I had a scare this morning about this blog. I couldn’t navigate to any other page but the home page, but not that is fixed, thankfully.

With it fixed, I’ve been going through some random blogs in the past years to just read and reminisce and pass time, I guess. As I’m reading them, I don’t remember the situations that I wrote about or what was going on in my life. Sure, there were some big things that I wrote about that I remember, but the details and the specifics, no.

Then, it came to little code names that I use in these blogs and I’m trying to figure out who the fuck I was talking about. Who the fuck is Partner Partner? No fucking idea.

I don’t want to put real names on here if I can, but man, these little nicknames don’t fucking help if I don’t remember them. Yes, there are a few that I remember, ’cause they were easy, but the little ones? No fucking clue and I guess I’ll just have to live with it.

* * *

Man, it is fucking cold in here today. I mean, like cold cold shiver me timbers cold. I can barely write because I’m too busy shivering.

But yes, I am here again, trying to do some writing, but the whole navigation thing this morning disrupted the whole thing. I’m pressed for time, so I’m just rambling.

I didn’t have anything specific to write about this morning unlike last week when I wrote about the essays that I wrote for work.

I’m interested to see how what they are going to do with it and if they do decide to publish it on the new website, what the reception would be. Who knows?

* * *

There’s a new girl working the opening shift on Saturday. She’s not new. I’ve seen her around for a while now, but it’s the first time that I’ve dealt with her in the mornings.

Before it was Ashley for a while, but now that she’s moved to Fullerton, I probably won’t see her anymore.

But for the past couple of weeks, she’s been opening and she’s been leaving the door open for me and she remembers my drinks. Besides the familiar pleasantries exchanged between us, we barely talk, until today.

I asked her name and I introduced myself and she asked where I’d come from. That’s usually how the conversation goes as I’m sure they try to figure out what am I.

I told her I’m Chinese but born in Vietnam. She’s very surprised since I am so American and I explained to her that I came over when I was a baby.

She’s from the mainland, going to SMC and studying Economy. She’s hoping to transfer to UCLA next year and that was the extent of our conversation. It’s a start.

I’m not trying or doing anything but just being friendly as she is friendly with me, as I should be since I’m such a regular and they all give me my tea and let me sit in before it opens to get extra writing time. They didn’t have to do that, so why shouldn’t I be nice.

* * *

I don’t have much planned for today.

I just have a lot of cooking and baking to do. I have dough just sitting and fermenting and proofing. I know I already fucked up on the baguettes but I do have some reserved confidence on the country loaf I got going.

I think my problem with the bread that I’ve been making is that it was just too hydrated for my level. I’m not expert and working with high hydration dough is just tough.

Start small, lower hydration, get a better feel for it and that’s what I’m doing today. 65%.

It’s going to be another cycle of learning and new techniques and starting over again. That’s the best way to learn and I plan on learning and baking for a long time. It’s going to be another skill and another way for me to relax.

It’s important.

Very important.

I just posted two essays that I wrote for work.

I’m not a writer at work. The only writing that I must do for my job is writing emails, that’s it. I never wrote anything for work nor shared any of my personal writing to anyone before, besides this little blog of mine.

So, this is a first for me.

How this came about was a few weeks ago, while helping the assistant in the HR department, our HR VP stopped me and told me that she heard that I bake and was wondering if I would mind writing an essay on baking or an essay about why I bake. It doesn’t have to be complicated or simple and I thought, okay, I’ll think about it.

The more I thought about it, I realize that I couldn’t write the baking essay without having to write one about cooking first. I ran into her a few days later and told her my plan to write two essays for her and then I went on thinking and then writing the weekend after.

The cooking essay was easy. It’s been inside me for so long that I was genuinely surprised that I hadn’t written or blogged about it before. I love to cook and it’s such a part of me and my identity and that’s what I wrote about. I wrote a little about my family history, my father being a cook, and how food and cooking is a part of my culture. I wrote about how now cooking helps me relax and Zen out.

Again, it was an easy essay. Took me roughly three to four days to write it and then I shared it with some of my friends at work and they all loved it. One even thought that it would be a great introduction to my future cookbook. She also said that I wrote like how I speak, from my heart and that it was me. They are too kind.

I turned it in and the HR VP praised it also.

These essays will be on my company’s newly revamped website. People First. I still don’t know when it’ll launch.

With this essay done, it was now time to write about baking.

I had the most trouble with this one. Maybe it was my hubris again and the expectations of my audience and their love for the first essay. I also wanted to make it personal like my first one and a little more fun.

I would start and scrap it over and over again. I think I had about four or five different starts on it before settling for what it is now, a treatise on baking and learning patience.

Originally I wanted to tie in patience in a different way, about how I know that it is my fatal flaw and that I have a scroll hanging up in my apartment to remind me that I need to be patience in all things in my life and how that ties into baking and where I am now in my life.

It would have been great, but as I wrote it, it didn’t feel right. It felt very self-indulgent and I was smashing together the two thoughts when they didn’t want to fit in.

So, I scraped that idea and started again. Scraped that other idea and just made it simpler, made it about the process of learning and failing and learning and failing and learning and failing and the patience that I had to have for learning something new and different.

It worked, but not the way that I wanted it to work. I was happy enough and just so done with the essay that I gave it to the same friends to read and they thought it was good and different from my other one.

So, I turned it in and the HR VP enjoyed that one also.

Now, I am finished and these essays are just an afterthought and it is now back to my normal routine.

The HR VP thinks I should write more.

Maybe I should. I think I write enough, which I told her, but I never formally wrote essays before like these. Maybe it’ll be something I’ll do, or starting a cooking blog. Who knows.

We shall see.

I’m not a patient person. A lot of frustration comes from my impatience. To many, that may be a bad thing, but for me, the best primer for learning is frustration. There’s nothing that gets my brain going than being frustrated because I don’t understand something. I love figuring out why something is the way it is, learning about it. This applies to all aspects of my life, from my dog and cat, Pickles and Relish, to my interactions with people, my day to day in the office, and to new experiences and things that I come across. What makes it tick? Why does it behave like that? Why must Relish attack my hand when I’m pointing at her? Why does Pickles insist on sniffing everything on our walks when he knows I’m late? That frustration doesn’t go away until I get answers to the problem. Then I’d get a sense of peace. My recent obsession of baking sourdough bread stems from frustration.

