Season-Ender

Winter is in its last few breaths.  We had a dusting of snow yesterday morning but today felt like any other spring day.  Unfortunately for me, I will not be doing any last season turns on the slopes.  I'm done, albeit involuntarily.

Exactly one month ago today, I had a minor ski accident.  I did not realize that would be my last time on skis this season.  An x-ray and an MRI later, I learned that I tore a meniscus.  Translation? I got a bum knee that will not heal itself.  The only way around it is surgery.  Well, actually, the other way is to suffer through sporadic throbs of inexplicable knee discomfort for an indeterminate period of time.

I've never really had any kind of surgery before and while I'm trying to be logical about the whole thing, today I'm reserving my right to be frustrated and freaked out.  Surgery seems such a silly fix for such a small accident.  I should not be subject to anesthesia and needles.  And the idea of staying immobile for a few days in recovery, worse, in crutches, is just extremely appalling.

But the alternative is exponentially worse.  A sedentary life of not being able to do much else is obviously unacceptable.  (Especially not in the year I'm planning a Patagonia trek.)

And while I sulk and evaluate my non-choices, I am in dire need of a pick-me-up.  A couple of weeks ago, we drove to Yosemite for the weekend.  These pictures remind me that no matter what one is going through, we are still but just a tiny speck in the vast universe.

And in the end, everything is alright.

And.. A woeful farewell to Winter 2012...

And Speaking of Solo Ventures...

Author Cheryl Strayed is in Lake Tahoe right now perhaps book reading, signing, shaking hands, or doing other cool things I wish I was able to witness (the event was sold out when I checked on Thursday).  But here's a read that adds another dimension to a solo female adventure - catharsis.

I'm ordering Wild right now! 

Snow White

I had a conversation last Friday with a co-worker who said she would NEVER eat at a restaurant alone.  She would order food to go and eat it at her desk or at home.  She asked, "Do you ever eat at the restaurant alone?"  To which, I replied, "All the time!"

I guess I don't really find being alone daunting.  I recollect vacations I've taken by myself on a few occasions - taking a very long walk in Cannon Beach, Oregon, wandering the streets of Manhattan a couple of days, navigating the San Francisco grid a few times, food hunting in Berkeley, riding the cable up Victoria Peak in Hong Kong, and even tent camping in a remote island in Thailand!  My philosophy is that there will be times that there are places I want to see, things I want to do, and there will be times when, due to some circumstance or constraint, it is just realistic to not expect friends, family or better halves to always share experiences with me.  They could be experiences that they don't even want to have.  So I made my mind up long before that that will not restrain me from seeing the places I want to see, from living the life I want to live. 

There are times though, when it is reasonable to exercise caution and NOT be overly ambitious with flying solo.  One of my biggest exceptions is wandering alone in places where it would be costly to manage getting lost and stranded, especially where, due to seclusion, phones don't get signal.  I'm a novice (if that) at trekking and snowshoeing and I don't own a compass, so when opportunity presents to get out with a group (when The Dutch is out of town), I grab it. 

Guided hikes are great because you go with a knowledgeable guide who share inside information you otherwise wouldn't know or read about.  You trust that they will not get you lost and if, by some random event, there's some sort of emergency, they are usually trained in first aid.  They also carry radios to call for help when necessary.  Oftentimes, these people are volunteers so they are doing what they do out of sheer passion.  The exact kind of people I like being around.

On a recent trip to Sedona, Arizona sans The Dutch, I hiked with a group at Red Rock Canyon State Park (blog post to follow).  The sight of the blazing red rocks was amazing but it just wasn't enough for me to admire from a distance.  I wanted to be in the depths of the canyons, gawk at these natural sculptures from various peripheries.  I wasn't content to be looking at them.  I want to be in them.  Thanks to free guided hikes sponsored by the state, I was able to do just that.  

Sam, septuagenarian hiking guide extraordinaire

This weekend, I hiked Mount Rose Meadows with a group from Tahoe Rim Trail and yes, I've been on this trail before, but no two experiences are ever the same.  I met a couple of great people and it's always really cool to start conversations with strangers who get you and whom you get.  

