Snow falls
A breeze carries the flurry
Over the ridge
Illuminates in the sun

I pray
for a lift of the spirit
freedom of my heart
or a burial
in this winter wonderland

Our love
bloomed in the spring with
cherry blossoms.
Flourished
with summer sequoia.
By fall, it burned and burned
with flames like maples.
When winter came,
it died.

There is no reason given. He wished to end our relationship all so suddenly that was like a rug being pulled under my feet. I let him go because I still love him. I want him to be happy even if it meant that I couldn’t a part of that happiness. I don’t know how many times my heart can be broken. This time, I can hardly hold on to the pieces with duct tape.

Love isn’t our whole life. I count my blessings everyday. I trust that I shall move on one day full of new hopes. I shall fall in love again, and be loved again. But in the mean time, I find the air too thin to breathe. The sky is too gray to be cheery. I want to run away, to far away lands of sunshine and blue sea, where nothing would remind me of my lost love. In this short year, this love has given me much and taken away more. No regrets. It was the most loving year of my life.

We’ve had a glorious summer in the Northwest. So good that we forget that the weather god may just throw a tantrum on a long weekend camping trip. I am not kidding about the tantrum because it just downright poured thunderstorm for three days while the week before and after was nothing but sun. I hung my virtual teru teru bozu with no use either. We were determined to go despite of all our friends’ trips being canceled or changed. All because Peter’s father used to say, “There is no bad weather. There is only bad gear.”

We drove off in rain towards Mt Baker. To our surprise, we met sun breaking out of rain storms up north. We felt triumphant, kept on driving toward the thunderstorm clouds in the cascades as if we were the crusaders that would eventually bring sunlight. But the thick clouds turned into thick fog when we drove to the trail heads at the top of Mt. Baker. With limited visibility, even pheasants wondered within our reach with no fear. We drove down the mountain and found the trailhead to Canyon Ridge near the entrance of Mt Baker area. A thin windy dirt road meandered for a good 16 miles before we reached the trail head. It was dry and no fog. What could be better right? Peter played with a really adorable puppy at the parking lot while we ate lunch. They loved each other, making me a third wheel.

Within the first mile of the hike, we reached a couple of adorable lakes, gleaming in the sun, lined with soft meadows. One would think a landscape architect might have designed the place, trail turned into boardwalk, blueberry bushes exuding juice fragrance. Weeds float atop the water making sketches like pencil shading. But alas, maybe luckily, there were mosquitos which kept us moving on.

The trail was lightly wooded, with few hikers due to unforeseeable weather. The slow ascent afforded us to stop and pick blueberries along the way. They tasted differently, sometimes with a hint of sage, pine, or honey. Mushrooms of varieties of shades and shapes camouflaged themselves like wooden stumps. They looked tempting. Keep to the blue little devils, I told myself. We found a huge patch of short blueberry bushes when the trail opened up to the ridge. We picked and ate and picked and decided to pick a whole bag of them for dessert at night.

Once the trail opened up on the ridge, we were pleased to see sun light piercing through clouds like cotton balls. The air was refreshing and we lost track of how far we’ve gone. The mountain ridges in the far distance called to us to go further and further. Late afternoon, we knew we would need to turn around soon. Peter picked a hill top for which we almost had to scramble a short but strenuous path to get to. The first step at the top immediately took my breathe away with a 360 view of the mountain ranges all around us. The clouds were thick hovering over the ridge tops. And at a distance, shower of sun ray poured into a valley. We sat down inspecting the view like we were king and queen of the valleys. We drank in the wind, the sun, and ate the sweet corn and sausage we brought for the road. The best view is one that is shared with your sweet heart, I thought. The sun was setting, we waved to the next hilltop down the trail and turned around. We needed to find a private forest and hide inside of Bronco for the next 12 hours for a good long sleep.

The Labor Day weekend trip was nearly three weeks ago. Life has taken a turn for stress. I am on a hunt for a safe harbor where I can row a little crew shell in peaceful water. This weekend, in another 4 hours, I’ll be on another great outdoor adventure with my sweet heart, a couple of beluga friends. Into the wild we shall go, where lakes only reflect the colors of the sky, trees only hear the sounds of birds, men and women only know of love, just and optimism.

Many people, mostly Americans that I can speak for, love traveling but complain about the lack of time or money. Some people quit their jobs and travel for months or years at a time. For most people that hold regular jobs in America, travel means a mere 3 weeks of vacation (more or less). I wish to travel but forever feel limited in resources one way or the other. So I thought, if a person is not traveling for the most part of a year, why not try living each day as if one was on an adventure? If the reason for traveling is to escape your present day life, then it makes more the sense to treat each day as if you were on a trip somewhere. Make the changes you on things you drags you down in a day. And if you travel because you just love the adventure, then do it in small little ways each day. Discover new flowers along the path that you walk on, park in a different spot at work, change the grocery you shop in, learn a new word in a new language, meet someone from a different country (bless America for making this so easy), or cook a meal that you’ve never eaten before.