Throughout my years of cooking, I’ve only baked a few number of times and they were mostly cakes. It wasn’t until earlier this year that I made my first attempt at baking bread, French baguettes. I was craving bánh mì, the humble Vietnamese sandwich, and decided to make my own from scratch. To say my baguettes turned out to be less than stellar was an understatement. The crust wasn’t crispy and thin, but hard and thick. The crumb was dense and dry. It was a failure.

I made it again and again. I failed again and again. My ego was deflated like the damn loaves that kept coming out of the oven. My hubris as a cook made me frustrated with the results. I went on a learning binge, devouring everything I could about bread making. I read blogs and articles, books, and searched YouTube for videos. I’d watch videos on how to knead the dough, on the stretch and fold method, and then I’d watch videos on how to shape the dough into a loaf, and finally on how to bake it. I watched these little tutorials until I had a better grasp of the whole process and feeling a little more confident I thought to myself, this looks easy enough. I tried again. Failed again. I couldn’t understand what I was doing wrong. I screamed a long and exasperated “Why?” to the kitchen gods as I dropped to my knees in frustration. Not really. I am being overly dramatic, but there was a lot cursing.

I’m a good cook, but why can’t I bake a good loaf of bread? One of the first lessons on this little sourdough bread baking adventure was to stop thinking like a cook and start thinking like a baker. One may think that they go hand in hand and are the same thing. No. Cooking is like art. It’s jazz with variations and flourishes of improvisation. You can follow a recipe or you can play it loose, adding different spices and ingredients and flavors to suit your personal style and taste. You have total control. All you need is to understand the foundation of a recipe and then you can improvise your way to the end. You can’t mess it up too much.

Baking on the other hand is an alchemy of science-y voodoo magic. Mix together flour, salt, yeast, and water in a bowl and a chemical reaction happens. With time, manipulation, heat, more chemical reactions, an unbelievable amount of more time, and a lot of “Abracadabra!” while you wave a chicken foot around like a wand, you have a loaf of bread. You have no control in baking. The heat, yeast, and time have all the control. There is no improvisation. Baking is about precision. It’s a hard science. If any of the measurements are off, your bread is off and you’ll be cursing the bread gods again. Plus, it requires a large amount of patience, which I don’t have.

As a new student, I had to learn from doing. I set off practicing everything I learned from the videos and articles that I read. They can show and tell you everything there is to know about baking bread, but it can’t show you how the dough should feel after kneading or getting your dough shaped properly. That’s something you need to learn through practice and patience and more practice. It’s a tactile learning experience.

I’d start on a Friday night, filling five mixing bowls with some measured flour, water, and my sourdough starter, and then I let it sit overnight. In the morning, the mixture would turn into a bubbly and foamy goop. I’d then add more flour, water, and salt and I’d had to wait more. After an hour, it’d be time for the first series of stretch and folds. Then wait. More stretching and folding. Wait. Stretch. Fold. Wait. Repeat. Then after the fourth or fifth series of stretching and folding, the dough is ready for the bulk proofing – more waiting.

For a person who doesn’t have much patience, baking bread beats that into you. The waiting and letting the dough sit is as important as the ingredients that you are using. It’s an important part of the process. I’d learned to be very patient. I had to just let the dough sit and trust that the chemical reactions and the yeast are doing its necessary job in fermenting the dough and getting it ready for baking. If I’d rush it, then I’d get another bad loaf and more frustration. I learned to be patient real fast.

After forgetting about the dough for a few hours, it would be time to start shaping. I would do loaf after loaf, getting a feel of the dough in my hands as I wrestled it into a boule. When I’d get it into shape, I’d then doubt myself, and I’d start again. I’d flatten out the dough and then wrestle it into a round ball again. Over and over, with each loaf, I’d do the same thing. Once shaped, I’d placed them in a proofing basket where it’d sit for a few more hours until they were ready to bake. Then I’d clean out the mixing bowls and start a new batch of dough and start the whole process over again.

I’d bake loaf after loaf after loaf. As one would come out of the oven, I’d put another loaf into the Dutch oven and back into the oven that would go. They’d come out with varying degrees of success. Some would be flat; others would be burnt. Then the later loaves would come out more successful until the last few loaves looked all the same. Consistency is a good sign of getting something right. Even after they come out of the oven, the loaves are still not ready. You wait, let it cool down for at least an hour or two before you can finally slice into it to see how’d it turned out.

At the peak of my baking obsession, I made 15 loaves over a weekend. There were many failures, but there were also many successes. Many of the loaves were given away to my neighbors, some to the man living under The 10 underpass on my walk to the Expo Line, and many showed up in the kitchens at RPA.

I don’t bake as much anymore. I bake a loaf or two a month. Baking doesn’t give me as much frustration as it did before. I understand it a little bit better now. I know how the dough should feel. I know that if it is particularly humid, I’ll have to add a little more flour to the dough. I have a better idea of how long to let the dough rise based on the temperature of the room. I’ve learned all of it through a lot of practice, patience, and failing. My loaves don’t all come out good or great every time. There are still a few flat loaves, but at least now I understand why. Besides, I’ve been cooking for almost 20 years and I’ve only been baking bread for the past few months. I’ve learned to be patient and give myself a break and not expect greatness every time. With more practice and more time, maybe I’ll get there.

Many people go to a yoga studio when they want to relax. Some lounge out by the pool, while others just find a quiet room. I go to my kitchen. The sound of click-click-click-whoosh puts my mind at ease. The burst of warmth from the dancing blue crown burns away my stress. The up-and-down rocking of a sharp knife slicing through vegetables is my warrior pose. The sweet fragrant smell of cooking garlic and ginger is my aromatherapy. Cooking. It’s my therapy and my meditation. Cooking is Zen.

Food and cooking have been ingrained in me since I was born. It’s a part of my cultural identity. The Chinese have an informal way of greeting family and friends. It isn’t “How are you?” but “Have you eaten yet?”. It’s our way of showing love. My father was a cook and so were many of my uncles. Having given up everything in Vietnam, we made it to the States as refugees a few years after the fall of Saigon. Poor with limited skills and almost no understanding of English, being a cook at a Chinese restaurant was the only job available to my father and uncles. Day in and day out for what seemed like 12 plus hours, my father went to work and I hardly saw him except for a couple of hours a week. That was life for most of my childhood.