Our guide, Sam, was 70-something who has been hiking the Sierras even before I was born.  He was not a big guy yet he possessed a silent authority.  He has hiked all 165 miles of the Tahoe Rim Trail in 15 days and maybe that alone commands instant respect.  His kids live in the Bay Area and have been urging him to move in with them.  They forbid him from hiking by himself anymore because of his age.  To which, he would retort, 

"If I die hiking in the Sierras, then I would die doing what I love the most."

And there is sure plenty to love.

There she is - the Big Blue!

 After the hike, we loosely made a commitment to hike together again.  I gave good ol' Sam a hug and dashed to the igloo that was under construction when we left for the hike.  It was my first time ever inside one and I was surprised at how warm and roomy it was inside!  I watched at least four people crawl in and out but I lingered inside - just because.  The last guy to come in was a guy named Brian, who apparently was one of the architects of the igloo!  He talked a little about how it was built and how they had a false start early on because the geometry wasn't quite right.  He said that burning a candle inside could actually warm up the igloo more without melting the structure. Sound advice if I ever need it one day!

A few minutes and pictures more, but, yes, I had to eventually crawl out.  Not without a huge smile plastered on my face, though.  

It was a great day and as I write this, I encourage everyone who reads this to try new experiences on your own.  Watch a movie, go to a play, or eat at a restaurant alone.  Join a group of strangers to try something you have always wanted to.

What are you afraid of?

[GEAR TIP]

I LOVE this Vapur Element Anti-Bottle. It can hold .7L, is BPA-free, is dishwasher safe, and is made in the US.  Yes! No more non-biodegradable, non-reusable plastic bottles!  It's about $12 at Eddie Bauer (might cost less at other places).  When empty, you just roll it up and stash in your pocket or pack.  We already have one of these, but The Dutch has it, so I bought another one for myself.  We take it snowshoeing and skiing, but it's also perfect for Bikram.  (And actually, for the movies, too - I stashed this in my purse today - tee hee).

  

Ladies, to have a drama-free day outdoors, you MUST invest in good technical gear.  I speak from experience.  I am embarrassed to have thrown a tantrum like a diva in the middle of a hike because my socks were soaking wet from wearing the wrong type of boots (those boots went straight to the trash when we got home, by the way).  MSR's are great snowshoes.  The guys who work at REI only use these so I find that compelling enough to get them, too.  These have teeth on all sides, so whether you're climbing or descending, you don't have to worry about slipping.  

For clothing, I trust North Face and Columbia because their stuff have limited lifetime warranties.  I'm not an expert on these things but these are the ones I use and they have not yet failed me.  I have a Columbia jacket has this omni-heat technology and has worked amazing in sub-freezing temperatures so far - a worthwhile investment indeed.  Technical jackets, from what I have canvassed, would range from $200 and up.  I bought mine off-season and scored it for $150 with tax.  If, like me, your wardrobe isn't comprised of haute couture, this could well be more than you'd ever spent on outerwear.  What I have learned though is it really is an investment.  You use them for years, if not for an entire lifetime, and they protect you from bone chills.  For baselayers, I have started using Eddie Bauer First Ascent and they actually work great, too!

Cabin Fever? Never.

When I signed up to snowshoe to the top of a ridge on New Year's Eve, I didn't think it would be very literal that snowshoeing would be what I would get in to a lot this year.  In the figurative sense, I thought it was a metaphor for climbing up to greater heights, better vistas, more indelible experiences, etc. Or here's another one that I came up with - the world can be a cold place, and it will be cold at times, but what's important is you're warm and toasty inside.

Yeah, I know.  I a little bit on the incomprehensible side.

I swear, REI is my favorite local spot nowadays.  I went in tonight to pick up a yoga mat (and I did - I went for a Manduka eKolite - it's biodegradable!) and at the counter, I noticed advertisements for this weekend -

Did you know that 

Saturday is National Winter Trails Day?

Neither did I!

