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The gringa had lived in the Colonia San Rafael neighborhood of San Miguel de Allende, Mexico for over thirteen years, gringa being the local word for an American woman living in Mexico. The old Mexican man with a limp reminiscent of Charlie Chaplin's "Tramp" had lived in the neighborhood too, probably his entire life. The two passed each other many times walking down the hill, and every time the old man saw the woman, he said to her in English that one word that he apparently knew: "mo-nay." Time after time, the same word, "mo-nay." She grew annoyed with him, thinking, "Is that how he sees me? As only a source of money?" It isn't that she never gave to people in need -- she did, often generously, whatever she could. It's just that his one word was so constant and such a habit that it really got on her nerves. Not wanting to encourage him, she either ignored him or said, "No no tengo nada ahorita." “I don't have anything right now.” And walked on quickly. This went on literally for years. At times it almost seemed like a joke between them, him saying "Mo-nay" and she saying, "Nope, nada." And then one blinding hot day, the sunlight bouncing off of everything so much that your eyes hurt, he said something different. "Mo-nay. Hun-gray." She stopped and looked at him, as if for the first time. It had never occurred to her that perhaps he actually was hungry. She felt ashamed, and she took him over to the nearest tienda and asked him what he wanted to buy. His needs were simple: a bolillo--a small loaf of white bread--and a Coke. She bought them and gave him twenty pesos for a refresco later. And she asked his name. "Rubén," he said. "Mucho gusto, señor Rubén. Nice to meet you. Soy Frances," said she. After that, their relationship was different. He no longer was some needy old man, he was Rubén. Sometimes when he saw her, he still said, "Mo-nay" but it was different now that she knew his name and so if she had a few pesos with her, she gave them to him with a smile. And often, before leaving the house, she remembered to think of him and would grab a couple of coins in case she saw him. Sometimes, when he saw her, he didn't ask for money, but asked, in a neighborly way, "A dónde vas? Where are you going?" Or, "¿Acabas de volver del Centro? Did you just get back from town?" And she would talk to him for a few minutes. One day he was walking down the hill with his customary limp that spoke of hip problems, and she said, "¿Adónde va, señor Rubén?" "Where are you going?" And he said, "Estoy caminando para hacer ejercicio y conocer a mis amigos.” “I'm walking for exercise and to meet my friends." And she thought, "Wow, he knows he needs to move his body and he needs to socialize." She thought about this unexpected friendship that they had, and what a gift it was that his presence in her life had helped her shift her perspective from seeing him as someone who was needy to someone who was her neighbor, living life in his way, making the best of his circumstances, just as she was. She realized that he had caused her to confront her own unconscious bias. This was a big step, and she wanted to memorialize it by having a selfie with him. One day he was walking up the hill at the same time she was. "Would it be okay to take a photo with you, señor Rubén?" she asked him in Spanish. He said yes right away. Halfway up the hill, they stopped and looked at the camera. She was wearing her pandemic mask; he was maskless and wearing his battered hat. She stood a little back from him to try to keep "safe social distance." The birds were singing in the tree behind them and she felt happy for this moment. It felt to her like an achievement. There's still a long way to go; no doubt there are many more unconscious biases in my mind and heart. But I, the gringa in question, will always remember Rubén and the gift he brought me. The cost of a few bolillos and some Cokes is a very small price to pay.