This is just what we did yesterday. Mom planted a plum tress which bloomed and harvested this year in the garden. Even though they were delicious eaten as is. Peter found one of his favorite Austrian dessert recipes in English online for a plum cake. The recipe is basically the same as a pound cake recipe. Yes, the amount of butter that went into that little cake is shocking. Julia child would be proud of me. When the batter is prepared, layer a thin layer onto a cake mold or in our case a tart pan, then line the top with cored plums face up. Bake for 30 minutes and voila!  The plums turned orange and sizzle in their own juices. The green plums could break a jaw but Peter loved it. A little dust of powered sugar helps. Letting sit for a day or so surprisingly made the plums less tart.

Along the way, I learned how to say mehl, oel, zucker, butter, kuchen. All the important German words I need to know before I sign myself up in an Austrian pastry school. And in one night, I tasted my first Austrian pastry all in my own little kitchen.

Finding this hidden waterfall inside of Oneonta Gorge was pure ecstasy. The trailhead into the Gorge is underneath a bridge off of the historic highway 84 in Columbia Gorge near Horsetail Falls. The hardest part of the hike, and perhaps the most exciting part, is to make up one’s mind to dip his toes into the icy water and commit through the rest of the way with water rising up to the waist. (Trust me, this was still the most challenging part the second time I went to the waterfall.) It would actually be embarrassing to turn around since we saw all kinds of people returning with big smiles of triumph on their faces, from little girls to old grandmas. Ah, did I mention a 3 person tall wall of logs one would need to climb through at the entrance?

For this shot, I set my tripod in the water leaving the camera lens barely hovering above the water, and me squatting with my derriere in the water for over 15 minutes. The sun has long left the Gorge leaving diffused . The walls to the right of the waterfall curved gracefully like someone had polished it, showing the power of high flow and the force of nature. It was wonderful to be enjoying such beauty by yourselves even for a brief moment. And I’m grateful for my traveling companion. Such beauty is best shared with one near to heart.

This is Ponytail Falls in Columbia Gorge. The waterfall drops from somewhere higher through a slit in this large rock forming what looks like a pony tail. One can only see that from limited angles directly in front of the waterfall and for the most of the other angles, it  looks like an open tap. The fun part is the semi-cave formation underneath the rock giving way for hikers to explore the back of the waterfall. Instead of my usual light hearted interpretation, I had decided to dramatize this photo inspired by an incredibly talented NW photographer Bruce Barnbaum. This is no where near Barnbarum’s genius; I’m just in the mood.

A friend of mine went through a whirlwind of romance, got engaged, and then a storm of drama which resulted in disengagement. All happened within the matter of a year. In comparison, she’s a waterfall while I prefer to be a river when it comes to experiencing romantic relationships. I feel more and more disillusioned by the idea of a great relationship not to mention marriage. My parents couldn’t offer me any wisdom as theirs didn’t work and went on to become unions of companionship as people age. I continue to question whether my expectations are overly idealistic. I really like the one that I am in but the future is a mystery to me. The only certainty is to truly trust my feelings.

Waking up on day 2 of our camping trip in the middle of a small new growth forest with no one around was great. Advantages of not camping in a camp site include no neighboring campers making noises while packing their tent or cooking breakfast, no strange footsteps treading by one’s tent suspiciously making creaking sounds, no camping fee, and one feels truly amongst nature. Perhaps that’s why the hardcore true campers would choose wilderness camping.

I disliked in the past camping because of all the hassle one has to deal with just to be outdoors. Most of my girlfriends refuse to go camping because of the lack of access to facilities. I am content with no shower up to three days, could be longer without companions but I haven’t tried. Going potty in nature is one of the most appreciated and liberating experience in my opinion. It’s cleaner, smells better, fantastic better views, no touch, AND one contributes back to nature. The only problem I have is frequent mosquito attacks on my exposed sweet derrière while in a very vulnerable position. Ten seconds are more than sufficient for lethal hits and there has never been an exception.

After breakfast, we drove up north from Lake Ozette to Capt Flattery, the west most point of mainland US. There was again a short board walk hike to the view points. It was a busy spot. I was happy to be able to find other SLR carrying hikers to take pictures for Peter and I. Alas, the pictures turned up horrid either with us out of focus or had completely no sense of composition. Peter’s one arm self portrait, with some PS meddling, turned out to be the best of the lot. I am content. Upon arriving at the final view platform, I was relieved to find no tacky giant buoy sculpture painted in bold colors and large letters “west most point” as was the case in Key West, Florida.