The Dutch is away this weekend so it will be great to still get out there and keep doing the stuff I love regardless.  Tahoe Rim Trail will have a roster of snow activities that run from 10am-3pm at Mount Rose Meadows including gear demos, snowman making (fun!), raffles,food, and I can only suppose, and a slew of activities that celebrate nature and that white stuff.  There are were also a few guided snowshoe hikes throughout the day, but I apologize - I took the last remaining slot.  I was hoping to snag a 3-mile hike, but I had to settle for a 1-mile hike since that was all that was left of the slots.  I will hike the meadows *insert pomp* to "learn about the social and economic value wilderness brings to our communities. Enjoy pre or post hike festivities in the Tahoe Meadows before you embark on your easy, 1 mile journey."

If you're sick of being cooped up in this cold weather, come out and play this Saturday!

Comment? No Foie Gras for Dinner Tonight?

I think I might be going through some Paris withdrawals.

Like the stubborn cold I caught in my last day in Paris, the memory of my experiences in the City of Light hovers, lingers, even almost after a week later of being back home.  Since I have been back, people ask me if Paris was fun.  I don't want to be disingenuous and say that it was because it wasn't.  Disneyland was fun.  Paris, on the other hand, is above fun.

In most of my adult life, Paris has been a farfetched reverie for me.  I don't think there's ever a more coveted desire of Filipino bourgeoisie than to say that one's traveled to Paris.  I'm not an exception.  I studied French briefly three years ago reasoning that if I took that first step, the sojourn to Paris will subsequently and inevitably calcify.  I never would have imagined that one day in the imminent future, I would actually walk its streets, walk miles inside its museums, and attempt to order cappuccinos in francais.

I must admit, I sometimes miss the sound of sirens.  I miss that for a brief moment in time, I was part of the morning rhythm of Parisians mobilizing via the metro (subway), of being fascinated how Parisians LOVE to read their newspapers on the train and noticing how I'm the only one who ever yawns.  I miss getting lost because I got off one metro stop too late yet still convince myself I am city savvy and that if I keep walking, I WILL find my way, then after a half hour of aimless wandering, finally admitting that nothing looks familiar and that I couldn't find the Seine (which has served as my compass), and then finally asking someone directions in French.  I miss the dreary, cold, rainy Parisian autumn days.  I miss watching Paris wake up from a cafe across the laverie on a Saturday morning and realizing that this is the quietest I have ever seen this city of 2 million inhabitants.  I miss hustling around on a Velib (Parisian bicycle-sharing system).  I miss the sound of French conversation all around me; I miss having to try to understand and speak it.  I miss carrying a pocket map and a pocket dictionary.  I miss witnessing the Parisian population go insane over fresh baguettes on Sunday morning.  I miss the al fresco cafes, that, even despite the rain, still had patrons dining al fresco, all chairs (awkwardly) facing the street.  I miss the pattiseries, the foie gras and the pate' dinners.        

I found myself craving for French-style sandwich au jambon (like the one I ate while walking from Musee d'Orsay to Jardin des Tuilleries) and I nearly did cartwheels when I found still-warm fresh baked French bread at Safeway one afternoon.  My bedside read is still "Paris was Ours" ("Paris Nous Appertient"), a riveting collection of essays written by Parisian transplants and I appreciate that I could sometimes recognize the milieu and proudly think to myself, "I've been there!".  I made a calendar out of the photos I took of Paris and when I came to pick it up today, I dispensed "Midnight in Paris" (at the recommendation of a friend) from Red Box.  I popped it in the player immediately and nearly shrieked when I recognized the laverie (after the cafe has turned into one) where Owen Wilson met Hemingway.  I did my laundry there!   

There is no doubt that it feels great to be back home.  The garden, surprisingly is flourishing, and the eerie silence took a couple of days to get used to again.  It is good to be swamped at work because then, jetlag didn't even get the chance to rear its head.

Tonight, I ponder if Paris was everything I have ever imagined.  I think not because my imaginations had no tangibility and everything my brain could have churned could not even touch what I've experienced.

Was it fun?