So as a young impressionable child who idolized a father who was always at work, I found a way to get a better understanding of him. I hovered around my mother or grandmother in the kitchen while they cooked dinner. When we would host large family get-togethers, my father cooked for them. I stood by his side, watched everything that he did, studied him. It was like ballet. He flowed with such confidence and grace. I spent weekend afternoons in front of the television watching cooking shows on PBS. Along with my father, mother, and grandmother, my cooking teachers were Julia Child, The Frugal Gourmet, Jacques Pepin, and Martin Yan.

My relationship with cooking changed from being a passive observer to being an active participant when I was in college and more so when I moved to Los Angeles. It was no surprise that cooking came naturally to me. It was easy but that didn’t mean that everything I made was great and delicious. I liken my first couple of years on my own to a cooking boot camp. I put what I learned to practice and made many mistakes and failed along the way but I always learned from them. These real life cooking lessons literally kept me alive because eating out every night wasn’t cheap nor healthy.

Then cooking wasn’t about surviving anymore. It was personal. It was about reconnecting with my father. I was an independent adult, truly on my own. The biggest life lesson that my father, my parents, instilled in my brother and me while growing up was to be independent and to never rely on anyone. I never got to thank him for all that he did. He passed away a few years after I moved away from home. I never got the chance to show him how much I loved him. I never got the chance to cook for him. So I cooked to be closer to my father because I wanted to be like him, a cook. Each dish I cooked was a dish for him and I hoped that it made him proud.

Cooking brought me back to my roots. I thought about the days of my youth and the many dishes that my mother and grandmother cooked for dinner and these conflicting warm feelings of joy and longing for simpler times came rushing through me. Nostalgia was a bitch like that. I cooked these humble Chinese and Vietnamese dishes from my childhood. I struggled to get the perfect crispness on my bánh xèo or the right curry flavor in cà ri gà. Every dish, from simple Chinese peasant food like stir-fried cabbage with eggs and pork belly, congee, eggs with tofu, or a whole steamed braised stuffed duck, to phó, bò kho, and bún riêu, were all done over and over again until I could no longer perfect it. But no matter how much I perfected each dish, it never tasted as good as my mom’s.

After many years of cooking and perfecting my craft, I came full circle with my cooking. It was now my turn to show my love to my family. I was the one that cooked for them when I went home for the holidays. Whether it was Thanksgiving or Christmas, I would wake up early and cook a smorgasbord of dishes for our early afternoon dinner. I’d never been a stickler for tradition and so many of my dishes weren’t either. I cooked dishes that my mom, aunts, and uncles don’t know how to cook or never had. Dishes like Shrimp Monica, lasagna, braised short ribs or lamb shanks, spaghetti aglio e olio, Korean fried chicken wings, creamy jalapeno polenta, creamed spinach, standing rib roasts, or racks of lamb. It was a lot of work each time, but I enjoyed every single minute of it. It was worth it. I was showing my love.

Now, cooking is about control, being healthy, relaxing, and just trying to be a better person by learning and growing. On average, I cook five or six nights out of the week. With each meal, everything would be cooked from scratch using whole ingredients if possible. I’m not a health nut, but I do like to know what goes into my body. Cooking from scratch allows me to do that. It gives me a peace-of-mind to know that the egg noodles that I used in my dan dan noodles were made 30 minutes ago using just flour and eggs.

Cooking from scratch is a lot of work, but I don’t mind. It’s how I relax. There were weekends where I would do nothing but cook, especially after a long and trying week. Depending on what I planned on making I would start bright and early Saturday or early afternoon. I’d pour myself a glass or two or have a bottle of wine and start my cooking adventure. My focus would be on nothing but the task before me. I’d chop vegetables, sear meat, gather spices and other ingredients, prepping the mise en place. Nothing else would be in my mind but this meal; not what happened at work that past week or what I have to do next week. It would just be mincing garlic, dicing the onions, understanding the recipes so I know when and how I can change it to match my tastes and creativity, and figuring out the timing so all of the dishes would be ready around the same time. This is how I practice mindfulness. I meditate through cooking.

Even though I’d been cooking for so long, there’s still so much to learn. Like with most things, the more I do and practice, the better I get and the more I learn. Doing things that are outside of my comfort zone or new are great ways to really learn about myself. The past two years I started a cooking project where I had to cook at least 30 dishes that I never cooked before. They can’t be some variation of something I had already done. It had to be completely new. The project challenges me to cook different cuisines, use unfamiliar ingredients, learn new cooking techniques, and most important, it forces me to fail so I could learn from it. If you’re not learning, you’re not growing.

I love cooking. It is such a personal thing to me. Cooking is such a large part of my identity and shaped me into who I am that I can’t imagine never cooking again. It keeps me centered and helps me relax, along with connecting me to family and where I came from. I’m never more Zen then when I’m cooking, plus I get to enjoy a delicious meal afterwards. Even before I get to work, I will be thinking about dinner. If you see me roaming the halls of the office humming some unfamiliar melody with my perpetual RAF scowl, don’t worry about me or be intimidated. I’m not in a bad mood or mad at someone or stressed. It is just my “What am I having for dinner?” face.

I’m a lovefool.

Love me. Love me.

Chicago. My Beloved.

I did something that I never did before at work, which was to go to Chicago to do my day to day in the office because I wanted to visit Chicago.

That’s what I did. I wanted to go back so much, that I couldn’t wait for the next trip and decided to just go. Of course, I got my boss’s permission to work in the office and I did it.

One of the reasons was that I didn’t want to take any more vacation days. I have about 8 days remaining and I wanted to save them for the possible European vacation next year.

So, I took a personal day on Wednesday and flew out and worked in the office through Monday. It was spectacular.

I had a great time in Chicago like every other time that I had in Chicago. Surprisingly it was just my second “vacation” trip but probably my 7th or 8th trip there.

I love that city.

I didn’t do much, but just ate, explored, and worked. I walked around the city exploring parts that I had never been. I checked out the popular hipster Wicker Park and wasn’t too impressed with it.

Walking down their main street, Milwaukee, I was just taken back by the gaudiness of it. I think it was just trying too hard to be cool. Sure, there were many restaurants there that I wouldn’t mind trying, but I don’t know, wasn’t too impressed with it. Maybe if I spent more time there and maybe have something to eat, my opinion might change.