Despite of busy traffic and limited access to the sea shore, Cape Flattery was truly gorgeous. The greenish cerulean blue ocean laced with white caps swayed and bounced off of giant dark rocks on the shoreline. Atop these tall dark cliffs were evergreen trees extending the hill tops even further towards the sky. One could take up a spot facing the ocean breeze and meditate about life philosophy or nothing. It would have been a purifying experience of the spirit and mind. Perhaps Tarzan would forgo swinging in the branches and become a Zen poet.

After some pleasant small chats with fellow hikers from nearby East WA to Maryland,  we left Cape Flattery looking for a peaceful escape, headed for Hoh Rainforest. The drive was mesmerizing, making curves along milky aqua marine Hoh River, with the river only insight once in a while through breaks of trees. We made a pit stop at Salmon Cascades to take some pictures. Coincidentally a large family was also making their pit stop except at this stop, the mother and her two daughters were diving into the icy emerald green at the bottom of the rapids. The three men from the family stood on the side to take pictures and failed because their camera battery died. Mom went first and her daughters followed. It little one took a very long time to finally jump, but after her first dive, she wanted to go again! Brave and adventurous spirits propagate in the women of the family.

I took some sequences of rapid firing shots and then another two hours to stitch the individual shots together in photoshop. It was only afterwards did I realize that I had ventured into sequence action photography, something I’ve never tried before and it was only through experimentation that I had found the right method to do it by creating masks and layers. I need to figure out how to choose the layers to overlap others. Here’s another sequence with daughter’s dive.

It took a while, but we finally made our way to Hoh Rain Forest around mid-afternoon. Seriously I have lost track of time riding in the Bronco allowing my eyes to soak in all shades of green. The forest was much more mesmerizing than I remembered. It’s a moss lover’s oasis. Due to lack of time we only went on the couple of short hikes around the visitor center. The “hikes” were a bit crowded at times but every turn, every pocket of sunlight in the forest looked like scenes from a fairy tale book. I tried and tried but couldn’t get a shot I really like. So watch this short video clip for a better experience.

Day three, we visited Sol Duc Falls. I’ve been confused for a long time why a waterfall’s name is often pluralized. Triplet Falls, Ponytail Falls, Snoqualmie Falls… It’s as if the names contain hopes for the waterfalls to run forever. Falling is just a present tense.

The forest around Sol Duc was beautiful. I couldn’t taking pictures but found the contrasting lighting in the forest extremely difficult. Some spots would be in the shadow while others in extreme light. I lingered by the waterfall for a very long time trying to get some HDR shots. The trail passing Sol Duc lead to Seven Lakes. The beginning was steep with only a few people hiking on it. We drank water from springs along side of the trail. We caught scant sights of bigger and faster waterfalls high up in the mountains roaring downhill. After many switch backs and crossing snow fields, we finally had to turn around because Peter wasn’t wearing shoes for the snow. We’ll be back!

The weekend long trip ended in an even longer drive home. We were rested but exhausted at the same time. This new relationship between Tarzan and Jane survived the mountains. Now is time to return to civilization where their relationship is to be challenged with the more boring daily grinds.

The sun had just risen as our ferry left Downtown Seattle towards Bremerton. It came and went behind the buildings as if it were playing hide-and-seek with us. It lifted our spirits despite of late night at the concert and having to get up extra early to avoid Memorial Weekend campers who also wanted to make a bet at the often disappointing Pacific NW weather. We got lucky. However, the Hood Canal bridge was out of order forcing us to take a detour to the bottom of the canal and drive back up towards northern end of Olympic National Park, where I will be giving a new chance at camping, in an old Bronco that is too stubborn to retire, and with a man whom I thought were the epitome of a modern Tarzan.

Following the “hood” on 101, winding around the NE corner of the olympic peninsula, we drove along the coast, with Strait of Juan de Fucca and Vancouver Island to the right, covered in mystical morning fog. Our first destination was Lake Ozette with beautiful beaches within short hiking distances. The sun broke through the fog around mid day and I started to strip off layers. The bronco felt much more like a cruiser compared to my mini, going at an easy pace of 45 mph. The drive was long but we were there to enjoy the journey and were rather committed to each other within the confine of the Bronco for the next 3 days. Conversation topics fly all over the place, no longer in a stack structure with pop and push operations, nor was it in a heap with random access, it was a complex graph. I was fine with it, again, really not trying to go anywhere by any time soon. For the first time in my life, I went outdoors to just be there.

