on sleep and doing next to nothing, then on a whim went to the fireworks show at the Coliseum with my roommate. After parking in a totally red zone (with the hundred other cars breaking the law) and gathering on the Natural History Museum's dying lawn with a couple hundred mostly Black and Latino families from our hood (freely launching their own illegal pre-show firecrackers) we watched 30 minutes of fireworks set to the cheesiest Americana you could dig. We then drove along the 10 to get In-N-Out burgers, with fireworks from celebrations all over lighting our way. It was a very L.A. Fourth.

As both of us shared about some of the blues we brought into the day -- memories of ex-dates in years past, current friends in hard times, and our own things we're getting through -- I was grateful again for quiet days like this one and friends to share it with. I've had a lot of reflective moments this year, and tonight, as I enjoyed the hood culture that has become so familiar to me over my 10 years living here, I realized that this hood has become my home.

Revelation of the Obvious

I'm sure a large contributor was sheer tiredness -- adding a full-time job to a part-time DJ lifestyle and other extracurricular commitments is turning out to be quite the adjustment. Maybe another factor was DJ-ing a wedding of a couple a few years younger than myself, and seeing the future of weddings I'll attend and/or DJ: I have gone from attending weddings of those older than me, to those who are my peers, and now am in the stage where most I'll attend will be those younger. And maybe another factor was the continuous vacant landscape that is my dating life, try as I might to resuscitate it.

Whatever the reasons, the thing that hit me with a wave of emotion this weekend was this: I want to get married someday. Yes, after three years of blogging about singleness, what may be obvious to all but myself became clear to me over the weekend. Although I never would have denied that meeting someone and getting married would be nice, I never wanted to be that girl who was pining away for some man to make her complete, and perpetuating the ridiculous notion that relationships and marriage are the end-all, be-all of human existence. And since I'm almost constantly surrounded by people who at least partially (if not completely) believe that, it has been easy for me to swing the other way as my own little "F-you" to the world.

But as the best man gave a toast over the weekend to his friend, and recalled the moment he stated frankly that he was in love with this lovely woman who became his wife, something got through that protective barrier I like to keep around my heart and I felt a tear escape. Because in addition to swallowing my pride and admitting I too would like what is good about dating and marriage, I must also wrestle with my own fear: the possibility that I'll never get there. And in a way, it was the first time I really confronted that that could very well be the case.

Now that it's out there, I feel freed up even in the midst of processing what's unpleasant about all that. I still believe that if I were to be single my whole life, I really would be okay and maybe save me a lot of drama and heartbreak if I were to have made a decision into something God didn't intend. But as I am now more fully aware of my own self and desires, I can wake up tomorrow morning ready to process and learn to hope from a more honest place.