The chain link fence bowed in areas from remaining upright for so long, bullied by the heavy, insistent snow. Deep gouges edged into a tree trunk like chapped lips, a lost limb appearing cauterised from its side. Young girls swung hula hoops around the branch in earlier years, and a brass bird-cage before they were born. The garage door also reflected age and wear, cracked in places once painted annually in shady spring afternoons.

The woman walked on the brick, boots sinking into the ice and frost. She paused and looked, really saw. She breathed in the memories slowly, closing her eyes, then opening them to attune herself to the moment and empty her mind.

She considered her hesitation in visiting this sacred space at first, afraid to notice any oddities or differences from the carefree days of her childhood. Yet, she did not dare to walk over the forward steps and continued despite her fears.

Nothing stirred except the winds blowing through the frozen pine needles; a torn rag somehow caught in the tree branches above and waved at her to move ahead. Her methodical procession led her to circle the yard with care. She thought about Lao Tsu and wondered if she was a closet Taoist; the internal chatter ceased and she felt purified, whole, and at one with her surroundings. She felt the air alive with God and hope, pushing away the darkness from the past few months.

There were strange things present; things she did not understand or want to know. Some changes amused her.

Other alterations suggested loneliness, death, and lost companionship. She remembered hearing her grandmother’s laughter, the squeaking line of laundry hung to dry in the summer heat and playing in a turtle shaped sandbox. She felt warm, despite the outward chill and knew to leave when her cheeks hurt from the cold and happiness.

She saw herself as a six-year-old, picking fennel from the garden, washing the bitter leaves with a hose and eating it to appease her proud grandfather. She recounted good memories- hopscotch games with friends, feeding her dog saltine crackers so he would lick her face and make her laugh, and building an island for a Lord of the Flies project as a middle schooler.

I will return after  the winter gives way to weeds and wildflowers, she vowed, turning back down the alleyway, but only after buying a basketball.

I did not get a chance to visit Chinatown this year, but long to relive memories from the 2011 parade.

Thousands walked joyfully, a swaying mass spilling over the curbs to witness the lion dancers, wave banners, and steady cameras and smartphones. People leaned on each other for a better view, ignoring usual social proprietary for personal space; their single purpose held more power than any need for elbow room.

People spoke their minds and respected one another’s differences.

The healthy supported the unsteady elderly and young children dressed in fine brocade, little girls gaily shaking their braided pigtails in glee rested on top their parents’ shoulders.

Lavish restaurants served to capacity, long lines extending outside their doors and frantic staff waiting on the hungry with weary, but welcoming smiles.

Tourist shops and novelty stands promised good fortune through usual goods- bamboo plants, fans, red envelopes, puppets, noisemakers, and confetti poppers, which tourists purchased in abundance. Multicolored and metallic paper covered every conceivable concrete and asphalt surface, burying any regular debris. Street vendors waved spiced meat and steamed dumplings while the fresh produce markets displayed ripe fruit, Asian vegetables, and seafood packed on ice.

Heavy drum beats, excited voices, and general cheer echoed along every alley, one-way, and dead-end. Eventually, police cleared the area and city sanitation picked up bling as they cleaned the littered roads.

I will always celebrate Chinese New Year with hope, optimism, and happiness. Most of all, this holiday represents love and familial perseverance; I look forward to sharing how I celebrated it this year in the next few days.

Gung Hay Fat Choy to you and yours!

Thank you to my wonderful friends and Twitter followers who kept me in high spirits when I was still waiting for news. Your well wishes and sincere words helped me more than you know.

On a less important, but still exciting note, my favorite NFL team, the NY Giants are going to the Super Bowl- to beat the New England Patriots like they did in ’08. I look forward to taking to the streets with the rest of this marvelous city in rowdy celebration again.

Lastly, I met my new nephew!

Here are pictures of my best friend’s new husky puppy (see related post here) from this past weekend:

He’s very fuzzy, sociable, and bright, if not exactly potty trained yet. He’ll get there, though!

chispeak[dot]com joins WordPress and many other sites for the SOPA/PIPA strike.

Read the Pros and Cons of SOPA (in plain English), why SOPA is dangerous and join the strike at sopastrike.com.