Lake Ozette was gorgeous and surprisingly large. So much iron was in the water that it glowed red. Then one could add in the blue sky and brilliantly lit green branches, stir it up with some ripples to create a piece of Monet painting. We couldn’t resist the temptation of jumping over the ledge of the bridge to be part of it. 

The hike from Lake Ozette to the beach was a mere 3 mile one way hike on level ground. Self correction, board walk for 90% of it. Giant trees and lettuce looking plants added trim to our hike. Once in a while, small ponds of water accumulate nearby. Scattered with vividly green leaves and their star shaped reflections in the water, fallen logs lay at the edges of these ponds providing spaces for adorable mosses to propagate. It was so picturesque that one would think only a talented landscaper could have designed it all. 

However much my companion loved a peace of quiet on a hike, I almost couldn’t find a break in our conversation. Topics ranged  from childhood stories to philosophical discussions on why Burma is the only Asian country without a need for artificial birth control.  The boardwalk hike was over two miles long when we finally heard distant sonorous cries of seals. Were they crying for their mate laying dead on the beach which became the only exciting spectacle of the campers and hikers? We didn’t look for the dead seal but instead inspected a dead tree with an impressive root system. 

There was not much wind or waves by the sea.  The quiet low tide zone was filled with large rocks that enticed one to leap frog from one to the other. I thought they could potentially be photogenic at sunset but the sun was still hours before setting. Large island sized rocks stood in the distance with few evergreen trees on top. Tarzan said they looked like “hairy nipples.” I amused myself by looking for edible seaweed (inspired by Vadim’s video) while Tarzan sat idyllically making peace with swamps of harmless beach fleas that looked threatening as if they’d eaten us alive. After we charged up on Vitamin D, we treaded the same way back instead of venturing south on the beach to make the loop back to Lake Ozette. 

Lake Ozette’s camping site was already filled with pre-reserved campers. Tarzan drove us out of the area, found an unmarked logging road and parked us in a pocket opening in the trees for the night. Bronco sat facing the setting sun, with the back open wide, Tarzan played his flute while I bathed some more in the sun like a cat. When night came, he made fire and I made pasta. We ate burned marshmallows and watched the coastal fog wrapping the hills like a chiffon. When it was pitch dark, there was no strange animal sounds nor cackling branches. With Tarzan aside, I slept like a baby on cushy padded floor in the back of Bronco.  My uneasiness of camping trips disappeared as I began to feel as part of nature (without having to swing amongst trees). Tarzan said that’s how we roll. 

(To be continued…)

while the universe lays asleep
one tiny beacon lost at sea
where is thy pigeon post
of love, shall it lose
its way, loneliness
cries abyss.

Men hate Sex in the City. It’s because the show has some truth in it. It is a very scary thought when all the women in the world wise up about men and conspire… not against men. I am not a huge fan of the show, i.e. I cannot quote or cite examples from the show like my girlfriends, but I get a good laugh out of it. The strange thing is every time I find myself out of a relationship, I feel as if I was one of the characters in the show. No one in particular as I feel that I can relate more or less to each of the four. When the party is over, as in love ends, we start the next one, sharing vile spirits with the girls, bingeing on ice cream, shoe shopping therapy, etc.

Not sure how many episodes of sex in the city I have enacted so far. For every episode, there is a trilogy of a great beginning, a lessons learned, and the same ending. The only thing that never changes is how anticlimactic it feels between the episodes. I take a deep breathe, wait for the sunset, moon rise, watch the world spins around and around with an imperfect precision. Rather have loved and lost than never have loved at all.  

Still wrapped up in remanent warmth of love, I feel blessed. 

Tomorrow, I will get up at the crack of dawn to row, then make coffee, process some pictures, and maybe research care instructions for these beautiful orchids that he made me.

The apple tart was made with fuji and granny smith apples slices on top, puff pastry base, gorgonzola hidden in between, and sprinkled with salt, petter and thyme. It was absolutely divine. Its complementary tart was a savory tomato pesto. That tart disappeared even though most of the guests had already feasted on the steak and sandwiches.

I love playing in the kitchen. My friends make me think that I’m a kitchen goddess. I threw a tea party for house warming but in reality I just wanted to make lots of food and watch my friends munch away happily. I didn’t even need to be a part of the party. It was as if I was on a cooking high like a running high: I could cook forever. 

Friends enjoying the food I make is the biggest complement. They often follow up with other comments that conjure up my grandiose dreams of actually becoming a chef or with my own cafe restaurant business. At the end of the day, unlike working in school or at a job, the biggest satisfaction is from my own knowing that I have accomplished and executed the dishes to the best of my imagination. 

Chipotle chicken sandwiches and chocolate mud pie. Not in the photo is pepper grilled steak with creamy shitakii mushroom sauce.