Through the years, my sons teased me about my good posture and how, while they were growing, I wouldn't tolerate slouching. “Mom's fault,” I'd say with a smile. Although no genius, as my sons often point out, they are also just as quick to comment on how much I do know. They call me a walking encyclopedia of nonsensical trivia. Once again, I shrug and say, Mom's fault.” While my mom was never what was considered a strict disciplinarian, when it came to schoolwork, she was tough. I remember as soon as I could talk, she'd drill me every me every Saturday morning. Using two pages at a time of the dictionary, she would read each word, emphasizing on its pronunciation, encouraging me to try and spell it correctly. Back then, luckily, the dictionaries were small. Mom kept track of the words I misspelled in order for me to study them for the following Saturday. By the time I reached Kindergarten, I found it easy to read whole sentences. Soon, my “home education” expanded adding Math to my list of things to learn. After my spelling and reading lessons, Mom gave me wo sheets of paper with arithmetic problems to solve. Mom never confined her idea of teaching to just schoolwork. She believed in a healthy mind and healthy body. While I'd be pouring over homework, if Mom saw me slouching, she'd quietly walk behind me and gently t ouch my back. With one finger. Without one word spoken, I would immediately straighten to a more proper position. For about five minutes a day, three times each week, I would have to stand with my back against the wall. “Touch your heels to the wall. Now, your butt! Head up and back; shoulders back! Stomach in!” I know, I know. She sounded like a drill sergeant, but it kept my posture intact and my spine straight. Most of my friends learned to cook while their moms stood at their sides verbally instructing their every move. Mom's method differed completely. Handing me a recipe, she'd back away. Her reason was simple. Anyone can mimic; anyone can follow step-by-step instructions as each is given. It's more important to read and comprehend. As she often said, “Following a receipt teaches you to learn to follow any instructions.” However, she remained in the kitchen with me – just in case. Mom believed in teaching by example, not by using a bunch of words. Too often, my friends heard their moms say. “Do as I say, not as I do.” Never once did I hear that phrase from my mom. I also never heard the more familiar, “Because I said so.” Mom would often take me for long walks in the park, weather permitting. At times, we'd go for a train ride to the local zoo or museum. Once a month from June to September, mom and dad would pack a lunch and we would head to the nearby lake for a picnic. In addition to schoolwork, mom taught me to appreciate the beauty of a flower, the wonder of a rainbow, and the compassion needed for those less fortunate (like the WWII Veteran who sat legless on the street corner begging for a few cents to help him get by. Even tough money was tight, we never passed him by without Mom dropping a few cents in his little tin cup. She also taught me that although life is not perfect, we must strive for that goal and not be disappointed if we fail. Mom taught me the appreciation of demanding work. “After all,” she said, “the harder you work the more you appreciate the end result. If things came too easily, we would take those things for granted.” Yes, mom taught me many things: reading, spelling, love, and life. Now, here I am in my seventies. Mom passed away a number of years ago but even at my age, I am in good health. I still sit properly, and my back is straight. While I never went to college (as I said money was tight), my knowledge and education about what matters is exemplary. I am not afraid to tackle new projects and while I strive to succeed, I don't sulk if I fail. I just change my attitude and try again. My sons now, are grown with families of their own and emulate Mom's parenting as much as possible. I insisted on rearing my children the way Mom reared me, with compassion, understanding right from wrong, a thirst of knowledge, and fun in doing everything. I have been a good mother and teacher to my sons (they told me to say that), and I can see what wonderful husbands and fathers they are in every way (their wives tole me to say that!). Mom would be so proud of them. The reason for our successes in maintaining such happy homes, I feel is simple. It's Mom's Fault.

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A lot has changed since I wrote the post entitled "No Time to Write". Things fell apart with my old job, which was pretty stressful as you could imagine. But you know what they say? Sometimes things happen for a reason, so perhaps this was one of those times, or maybe I'm just a hopeless optimistic. Anyway, I started a new job just two weeks later. That meant I had two weeks of freedom. Open-ended freedom for me to basically do whatever the heck I wanted, despite the whole stress of searching for a new job and going through the whole interview process. As I had ironically complained about not having enough time, a plentitude of time was gracefully, well not so gracefully, given to me not long afterwards. At this point, I'm sure you're wondering what I did with my free time. Instead of writing, I used my time for making social plans and resting. As a matter of fact, as much as I hate to admit it, I ended up taking my free time a bit for granted. One day felt just like the next one, and there was no push each day to get up and get to work on any creative projects. It felt like I had all the time in the world. Since it was still summer, I took some long hikes in the sun, which absolutely rejuvenated my entire being. I also watched a lot of TV. I've been working full time again for almost 2 months now. After getting back into the rhythm of working, I miss freedom and regret that I didn't use the short time in between jobs to lean into my creative side that often gets neglected. I regret that I didn't wake up each morning, pour myself some coffee and immediately start grinding out creative project after project. Yet, maybe rest is exactly what I needed. A break from the urgency that time has placed on me. I wasn't thinking much about time and schedules, and it felt good. You could argue that there's always time if you make it. Maybe it's just self-discipline that's missing. For instance, some people say they have no time to read, yet these are the same people who spend at least two hours scrolling through social media every night before bed. I could always be more intentional with my time. However, it's okay to rest, and I think everyone needs this reminder. I think resting means not thinking about making time for things and just enjoying the present moment, whether that means taking a long walk or binge watching a TV series. If you needed the reminder that it's okay to rest sometimes, to not feel guilty about "wasting time", then here it is: it's okay. If you're going through a stressful time like I was, be gentle with yourself.