See you on January 19, 2012.

photo taken by my sister

Think about your greatest aspiration, the one you hold so close others are not  aware of it. The one you tuck beneath your rib cage, past your sternum and nestle somewhere near your left ventricle. Right there. Feel it? Good. Stay aware of it for a moment. We’ll get back to that dream because there’s something else that needs to be addressed first. You feel it too, right? Something possibly smaller, but more deadly, restrictive. You can feel it pressing down on that little bubble of hope, threatening to pop it. You know what it is? I’ll tell you – uncertainty, fear, limited time/resources, life responsibilities, and more often than not, self-imposed excuses. Perhaps it’s even a twin feeling that your aspiration is too great or unrealistic to meet (note: you should always check this possibility before beginning any life-altering endeavor, but if others have done it through hard work, you might say it’s not so wild after all). Plan out baby steps and you will soon find that small feats accomplish great ones.

Think about the obstacles. You might not overcome all of them, or you  may not even want to, but you can make alterations in your daily tasks to better support your goals. For instance, I want to be a published author, but know I must sharpen my skills before writing and editing through anything. I also need to learn the ins and outs of the industry to better my chances of securing a literary agent. Obvious “obstacles” include work, paying bills, stopping to take care of my basic needs (food, sleep, hygiene), errands, and social relationships aside from work. I can’t write 24/7. I don’t have the means or resources. Yet, I am willing to lose a few extra hours of sleep to make the time. Weekends are golden. I also put forth the extra effort needed to get experience. I was the editor for my alma mater’s literary magazine, working my way in the ranks from interested staff member to helping us win an award. I won a few poetry contests. I blog and freelance for online writing assignments. I have a ball.

When you want something badly enough, you make time for it.You seek resources and ways to improve. You never give up and push through even when discouraged. My progress toward this goal keeps climbing, not falling, but my life will not lose its meaning (I’m not talking to you, nihilists) if I never publish a novel. I will not regret the ride and I do not intend to stop blogging either way.

I believe in supporting personal luck and cultivating the ambition and tools to project myself forward. Keep it moving. Keep upbeat. Chin high. Pause when a breather is necessary. Sleep and wake up to begin again.

Relationships are like a fishing line of connected, conceptual terms that are only comprehended and enacted by example. Yet, they are also terms used with heavy emotional weight. People feel something when they say and hear, “You need to trust me” or “All I ask for is a bit of help around here,” but often fail to explain the root of their outbursts or supply straightforward ways to better the situation. Abstract words like these (‘trust’ and ‘a little help’) are not tangible in their pure form, no one is an infallible mind reader to someone else’s expectations, desires, and needs. Open communication is vital to relationships; it is very easy to “hear” someone without really listening to them. Therefore, the  (tactful) direct approach can clear up a lot of confusion and heartache. The next time you find yourself frustrated by your loved one’s actions or words, think whether you were communicating openly with them or hoping they would magically understand you. People are not perfect, but if you think about what is upsetting you, then you can express your emotions in a calm way, discuss, and form a remedying plan as a unified front.

My beliefs on this topic are not cookie-cutter and do not fit every situation, but acknowledging the courage in each other and communicating is a starting point. Every path to betterment needs a place to begin and a foundation to work from. This was mine. Tailor it to fit yours. Also, laugh together because a relationship does not only experience the downs, but ups and there should be a lot of joy in going through life with someone who loves you.

Read my latest post about growing up with SNES on girlhack.com

Unevenly laid bricks covered the ground, but we spread out our sleeping bags anyway. The sun hung low on the horizon and darkness crept slowly across the sky. Uncomfortable, I rested on my back, staring into the canopy of several overhanging pine trees. Shadows moved.

“What are those?!” my friend whispered frantically, pointing at the shapes. We turned flashlights hesitantly on the forms and gasped.

Fruit bats filled the trees and stared down at us inquisitively. They covered every branch. There were at least two hundred of them.

“Our camp-out is over,” I whispered back fiercely, “Crawl slowly toward the door, but do not stand up and startle them.” She did. I followed. We slipped inside quickly, shutting the screen door behind us and watching outside. 

“Now our sleeping bags will get covered in guano!” she protested, hand poised near the door knob, but I slapped it away. 

“Too bad.”

Larger creatures appeared from behind the garage. We stopped bickering and watched. Two large wolves and a panda paced around the backyard. Two large wolves. And a panda.

“Let’s adopt a pet,” my mother and father stated at the same time before I could protest against the confusing scene. They pushed us aside in their haste and opened the door.