If everyone has a natural talent, was I misled into “proper” professions such as computer engineering? After all, I have always been drawn into art and paintings since 4 years old. Life would have been earth shatteringly different if I was a pastry chef, or a photographer. Although, there may be a different kind of worry. Instead of lamenting in my blog about the lack of time to spend on these pleasurable hobbies I might be worried about financial stability or the lack there of.

I’m a product of my environment. In this case, a product of a conservative Chinese family. Perhaps one day, my daughter would have the freedom to follow her heart. … Just like the way my mother had wished for me, that her daughter would have the financial stability with no worries.

I have an obsession for dogwood trees and flowers. It was a love at first sight when I first saw them on UW campus. The flowers come in shades from white to deep pink in the Pacific Northwest. Each flower has four petals with a beautiful center. I love the curves on the petals and the leaves, the stripes on the petals, and their symmetrical but yet non-rigid placements.  The tree branches give no sign of stubborn straight edges, but the trees would stand tall and prominent amongst trees.  Flowers bloom in large clusters, romantic without being overwhelming like cherry blossoms. Interspersed between the flowers is just the right balance of leaves. I can’t explain exactly what it is that they appeal to me so much visually. I definitely wish to plan one in my own garden someday in the future. Spotting them in our hike in Virginia were the best rewards. They are VA’s state flower. The wiki page explains etymology of the name. According to flowersonly.com, dogwood flowers symbolize “love undiminished by adversity.” I suppose that explains why I like dogwoods. When I fall in love, it would be with dogwood spirit.

Beautiful forest on Maryland Heights Trail

My parents would never have expected me to be an extrovert as I mature into my adulthood by how shy and demure I had been as a baby girl. Even I surprised myself. While this has brought me to meet many interesting people and places in life, it is becoming apparent that this change also causes difficulties for me to work alone in an environment lacking human interactions. For months while working remotely while living Seattle, rowing in the morning has given not only me a regular schedule to frame my days, but also THE only one dependable opportunity for that much missed human interactions.

It has been more than seven months since I saw my colleagues and friends in DC. I decided that it was time to pop back in and say hi for a week. The week went by quickly and I am not returning home, absolutely exhausted, with a bundle of unexpected lessons (in no particular order).

1. Do not listen to other people’s opinions: I’m not sure how this will come in handy but I read it from The Last Lecture.

2. Kill a python: As if my dissertation was a python, I can either kill it or I can turn around to where I came from. In my mind returning is not a choice, so I’ve got to kill it.

3. Be at the right place at the right time and talking to the right people: working in the office everyday gives me a feeling that to be effective I need to be there. Making connections, discovering projects, and at times promoting your intellectual ideas to the right problems just in time.

4. People change: Surprise surprise. Friendship built on many assumptions that no longer exist may also dissipate. In actually they may have just been and ought to be weak ties.

5. Kindred spirits only grow stronger over time: In contrary to the last lesson, great friendship would also be great regardless the lack of continuity of time or space. It was such a pleasant surprise to meet up with Scott in DC and go salsa dancing.

Crab feast in Annapolis

6. Maintain low expectations and high level planning: I don’t like going on a trip planning every detail of who to meet where to go at exactly what time. I like to maintain a high level sense of what I really want to do and for whatever reasons, what’s supposed to happen naturally would happen. I got to spend time with just about everyone that I wanted, and a few that I didn’t expect. Hurray!!

7. When one door fails to open, new windows may open: When my flight got canceled when Chad was just about to drive me to the airport, I found myself three extra hours to visit Ray’s Hell Burger that I couldn’t fit into my schedule. And OMG, just let me tell you that you have not lived until you have been to hell and then heaven in one bite of that burger. It was the best $8 I spent on food in DC evah, better than $30 crabs or $25 tiny plate of tapas.

8. BFFs are real important: one of my favorite nights was meeting up with the girls. Proseco, pizza and gelato. Simple and fun. I missed that much in Seattle.

9. Smile because you are about to meet a new friend: on my way out to DC in the flight, I met Jude. It all started with a simple smile and my ingenious opening line (quoting Chad), “So, do you have to set your cell phone to airplane mode first in order to turn it on in air or you could turn it on and then change it to that mode?” Four hours later, Jude and I became friends and exchanged contact information 

10. Make sure to prioritize sleep and plan in downtimes during long trips: I had never been so tired for such a long time. Sleeping only a few hours a day made me drink more than 2 cups of coffee a day and binging on carbs. It sucked big time. I spent almost my entire 14 hours of return trip to sleep and am still very tired. 

 
Getting my favorite gelato at Boccato

11. Distance makes the heart fonder: need I say more? I am however reconfirmed that I do not like long distance relationships of any sort.

