home sweet home

I never really thought much about the concept of home until i didn't have one (isn't that usually how it goes?). I haven't slept in my own bed since June and it's taking its toll.

With visiting my family and traveling in July, i didn't really have a home this summer. And when I started work with the optimistic impression that i would be able to find an apartment within a week, i thought that would be quickly resolved.

little did i know that sleeping on my friend JuneBug's couch and living out of suitcases (two to be exact) would be a way of life for me for several weeks more. i can say that i have started getting used to it (not really. i'm just saying that to make myself feel better). granted, my clothes are always in piles squished into my suitcases, my shoes are in a shopping bag, my toiletries are in a bag in a tiny corner of the bathroom (she's my home for now!), and i have no groceries because i don't know how long i'm going to be here. but hey, at least i have a couch right?

i arrived at work one morning with the sudden revelation (i don't know why i didn't think about this before), that my coworkers actually wake up in their own beds, wearing their own pajamas, use their own bathroom where all their toiletries and towels have a home. They eat breakfast in a kitchen that is stocked with their favorite things, maybe make themselves tea and drink it in cups that they can choose from in their cabinets. they decide what shoes to wear not on the basis of which 4 pairs of shoes they have in a shopping bag, but from their full closet.

my morning usually starts with getting up from the couch and putting away the covers and pillow. then i sneak into the bathroom (it's in my friend's bedroom) without waking my friend up to take a shower. then i bring the blowdryer out into the living room (aka, my bedroom) so that i don't wake her up. then i dig into my suitcase and see what's easily accessible in the piles and whether it's wrinkled (no iron in the apt). then i think "black or brown shoes?" because i have one pair of each with me. then i head out and walk a few blocks to my car, for which i spend 20 minutes each night circling for parking.

i came to the realization of this marked difference in my morning compared to my coworkers and thought - THIS BITES. anyway, i'm over it. no, really.

fast forward a few weeks into September and my roommate and I finally find a place. The irony in this whole situation (i have to laugh - or cry - after i've spent hours on the phone with the freaking moving company) is that my movers won't be able to deliver any of my stuff until mid-October. that's SIX weeks after i placed my call - SIX WEEKS since I told them that i'm ready to take my stuff out of the movers' storage and get it delivered. SIX WEEKS. i'm laughing. i'm laughing right now.

the really sad thing is that i am really excited to have my bed (it's in hayward right now) and a closet and my own bathroom in the next week. that means i get to hang my clothes instead of scrounging around in a suitcase. that means a bed instead of a couch. that means toiletries in the cabinets instead of digging in a bag. baby steps. baby steps.

and what i dream of these days is not to see my boyfriend (who lives in chicago), because i know when i will see him next. it's not of winning the lottery or my next vacation. it's having an apartment again. it's having a haven to hide when the world gets stressful. it's having the comfort of my own things. it's having the idea of home again.

some might say that these are just material possessions and that they don't really matter. and i might have said that before too. but sometimes, after a long 11 hour work day and driving around looking for parking and recovering from a cold, it's just nice to have my bed and comforter, a warm bath, my owh kitchen and a living room i can just kick my feet up in.

Entries from the airport...

Sorry I've been MIA (again). Just got back from Egypt this past weekend. Haven't had a chance to write about that or my Morocco trip yet. Sick with a big head cold, loving my job and close to finding an apartment i think (but otherwise still living out of a suitcase and a couch). Below are two entries I wrote during my five hour layover at the airport - thought i'd share....

Poopiness

Today was one of those mornings where I couldn’t remember what day it was or what I was getting up to do. To add to my confusion, it was still dark out when my alarm went off at 5:45 a.m. A time that my alarm clock has not seen in a very, very long time.

I was excited though, once I got up because I remembered that I was supposed to fly to Chicago today to meet up with the rest of the people I’m flying to Egypt with tomorrow. I was still excited until I found out it was cancelled. And when I found out my flight at SFO turned out to be in Oakland. And when I found out that it was rescheduled for close to five hours later. And when I realized that I forgot my camera battery at home. And as I sit here writing this at the airport, realizing that the lack of sleep and the frazzled life I’ve led the last couple of weeks has fully caught up with me with this full-blown cold. Sniff. Sniff. Cry for me Argentina, why don’t you.

But still, four other folks and I from bschool are leading a group of 20 people who are starting their first year at school on this trip to Egypt for the next week. I remember what it was like as though it was yesterday (not two years ago) - how excited I was to take a break from work, meet tons of new and interesting people and travel to places I’d never thought I’d go (like Iceland). So I know I have to put on that happy face (come on, sing along with me!).

It’s funny, working at a school district now, how much my perspective changes. I watch the really good teachers, who put on a happy face for 6-8 hours a day for 30 kids (6-8 year olds!) no matter what’s going on in their life and I can’t imagine how exhausting it is to force myself to do that right now and make happy/nice even when I’m feeling poopy. Yes, I just said poopy. Sigh. Teachers rock.

So I’m gonna try my best to get drugged up on medication and not be a Debbie Downer when I arrive tonight (13 hours from when I left the house, mind you. Okay, I gotta stop. Sniff.Sniff).

Okay, time to go blow my nose. Maybe it’ll be like yoga. Blow all the negative poopiness out. Breathe positive niceness in.

Alright, off to the pyramids.

The Night Time People

My parents are funny people. They rarely leave the house after 8:30 pm or so. They go to bed around 9 or 10 pm. Night time is an undiscovered world to them. They also think it’s dangerous at night, because that’s when the hoodlums come out (and when the news reports say that shootings, muggings and rapes happen). And granted, we live in the semi-ghetto (okay, not really. Okay, kind of.).

So one night, my sister is at my parents’ house baking something for her coworker’s birthday the next day and forgets an ingredient. She announces to my parents that she’s going to drive to the supermarket a couple blocks away to pick it up. My parents spazz out. My dad asks, “Why didn’t you buy that before?” Um. Cuz I forgot. “Is the supermarket even open still?” Um. It’s like, 8:45 p.m. “Maybe I should drive you.” No, it’s okay. I’m 25. I go out later than this most nights of the week.

Finally, my sister gets so frustrated with the conversation that she leaves to change and head out. By the time she gets downstairs, my mom is sitting there, dressed and ready to go. “What are you doing mom?” “Oh, I just thought I’d come with you.” She says this as though she’d just had a sudden urge to spend quality time with my sister and had a hankering for nectarines. Sneaky devil. But we’re too smart for that. We know the truth. Mom and dad are old school, paranoid, overprotective Asian parents. The story of my life.

So my sister finally relents and as they pull into the parking lot at 9:10 p.m., my mom says, “Wow, there’s cars here. Who are all these people?” As they enter the supermarket, my mom says, “Wow, there’s so many people here. People are out and shopping this late?”

I thought it was so mind blowing that in my parents’ minds, the world outside shuts down after 8 p.m. I thought this until this morning when I was riding the subway at 6:30 a.m. As I was walking to the station, I was looking at all the people up this early on a Saturday morning, and I thought, “Wow, who are all these people?” Jogging, walking their dogs, going to work. It was a world undiscovered. When I got to the station and hopped onto my train, I was marveling at how many people were actually on the train. Each two-seat row pretty much had at least one person sitting in it. “Who are all these people? What are they doing up during this ungodly hour on the weekend?” Then I realized, this is my version of when the world is shut down. In fact, this is the world my parents are a part of every morning. These are the people they see. These are the people they are familiar with and relate to. They weren’t so much overly paranoid (okay, maybe a little) as just very unaccustomed to the nighttime world. Hmm, I guess, we’re not that different after all.