Then I checked out Logan Square, which was a few stops away. It was quieter and more run down with the hint of gentrification that was starting to happen. The hipsters are moving in. I liked Logan Square because it wasn’t trying to be anything but just what it is. No polish.

Maybe Selena was right and that I should have made my way to Ukrainian Village. I might like that better. I know that I was quite intrigued by that area during our Uber ride to Beoufhaus last year with my bro for dinner. I was a quaint unassuming area to me and I loved that.

Next time I know I’ll be exploring some more of the city, like Lincoln Square and others I’m sure.

* * *

Besides exploring parts of the city that I haven’t been, I also wander my old stomping grounds. I went to the Field Museum and explored their new exhibits. They had a Terra Cota Warriors of China and Ancient China exhibit about the first Emperor of China and a fascinating exhibit about Tattoos.

They were both great, but I found the Tattoo exhibit so fascinating.

I’m not a tattoo guy. I don’t like it on me, but I can appreciate it on art if I see a great one. To many today, tattoos are an expression of oneself, a way for them to be individual and to stand out. But it was fascinating to see how tattoos were used in the past, as a cultural and tribal identity, to brand criminals or prostitutes, gang affiliation, or even a sign of being a warrior.

I love the anthropological significance of tattoos. Very fascinating.

After the museum, I had to get my Chicago dog and I just relaxed and walked. I walked through Lakefront trail, through the parks, back to Cloudgate/the Bean and then made my way to the updated Navy Pier.

It’s a tourist trap, I know, but it’s a place for me to walk and get a great view of the city. It was then that I decided to do the Architecture Boat Tour again. It was my third time and it had been six years since I’ve done it. I did it the last time I was there on vacation, like the last time I went to the Field Museum back in 2010.

I was being a typical tourist, since I was there on vacation.

It was a great day. It was a beautiful day.

* * *

Food.

One of the many reasons I love Chicago is the food and one of the many reasons why I love traveling is food. This trip was no different. I made a conscious effort to not go to any restaurant that I had already been.

Every meal would be from a different restaurant.

Brindille was my first meal in Chicago, a little French small plates restaurant that is so popular with the hipster crowd. It was great. The other standout from the trip was GT Prime, a different type of steakhouse. I loved their Shishito Peppers and Corn in a Parmesan sauce so much that I’m attempting to make it tonight. It was also my first experience with venison and it was great. Unfortunately, Trina, who went the week before, wasn’t too impressed with it. Maybe if I tried other dishes, I might come to the same conclusion, but it was good.

I also got a gourmet risotto in porcini and truffles at Mama’s Boy. That was a chef special and thinking about my risotto, I can see where I go wrong at times. It’s not wet enough. I need to make it a little wetter and it’ll be there. Practice practice practice.

The most surprising place that I went to was a simple fried chicken sandwich joint, Leghorn Cafe. It is literally just outside of my hotel and boy did it fucking blew my mind. I went there twice, because it was that good. E told me about it, so I got it coming back from the office on Thursday night and was just wowed. I got it Sunday morning and now I want to make my own.

Come to think of it, this trip was a great inspiration for my cooking. So many dishes that I want to try and remake.

* * *

I stopped watching and following sports for years now, ever since I moved down from Washington.

Now, I’ll keep tabs on the Seahawks and see how they are doing, but I don’t follow religiously. I don’t even know if the Mariners are good or not. But growing up in the PNW, I’m a PNW sports fan. But, while I was in Chicago, I was so excited for the Cubs.

They were playing the Los Angeles Dodgers in the NLCS and I went out to watch all the games at the bar. The first night it was them tying the series 2-2 in Chicago, the second night I was out with Tia at Bar Louie in South Loop and watched them take the lead. Then on Game 6, I was at my favorite dive Snickers again to watch them make history and get back into the world series since ’40s.

It was magical and to be in the city while that happened was awesome.

* * *

A great great trip and I hope there would be more to come, assuming I don’t move there first.

Wow.

So tired.

This week.

This fucking week.

I don’t even remember what it was that made it so long, but it was just super busy and long.

The first thing that made it longer is that I’d gone into the office around 7:10-7:15ish. I’d caught the earlier train and it is all because of Relish.

Thankfully she’s doing fine after coming home from the emergency vet. But every morning I had to get up a little earlier to get Relish her medication. It wasn’t like it takes forever to do it or that it takes all the extra time that I woke up early for, but by 5:30 or so I am up and ready to start the day.

Monday was just a really off day. It was a hangover of sorts from the fucked up weekend with Relish and I was PMSing. Tuesday was a blue. The only thing that I remember doing is trying to figure out the whole MS Surface thing and trying to lock it down along with setting up multiple new users that were starting and other things.

These other things, no idea.

It was just a lot of MS Surface figuring out and I was almost constantly busy.

Ridiculous.

For the most part, Friday had been a much better day. Slower, less busy.

Oh, to the fucked up week.

To the fucked up week.

* * *

I had plan to do a whole weekend of cleaning, but now I’m not sure.

My body just needs rest. I can feel it, the heavy weighing of ickiness creeping up on my body. I just need to rest and eat and rest and eat and rest.

I think that might be the plan.

I’ll do some cooking, continuing my cooking project for the year with something new today.

Hopefully it’ll turn out well.

I think it will.

It should be interesting.

Taiwanese Scallion Pancake Beef Rolls.

Just relax.

I already did half of the cleaning that I was planning on doing.

The bathroom is done, or mostly done. I just need to mop, but that might just be tomorrow while I rest up today. Might take some Theraflu to help me relax.

No idea.

* * *

My brain is tired.

It doesn’t want to think as this post is just lacking.

I haven’t written anything creative in a while. The writing prompts haven’t been added to.

But I think for the time being, I have enough to work with, to get a decent story from, especially a selection of shorts, which is the idea of it.

But eh. Time to just research and call this little post over.

It’s been a long couple of days. I got sick.

Sick again.

It wasn’t as bad as it could have been but I got sick. It wasn’t the snot running coughing fever filled cold that one would be familiar with but the whole body shut down tired and fatigue one that I have been plagued with quite often.

I know that it isn’t that my body is giving up on me with all of the active non-active things that I do, but that it was just a genuine cold. Maybe it was from Dan or maybe it was from Enzo, I’m not sure, but it did come on Thursday and I took half a day.