12. Commitment to understanding: This trip had surprised me with finding kindred spirits. I decided to make a new commitment to these special people, which is my commitment to truly understanding them.  Misunderstanding may be unpleasant at times, arguments may ensue, but unlike my usual style, I have decided to stick around and face the differences straight in the face. I am committed to sit here and listen no matter how tired I may be, how intense the air was. We’d listen and talk to each other until we understood each other. Agreement is not the key but acknowledgement. Agree to disagree and respect. I have found a few kindred spirits.

It was finally beginning to get warm in Seattle, Peter and I decided to head out to the mountains for some light hearted Saturday afternoon hikes. Well, I was eager to try out my new Nikon D90. Yes, I’ve gone from shooting 10 years of Canon to owning my first Nikon. Hiking in the Pacific Northwest, as Peter so well noted for someone who’s moved here from a part of the country that’s always sunny, requires much more planning contingent on weather and road conditions. It’s a complicated decision making process which can only be perfected by one who has made enough mistakes by doing it. We decided to go to Denny Creek, a trail that I had visited last fall. 

To our surprise the trail was hidden in snow, after parking our car, it took another 1-2 miles to get to the trail head. The air was crisp but there was few people on the trail. It didn’t take us long to realize we needed to have snowshoes as every once in a while, our legs would sink into the snow. We couldn’t make it to the river bank at all, which was a bit of a disappointment from a photographic perspective. I didn’t bring my tripod so it wasn’t too bad of a problem. The couple of bridges we had to cross were damaged by snow but we managed to crawl across. As we finally reached a point in the trail going under a very tall high way bridge (which was absolutely unnatural), we had to scramble through a patch of snow so soft that my whole leg would sink in to the crotch. The soft snow gave little leverage to get out, like of like getting stuck in quick sand. It was at this point, we decided that it was enough to have caught sight of beautiful snow, pine trees, and adorable mosses, we turned back.

It’s important that we hike into the mountains amongst the trees and across the rivers. It’s important that I find soul mates through hiking. It’s only out here devoid of city noise do we see each other in our basic elements. Does one only want to get quickly from point A to point B? Does one find solace in the process of hiking and appreciating the little things that go by? Is one adventurous and filled with curiosity? Can one endure long stretch of time without the need to speak? Or mere body language or close proximity is sufficient to transpire affections? Can one be considerate and caring for others? Would one be a leader in the pack or good team player? Does one prefer to make plans, detailed or rough or none?  hm… this list can on but you see the point to this, it would be in hiking that I will find my soul mates.

Most people blog about their interests, opinions, hobbies, writings, I blog because I want to have a place to reflect upon my life, state of mind and feelings, as I strive to find happiness. The proecss of living and the process of finding happiness may seem natural to some people, quizzical to some, or confusing for some. I never thought much about having an effect on what I write here, but merely a place to voice myself. As I continue to write these inner thoughts on this public space, about people that may be endearing to me, about matters of the heart, I realized that has made some people uncomfortable. And at other times, few have stopped by to say thanks, I feel that I could relate to you. With such dilemma, I will prioritize the people I care for in my life and stop writing the way I have been. I don’t know what it will mean for this blog, may it find its way to a new face or decease. I won’t stop writing but mostly unpublished. Perhaps every once in a while I would find something interesting to say about the pictures I take. For the most part, I’ll leave it up to my pictures to tell the stories.

“More is not less, it’s rather all.”

Whether one believes everything happens in life for a reason, sometimes when life happens. When life happens, it feels as if one was on a fast moving train that came to a pit stop, within a brief few minutes, one makes the choice to stay in the train or get off of the train to hop on a different one. Last month, I did just the latter, twice!

School: I dropped one of my committee members who have been more of an obstacle to my completing my thesis project and moving on to writing my dissertation. I felt extremely demotivated to continue doing development on my project. According to two out of my four committee advisors, I have done more than enough to get my PhD. I could no longer bear with working with the erratic nature of my primary advisor either. Instead, I told my advisors that either they let me finish my dissertation and defend, stop all development, or I leave with only a Master’s degree. Surprisingly, the support that I received on that outcry was overwhelming. Perhaps I am finally ready, not technically, but emotionally to become a PhD of my own standing, making my own calls and decisions. Regardless, now I finally can just write and finish the project and move on. 

Love:  I came back to Seattle to be with Pierre. Perhaps it had been a mistake to move in with him, perhaps I made the wrong decision to give this relationship a try. Our relationship “improved” as I slowly disappeared from it. I don’t blame it on anyone like I said before. It just didn’t work out for us. Whether it was an irony that life threw another rock in my path, the appearance of Peter gave me hope and convinced me that loving intimate relationship is real. Everything feels easy and positive. I feel happiness and blessed, to be more precise, 辛福. I feel braver letting go of my fear for closeness. I know that’s key to truly enjoying all aspects of a good relationship. 

