my first support group

Chester, NJ feels like the central PA. The rehabilitation facility in Chester is deep in the woods. I would love to work more there in fall. Driving to work will be a visually comfortable colorful experience everyday. How nice.

I was going to see two patients. One had been discharged earlier today. Good luck to him. I hope the reason for his discharge was because he was capable to live without a professional medical monitor, not because his insurance program decided to terminate the payment.
Last week, the wife of a patient was so upset to learn that why her husband had been kicked around between hospitals was because of the insurance company. Oh, Americans, please vote for someone who promises a much better health insurance system. You don't want to be kicked around when you're sick. You want to be treated when you're sick. Don't let the insurance company decide for your doctor. How pathetic.

The other patient in Chester was in a support group. Well... bad timing for me. I decided to sit in and listen to the guest speaker, who is a stroke survivor sharing her experience of recovery.
I observed the patient, Mrs. PL who I wanted to see, in the audience. She definitely does not look like a 92-year-old to me. Later, I talked to her. She remembered my labmates had visited her yesterday. She showed a highly positive attitude of getting better.

Patients feel supported when they are surrounded by people like them. Hey, we all can get better! As a team, we will. Yes, we can. Yes, we will. We work hard. We rest. We will walk again. We will talk again. We will drive again. We will cook again.

I felt supported.
My research is trying to do some good to them. I feel a positive purpose of my existence.
This probably is the first time I feel not so bad after my saying long ago: I'll never work in a hospital, for it's too depressing.
It's not bad now.

a wish for me

Oh my mama is getting old.
Since I left Taipei, however, she has appeared younger and younger with a more and more beautiful smile on her.

She was not prettier than me when she was at my age. Because she just had my brother and was fat.
But now she can fit into more hot shorts and jeans than me.
Jeans tell all about the body, enhancing the most impressive part if the body is gorgeous, revealing the most appalling part if the body is nothing sweet to be looked at.
Which is why I like to see guys with jeans. That's how I judge their rear end.
Appreciating a woman's body in jeans is a different kind of judgment because women usually wear jeans fit. Thus, belly and thighs are taken into account too. Which makes it more difficult to look great in jeans for women. Which also makes it more profitable if someone designs a pair of jeans that make all women happy.
The point is my mama can wear jeans at the age of 53. Women in her age are jealous. How fabulous. I am not only very proud of her but also very happy for her that she is very happy about all the compliments about her shape. This is all superficial and all important. Any person needs compliments, even on superficial subjects, strengthening self-esteem a whole lot. Then she will display a smile like an endless horizon barely separating the sky and ocean, embracing everything on the earth.

She never smiles like a flower.
That's her charm.
She has a kind of quality that I never found an English word for it. The Chinese word says it all. But how can I express it in English? It's like the quality you find in Juliette Binoche or Maggie Cheung. It is a way a woman carries herself. Not particularly in any mood, but when people see her, people remember her image with that quality. That quality makes "beautiful" so superficial and "elegant" so phony.

Don't get me wrong. She is not perfect like a unreachable goddess. She can be crazy. Tearfully huge laughs. Hysterical angers. Heartbreaking cries. She makes weird faces and says the most inappropriate thing at odd situations. If she allows herself, she dances and sings well.

Life has taught her something profound that I won't be able to understand until reaching her age. Probably I will never fully understand because I don't know what my life will teach me yet.
She is so fearless and independent. But she is also so lovable and dependable.
Her uniqueness is not because of what happened to her, which I can write several books for her, but because of how she dealt with what happened to her. I've seen much of her in horribly shitting situations. She has been crashed into pieces, but always put herself back together. She never escapes but absorbs.
Some people just grow old but never grow wisdom. Their romantic excuse is keeping their spirits young. Right, but being young doesn't mean being childish/unrealistic/irresponsible/arrogant.
Cruel life experiences enable my mama to be childlike, humble, tough, and confident. She never stops growing up to the next level of maturity. Mamas are amazing, especially mine.

When I said happy birthday to her some hours ago, I found my wish redundant. Of course she would have a happy birthday. I called anyway because I wanted to hear her happy voice.
Happy birthday sounds more like a wish to myself. I am happy because of her birthday.

Barcelona

You've seen the new Woody Allen movie?
You should. It's a good one. The best one for the last 6 years.

I always think Spain is a much more romantic place than France. Because I prefer Spanish than French. Not that I know how to speak either one. Just because one sounds passionate and the other one tiresome.
It's like Johansson's character's reason for learning Chinese rather than Spanish.

Colors in Spain are so powerful, enriching characteristics of people there. They are closer to their own cores and farther from the supposed-to-be.
At least that's what was depicted in the movie.

I've never been to Barcelona. I've never been to Europe, actually.
What a waste, friends always say to me, that I should've gone there when I was dating the French guy.
No, I wouldn't even if he asked me to go with him. I was afraid. Certain places hold special places in my heart. People who go to those places with me will somehow become special.
Manhattan is special. I had dreamed about holding hands, walking on streets, dancing, laughing, kissing with a special person there. That special person danced tango with me in MoMA before he learned how to tango and took a walk with me in the Park through the Gates. Certain places in my favorite city, since then, became memory holders.
Dating later became seeing. Happy moments were outnumbered by hurtful exchanges. Memory holders just remind me of how old my soul has become.
So I am glad that I didn't go to Europe with him.

