Running into an Ex-boyfriend in the 30's.

Last Sunday I was walking out of Easter mass when I felt someone looking at me. You know that feeling you get inside, like someone is looking at you from afar and you immediately begin to feel uncomfortable.

It was an ex-boyfriend from college, one of those boys who was placed in my life to teach me a lesson.

We used to go to the same church at one point in our lives but college, marriage and passing time parted our ways and I don't even remember the last time I saw him.

Oddly his face was still vaguely familiar, more mature and older looking, yet with the same distinct features. He was standing next to his wife and pushing a baby in a stroller and my eyes couldn't quite figure out which of the three to greet first.

If I could turn around I would've, but it was too late. I have to walk past them, through the door.

(He is looking at me. He looks surprised. Awkward silence fills the air)

Me: Oh...uh....didn't expected to see you, how are you?

(Awkward eye contact continues. I find it hard to stare at one place.)

Him: ...Good, how are you?

(Our eyes meet again for a brief second, must look elsewhere. I turn to his son)

Me: Oh so is this your boy? He is cute, this is my daughter....say hello.

(Daughter looks up silently and blinks several times. She is shy)

Him: Oh.. hi, so.. I see you at church....

Me: Uh....Ok.....yeah, see you around.

I walk away, don't say another word to my daughter, find my husband and don't say a word to him either. I don't know why, it's not like he would be upset. I think it's more so because I haven't quite processed my feelings about that short encounter until now.

I'm usually not the type to be at loss of words or be too nervous to talk (or be so nervous that I end up talking too much.) But I also was never in this type of situation either.

Looking back, it was the most awkward 20 seconds of my life and I don't quite have the right words to describe the odd feelings that washed over me in that short period of time.

It's funny how a person you think you love in your 20's can one day become a stranger you can't even talk to. It's funny how a person you used to hold and talk to daily can one day make you feel so strange.

I know what we had wasn't love, at least not the real kind, but I do remember our breakup clearly like it's yesterday. Come to think of it, that relationship taught me more about how NOT to break up than how to love.

And I didn't realize this, until now.

Our breakup happened overnight for no apparent reason, with little words and explanations. One day we just weren't into it anymore, and just like that, it was over--- overnight. I think I spent many months wondering what went wrong, but now I realize some breakups happen simply because it wasn't meant to be. No other reason but that.

And we ran into each other ten years later with our kids, on Easter.

Life is so random and unexpected. So strange, sometimes even stranger than fiction...

Next time Angela- if this must happen again- less words, more action. Smile, nod and walk away gracefully. No need to look back.

11.12.13- The Beginning of Tiny Stories

Life continues to present itself as unpredictable and non-linear contrary to a childlike dream--- and the only way I can make any sense out of present ordeals seem to be the need for tiny stories; for raw, painful and raging stories that permeate everyone's lives but few talk about.

As soon as my life begins to feel ordinary, another extraordinary event follows without my consent- and life is rolling out its red carpet awaiting for me to take my first step as a story-teller.

This red carpet is not glamourous like Hollywood nor perfect like a Taoist's zen...it is tattered, abused and abandoned yet gleaming its beauty under the array of stars that shine without a grid, lost but perfectly orchestrated into a Godly pattern.

Like a shaman who can't shake off an unknown illness until she becomes fully ritualized into her destined role, I must gather my scattered energy and begin to write.

Do I write for the listener or do I write for myself. How do I rationalize the hours spent away from my family by accepting this role. Where do I begin.

Knowing how much story telling can dig up painful memories, knowing the tragic end of many writers consumed by their passions that double as self-deprecating demons, this is a dilemma my head continues to fight.

I keep running away and life keeps bringing me back. I want to run but can't hide. Why do you keep me from living my normal life as a housewife. Why am I putting up a fight.

My muse is my biggest fear and she won't let go until I abide.

Happy birthday Angela, you've come a long way.

Another year came and left swiftly; I celebrated another birthday. This year's birthday was low key and hangover free as my humble celebration consisted of a relaxing lunch date with my mother and dinner at my favorite sushi restaurant with family.

I realized this may be the year when I stop counting publicly, no more "happy xx-th birthday!" from family and friends. I prefer it this way as the number of my age is slowly becoming cumbersome, a source of unwarranted regret and trepidation about remaining years.

Instead of planning a lavish birthday party with friends and buying myself a new birthday outfit, this year consisted of a consultation-gone-wrong (maybe I will share one day) and a series of desperate questions aimed toward God, the Universe and self.

I have so much to be thankful for- a supportive husband, two beautifully imperfect children and loving parents and siblings who appear proud of how I turned out at this age. I too, am proud of my achievements as a mother and wife and hold myself a little tighter for all the trials I've managed to overcome.

As always though, I remain hungry and thirsty. I'm blessed yet unfulfilled; I'm thankful yet still not whole. I've been searching for answers and realize God still wants me to wait. He wants to teach me patience, a virtue I lack since birth.

This birthday I agreed I'll wait a little longer. I told Him I'm sorry I'm so impatient and temperamental. I told Him I love him regardless and thanked Him for loving me regardless of my greatest flaw- my perfectionist ideals that drive everyone, including myself crazy at times.

And finally I asked that the fruit of my labor is great enough to satisfy my internal yearnings. If the fruit turns out to be trivial and mediocre (by my standards, not the world's) I would have a series of lifelong disappointments to face. I would endure it of course, but I want to remain womanly and graceful in my later years and not become that bitter-faced middle aged woman I come across so often at churches and school functions nowadays.

Happy birthday Angela, you've come a long way. I'm proud of you and love you... now go back to your roots and start doing what you do best. Now, go.

DOING is the hardest part, especially considering my inactive & contemplative personality where spending time and energy on preformed ideals feel like a cardinal sin.

God gave me a gift, and the opposite side of that leaf is the monstrous gape of my greatest fear.

When I was younger..

Newtown Tragedy. Change is needed NOW

I'm deeply affected by today's tragedy in Newtown, Connecticut. My daughters are 7 & 5, this isn't someone else's story. Children teach us beauty of life and adults repay them with violence and deadly silence. Children bring us joy and we kill their souls through childhood trauma.

This must stop. Now.

Today I vow to pay closer attention to others, especially my children and their emotional & mental well-being. I promise to dedicate my life to raising healthy individuals who love themselves and value other people. I promise never to let my child become lost in loneliness & anger.

Change begins with me, with my children, in my home. I hope you do the same, for me and for all our children, especially those children who lost everything today.

Something must be done. Change is needed NOW.

Heartbroken & in grief this gloomy afternoon.

It's winter and I'm not even sad

Chestnuts roasting on an open fire, Jack Frost nipping on your nose...

No Jack Frost here in So Cal, but it's been raining since last night and I'm loving this weather. I can't imagine living anywhere but here, and I'd be awfully depressed if I was settled in rainy Seattle. Here, the rain can be much anticipated and embraced even for someone who's prone to self-induced SAD like me.

I want to wear my rain boots with a big pull-over hoodie and let the cold air whip my hair around. Then I'll return inside, make myself a warm cup of tea, cuddle next to a fireplace and hibernate like a bear with no distractions or worry.

No demands, no chores, no routine, no boredom--
I'll travel to a place where only dreams reside.

Before I close myself let me ask you,
Will you be there?
If not, can you come find me,
because it's winter and I'm not even sad.