“Ayushi, could you wait back?” Mr. Bhati, our economics professor stops me from leaving the class for the period break. “We expect great things from you. Continue to work hard. I believe you can top the state and get the highest in economics this year.” ‘Sir, I will try my best.' I was the promise made eagerly, broken promptly. Dopamine, the pleasure hormone, is released not only after an achievement but also much earlier, in anticipation of it- A lesson I learned last week from Dr. Robert Sapolsky's lectures on neuroscience but one, my subconscious has always known. The reason this happens, Dr. Sapolsky explained, is that the dopamine release acts as a bait to encourage hard work towards success for more. I had chanced upon a shortcut- finding satisfaction in the multiple mini releases, never striving harder for better. I didn't last anywhere near the top. Instead, I was so nervous during the economics exams, I missed the last question. I wrote such elaborate first few answers that I felt short of time towards the end. ‘I knew everything but didn't keep track of time,' I repeat after being awarded the GMAT's penalty on not finishing a section. Twice. A stellar employee makes a major blunder in the second project she leads as an analyst. Yes, me. I crushed on my best friend for over four years, only to break up in a week fearful of the insecurities that started to pop up. He cares, he cares not. What if I start liking someone else? Will I be a cheat? Then and since, as I repetitively failed expectations, I also developed an acute phobia towards commitment. Almost chick, never chicken. Instead, the remains of an unfertilised piece of egg excreted monthly, promising potential, never promise! I didn't make it big. I didn't make it. Instead, I quit the job and made it back to my parent's house hoping to find something I was good at and happy to do. Two years and three jobs later, I am working with my sister to create a utilitarian art brand, still here, in my parent's house. We were starting to do well when COVID hit. Confused, scared with no clarity about the future. The extra hours and limited distractions struck at the rusting pendulum. Oscillating between the regrets of the past and ever-so dreadful ‘expectations' from the future, for once, I am struggling to gain a foothold in the present. Refreshing IG feed every hour no more transforms into an hourly wallow of self-pity looking at friends traveling or getting promoted. The world hit pause and now, most everyone is working from home, cooking, and reading. I fight temptation, delete IG to work, and work on myself. In those hours of uninterrupted introspection, I finally made the long-awaited tear-jerker of a ride 12 years back to when I was made to take accountancy, commerce, and Mr. Bhati's economics as my electives instead of biology, chemistry, and physics because father thought I wasn't dedicated enough to pursue medicine. I had not worked hard enough since. I don't know what contributed more to that prophecy. His words. My rebellion. Both. Sitting on the floor leaning on the wall closest to the router, I type a cover letter to what could have been an application to a med school until my ass hurts and my eyes burn. Desperate to compensate for the last decade, I spent the first few weeks of the lockdown learning to speak in French, cook, garden, write and invest. Days passed, became weeks. The initial enthusiasm started to wane because there was a lot of learning but as many results. I realized I was getting better at things I learned by doing like cooking, unlike those I learned passively about. I had to converse in French. I had to type, scribble, jot. Not just read books on it. Anything is easier read than done. Attempting to do everything, I wasn't doing anything well. I had to streamline my subjects. Call it greed, I chose to start with investing and designing. Impatient to recover all the past losses, I started out to make a few mistakes, costly ones but slowly I am learning to pick better quality companies. We are creating better designs for our art brand too, some that inspire for a happier present, others in the hope of a better future. Now, when someone asks me what I do for a living, I won't mumble that I am a Chartered Accountant and a CFA, distracting them with my academic qualification. As I think back to the still very empty bank account and the room I continue to inhabit in my parent's house, I now have hope. With every unrealized gain I make on the investments and with every positive feedback we get on our designs, I stand a little bit taller, my eyes smile a little bit wider. If tomorrow, I wake up to hear that quarantine has ended, I might not jump out of bed with excitement. After a long shower and a slow breakfast, when I step outside, it will be with equal amounts of hope and dread that the unknown brings. The world would have changed. I would have changed too. For the better.