Vicky and Cristina got back on their lives again after the summer in Barcelona.
What an ironic shame? They should've changed their lives after the trip?
Woody Allen knows well that people don't change after a summer, even if it's a once-in-a-life-time summer. Technically, each summer is once in a life time, but you know what I mean.
People don't change their self-idealized track of life easily. They may understand themselves better. They may justify their unexpected behavior better. They may cross off an item of the to-do list or jot down an item on the what-wild/crazy/cool-things-I've-done list. They just don't push away their original life style and jump into another one in a snap.

I used to believe in "change in a snap". Long time ago, I saw French Kiss and loved Meg Ryan. I wished I would be her character: someone random, totally out of her expectation, lit up her life, made her stay, and built a shared life together.
On a relatively stable secured track of life, I am still holding a tiny hope that someone strong enough can influence my decision: stay or leave as long as we are together.

The difference between Vicky and Cristina was:
V thought she knew what she wanted. C knew what she didn't want. At the end, V was confused, and C was still wondering how to avoid what she didn't want.
I am more like V. The relationship ended a year ago is my long summer in Barcelona. Will never forget about it. But no way to get back there in a fresh mentality. Even though it was so colorful and enriching, I'd rather go to the real Barcelona with no one special.

sleepless

Tears came out of the heart as if the heart was broken again.

Why are you so special?
I loved you. That's why.

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Smile immediately displayed at "hi" as if the heart was stolen again.

Why are you so special?
I loved you. That's why.

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You are my red and white roses.
But right now, I just want a balloon.

At the end of the short story of Red Rose and White Rose is that he became a nice person again.
I don't know the answer of my story.

I am a mentally able person who can feel love.
But I don't know how many times I can feel it in my life time.
Twice perhaps is the maximum. If so, you are lucky.
Twice may be the minimum. If so, I am lucky.

throw a kiss

Hello September. Can't believe we have arrived the last quarter of 2008. What have I done for the past 8 months? What haven't I done? Or what didn't I do but I said I would do it?

I didn't go to Boston.
Krissy moved there. I said I would visit her because summer is the best season visiting Boston. However, the reality conquered me. I had no energy driving up there or taking a bus by myself. I had no budget for extra trips and need to save for another Chicago trip and the winter trip back home. I had to give time for tango too. Frankly, I just want to take a break after a week of work and become a veggie doing nothing but breathing in and out and in and out and in and out consciously like most yogis do.

I didn't go to Paris.
Kirua got a week-long sublet of an apartment in downtown Paris. I wish I were there, walking day after day by the river, taking thousands of pictures of buildings and colorful people, mimicking postures of thousands of sculptures, and eating cheese, drinking wine, sipping coffee, listening to the sound of Parisian winds.
Of course, reality won again. I had to save my vacation days for the winter trip back home. Twelve vacation days a year are not enough, but I am not in a good position to argue or even to change the policy.

I didn't go to a yoga camp or a tango festival.
Through Facebook, I received thousands of event invitations. Sorry, dancers in London, Mallorca, Portland, Buenos Aires, Montreal, and especially Chicago that you missed me. I have other things in life needing my full attention. Such as Yang got married with a super short notice. Such as Bungbung got to be checked before doing any long-distance trip. Such as Alex, Viv, and Claudia came to town. Such as Kim invited me to sunset walks. Such as Liu recommended certain must-see exhibitions. I wish I were more involved in the tango or yoga community. Oh well... there are always next weekend and next month and next year.

I didn't go to meet old-time friends flying from Taiwan.
Yvette came to North Carolina. Shaun went to Carlifornia. They were my best buddies in the Drama Club, which would have disappeared if we three had not insisted running it.
Yvette, the woman who never shows fear (沒有在怕的啦), planning everything at last second, drove to DC and wished to meet me. Well.... the States (see? there is an "s" at the end of the country's name) is a much larger country than Taiwan. Even a random state is larger than Taiwan. A 4-hour one-trip driving for a dinner was not very energy-boosting for me after a mentally looong wedding day of Yang's. At least, Yvette and I chatted a couple of times when she was in the States. At least, I was able to answer questions about parking rules for her.
Shaun went on a month-long trip before his medical intern career. He and his friends had the whole trip planned, visiting several gorgeous cities and sceneries. I smiled and wished them having a most unforgettable trip. At least, Shaun and I chatted a couple of times when he was in the States. At least I was able to answer questions about airport check-in processes for him.

I didn't do a lot of things that I wanted to do.
I guess this is always the case, so that I can keep planning and wanting and dreaming to do something. This kind of motivation is crucial. So that I keep my eyes looking forward. So that I have my heart beating for readiness.
I don't regret for things I didn't do but wanted. Oh, regrets are overrated.
Let's throw a kiss to the past and wish it well locked in the unimportant personal history. The past has my kiss and is very satisfied, I believe.
For the final quarter of 2008, I want to do some things. I may let you know if I do them four months later. For now, kiss ba-bye, because I want to do some things in the next minute after now. I am going to do some things today. I am.

For him, I allow this color to appear in my space.