No.  Let's just say Paris is indelible.

Jetlag, Be Gone!

It feels good to be back in the land of gabled houses and distinctly Dutch architecture, of windmills and tulips, of wooden shoes and bicycles.  After a ten hour flight from San Francisco, we landed at Schipol and were greeted with unusual sunshine.  After collecting our rental car, we made an instant beeline for Haarlem, a town 20 minutes west of Amsterdam where it's more intimate and less touristy.   Haarlem was my first taste of Europe some nine months ago and it felt good to be back - in not freezing weather this time.

Haarlem has so much charm and its effervescence is one that I haven't seen in any other city.  It's fascinating how each great city has a distinct personality which is essentially its draw.  Haarlem has made it to one of my top favorite cities of all time just because of this - there's just something about how this city feels.  Every street and alley is filled with beautiful architecture and cobblestone streets.  There is not an enormous throng, but there's enough of a stream of happy pedestrians window shopping whilst attempting to dodge cyclists.  Shop windows have attractive displays but they are never too extravagant for the mostly sensible Dutch.  Street after street are shops and cafes and I'm quite impressed how despite the hustle and bustle around, downtown Haarlem has managed to keep its intimacy.  At the center of the plaza is an old church and around are cafes with al fresco seating for patrons who spend their afternoon people watching.

 

 Just like its big, metropolitan neighbor, Amsterdam, Haarlem has its share of canals and bridges.  But unlike Amsterdam, Haarlem is not manic nor crowded.  The absence of "coffee shops" and prostitutes luring tourists from shoplike windows is also noticeably absent.

Warning: they might not speak as much English here and I feel very lucky to have the Dutch (and friends) as tour guide/s.  I also noticed that there isn't much cultural diversity so if you're Asian like me and you plan to visit, be prepared for a few curious stares.

After a romp around downtown, the Dutch decided to take me somewhere to experience something utterly and undeniably European - a sauna.  In the north of Haarlem, nestled in the forest, is RidderRode.

If anyone has ever been or heard of what a true sauna is, it could be a great source of consternation.  I would save you (and myself) of baring the details, but if I was not trying to get rid of the aches and discomfort attributed to trying to find reasonable amount of shut-eye on a ten hour intercontinental flight or banishing a promising jetlag, I probably would not have agreed to go to a sauna.

Well, actually, I probably would.


Otherwise, I never would have experienced for the first time an authentic aufguss.  Aufguss is a German therapeutic sauna session.  It's a rather odd concept - you're all cramped in one hot room for about 15 minutes with temperatures of at least 100 degrees Fahrenheit and is increased every couple of minutes while you sit there and endure the heat while you sweat your ass (literally).  Supposedly, this extreme heat detoxifies and also helps blood circulation.  If it involves better oxygen circulation to prevent a looming jetlag, I'm all for it.

A saunameister gave a spiel in Dutch before the session started.  He introduced himself and explained that there will be two sessions of about fifteen minutes each and each session will be broken by a few minutes break to cool off.  Then he began.  He started pouring scented water over hot stones, which is typical of a sauna, to make the already hot temperatures rise even more.  Then he did something totally dramatic, almost ceremonial.  After soaking a towel in water and scented natural oils (seaweed first, and then almond), he flailed the towel overhead in a motion reminding me of a helicopter propeller in flight.  This brought bursts of concentrated heat to your face.  It was total shock and awe for me.  There was a brief reprieve that lasted for about a minute while my sweat dripped from every open pore.  He then grabbed a fan like fabric that's about three feet wide, and starts fanning the room, starting from left to right.  Oh my word.  It was so intense - this must be how it feels to bake in an oven.  It took me back to feeling the heat of walking outside Las Vegas in July - only this time, it felt 20 degrees hotter.  It was unbearable.  For a second, I panicked and thought I'd have to exit because I could hardly breathe.  But my curious mind stopped me- I wanted to experience what happens next.  I wanted to experience what the human physiology is capable of.  The saunameister repeated this drill a couple more times, each time, incrementally increasing the temperature, while we all sat in self-inflicted unbearable torture.  When he opened the door to let us out for our short break, I almost bolted.