I went to play golf with my husband today and he said something to me so profound that I woke from my sleep this evening to take note. My husband has been teaching me to play golf. I have been around the game for a while, however, I just gained the courage to take on this enlightening game for myself. Today when we went to play I did awesome on the first hole. I was amazed. I hit the driver and the ball went far and straight. I was so proud of myself I said “wow” and put both arms high in the air to celebrate. My husband looked at me and said good job. I said Thank you. My shoulders and confidence was high. I placed the driver back in my bag and then walked toward my ball with a smile. I picked the 5 from my bag. Proud that I knew what club to use and how to use it. I hit my ball and another great shot. The ball went straight and landed on the green and now it was time for me to putt. I stood behind the ball like he had taught me and then went for the shot. It was a little short but it was a good miss. I understood what I needed to change and was confident I could make the change. The next putt went in. I smiled all the way to the next hole. As I approached the next hole, I felt prepared but lacked some confidence with this hole. So instead of going with what I thought to do I asked my husband, my coach what club to use. He recommended the 5. It was the right club to use but deep down I wanted to use the driver. I was not yet hitting the ball the distance the club was capable of so I wanted to use a club that will hit longer. Even so, I followed his instructions and the ball didn't do what I wanted it to do. I turned to my husband and said, that is not the right club for this for me. We had some space and time before the next golfer was coming so I walked quickly to my bag and tried a different club. The ball still didn't do what I wanted it to do. So, I went back one more time and picked up the club I wanted to use originally. I hit another ball, this was my 3rd try. The ball still didn't do what I wanted it to do. I was frustrated, I blamed the club, I blame my husband. I had just come off of playing a great game the first hole and then this. I was upset at myself for not trusting my first pick. I walked back to my bag, put the club back and walked with my husband toward the green. He spoke words of truth to me in a kind and profound way. He said, clubs are like jobs. They are each designed to do a certain job. He told me I needed to learn how to get the club to its job based on the distance I needed to hit the ball. He said I could have used a different club but I would not be learning the full use of the right club. He said I quit the club without learning how to allow it to do its job. He said golf is a hard game, and I needed to be kind and patient with myself and with practice I would learn how to use each club. I listened and I clearly understood what he was saying. His statement made me think about how we are all designed to do a certain job or purpose. Yet oftentimes others don't recognize the gift or abilities in us because we don't yet understand it's full capability. It was me that missed the mark. I wanted to place blame instead of taking responsibility. I needed to get to know my club more in order for us to work in harmony and get the ball to do what it was designed to do. Yet, I choose to quit the club and say it wasn't the right one when it really was. Two of the clubs I used on the second hole had just performed for me perfectly on the previous hole when I operated it correctly. Yet, how soon, I forgot all it had done for me when the ball didn't do what I thought it should do on the next hole. When I placed blame on my husband and my club not only was I discounting my ability to improve with practice, I also discounted his wisdom because I had closed myself off from being teachable at that moment. This experience brought to mind a quote by Abraham Lincoln that says “I don't like that man, I must get to know him better”. For that moment I didn't like that club but in reality as I take time to know it better we will work in harmony to accomplish great things. How many times have we not liked someone and made a judgement call about their ability before getting to know them. We are all designed for a purpose and our purposes are connected. Therefore, we need to learn to get to know one another rather than deciding that we don't like one another. When we begin taking the time to get to know the one we once decided we don't like we may discover that they are wonderfully made. So don't conclude too quickly about what a thing or person is capable of. Instead, get to know them better. As we do, we will begin to recognize the greatest inside of them and inside of us.

