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Day 51: A Rude Awakening

5/26/2015

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My morning started with the ritual of making coffee. Before coffee, I am a groggy mess.

The tea kettle was filled with water, and set on the stove to boil. Fresh, fragrant beans were ground. I reached up to open the cabinet above where the coffee filters were. As I swung the door open and looked up, something fell onto my face. That something was small and solid, and immediately scurried off me and onto the floor. I looked down, and saw a bright green gecko slithering away.

Who needs wake-up coffee when you can have a lizard encounter zap you to alertness?
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Day 50: Slanty Asian Eyes

5/25/2015

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While shopping with my husband, a Caucasian saleswoman in her mid-fifties began chatting with us about our family.

She made a comment about how our kids must be so cute because they are half Chinese and half white. Then she mentioned her granddaughter was half Filipina and half white, and that before her granddaughter's birth, she prayed that her granddaughter would be born with a "nice nose," and not "one of those flat Asian noses" (while using her finger to smash her own nose into her face as a demonstration). She pointed out that my nose was “luckily a nice, normal, non-flattened nose.” Then she said that she also prayed that her granddaughter would not be cursed with "slanty Asian eyes," (again gesturing by pulling her eyes out into slits with her fingers). She told us that thankfully, her prayers were answered. This woman told us all of this with the ease of close friends sharing an inside joke together, as if we could totally relate to her concerns. 


My husband and I, perplexed and shocked, just nodded speechlessly and moved on. Sometimes, as one wise friend says, it’s best to not even go there.
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Day 49: Cruel Words

5/24/2015

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Once in 7th grade math class, I told my friend Richard he was fat. It was completely unprovoked, and motivated by my adolescent desire to mask my own insecurity with an assertion of power. I regretted the words just as they landed on my friend’s shocked and hurt face. Later, apologies were made, but nothing could actually undo the words.

I'd like to think that I have grown into a more mature, loving person since then. Yet I still have moments of saying hurtful things to people. Every time this happens, I remember the look on Richard's face. And I pray that I can do better next time.
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Day 48: The Blue House

5/23/2015

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Our first home as a married couple was a blue house on 30th Street near downtown Los Angeles lovingly referred to as The Blue House.

It was a 100-year old Craftsman style home owned by the grandmotherly Mrs. Vasquez, who pronounced our names “Esteb” and “Lo-rizza.” She kept our rent low because we paid her on time and didn’t trash her house like previous college-age renters.

The house's carpet was what could best be described as “puke teal,” and everything was constantly dusty because half the windows didn’t close properly. Soon after moving in, we painted the walls to add a bit of character. Tangerine orange for the kitchen, sage green for the living room.

Our neighbors were mostly college students, including a group of frat boys next door who owned a huge, mangy black chicken named Mephistopheles, who used our front yard as his personal litter box. There was also Mr. Lee, a tiny Korean man, who sat around scratching used lottery tickets, and his pal Kevin, who was rarely sober. Mr. Lee and Kevin loitered near our front lawn, and often welcomed us when we came home. 

The house was small, but spacious enough for us to host poker nights and Halloween parties. We once hosted my family’s Thanksgiving dinner in our home, packing in more aunts and uncles and cousins than could comfortably fit. Despite having to frantically thaw a 25-pound turkey in our bathtub the night before, the Thanksgiving meal somehow came together.

When our son Aaron was born, we transformed the small guest room into a baby nursery. With no insulation in the walls, every sound carried through the house, and we were known to shush house guests so they wouldn’t wake the sleeping baby. Many college students adopted Aaron into their fold, and we had a steady stream of babysitters whenever the need arose .

After about 5 years, we outgrew the house, and were able to purchase a home half a mile away. On the day we moved, we said a loving goodbye to our first home and all the memories held inside.
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Day 47: The School Dance

5/22/2015

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It was the last day of fifth grade, and our class was electric with excitement. We were about to have our very first dance. No one really knew what this meant, except that we were now “big kids.”

I had a year-long secret crush on my classmate Ross. He was quiet, with mousy brown hair and nice eyebrows, and lived a few houses away from me. In the weeks leading up to the dance, I imagined Ross approaching me and inviting me to dance with him. I’d answer with a cool, “Sure,” and we would shimmy along with the crowd.

The dance was in the cafeteria, which looked exactly the same as always but darkened. The tables were folded and pushed to the sides. C&C Music Factory blared. A few small groups of friends were dancing, but most of us were standing hesitantly along the edges of the wall. It was like everyone needed to watch and see what this whole school dance business was all about.

Then the whole dance vibe shifted. A slow song came on. Everyone whispered to each other. A few brave couples tentatively stepped onto the dance floor, and did that hands on shoulders and hips sway.

Someone tapped my shoulder. It was Garrett, a fellow classmate. He asked, “Hey, do you wanna dance with Ross?” He gestured to Ross, who was watching this interaction intently from across the room. I panicked. I wasn’t sure if Garrett’s smile was friendly or mocking. What if I said yes, and they both had a good laugh? Or maybe this was a genuine invitation. But then I’d actually have to dance. In my sudden anxiety and uncertainty, I gave a dismissive, “Uh, no,” complete with a disgusted scowl.

And that was that. My one and only chance at dancing with Ross. Squandered.
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