I went home and slept. Friday, I took the day off still feeling a little tired.

But who would have that Relish would have more severe problems than I would.

I’ve had her for almost 2.75 years now and she never had any health issues. She was a model cat, bitchy and bossy and cuddly when she wants.

But on Tuesday night she had an episode. I’m calling it an episode because I really don’t know what it is.

She started to throw up out of nowhere. She threw up everything in her stomach and then onto the bile. By the time we gone to bed, she was better. No more vomit, but she seems to be coughing or trying to hack something up.

Relish was a little lethargic and I hoped that a little rest would help her out.

By Wednesday night, I noticed that she was breathing heavily or breathing in a way that I never say before. He whole body was contracting with each breathe. She’s breathing with her whole body, which I’d never seen before.

I thought it was the heat from the apartment. There’s been a heat wave and the humidity was ridiculous. Thursday rolled around and it was the same thing.

I decided to take her to the vet on Friday, which I took a sick day for my ickiness.

The vet was worried about her breathing. After tests and x-rays, it seems that she has acute asthma. It was just sudden.

I was worried that it might be her chewing on the screen, but nothing came up in the x-rays. I don’t know what it is.

After a few hours at the vet on oxygen, she was released to be picked up. I got there around 6 last night and she still seemed to be breathing heavily. By 10pm, I went to the bedroom to check on her and she looked horrible.

Her mouth open. Breathing hard. Stressed. Something definitely wasn’t right with her, so I took her to the emergency room.

I told the attending vet what happened with the vomiting and with what the primary vet told me.

Relish was kept overnight.

From an update this morning, she seems to be doing well on the oxygen and that her temperature went down, thankfully.

I did notice how hot she was.

Sitting in the emergency room last night, alone, waiting for the vet, I was worried. I was sad. I was scared that she might not make it. I thought that if I was so worked up over a cat, what would happen if it was one of my real children (if I’m ever fortunate to have one). Being a parent isn’t easy.

I sympathize with Dan and what he had to go through with Helina. It’s tough. Definitely a scary thing to see your kid go to the hospital.

The vet said that I should be able to pick Relish up later today, early afternoon. I hope that it is over and that the antibiotics help her with whatever is causing her pain. I hope.

* * *

Tahoe and more family.

This past weekend was Maggie’s wedding and I took a few days off before to Tahoe before the wedding festivities in Reno.

Tahoe.

What can I say about it?

It was all right. I took the long scenic route, the CA 14 & 395 to South Lake Tahoe and Heavenly Village. The drive was easy and beautiful, more beautiful and easy than what I remembered from when I went with mom and my bro a few years back.

When I got to Tahoe and checked in, what I didn’t expect was how cold it was in Tahoe, especially at night.

It was fucking cold and I only brought shorts and chinos on this trip. No jeans, which I could have used.

I got there around midafternoon and after I checked in I just wandered and roamed around the area. When I booked the hotel, I didn’t realize how close I was to Heavenly Village, which is like their ski resort town. There were a lot of food options and shops, like a gigantic strip-mall type thing. It wasn’t bad.

There were a few casinos down the way in the Nevada side of Tahoe. I scoped them out looking for good food options. Not much there.

So, I walked to the lake and just chilled there for a bit before I wandered some more and got a beer or two at a bar & grill. I kept the afternoon very very chill.

I had dinner and then later that night I went to a comedy show. I thought was surprised when the comedians that were there weren’t the comedians that were on the digital sign outside of the casino. That was for last week’s comedians.

It was a fun night regardless.

The next day was the day of the hike. I only did one hike in Tahoe and it was the Van Sickle Bi-State Park. It was a simple trail that lead up to a small waterfall and if you continue past the waterfall you’ll end up on the Rim Trail and if you go past that you can head up to the Ridge Lodge. That’s what I did. It was about a 5 mile hike one way.

Easy.

You do get good views of the lake from up on high, but I don’t know, I wasn’t too impressed. Maybe I’ve been on other hikes and the views were much more spectacular. Or maybe it was just an expectation. From my view, the lake was just a body of water off in the distance. Nothing stunning about it.

When I got up to the Ridge Lodge, I found a hotel cafe and got breakfast before I hiked back down. So, from about 7:50-1:30, that was my day of hiking.

I went back to the hotel and just took a nap and then chilled.

Around 3, I headed out and just walked around the town. I walked pretty much all over just trying to find what I should eat for dinner. I’ll Yelp something and go check the menu etc etc. All over the fucking town. What I ended up getting was pizza at a build your own pizza place, a la Blaze. It wasn’t bad I guess. At least it was cheap.

The rest of the night I just chilled in the hotel watching Beat Bobby Flay. I guess in a way I really was just relaxing and trying to prepare myself for the active and social weekend at Reno with family.

Friday.

I didn’t really have concrete plans that day. I didn’t really have any plans actually.

All I know is that I didn’t have to be at Reno until around 6pm, when dinner was going to be and when my bro and mom would show up. They were driving from Seattle.

So, bright and early I checked out because I generally can’t sleep in past a certain time. I got some coffee at Starbucks and decided that I should drive up to Emerald Bay to check it out, since it was a popular attraction at Tahoe.

But the universe thought it was a bad plan for me and many other visitors. The road up to the bay was closed. So, I said fuck it, let’s head toward Reno along the lake and just stop wherever I feel like it.

But to my surprise, there wasn’t anything interesting.

Then Suong messaged the family asking to do lunch if anyone was available. I decided to just go, so I got Dat’s address and headed toward his place. I got there just past 10 in the morning.

I chilled with Kent until Dat came back. We were just talking about the whole situation and then when it was time to go, we all went to get lunch with everyone else.

Let’s fast-forward a few hours to the beginning of the end, the time when the drinking all started.

We’re back at Dat’s place with the cousins and we were packing up his bar since he’s moving back to Fresno and we needed some liquor to pregame. So, there we started our tequila shots. 1800 agave.

That then continued back at hotel.

All this time, I was helping Ly cut down and edit down his officiant speech. It was good to begin with, but a little long and redundant. We pared it down, streamlined it and I thought it was a good one.

So, at the hotel it was shots upon shots upon shots. I only get that was when I just wanted to zone out and to relieve some anxiety. Again, I usually don’t do shots anymore. I’m too fucking old for that shit, but I don’t know, with the kids there, I just felt that it had to be shots.