Heartbreaks are just awful in general but my first heartbreak was where I lost everyone I loved. This heartbreak would teach me that even my own family will be the cause of my first and worst heartbreak. They would be the ones that I needed to be protected from. I was a bit naive and never dealt with anyone lying to me. At 16 years old, I lost my family which consists of my 4 girl cousins , my best friend Jenna , and my boyfriend Jose. My cousin Denise, who started doing drugs at the time, thought that she could blame it all on me. I heard she said things like I bossed her around and made her do all these horrible things like stealing cars, stealing money and I made her sneak out of the house all the time. I couldn't believe what was going on because first off I had no idea what the drug was at that point and I didn't even know she was doing drugs. But it would explain the pure evil I saw in her eyes. She couldn't stop lying and honestly I think after a while she believed her own lies.She kept the lies going with not even caring what this was doing to our family and most of all to me. My other 3 cousins never came and questioned me about it and just chose to forget me. With so many lies and gossip pointing the blame in my direction, they just assumed and believed her. They altogether stopped any contact with me for years. I'm talking about my group of girl cousins who I grew up with. They were there for every birthday, every holiday, every summer, and every weekend to hang out and have sleepovers. SInce we were babies, we have always been inseparable. Their parents stopped any contact with my parents. I was not expecting my cousin to ever do this to me. Next in line, I lost my best friend Jenna who went to school with me. My cousin met her through me and got her doing drugs as well. Once again my cousin and Jenna blamed everything on me so they could still hang out and get high together. In front of our parents, they told everyone that it was me with the drug problem. I broke down begging Jenna to come out with the truth. I was crying so hard that I couldn't even talk. I just remember looking at both these girls who I loved more than anything and saw they didn't even care. They showed no emotion whatsoever as I poured my heart out to them. I was even apologizing for their own mistakes. I was trying to crack one of them but they let me leave Jenna's house that night so heartbroken. I was just devastated. Luckily my parents at least believed me, but I still felt so defeated. Last person I lost was my boyfriend which was my first boyfriend that I ever loved and lost my virginity to. We had been going out for about 8 or 9 months and he broke up with me at the same time this whole drama thing is going on with my cousin and Jenna. I find out months later that he was sleeping with my cousin and doing drugs with her while we were still together. My cousin destroyed my life overnight and I knew I was never gonna be the same. After that, I didn't leave my bedroom and I stayed in bed. I felt pathetic and just worthless. It changed my whole personality and changed my whole life. I turned to drugs months later and I really didn't care what was being said after that. I was already known for being a drug addict. I was not responsible enough to make a good decision on how to deal with the pain. I only blame myself for that though. The pain wasn't my fault. That was out of my control. But the struggle was what I am to blame for. I let so many people affect me. I let them all hold the power to my happiness which wasn't healthy. I think it's safe to say I loved them too much. I learned that forgiving those who never apologized or even acknowledged what they did to me is one of the hardest things I ever had to do. It's been 17 years since this happened and I should be over it right? With this being my family that did this to me , I still see them on holidays and sometimes for birthdays. We act as if nothing had ever happened. I just know if we were to talk about it, the conversation will never gonna go the way I want it to go. I have to keep it bottled in and act like I don't think about it everyday. My cousin is sober now and actually did 5 or 6 years in prison. She has still, to this day, never admitted anything to me about anything. I feel like she totally took advantage of who I was. She knew I wasn't gonna snitch on her and she knew I wouldn't bring anything up and confront her about it. She played her game with all her lies and she knew I loved her so much that I wouldn't blow her cover. Maybe it's my fault I didn't object but my words meant nothing to anyone. You want to know the worst thing about pain? It's only yours. People won't understand your pain. Even the ones that have caused it may not even realize it. Other people will tell you to get over it and tell you to just move on. My cousin may be able to forget what she did to me but I will never be able to forget. More than anything, I wish I could.