It had started raining outside and I will never see another rainy the same way again.  After the intensity, it was so refreshing to stand out there in the rain, breathe in fresh, cool air.  The grounds were beautiful with story-book green grass.  It was such an extraordinary experience that if I had a bucketlist, this would be one I would be gloating about of ticking off.

We went back for the second and last aufguss session and slowly, the jetlag was edging away.  I've transitioned from being there to here.  We did a couple more treatments then retreated to the back of the in-house restaurant.  The room was silent and the decor had a Marrakech feel to it, it was such a surprising contrast to the ambiance in the sauna.  The walls were brick red and the room was decked with rugs, mirrors, lamps, candles. The room next door had a fire place.  We were donned in our white oversized robes and lounged on a velvet chaise sipping orange juice topped with fresh whipped cream.  In my half-drowsy state, I thought to myself how I could have never ever imagined anything like this.

Amazing.

Earlier that day, back in Haarlem, a sign outside a restaurant advised, "Make today ridiculously amazing."  In my first eight hours in Europe, already I can say that I did.

And this is just the beginning!

Sky is the Limit...

Or is it?

I'm not trying to be testy, but I want to skydive this spring. I don't consider myself a daredevil, but something about a 60-second free fall from 13,000 feet with literally just a blown up plastic bag overhead calls out to me.

Maybe it's my re-ignited interest in the wintersport of skiing that reinspired this irrational urge of jumping off a plane. Two years since my colossal failure at skiing (a blue hill, though!!!!), I have forgiven myself and have come back with a vengeance. I paid for private lessons with my friend from Uni who drove all the way from the Bay. I managed pretty good and survived without falling - not even once! And this time, the snowmobile didn't need to rescue me. Take that, Jason Griswold!

I find it interesting how much I have evolved since I was last in skis. I am not afraid of many things anymore. I have surrendered to the fact that there are just things that we cannot control and life is much more enjoyable without gripping it so tight until it chokes. Accelerating downhill on fresh powder while your feet are strapped on awkward sticks included. I realized that it is completely alright to be awkward and fall every now and then. I know my body more, but moreover, I TRUST my body more. I am a lot stronger than I was two years ago (or ever). Running and dancing are definitely paying off.



I shoveled about four inches from my driveway last night and this morning, I watched snow fall as I hung out in my bed. It's the perfect storm for what I have planned this weekend. Tomorrow, I will be in the slopes again (green, but nonetheless..) to give skiing another run.



And from one bravado to the next, I might just find myself jumping off a plane this Spring!

Namaste from snowy Sparks!

Hola 2011!

It never ceases to astonish me how much beauty we can create in our lives if we are receptive to it. If we all resolve to do the things we are called to do, the ones that bring inexhaustible, irrepressible joy to our lives, we all contribute to making the world a much happier place for ourselves and others. This is the fuel of my life. This makes me feel most alive. And because of this, I am inspired and compelled to act on my other callings. I don’t think I have a long list of those anymore, which delights me because it must mean I am already making my life rich and full.

Here’s what I’m looking forward to in 2011:
· More serious salsa dancing. I have met so many passionate and great salsa dancers over the weekend who’ve inspired me to take dancing to another level. It will be a challenge given the limited access to world class training in a small city like Reno, and it goes without saying that it will require a lot of hardwork, but as I always say, who wants easy? I made a pact to myself to bust my ass learning at the San Francisco Salsa Festival in March. Something tells me my life is bound to change again.

· Learn Spanish – in fact I signed up for classes today! All those semesters of Spanish in University have been futile. I feel like I’m starting all over again. But I think I should capitalize on the fact that so many Filipino words have Spanish etymologies anyway. This should be fun and should get me ready for my planned trips to South America and Spain. Conjugation starts in two weeks!

· Celebrate my birthday dancing the tango in Buenos Aires, salsa in Uruguay or samba in Ipanema. I imposed a moratorium on the dancing for myself for at least a few weeks, but I could not stay away. I took my first tango lesson on Wednesday!