I usually just sip now, easier, slower, better. But nope, shots.

I had a shit ton of tequila and then we went out to reload and Ly got some Kentucky Bourbon, which was pretty damn good.

I started to sip a lot of Bourbon and then everyone pretty much left to prepare for the dinner that night, getting food and what not. My family wasn’t there yet, so I’m left at the hotel with some strangers and I basically passed out.

It’s just black.

I don’t remember much of anything.

I remember the manicurist getting there and maybe the two girls, or something. Not sure.

But the next thing I know is that Ly put a bowl of rice and beef in my hands telling me to eat and Amy put a plastic bag next to me, afraid that I was going to throw up.

While I was blacked out drunk, my bro arrived and texted me that they had arrived. Yeah, I was shit-faced.

So, I stopped drinking and just went for water and tried to eat stuff.

Let’s just say that I don’t get drunk around family, or this much family. No one had seen me this drunk before. I haven’t been this drunk since a long ass time. But it was a sight to be seen.

I was cursing and I was loud. Yeah, fun times.

I’m sure family had an interesting time seeing me drunk. Not many have seen me that drunk before or know what kind of drunk I am. I don’t think I’m a fun drunk. I just get loud and curse a lot if not a little belligerent, but not that belligerent.

But eventually slowly I sobered up and just had a good talk with Ly, Mikey, and Kellye about Ly’s girl situation. It’s been a while since I had an honest discussion with him about anything. I still remember having these discussions over IM while he was in college.

I just honestly told him how I see the situation.

I’m good at reading people and the situation by piecing together information and I think I read the situation correct. I hope that he heard me. I’m sure he did.

Eventually I got back to their hotel, got some water, and then I just went to bed back at my room.

* * *

Bright and early the next day, like any other day, I got up at 6 or 7. This was three fold. I usually wake up at that time anyway. My bro left to play some golf. Lastly, I slept on the couch and didn’t pull out the bed. It was uncomfortable.

I went out to get some coffee and just to decompress and be alone from the night before ’cause I know that I won’t have much alone time much after that.

The day was simple. Went over to Dat’s place and had some congee with pickled mustard. So fucking good. I miss it. Also, I just chatted with my cousins and that was about it.

Later, we went back to the hotel room where I rested a little bit before we all got ready and left for the wedding.

The wedding was simple and small. It was a nice service outside. Ly did well on his little speech. Definitely not perfect. He didn’t remember most of it and had to read off of his phones plus he was fucking nervous. Words and lines were stumbled, but overall, it was good.

Then, pictures and the party began.

I didn’t drink that night. After the night before, it wasn’t in my cards.

We waited for our table number to be called and got food and when I was done, I was chilling outside for most of the festivities. It was just too crowded in there.

Surprisingly, I didn’t really socialize that much. Not at all. I kept to myself if I can or just people watched.

I chatted a bit with some family here and there, but that’s about it.

There was a time when Ly and I were chatting about how I kept it real and was honest about our discussion the night before. He said I should have been a therapist, but I told him how hard it was and how I went to therapy for a year about my dad and the guilt I felt.

His mind was blown and that it was ridiculous.

It’s good that some family knows.

But, after that, the night was over and we are left with Sunday.

We were scheduled to leave Monday morning, but since everyone was leaving on Sunday, we decided to just leave that day and go to Auntie’s instead.

So, we went to Auntie’s and spent the night.

There, I had the best gift ever in a long ass time. She still had a few unused Mulberry Silk Quilts that she bought in China from our trip back in ’07. She wasn’t using them, so she gave them to my bro and me.

Fucking SCORE!

Score indeed.

I’m just waiting for my cotton duvet cover and then I can decide on what to do with my old one. It still good. It’s a waste to throw it away, but it’s so fucked.

I have decisions to make.

* * *

So, all in all, that is the long weekend and the festivities.

It’s always great to see family and be around family again, but I’m not going to lie, it’s fucking great to back on my own and away from family.

Tired on this special day of Labor.

I’m at my usual getting in the mood to do some finger tapping. It’s been a long time since I’ve been doing my usual typing, ever since I started the Master Class. Since I know I wouldn’t able to focus on much of anything, I decided to go back to these ramblings for a bit.

It was a quick whirlwind weekend in Fresno. Well, it was actually more a day than anything else.

I drove up for Maggie’s wedding, well, the Chinese banquet side of it for Sister. Overall, it wasn’t too bad.

I got to know Tony and his friends a little bit better and for the most part, I just chilled.

Went straight to Gifu’s place bright and early in the morning and just chilled there until it was time for me to check into the hotel. There I chilled till it was time to go to the banquet.

They all told me to go at 6. That’s when it’ll start, so knowing me, hating to be late, I got there at 5:50pm. Big mistake.

I was the only one there for a good 30 minutes before anyone showed up and it wasn’t the hosts that showed up, but the guests. The tables started to fill up and 40 minutes after the party was to start was when someone Gifu and Sister showed up.

I didn’t sit at the wedding table, but at a separate table with Big Auntie and Phouc. For the most part it was fine, until they just tell me to keep eating when I was full. That got fucking annoying fast. Really fucking annoying, really fucking fast.

It was loud, as it usually is at these things and the lady that I was sitting next to talking over me to Auntie and Phouc didn’t help at all.

So, I just minded my own business, ate and just zoned out until it was over.

I was fucking ecstatic when it was finally over.

* * *

Looking back, I think the funniest shit that happened on Saturday was at the house. I was sitting on the couch where the ancestral altar was, chilling, minding my own damn business and then this fat kid in a blue shirt comes up to me and lays down on the empty spot on the couch. He was huffing and puffing annoyed, trying to get my attention. I paid him no mind. Damn kid.

He then tells me that my kids are annoying. I’m like, what kids? “The kids in the blue shirts.” “I don’t have kids.”

Just fucking funny. I guess I just look old enough to have these fucking kids. I look like an old man who has kids. Well, I guess to a kid, I do and am an adult, therefore it wouldn’t be a big stretch.

I am well old enough to have them.

Just too funny in my mind.

Apparently, he is a very self-important lazy entitled kid too.

I just ignored him.

* * *

After the banquet we all went back to their hotel room and chilled before making plans to go out and hit the bars to get some drinks. After my experience at the banquet, I just needed a fucking drink or two.