While dusts were settling in all front, I can refocus and apply myself to working, Mom had to throw a wrench into my mirror flat pond. To her, I’m never perfect, in fact a disappointment and disgrace. She always needs to tell me what to do. She has taught me to be independent but never realize that she can’t allow me to be independent by making my own decisions. While she believes that women should be financially independent but she also believes that I should marry to a man that I can depend on (which is very different than an accountable person). The irony is she has set an example by being a very financially independent woman starting her own business and never had to rely on anyone! After trying to reason with her, I realize that it’s a lost cause. She’d never see my point even if I could see her point. I am gonna say F%@# it and move on. I don’t need any more mama drama in my life. It’s OK to just walk away. 

In fact, not just mom, for anyone that wants to control me for whatever reasons, I need to just say no and walk away. It might mean breaking of  relationships, friendships and what not. But I must say no to the ones who can’t allow a healthy boundary, which is a requirement for space to fill with respect and love. I am ever thankful of all the great friends and coworkers that I feel close to. They never abandoned me, judged me even when I am at a low point of life. Those are true friends, my chosen family.

So this is it, I’ve moved on to a new chapter of my dating life with mixed feelings of shame and triumph. I had loved but love wasn’t enough. We weren’t right for each other. We loved so many of the same things but I couldn’t feel his love for me. Was it because he was shy? I don’t think so. The relationship wasn’t always like this. There was balance and I was happy. At some point, I received less love from him. So I gave and gave so much of myself, but in the end, I received even less in return. When I felt compromised, I made demands, but I felt the resistance in the relationship to satisfy my needs. I yearn for care, a voice of understanding, admiration, and love. But I didn’t want to ask for it for fear that my own needs would break us apart. So I changed to fit into his life, to support his endeavors and dreams, at the expense of hollowing myself out from the inside. I resented and blamed, but in the end, I was at the helm of my own life and I had allowed all of this to happen. 

I need to learn to say no. I need to learn to show my true self and be alright to let the relationship work itself out, whether it be a break or a union. That’s the risk, with huge uncertainty, one takes to find her soul mate. ha … And who would I to find if I have lost my own soul?! 

I will miss this gentle giant, but it’s time to move on. I stumbled and regained my own balance. I am happy and feeling hopeful and full again. I am practicing saying no to things I don’t want, saying no without fear of losing the other person affections, saying no so I could stay authentic. I wish for a balanced and stimulating relationship with mutual respect, care, admiration, and love,  one in which adventures and stability are not exclusive of each other, and one in which creativity is boundless.

I miss the way you look into my eyes
Like sunlight piercing through summer leaves

I miss the way you kiss me on my lips
Like baby blue marshmallows floating in the sky

I miss the way you hold me in your arms
Whispering sweet sounds of Salman and far away lands

I miss the way you speak to my heart
Sharp as etched rocks cloaked in gentle mist

For now is to eternity
As crystals are to diamonds
Time beholds, as
Affection turns to love

It’s been years since I wrote any poems. Remembering high school years, creative writing taught by Mr Nolet was my favorite Language Art class. Not only did we write poems with words, we wrote poems with sounds. We explored poems about emotions, stories, and abstracts. I even remember making one of them into a song with the help of my high school boyfriend. Mr Nolet always encouraged me to publish my writings in the school newspaper. I was too embarrassed. 

I’m still somewhat embarrased posting my poems in my own blog. Perhaps it’s because poems carry the weight and depth which shrivel everyday writing. I like poems that paint a picture, texture, and sounds in my mind. They don’t have to be scientifically explicit and yet capture the essence with few words. I admit that this one sounds cheesy, but it’s ok when it’s in a poem. What the heck, it’s my own blog! :) I feel inspired to write again lately with words flowing smoothly, ideas  flourishing like a creek. It feels right.

Change is the spice of life
Life is the change of spice
Let me be your salt and caramel
When idleness invades your berth
May you be my chili and dark chocolate
For idolatry shall forever rest in earth

Phew I am back in my own elements again, literally: in the same apartment building with the same gorgeous view of Lake Union and downtown. After so many moves in the last couple of years, my posession has downsized by half. It made moving easy. Seeing my own clothes (have been living out of a suitcase in the last 6 months), guitar, baking pans made me feel rich. I am looking forward to the weekend playing Martha Stewart at home, buying some furniture, planting flowers, and cooking up a pot of rissotto.