"When you truly reflect on life, you come up with such creations. I like the way Adiela has weaved simple poetic stories out of the complex strings of life in which humans remain entangled. From social to soul exploration, all has been done and depicted neatly in this poetic beauty. As a poet, I especially relate to the poetry style that is made very understandable, yet churned out of an ocean's depth." - Ruchika Pahwa Available here: https://adielaakoo.wixsite.com/writer/shop

Aloof? Aloof you say? I'm so sorry if I made you feel that way. It's really not my intention, Though the reaction is of my own invention. You see, long ago I built a wall, A defence mechanism as I recall. So for me to draw close, is still very hard, After misplacing that important trust card. #AdielaAkoo Get Lost in a Quatrain here: https://adielaakoo.wixsite.com/writer/shop

Excited to announce that I have been invited to do a poetry reading at The Alan Paton Literary Festival, being hosted at Eden Lassie, in the beautiful Tala Valley 🙏🌹 Come and get Lost in a Quatrain with me on Saturday the 7th March 2020 from 15h00-15h30 I will be reading poetry from my book as well as some new, unpublished poems Love to see you there 💖 💖#AdielaAkoo

Today at work I overheard someone bad-mouthing me. Not just anyone, though. My manager. The person who had been mentoring and teaching me since I started working at that company only six months back. The person with whom I shared an office with every day. Moments before, I had made a minuscule mistake while talking to a customer on the phone. She was quickly able to correct me before the phone conversation ended, so in the end, everything was fine. Apparently, I was wrong though, and that mistake made it necessary to vent to a co-worker about. This particular woman didn't have a quiet voice to begin with, so it wasn't hard to pique my attention. When I heard the harsh whispers I immediately froze. My ears went into an ultra-satellite mode. I could feel all the blood rush from my head. My hands got icy cold. The thuds from my heart were rattling my chest. My emotions shifted rapidly between anger, sadness, confusion, embarrassment, and betrayal. The next thoughts that flashed through my head were that I needed to put my two-week notice in. There was no way I could show my face around here again. Why do people do that? Why do people have to talk negatively and gossip about others? Unpleasant flashbacks to high school were triggered. It was all childish and stupid, coming from someone who knew better. Even though I tried so hard to barricade them, the tears started to spill out, along with a few stifled sobs. I was truly hurt. I already didn't enjoy being there as it was, and hearing those hurtful remarks didn't make it any easier. Since I was still relatively new, I realized it was inevitable that I would make mistakes. But of course, nobody wants to make them. We want to achieve perfection and excel at our jobs. Nobody wants to be the straggler who doesn't know what they're doing. The person who gets dirty looks or eye rolls when they're struggling to complete a task. This was one of my worst fears coming true. When she casually returned to the office, all my bottled up emotions exploded and I confronted her about it. It all kind of gushed out without me being able to control it. Normally that is something I wouldn't have the guts to do because I hate confrontation. But for some reason this time I shakily stood up for myself, like facing a lion in a den. She seemed shocked that I had been able to hear the private conversation and admitted what she had done was wrong and not appropriate. She repeatedly apologized while I tried to get my crying convulsions under control. I could tell she felt bad, and I'm glad she did. I replay that moment back in my head and am so proud of myself for saying something. If I hadn't, she probably would have kept at it. Even when you don't think you have the courage inside yourself, it'll emerge when you truly need it. This was a brutal reminder to always be kind to others. Even though it's tempting, it's important to avoid the addictive habit of gossiping. You never know who may be listening.