For the most part, it was pretty cool and chill. I stayed up really late too, way past my bedtime.

Honestly, thinking back, I don’t think I’ve really ever went socializing in Fresno before. Sure there were one or two times, but not really. It was interesting to say the least.

* * *

Ahhh, marriage. There is so much to say but so hard to put into words.

I don’t think I’m a qualified person to discuss or even to give advice on relationships. I don’t have a great track record with them, and given my longest relationship was just only 6 months. Definitely not qualified.

Thinking about marriage and knowing me and understanding my faults and qualities and just me as a person, I don’t think it is for me.

There’s just a lot of having to think and deal with another person. There’s not a lot of control there and we all know how much control I need over my life.

I’m sure a lot of people will just say that I need to find the right person and everything will be fine. Will it?

Compromise. That’s another good one.

I don’t know. I don’t even want to think about it now.

It’ll just be something that I don’t want to think about or focus on. Marriage isn’t for me.

Relationships, not for me.

Blah.

This is my last day here at home home. It’s sending me off in typical PNW fashion with a gloomy morning and maybe, just maybe it’ll light up in the afternoon.

But it’s my last day and I’m not sure when I’ll be back? Maybe Christmas? Who knows?

Knowing me, it’ll probably be Christmas. It usually is.

These past two weeks away from LA went by quickly like it usually does. Sure there were some slow days where I really didn’t do anything at all, but I was sick, so there’s that.

I didn’t get to go hiking with Pickles because he’s a fucking asshole. The night and a few days after I picked him up from the boarders, he was limping and moving gingerly. I had suspicions that he’s faking it, wanting some attention and not wanting to be sent off again. So, because of that, I never went out hiking with him, fearing that it was a real injury.

So, yesterday, he was back to form, an extra spring in his step, walking and running fast. Fucker! I say. Asshole!

But it’s good, I don’t have to worry about him being injured anymore. So, in a way, that’s a weight off my mind.

So, going back, it’s my last day.

I really don’t have much planned besides the movie with my bro.

It’s my last day together with mom. She actually took the day off yesterday too because she didn’t realize that I was leaving Sunday and not Monday.

We went wine tasting, which was on my short list of things to do while I was up here.

We left a little late so we only tried two wineries, but overall, it was great. I got to had some other wines at Chateau Ste Michelle and we visited another winery called JM Cellars. That one wasn’t as good as Chateau.

But, yes, it is definitely something that I’ll have to do again and visit more. Make it a bigger trip next time. Maybe when some uncles and aunties are around, we all can go.

Maybe. Who knows?

* * *

Looking back on this trip, this one was a lot more family than my usual trips back here, especially during the summer time. Sure, there were a few things that were the same and a few things that I didn’t do, but all-in-all, it was a very family centric trip.

I guess all of my trips back here to the PNW are always family centric trips.

Sure, I didn’t have many solo excursions with Pickles like I normally would, like hiking or exploring Seattle, but I managed to get one on the first day that I felt better after my cold. Pickles and I explored Tacoma a little more. Man, so much has changed in the past 15 years. So much.

It’s barely recognizable or that I just can’t remember what Tacoma looked like anymore.

Time. It changes things.

But, something new and different happened on this trip and that was getting drinks at bars with the kids, well the kids that are able to drink. I’m sure it all started with me taking Cloud to Snickers in Chicago and just chilling and I guess we just wanted to continue that tradition. It was great. Just shooting the shit and talking about life, vacationing and just getting to know each other better, in general. It’s definitely something that I want to keep up.

But it’ll definitely not be for a while since Cloud will be studying abroad in France.

But, maybe it’ll happen since we maybe be planning a trip to Italy and France next year. Let’s hope that happens. Fucking hope my bro steps up and actually plan something.

It not, then I’ll have to fucking step up again.

We shall see. We shall see.

* * *

Now all I have to do is to prepare myself for the long 18-hour drive. It’s a lot of mind over matter. I don’t really have to rush and I know I should take it easy and get back whenever I get back.

Benjo and Zarlenga already know my situation and are totally okay with me not showing up to work on Monday. They understand.

So, let’s just see how things go.

PNW.

It was a good trip. Sure I didn’t get to do much, but I set out to do most of the things that were on my list and had a few surprises thrown in there.

Good trip.

Till the next one.

Definitely, till the next one.

Banff.

What can I say?

AMAZING.

Just absolutely breathtaking.

There were moments when I just stood and took in my surroundings. The beautiful turquoise waters of Lake Louise with the mountains and valleys around it. I was alone, while my brother was straddling behind or doing his business, but I stood and let them embrace me.

Tears.

I almost cried. Tears formed. My eyes tingled from the wetness of the pools forming at the bottom of my eyes. They almost fell.

Just beautiful.

BEAUTIFUL.

Banff.

* * *

I’d seriously been meaning to go to Banff for quite a few years now. Ever since that I found out that it was about a 10-hour drive from Seattle. I’d driven much longer to go hiking before and 10 hours was nothing.

It didn’t quite get serious until Glacier National Park. I went with my bro and that was just a 9-hour drive. I think it was around that time, back in 2013, that I realize that I need to utilize and do more while I take my usual two-week vacation back at home home. I need to make excursions and long trips out of it. I need to make my time away worth it, rather than just staying home and doing nothing.

I needed to explore and Glacier was my first trip. That was amazing.

So, I decided, Banff.

And finally I did it and it was a banging success.

Banff.

We definitely need to meet again.

* * *

We left bright and early Saturday morning.

The drive in itself wasn’t too bad. I didn’t actually know what I was going to expect on the drive, but I sure didn’t expect that.

The road wasn’t too crowded nor did I have any problems with traffic.

I was just surprised that for about 95% of the drive was through vast wilderness and mountains. You slit through valleys and ride high on mountain tops.

The scenery was magical. I was floored by its green beauty. Just floored.

It was mostly a quiet drive, since my bro and I are usually quiet people, especially around each other. We just listened to podcasts that I had been saving up and that was that.

We got some lunch around the halfway mark, at Kamloops. Nothing special.

After we checked in we were on our way to start exploring Lake Louise and the Fairmont Chateau Lake Louise. We needed to get some dinner. We stopped by the village first to figure out our dinner options, but then we opted to go to the fancier restaurants at the Chateau and that was worth it.

Just magical.

Just magic.