New space, (re)new friendships, new freedom, new me, I think that all of this has been inspired by an innocent and profound comment that “happiness is the making of one’s own cocoon.” Instead of waiting for changes to happen, waiting for my what seemed to be imminent slow death, I chose to change. In many friends and mom’s eyes that I have taken too long to make up my mind, but I needed to take my own time, to try something out and say ok, they were right, it didn’t work. I’m happy for everyday starts with a jolt in my system, not from caffeine, but the hope and assurance that happiness is possible and it’s in one’s own making.

Hug Point is located just a bit south of Cannon Beach in Oregon. It was named for its high tides that cover the beach so much that carriages in the old days would have to hug around the points to get through. We arrived when the tide had already started to rise on a February afternoon. The sun was setting fast and few visitors in the parking lot were pulling out.

There was no plan in the trip but a goal to shoot Hug Point. After examining the waterfall that trickle down to a rocky bed of beach, we decided to haul all the car camping stuff and camera gear in addition to things I didn’t want to be stolen from the car such as my two laptops. The second trip with our cargo seemed much more treacherous. Water had already immersed the beach and there was little we could do but tread through cold winter water around the point to get to our destination waterfall. Our shoes were soaked, pants wet, but there was not one moment to be lost to start shooting the last few strokes of the golden moment. This shot of the rocks was taken then. 30 second exposure for the mystic water in combination with HDR to draw out the shadow details. 

We were both wet and cold. Quickly changed into some dry clothes, made some sandwiches, we camped out on a little patch of grass above the waterfall next to the creek. This little patch was ideal for a tend but we didn’t set one up to avoid drawing attention to us. In hind sight, maybe we were just too lazy. But the lack of a tent turned out to be a huge mistake. I quickly dozed off after dinner in my sleeping bag. I was woken up by the cold but the whole sky was darted with millions of jewels. I slipped out of the comforter and shot a couple of 30 minute star trail pictures before falling back asleep again. 

Temperature in the second half of the night must have dropped to 30’s. I wore all the clothes I had, wrapped up in a layer of blanket inside of my bag. I woke up just about every 30 minutes or so. Unable to fall back asleep so I stole the whisky bottle from Pierre. It was that little flask of Oban that kept me falling asleep again and again and again. I held on to my headlamp but didn’t turn it out because it would have ruined Pierre’s 8 hour long exposure on large format. I don’t know how he slept so soundly at some point I had to wake him up because he was starting to slip down the little grassy patch towards the creek.

Even if there was no bad wolves or bears around, the first sign of dawn cheered me up. Because it meant warmth and light and hopefully the tide would be low enough for me to cross back around the point to get back to the car. Soft morning light shed gentle red glowing spots on the sand stone rocks around. It was the perfect complement. I nonchalantly took some shots but the fact that the tide was still too high for crossing irks me to seek out other escape paths. Looking around us we were stuck in a steep ravine, protected with lush bushes and fallen trees. I failed to conquer them after following several dead trails. The last resort would be treacherous steep incline of sliding sands on either side. Following foot steps of past darers, I scrambled but successfully gained access to the top of the ravine. Following another trail which had a dozen turn offs which I must have been super lucky to guessed correctly, led me back onto high way 101 right across the street from the turn off where we had left our car the day before.

Even though Pierre’s project would have required us to stay at Hug Point shooting for another 8 hours, I felt triumphant, safe, and no longer claustrophobic. I moved some of non essential things we brought down to the beach in 5 or 6 hikes, a couple of bags at a time. I drove down the highway to look for coffee and found interesting hiking trails which I would like to return to in the future. Most importantly, I found dry socks! The sun had come out, Pierre was lying in the sun drinking beers while waiting for the tide to change. Once in a while, I’d carry the giant zoom lens wondering around the perimeter scaring off people so that he could get a clean shot.

In the afternoon, the tide was low enough for me to explore the whole beach. People wondered around but most stayed to the south of where we were. Dark sand gleamed in the sun. Distant coasts veiled with haze below their waists. I warmed up quickly down to a thin fleece. The unpleasant night before was forgotten. Pierre felt restless and explored the little square of beach around where he had left his large format camera, which was not to be moved for 24 hours sitting atop the waterfall. This is my post card shot of the aforementioned waterfall. The creek flow does increase during rainy season as I have seen in other people’s shots.

We had lucked out on our Feb trip to Hug Point while the odds for rain and nasty PNW gray was at large. The day in fact too clear for a good sunset photo. I tried but didn’t like any of the shots. We were happy that it was a success. Pierre got a bunch of a great shots from the trip, printed them large 16″x20″ for his final project (online only kallitype version). I got massively ill afterwards for a whole week. Perhaps I should have said no to the trip, but to be there as a supporting girlfriend and to shoot Hug Point was too attractive for me. It was after all a priceless trip.