· The Trip to Europe, at last, solo preferably. I’m dreaming up itineraries as we speak which will undoubtedly include Paris and Roma. Then it will be Espana (Ibiza?!) and Greece, maybe Turkey?

· Get more serious about writing. I really should try freelancing again. Oh Universe, are you reading this?

. Engage in helping environmental conservation efforts in the Philippines from a distance

· Taking more advanced swimming lessons in the Spring. Seriously. I should be able to swim in deep water already. How the heck can I surf?

· Someone told me that if you put something down in writing, as in a list, and even if you put that away or forget about it, you can come back to the list years later and find out that you would have checked off most, if not all of what’s in the list. So to test that, I’m going to write something so farfetched and wild. I. Want. To. Be. A. Morning. Person. Or at least try. I want to try what it’s like to be that cheery person who gets up at the crack of dawn for a jog, come back for a home-cooked unhurried breakfast and be energized for a day of work.

· More Yoga! More running! More Ultimate Frisbee! More books!

· Learn how to cook Thai. I had the best, authentic Pad Thai at a nondescript restaurant in Trang (south of Thailand) and it left indelible marks on my palate. It did not have the peanut sauce I am used to, but instead, had some sort of a dry shrimp paste balanced with spices and lime. Just unforgettable!

How are YOU living it up?

Dying

Spirituality is a dying process in so many levels. It is initially the death of the ego. I say initially because in my view, after the ego has been recognized, observed and understood, it has to be integrated back instead of denied. The tricky thing is to be aware of when it is activating and not to completely and blindly identify with it. Egoless existence, in my view, would make it futile to hold a job, have friends, to ever sustain a non-ascetic life. If your destiny is to be egoless, it would be immensely difficult if not impossible to traverse in this worldly existence, thus those who choose or are called to such a life retreat to either monastic life or that of a renunciate in the caves of Himalayas.

Spirituality also grounds on you on the impermanent nature of reality and this world. It (ideally) frees you from your attachments – desires, money, possessions, relationships – to a degree that you are prepared to die and leave this plane at any given moment. This is one facet of moksha, liberation: to truly live each day from a place of carpe diem free of stickiness and complications.

Every once in a while, I ponder on how I feel about death. I will not claim this to be an original idea of mine, because Vedanta (and other Eastern philosophies) is very heavy on this. The thought of death puts a lot of things in perspective. Things appear miniscule and inconsequential when the bottom line is advanced to the forefront of our compulsions, intentions and actions. It gives a whole dimension of awareness to our daily machinations and takes us out of autopilot. Everything is done with more deliberation. We taste and feel more. We are present and live more.

Last night, I was woken up by heavy footsteps in the living room at 2AM. My first thought was that there is an intruder in my house. I paused for a second to make sure I wasn’t dreaming the whole thing. F*ck. I wasn’t dreaming. There was somebody in the kitchen. The interesting thing was, I didn’t panic. I just laid there calmly. I could have reached for the heavy flashlight or the pepper spray in one of the drawers, or one of the sharp objects within reach that I had prepared for exactly a moment like this, but I felt resigned, almost ready, to, well, die.

Then I remembered I had a roommate. She lets out her dog to pee sometimes at ungodly hours.

I crack myself up so hard sometimes.

Nights Like These...

I've logged about 8 hours of dancing this week and it's only Wednesday. I feel like a fanatic training for the marathon, but what can I do? It's a passion. It's karma that needs to be lived out. It's golden shadow that needs to be acknowledged to release it.

I stepped out of work tonight and it was a little startling to see how dark it has gotten at 5:30. I suppose it's time to get used to another change in season. I actually like it. It was cold. It was dark. The trees are almost bare now. The wood stoves in the old homes are burning. There were toasted maple leaves crunching under my boots as I make it to my car. I'm starting to love nights like this. There's a stillness about it. A kind of quiet.