It was the Monday after Thanksgiving 2018, and I took my 7-year-old daughter to a showing of "Ralph Breaks the Internet" right after school. I already knew that the movie theater was this kid's happy place, but this trip ended up being extra special. We were the only two in the theater. Not only did we loudly talk and make jokes throughout the showing, she got up and danced around the empty theater during the credits. I mean, ran up and down the aisles shaking her "groove thing" to "Zero" by Imagine Dragons. And then as we were walking out, she said, "I'm gonna tell them this is the best time I've ever had in this theater." And she did. Bless that teenage concession stand employee that listened to her speech and smiled at me over the top of her head. I think this is the first time I've fiercely hoped my daughter would remember a moment for the rest of her life. But the more I thought about it, I realized that it wasn't my first "memorable moment" at the movies. It's the summer of 1999, and I'm with a large group of friends heading to the movies. We've driven 20 miles to see the new releases playing at the Capri V Theatre in downtown Ottumwa, Iowa. More specifically, we're here to see "The Blair Witch Project." Now I can't remember all of the people in our group, but I do remember that I was the last person in line to buy a ticket and Jessica was right in front of me. Jess and I were both 16 at the time. There were two people selling tickets, and when Jess got up to the counter, one of the employees asked her how old she was. Let me reiterate that. They didn't ask to see her ID, they just asked her how old she was. And as I heard her say 16, my heart sank. "Blair Witch" was rated R, and now they weren't going to sell her a ticket. All of our friends ahead of us in line (some only 16, some older) already had their tickets, and to be perfectly honest, I was pissed off. She told the cashier that she'd like a ticket to see "Bowfinger" instead. I gritted my teeth and bought my own ticket to "Bowfinger" so Jess wouldn't have to go to the movies alone. In case you don't remember that film, it's a PG-13 comedy starring Steve Martin and Eddie Murphy. I'd like to tell you more of the plot, but I honestly don't remember. I was way too angry to actually pay attention. I do remember how Jess kept forcing herself to laugh too hard at the jokes and looking over at me in the dark as if she was trying to "will" me to enjoy myself. It wasn't going to happen. I was way too angry at her for "ruining" my evening. I was angry for her automatic honesty. Which, nearly 20 years later, seems crazy. I was mad at my best friend for telling the truth. I recently read a book by Gretchen Rubin were she writes that "what you do every day matters more than what you do once in a while." And while it's hard to believe that Jessica Eakins was completely truthful every single day, I do know that she was truthful MORE than once in a while. If there is an underlying theme in all my memories of Jess, it's that she was an honest friend that never set out to hurt anyone's feelings... but often told people what they needed to hear. The Capri V Theatre closed a year after Jess died. And I can't remember the last movie I saw at that location, and I honestly can't remember the last movie I saw with Jess. I often wonder if this moment - this "life lesson" at the movies - would even be burned in my memory at all if Jess hadn't died less than five years later. But it is. So strive to be honest... more than once in a while. Even if you end up forcing someone else to watch "Bowfinger."

Look, you've come so far! Life moves on, and you are going to go even further! Maybe you didn't even believe that you would make it this far since the beginning, but now look! You did a great job. You are probably so tired, yet you are too young and it is too early to give up on life, and I know you would not do that either. So many things happen in life, and I have come to know many people who want to escape their realities because they are just so tired of facing them. I used to be in the same circumstance. I could tell you how my life sucked when I was taking two majors at university, and how hard I had to devote myself for the sake of education. I understand that so many people at my ages are working or studying even harder, and many of them are probably wishing if they could leave their realities for a while and go somewhere, take a deep breath, and relax. Back to when I was taking two majors, I was thinking the same. Life was a bit terrible for me. People who know me know that I was trying to apply for some exchange programs and scholarships in hope that I could just leave my repeating annoying daily life behind and go somewhere away without it, or start a nice and better study life. Needless to say, getting a scholarship was also my only goal and dream since I was in secondary school. As growing older, I want to see how it is like to go abroad, how it is like to be surrounded by different cultures, how I am going to survive somewhere else which is not home, and how big the world is. After 3 years, I did make it! I can say I am totally in the new world right now. I am opening a wide and important page of my life stories book. My dreams come true. I finally escape what I had wished for. It is good, isn't it? You must have thought that everything is great for me right now, and I am living a wonderful life. You must have made many assumptions although you don't really know me well or you don't know what I am going through. But believe me I am still wishing to escape this reality again. Back then it was hard, but still, after avoiding the hard one, comes a harder one. The thing is there are always two different sides in life: Good and bad, and the truth is you can never escape from reality because reality never leaves you. Appreciate it when good things happen and deal with it when problems happen. No matter how hard you want to avoid a life that you are having right now, you are still going to go through other hardships in life because this