"Goodbye, have a beautiful weekend."

I was sitting at the laundromat waiting for my wash to finish, when the lady employee said this to me on her way out. I guess the quick 10 minutes I had stepped in and chatted with her were her last 10 minutes of work.

She was a middle-aged Mexican lady and with a pleasant Spanish accent; something that I've grown to be really fond of. 

Maybe her choosing "beautiful" was something lost in translation because she had said it so casually, but I'm sure that's why it was so striking to me. Is it weird that hearing her bid me a "beautiful" weekend, as opposed to the platitude of a "good" one, with that accent, was so uplifting? 

My spirits have been a little broken as of late. I've been having a bit of a rough month with work, with my personal life, with the things happening in the personal lives of my loved ones. 

I came to the laundromat after a long day at work-- which was a cumulation of a long week-- weary and teary eyed.  

But that lady's goodbye was a beautiful thing to hear. It's amazing how the smallest, shortest kind words can be exactly what I need to calm down and press forward.

If anything, it may have been her accent. A few of my favorite people at work have that accent. And because of these humbly luminous people, I associate the Spanish lilt with nothing but familial love, warmth, and genuine affection. 

It's amazing how fast the human mind can link those associations and, in turn, how the heart can latch onto them and rejuvenate its spirit.

I have good people around me and even kind strangers and they inspire me to be likewise. And at the end of a long, shitty day or long, shitty week, those people and the positivity they lend are infinitely more resilient.

 

Chin up, everyone. 

Ardent reader, wayward traveler

I've always loved used bookstores. There's something incredibly romantic in knowing that a secondhand book-- at one point in time-- spoke to and ignited a sort of change in a complete stranger and is now somehow intimately molding me too.

Lately my favorite souvenir to get when I'm visiting a different city is a used book.

"Because reading is something that molds you and adds to your character. Each triumph, lesson and pivotal moment of the protagonist becomes your own.
Every ache, pain and harsh truth becomes yours to bear. You’ve traveled with authors and experienced the pain, sorrow and anguish they suffered while writing through it. You’ve lived a thousand lives and come back to learn from each of them." 

Even though it's slightly unnerving how my random selections of books have shown some eerie relevance to my life, it's more important that these stirring works have created dense anchors to my real life memories.

Ayo

Sorry not sorry.

Neo-funk

"To Pimp a Butterfly" 2015

At this point, I'm very used to the incredulous looks I get when people discover that I listen to rap. And I get it. What business does a petite, hippie Asian girl have in listening to this kind of music? I always defend myself and this genre of music by saying that it satisfies a literary lover's soul.

Rap is iambic pentameter. It is saying the most with the fewest words. It's word composition, it's wit, it's perpetual play on words. And, if decidedly so, rap can be striking social commentary. Basically, all the factors that go into the mastery of language composition. My curious mind and student heart can wholly appreciate all that rap has to offer.

And maybe it's also worth mentioning that I'm from Southeast San Diego where even nerdy, hippie filipino girls jam better than your average, kthnxbye.

I have to admit that I was originally disconcerted by the singles that circulated around the internet over these past few months. The sound was just different. It's influences in funk/jazz/blues are so heavy and I didn't know how to reconcile that his typical raw rap style.

However, listening to "To Pimp a Butterfly" in its entirety reminds me of how strong Kendrick Lamar's gravitational pull is. His sound and delivery is so distinctive and original. And his iconic mission for the empowerment of the masses is still ever prevalent.

What really impresses me about this album is, ironically, the very thing that took me aback a few months ago: the blues/jazz/funk musical influences. I get visuals of small dive bars filled with smoke and slam poetry. And that sense of intimacy makes this album feel all the more powerful.
No club bangers, just a speaker delivering his message through bold ass poetry. The sonorous bass and trumpets provide a pulse that pulls all the songs together with a vibe that is both anachronistic and progressive. Furthermore, we have the dichotomy between the roots of black music and modern day rap bridged by the vein spontaneity, vitality, and improvisation central to both musical eras.

Bottom line: I'm impressed and obsessed. 

My favorite tracks:
- Mortal Man
- King Kunta
- You Ain't Gotta Lie (Momma Said)
- Complexion
- These Walls

Muscle conditioning

Contrary to a culture that seems to favor extroverts, I feel that my introversion is honestly my biggest strength. My appreciation for it may have started within this past year, but it's really come into fruition now as a 24 year old.

Reading is definitely a hobby I inherited from my pops. My childhood is filled with memories of my dad coming home from work, sitting at the house's threshold to take off his boots, with a new library book at his side. As well as memories of my dad reading a book right before going to sleep, as my mom would watch tv (this vignette, admittedly an image of my ideal relationship: two people doing their own things, together).

I've kept a journal ever since high school, and up until now, nothing pacifies me quite like sitting down and pouring out the mental clutter onto paper. And I'd like to think that I can attribute my better-than-average emotional intelligence to this. The practice of being fearless in confronting the things that worry me and rationalizing through the mental congestion is really therapeutic and cleansing and wholly facilitated by me.

And then there's running. For a while, I'd tell people that the only reason I chose to run was simply because... I wanted to like running. Which is not really a legitimate answer because it begs the deeper question of why I felt the need to run at all. I'm finally beginning to see its huge character-building benefits and I don't think I could ever revert back to hating the sport.
Long distance running, at its core, is simply an individual forgoing themselves. Enduring instant discomfort and immediate pain, for ultimately the greater hope and greater reward that lays just ahead.
Seriously, how beautiful is that? Running shows me, continually, the resilience of the human spirit. And now it's nearly impossible for me to not transfer that kind mentality from the running path and into my actual life.

Quiet fortitude is still fortitude. Meek strength is only a power restrained, ready to burst when the time is fit. And introverted traits like patience, resilience, empathy, endurance, and the tapping into the reserves of one's individual strength are hugely character molding. And, ironically enough, I gain such a strong sense of self-actualization and confidence that I tend to grab the attention of others without being overt.

So I want to commit myself to really fueling and fostering my introversion. I like who I am and what I become when I invest myself into these types of practices.

- Read at least 1 book a month, but preferably 2 books
- Watching 1 documentary a week
- Solitary hiking once a week
- Running 10 miles a week
- At least 3 half marathons by the end of the year

• Mermaid Half Marathon (2/7/15)
• La Jolla Half Marathon (4/26/15) 
• America's Finest City Half Marathon (8/16/15) yet to be registered for