When I first laid eyes on Lake Louise for the first time with my bare eyes instead of pictures, I gasped. Floored by its beauty.

There were people still on the lake in canoes at around 8pm at night. The sun doesn’t set until 9:30 or so there.

But I was just floored.

The gorgeous color of the water dwarfed by the high mountains on either side of the lake and the back mountain range with the glacier ice just hanging there. Serene. Tranquil.

Even the other tourists around snapping pictures didn’t bother me at all. I was in my element. I was tuned in to the zen frequency.

After ingesting the beautiful scene and snapping the obligatory pictures, we went to explore the Chateau and look at our dining options.

We decided on the lounge and they sat us close to a window where we had a great view of the lake.

I had the lamb curry. It wasn’t good. Salty, but I was hungry and I’d arrive. I didn’t care.

* * *

Sunday was the first day of our time there.

Well before the trip I got a rough idea of what we were going to do. I had all the trail maps uploaded to my phone. I got most everything planned out. It was just a rough agenda with plenty of time for exploration.

Sunday I planned to do the Lake Agnes Teahouse and then to the Plain of Six Glaciers Teahouse. Yes, I did the two teahouse loop. It was roughly about a 13-15-mile hike, but we added a few more miles with some side trail exploration.

I do have to say, it was fucking busy that day. Maybe it was because it is a Sunday or that it was Lake Louise and there’s just a shit ton of people, but the trails were packed.

We started the hike a little later than I wanted because I forgot about the one-hour time difference, but in the end, it all worked out.

For the most part, I just zoomed as my brother was held back by a group, but he finally managed to catch up. By the time we reached the Lake Agnes Teahouse it was already packed.

It was so crowded there, so many people that we couldn’t even get a spot. Instead we found a spot by the lake, ate some energy bars, rested and then we were on our way.

We had a mountain to climb, and fucking holy hell, that one was rough. It was the BeeHive.

Once we got to the top, we decided to hit up the lookout and the pagoda. There was a beautiful view of the valley and Lake Louise down below. Magical. The shimmering turquoise water down below was mesmerizing.

Amazing.

After getting our view of the lake, we were on our way and we worked our way down the mountain to hit up the Highline Trail to the Plain of Six Glaciers.

The incline on that trail wasn’t too bad but maybe it was just the high elevation or the expectation or the length of the trail, but I was fucking dying. But we finally got to the other teahouse and it was a lot less crowded.

As I posted on my IG, it was a lot less crowded because that hike was no joke. I’m sure if we went there first, I wouldn’t have a problem, but man, I was dying on that hike.

We found a table and got our biscuit and tea and just chilled for a bit before we head up to the PofSG lookout.

That hike wasn’t too bad. Just up and up and we took our time but it provided us more great views and then disaster came. We were almost right to the end of the lookout and then the storm came.

The rain/hail/sleet/snow came and we were caught in it on a precarious ridge trail. We hustled down the trail back to the teahouse at a very good fast clip. That’s when my bro aggravated his knee.

It was about 3+ miles back to the hotel from the teahouse and we just soldiered on. We put on our rain gear and just hiked down while it rained on and off.

But it was an exhilarating rush as we hiked down. My bro took his time with his bum knee as people were passing us by.

I was getting annoyed, but I’m an asshole. He was slowing me down.

But we managed to get to the bottom in one piece for the most part and that was the end of our adventure for the first day. We went back to the lodge, took a shower, rested and then we drove back to the Chateau to get dinner.

I had a lamb stew. I wasn’t bad, but I know for sure I was done with stews and stew like food for a while.

* * *

The next day was our final day in Banff and the weather turned out much better than the day before.

That day we, or I, decided to do Moraine Lake and Larch Valley.

Going up the first set of switchbacks to the beginning of Larch Valley was tough. We were definitely on a much slower pace than the day before.

I’m sure a lot of it had to do with how tired we were from the day before and my bro having a bum knee and also it was just fucking up and up and up in high elevation.

But oh man, it was fucking beautiful once we got to Larch Valley. The 10 peaks stood high up in the sky and the Valley opened and that’s all there was, the peaks.

We made it to the end and took a rest by the lake that was right before Sentinel Pass. From everything that I’ve read, the view from Sentinel Pass was phenomenal, but man, we were tired. The trail was about 1 mile in total distance and about a thousand feet in elevation gain. It was rough.

I’m sure if we took our time we wouldn’t have a problem, but knowing my bro, he wasn’t down. He was concerned about making it down the valley and the hike because of his bum knee. Next time.

Next time.

I was in awe with the amount of people that was hiking up there. Sure it wasn’t as busy as the day prior, but there were quite a few at the lake, already on the pass, and many that were coming up when we hiked down.

The one thing that I loved was how many dogs were hiking up there. We saw quite a few on both days, from big dogs to little dogs. There were dogs everywhere and I loved that Canada had such a lax dog law for their National parks.

We finally made it down to the fork of the trail head and then we made our long long way to Eiffel Lake. The hike in itself wasn’t bad, a fairly straight and flat two-mile trail along the side of the mountain offering spectacular views of the Ten Peaks and a few peeks at Moraine Lake down below.

We rested for a bit at the lake and then we make our long way back. Again, my bro had to take his time going down the trail to the actual trail head.

I was very annoyed with it of course, ’cause I’m and asshole, and then my left knee started to hurt. Karma.

Karma. She’s a bitch.

We made it all the way down and we had one final hike left to do, the Moraine Lake trail. This short 3/4 of a mile trail goes along the side of the lake. We made it to the end, took in the views and then we hiked our way back to the car and then we called it a day.

Like usual, we drove back to the hotel and showered and then drove back for our final dinner.

It was actually pretty good dinner. It was at one of the fancier hotel restaurants. Lago. Italian. Not bad at all.

* * *

The next day, we just drove our way back home.

For the most part, the drive was uneventful, but man, driving through that storm and the wet road at highway speeds was a little hairy. It’s been a long time since I did that and there were times I’m sure I was hydroplaning.

The good thing about it was that I got a car wash, which I desperately needed. My car is a lot cleaner now and I love it.

Overall, the trip was magical. It’ll be a trip I’ll forever remember.

Banff, as I had suspected, had sneaked its way into my heart and found a spot in it.

It’ll definitely be in the rotation of things to do whenever I drive up here again.

Most definitely.