I got home a little before midnight after a night of dancing. It had "snained" (snow-slash-rain) tonight and the ground was still wet. As I was climbing the hill to my suburban life, I saw the silhouette of a man jogging. It's 11:30 PM and it's 37 degrees out. Part of me was thinking about the incredulousness of it, but a bigger part of me was jealous. Here was a man who was doing exactly what he wanted. He probably asked himself - why the heck not? - and scrambled to put his running shoes on his way to the door before his mind talked him out of it. Have you done anything crazy lately? Have I?

Tomorrow is trash day and as was carting the trash down my driveway, I had the compulsion to look up at the night sky. It was gleaming with stars - it was just breathtaking. I wanted to grab a blanket and lie there in my wet driveway until I shivered and froze. How miniscule we are relative to the boundless night sky. How petty our silly little lives and aches and dramas are in this expansive, limitless universe...

I'm off tomorrow (cartwheels!!!!) and I'm so sleeping in. And then I'm going to climb me some rock walls.

Namaste!

A Quagmire (Rather, one of a Series!)

Thirteen flights in fourteen days - overkill or doable?

In about ten weeks, I am traveling solo to the other side of the world. It's been a little over a year since I did something like this, so I feel giddy all over as if I'm doing it again for the first time. I have about three weeks to get everything booked and when I cannot find answers, I resort to writing my thoughts down in the hopes that the answers will come.

The first leg of my trip is pretty much organized and booked. I will be in Hong Kong for two nights, cross over to Macau for half a day. Last night I was talking to Anthony (a magnificent soul who I just love to bits and pieces and who has remained anonymous until this time, but sometimes, sacred things, like mantras, need to remain a secret...) who steered the conversation to traveling to Hong Kong. His jaw dropped when I told him I am going to HK in a few weeks. It turns out, he has been cherishing an extremely strong desire to learn Yoga asanas from this Master who I have not heard of before. If you have been practicing Yoga asanas for a while now, you probably have seen his picture somewhere. Yogananth Andiappan, son of a(n) (Indian) Yoga guru, has been doing asanas since he was two and now teaches Ashtanga and a style I've never practiced before, Anahata (heart chakra) Yoga, at this studio at a high-rise in Hong Kong. The first leg of my trip suddenly became purposeful! I promised Anthony I will take a class or two while I'm there, absorb this guy's energy, and maybe bring some of his soul back to Anthony when I return to the U.S.

So this is where planning the trip gets difficult. I only have five nights to spend somewhere else in Asia before I fly to Motherland. I have decided that all those five nights will be in Thailand. It's perfect for what I would like to get out of this trip. I'm at a point in my life where the usual mundane things don't impress me anymore. I want to experience something different. Something deeper and more meaningful.

Here is what I am clear about:

• I have always wanted my travels to be pilgrimages back to my soul instead of hedonistic trysts.
• I would like to see and know how other cultures experience God.
• And I would love to travel with as little guilt as possible by giving my business to establishments who give a sh*t about carbon footprint reduction.
• I would really love to experience the beach like I've never experienced it before.

And here is where I'm screwed:

• I really do not want to take a garish backpack that will be half my size. You know, the ghastly, manly "backpacker" kind. If I could get away with it, I really, really, really would like to take, at the very least, a mid-size roller with me, with all my toiletries and pretty shoes. Oh my trivial concerns.
• My desire is to spend time two nights in Chiang Mai, two in Koh Laoliang, and a night in Bangkok. For this to be possible though, I could not afford a single delayed flight. Yeah. Sure. That's something I'm totally in control of. And if I do this, I obviously need to trash the mid-size roller idea.
• I worry that I will be in such a frenetic frenzy getting from place to place that I totally miss out on savoring and absorbing anything. What's the need to grab and grasp?
• I am traveling solo, but for the life of me, I cannot ditch the Koh Laoliang idea. I just cannot. And I'm just going to have to do it even if I have to go alone. I cannot be in the sidelines of my own life waiting for that perfect travel companion. I just cannot do that. While I can come up with a handful of names who I can invite and who will most likely say yes, the nagging question in my head of "How much are you going to bargain your soul for it?" will not leave me. I am here and I need to live how I want to. And I'm going to. :)

And just like that, I think I figured out a game plan.