One of the wolves forced his way inside the door frame, his hulking size nearly pushing the hinges loose. Someone reached out and grabbed him around the scruff of his neck, but he shook his head free and padded his way through the hall. He stopped and pivoted back toward us, growling.

I cursed.

“You always wanted a dog,” someone cooed, walking toward the wolf with a smile on their face.

“That is not a domesticated dog! That is a wolf! We need to call animal control and move somewhere safe,” I hissed back, angrily.

The wolf narrowed its eyes and displayed his teeth, the fur bristling along his back. I did not blame him. I could not believe this was happening.

His eyes morphed into a comical drawing, roughly drawn and black scribbles for eyebrows. Then, he charged. The wolf chased us into a stairwell, where he ran behind us, canines clipping near our necks and flailing limbs. He was too fast. We were too clumsy.

Wolf attacks are nearly nonexistent, but this is not an average situation, I thought. I like wolves, too. This sucks.

“No, Ma!” I yelled.

“Rachel, I am not your mother. Wake up!” my boyfriend said, shaking me slightly.

“No, wolves are not pets!” I continued, raising my voice in desperation.

“Rachel, wake up,” he persisted, laughing.

I sat up in bed and looked around.

“I heard you thrashing around in here. You fell asleep,” he explained.

Once the disorientation passed, I vowed, “I am never taking Benadryl again.”

She stands a little over five feet tall, but her personality makes her seem like a giant. The 80-year-old walks swiftly if slightly bent to the mahogany bookcase. Her fingers rifle through several hardcovers, pulling out slips of paper as she searches. She stops after several moments and smiles at her grandson, handing them over. His curious gaze softens as he examines the yellowed stamp sheets.

“Will these be enough?” she asks him, smoothing her long pleated skirt absently with her empty hands.

“Yes, I believe so, Gram,” he replies, counting the cents diligently, “but don’t you want to save these? They could be worth something.”

“They probably are, dear,” she smiles, “however I have no use for them and I do not wish to sell them to someone who would keep them imprisoned in another book for fifty more years. These deserve to get mailed, see the world a bit, and carry out their original purpose.”

“As you wish, Gram,” her grown grandson replies, his forehead creased in unspoken disapproval.

“Your grandpa would have wished it so,” she says softly, running her hand on his face in appeal.

“Yes, he would have wanted me to do whatever makes you happy,” he laughs, looking at her with adoration, “he knew better than to not listen to you, at any rate.”

“That’s my boy!” she cheers, grasping his hands with hers, “and you are welcome to keep any left over for whatever investment schemes you are mulling over in that brilliant brain.”

She moves toward a scratched oak desk, opens its top drawer, and retrieves the vintage bauble someone bought from her grandson’s eBay listing. He takes the delicate thimble and explains, “I am an old woman with many things, and I wish to share my treasures with those who will appreciate them – not store them away for the sake of my memory, dear. Thank you so much for helping me.”

He nods in silence, unable to say anything without betraying emotion in his voice and wraps the small purchase in bubble wrap, slipping it into a mailer. His grandmother and he take turns placing the stamps on the envelope. They talk and smile at one another; it becomes a treasured moment between them.

“Where is this package going, anyway?” she questions as he buttons his coat and prepares to leave, sealed envelope in hand.

“New York City,” he states, “The buyer was eager and requested expedited shipping.”

“The city that never sleeps,” she muses, a dreamy smile easing over her face, “Your grandfather and I went to New York once, before your mother was born. It was a busy, dirty place, but we had such a good time.”

“Yes, I would like to visit New York someday. We plan on settling down here in California, but I promised Leanne we would go see the Statue of Liberty.”

“You must take her there soon, then,” his grandmother advised as they hugged goodbye, “It’s best not to keep your bride waiting on those types of promises.”

There is a back story to this envelope, and this could be one of them. More possibilities to come.

Kids still know and recognize Sonic the Hedgehog? We are doing something right as a society. Yep, definitely have hope for the future. Also, I ran out of 'h' magnets.

Valerie and I remained friends throughout elementary school, but drifted gradually as middle school began and we were assigned to different classes. She was a kind, brilliant little girl and I admire her for retaining those qualities through high school graduation. I hope she is well and recalls our memories together with fondness too.

*name changed for anonymity purposes