All posts filed under: Minute Musings

Minute Musings: Marital Bliss

(an excerpt from my journal, Jan. 14th, 2014) While waiting in line for the 3:30 ferry back to Vallejo, I stood behind an old married couple. And I mean grey-haired, wrinkled-skin, slight-stoop-as-they-walk old married couple. I first noticed them as I approached the queue because he had his free arm wrapped around his spouse and held her close. She looked up at him, her hand resting on his chest, her cheeks rosy and her eyes shining and her lips stretched into an infectious smile. As we approached the loading dock, he rubbed her back. She play-smacked his face, as he made a joke and laughed at her expense. His hand drifted and lingered on her lower back as, one by one, we boarded. And the whole time I observed this exchange, I kept thinking: (1) these two are adorable, and (2) I pray that Reggie and I can be exactly like this at an old age – just as playful and enamored with one another as we are right now at 23 years old. That’s …

Minute Musings: Big City Dreams, A Finale

Four years ago, I had fantasized about a life in the big city — a life filled with black thigh high boots and late nights at the club and a Vespa. One year ago, I had grumbled about how my post-grad life in the city was not as I had anticipated it. I didn’t have my own star in the San Francisco skyline; instead, I had a lengthy commute and a seemingly thankless job and a twin bed in my parents’ home. Like every other delusional millennial, I believed — no, knew in every fiber of my being — that a grander, big city life was my destiny and that the powers that be were just preventing me from attaining what was rightfully mine. Now, with 2013 coming to a close, I am at a juncture in my life. A slew of change is on the horizon, and — after a lot of daydreaming and grumbling and (I admit) a great deal of self-reflection and maturing — I will finally have my big city dreams actualized. Well, at …

Minute Musings: Being the Black Sheep

I always kind of had an inkling that I was a bit different from my family. Now, as I move forward in my 20’s, those differences have become a bit more apparent. For example: Even though I strongly oppose raising taxes, I’m not as right-leaning as the rest of my family. I’m actually a bit more moderate. There are some initiatives that I feel very strongly about that don’t exactly align with the right wing. I neither hate nor distrust the mainstream media. In fact, I actually have a lot of faith in it (I guess you can blame my journalism degree — which I really think my family fails to acknowledge whenever they call CNN “the liberal media”). I don’t oppose gay marriage, which I guess is a big issue being in a Catholic family. I’m not sure I believe that, if I don’t go to Mass every Sunday, I’ll go to hell. I acknowledge that there are bigger issues at play when kids drop out of school or get sucked into gang activity …

Minute Musings: An Itch…

I think it’s ’cause he told me he was going to be next year’s “Boss Man.” Wow! I was excited for him — ecstatic, to be precise. So enthralled that, if we were speaking face-to-face rather than communicating via Facebook chat, I would have shrieked and jumped up and down and squeezed him to death. But then, after the excitement for his new role as Editor in Chief abated, I got to thinking (as I usually do in situations like this): God, I miss writing… Not just any writing, but the writing that matters to me and to the world. The kind that stems from hours of research and eons of craft. The kind that explores undiscovered philosophical territory and aims to unearth some buried truth. Literary analysis. Social critique. News writing. Research papers and essays and expositions and poetry… I miss creating scenes with my words. I miss poring through the deepest recesses of my mind for the right word to express that thought. I even miss the endless nights of writing drafts and …

Minute Musings: Another Year Older

I celebrated my birthday about a week ago. I just turned 23, and I can’t help but feel like I’m in an awkward stage of life. I talk to Reggie about this all the time, how I feel like I’m in some sort of limbo. And I suppose that’s appropriate for such an awkward age (I mean, what good thing supposedly happens at 23? Nothing.). I just feel like I’m a middle-aged woman trapped in a young woman’s body. I don’t think it helps that I’m an MBTI-certified Introvert (true to my type, I don’t like to hang out all hours of the night, and I don’t like making small talk with strangers). Or that I work with a bunch of women who are in different stages of life than I am: their priorities are different, more mature. When I’m surrounded by them for 40 hours a week, they make me feel like I’m about 40-something years old, happily married and with children waiting for me at home. That’s not necessarily a bad thing. But, …

Minute Musings: Big City Dreams, Pt. 2

My fingers, toes, and nose are numb. I silently scold myself for thinking that it was okay to wear ballet flats and a light leather jacket today, but it’s a moot point now. I’m on the ferry back home, after a long day in the office. It’s funny to think that — a mere two years ago — I fantasized about living this life: a job in the big city, a closet filled with killer shoes and ripped jeans (which I get half off, thank you very much), daily lunches with a to-die-for view of the water and the Bay Bridge. I even walk to and from the ferry building everyday with Mumford & Sons playing on my iPhone. My big city dreams have been actualized. I’ve gotten everything I wanted. So you think I’d be satisfied. I frustrate myself because I think about those aspects of my post-grad life that I haven’t yet attained: an apartment in the city; that Vespa; a puppy; the carefree mindset of a recent college grad who wants to …

Minute Musings: Big City Dreams

Every time I pass by San Francisco, I straighten up in my seat and stare foolishly out the car window. In the daytime, I love how the typically murky bay waters glisten in the sunshine and create a shimmering halo around the city skyline. When night falls, I count the millions of stars on the city’s numerous skyscrapers and dream about the one or two or three person(s) who own(s) those tiny balls of light. What do they do? Are they writers or teachers or actors-in-the-making? Do they ride the bus or walk or drive a Smart Car? Whose arms do they fall asleep in at night? Then I think about my future — and how much I want to be an owner of one of the city’s billions of stars. I will wear black. I will carry around plastic water bottles and walk the streets in thigh-high boots. I will own a Vespa. I will have an apartment furnished with beds and nightstands from Ikea. I will make dinner for my life partner (my …