Talking is a cure. Hmmm. Imagine that.

Bad Reviews

I did not realize until now how Love has gotten so beaten up, misused, and how it evokes, almost invites, so much fear, dread, mockery and ridicule.

You get none of it and people pity you.

You get an abundance of it and people think you are delusional.

I furrow my eyebrows in confusion. What is it that these people want then?!

It is frustrating sometimes because people have their own, personal versions of "love" and "how things are ought to be" in their minds. Because this is what they know through experience, vicarious or otherwise, they assume those same rules MUST apply to everyone else. This is the tradeoff to being cognitive beings. A lot of what we know comes from direct personal experience. A + B = C. If in our own lives, A + B is ALWAYS = C, then it must be the same truth for all individuals, too! But here is what I have been doing over the last year of my life, and not just in the Love Department either. I contemplate, challenge and experiment if A + B is indeed = C.

Here is what I have been finding so far:

1. There is an immense amount of fear attached to love due to obvious reasons. We all have had our hearts and our selves broken at least once. If you haven't, there's already too many movies and songs out there that will make you feel that you have. This is completely okay. They say this is the human condition after all.

2. But did it ever occur to man that there is a variety out there where you do not lose any part of yourself despite how much you give, but quite the contrary, gain something each and every time instead? Isn't this what unconditional love is about, the Holy Grail of all people who seek love - loving for the sake of love and not expecting to get anything at all in return?

3. Love is known to take us to places within us where we are happy, carefree, liberated, truly present, and in the moment. Especially in the honeymoon stage, couples are pretty much sharing a meditative space when they are together, if we take meditation to mean as pure, undivided attention and/or presence. I sometimes think it's not the person we grow attached to, but the wonderful feelings that this person spurs. Therefore, when there is any threat of that person abandoning us, we feel the irrepressible urge to breathe into a bag. We get scared shitless. We are terrified that we are never going to feel that way ever again, that we are going to run out of the happy hormones.

4. So if you consider #2 & 3, I come up with the conclusion that maybe we need to look at things differently. I think that we should never be left wanting for "love". We must cultivate it in our deepest core until it just becomes us. If we are always full on our own, by ourselves, then loving one person, ten people, a hundred people, will not take away from that love in us. Because love has become you. Do flowers ever fear of losing their fragrance?

5. And just to reiterate, I believe that to love someone, you must first truly love yourself. Many of us do the typical lip service to this one, and people underestimate how much work this really entails.

6. And assuming I was wrong from #1-5, and assuming that there will be so much bloodbath after we have loved, SO THE F*CK WHAT???!!

It is a great thing to have friends who offer different perspectives. They mean well and have the best intentions. They caution you against falling in love because they don't desire your (eventual and in their view, inevitable) heartbreak and suffering. People view the romantic kind of love as investing, almost losing oneself, in the other person and in the relationship. Psychologically, I was told that this type of projection is inevitable, almost necessary, at least in the beginning of any relationship. However, the healthy thing to do is as the relationship grows, people must grow individually too and carefully and painstakingly, each person withdraws his/her projection of perfection from the other person.

I have confessed, even publicly in this blog, that I have started to feel my heart stir again, like it has not done so in a long time, or maybe ever. I am touching something so real and raw again. And the difference is, this time, I don't feel the need to cling to it or possess it. I want to allow it to unfold on its own. I anticipated how people would react to that admission, and sure enough, they think I'm nuts. Some of them don't know how exactly to react so they resort to the least threatening approach and laugh it off. To me, this is the most insulting. Mockery of someone's feelings is a bit unfair, I think. And that is completely okay, because if I allowed my intellect to take the rein on this one, I would be thinking of myself as a biga** fool, too.

But here is what I have been surrendering to lately.

Love is not a function of the mind. It is a function of the heart. And as Blaise Pascal so eloquently put it, "The heart has its reasons for which reason knows nothing."

So I shelf my mind for now since it has been running my life for most of my adult life. For once, I am allowing my life to be lived from the heart.

Namaste.