is life. Life is always about going up and down. Somedays good things happen; somedays bad things happen, and somedays nothing happens. Problem is not life; it is just a part of life. It is time to stop avoiding and blaming yourself for a life that you have already chosen. You make your own choice, and that is why you have to take responsibility and learn to accept the truth. Although now I am proud that I am finally here, entering into this new world, at first, was such a challenge thing to me. Living life is not easy, but it is not that hard that you cannot even do it. There are solutions in each side of problems. At first, I was so scared to overcome all these miserable things: culture shocks, homesick, language barriers, school,... So many times I feel lost, and so many times I feel like I am flying like nothing. So many times I wish I could go back to realities I hated, and so many times I wished I could turn back time. However, there are also many times that I am proud of myself for coming so far, accomplishing many great things, experiencing many new things, and leaving many good memories along the journey. The longer I move on, the more I have discovered that life is meaningful when there are hardships. “If you know how to comfort yourself along the way, you will be less hurt and happier.” Although it is for now or my past realities, I am so thankful. Each stage of life that I have come through, I learn different things. I find out that I am now a better me compare to 1 year ago, yes only 1 year you can see lots of changes in me. I can see how old, better and independent my thoughts are right now and I believe that this moment in life is given to me to discover and find out more about myself. No matter which stage of life you are in right now, live it at your best! Don't try to avoid it; try to accept it. You are given choices, so make your own choice and responsible for it. No matter how tired you feel of your realities, you will be so thankful for it in the future after realizing how much you have grown up because of it. Believe that problems come with many solutions. This moment of hard ship is given to you to find out and understand yourself better. Be thankful for it

I recently had an interesting discussion with a friend of a friend on the subject of abstract art and the interpretations and meanings that the audience of such art might bring into it, versus the original intention that the artist brought into the piece at its creation. Having been raised in an analytical setting, I have always been keenly aware of that anecdote, where a university professor is analyzing a novel and the author comes up to the front to correct him. The professor then turns to him and says, "With all due respect sir, what do you know? You're just the author." I've always been of the opinion that once art is released, it ceases to be the auteur's. The creator no longer has any power over it, or over how it is received. Every person that looks upon it will see something different, for both biological and psychological reasons. This applies to every kind of art; paintings, photographs, poems, stories. while they are being created, the artist retains some control, choosing specific colors, using subtle allusions and allegories to at least try to direct the inevitable interpretations in a direction. But once the piece is shared, even if only with one person, the artist must surrender control over it or go mad, because one simply cannot control the meaning that different people, with different backgrounds, having had a different combination of influences upon them, will draw from the piece. For example, take Malevich's black square. When I first saw it, my attention was drawn to how the paint is cracked in the center, but not evenly. If you look closely at the paint that isn't cracked, you start to see shapes, as if Malevich put on a second coat of the paint in those specific places. I see a house in those shapes, an old, wood cabin in the middle of a forest in the dead of night. The reason I see that is because of who I am as a person, because of the influences that were had on me in my childhood, because of secret, subconscious fears and dreams and wishes. Someone else might look upon the black square and see the withered remains of a flower lattice, gone black with age, or a shadow cast by a statue, or the darkness inside of humanity, or whatever else. There's seven and a half billion people on this planet, which means that there are, currently, seven and a half billion versions of the Black Square, originally by Kasimir Malevich. While many of those interpretations likely share quite a few of the traits that Malevich meant to project with the project, no black square will ever exist in anyone's mind exactly the same way as it did in Kasimir's mind as he sat down in front of a blank canvas with a paint roller and a bucket of Vantablack. I guess what I'm trying to say is that every human being is different, and this makes it so that there's no way to predict or manipulate how your audience will receive your piece, because once you've sent it out into the world, there will be no one single [name of piece], but rather a million million versions of it, each version existing safely and cozily in a different person's mind. To try and influence your audience, as an artist, and tell them the "correct" answer, is to, simply put, try to change all of these human beings into copies of you. Because, the fact is, there is no "correct" answer. It's not your piece anymore; you've given it to them, so whatever they define as the one true interpretation of it becomes absolutely true and "correct" - for them. As artists, we must learn to step aside and let our works grow and expand and make babies. We must stop trying to rearrange people's heads to make them like our own, and we must give people the space and freedom to add on to our creations. We must stop trying to plug meaning into them, but rather to let our audience draw out the meaning that was already there. Maybe that's the key to world peace.