Yesterday I was planning to eat ramen for dinner, but then the hubby said he was feeling like something light and healthy, which usually means he’s exhausted and needs an immune system boost!

So I made this, instant pot congee.  I think it turned out fairly good and I would make again.  I also made him a smoothie and put all kinds of stuff in it that the Internet says is good for you– spinach, lime, berries, ginger, cinnamon, turmeric, chia seeds, Greek yogurt.  Next time, more ginger, cause he couldn’t taste it this time.


Home Again

Here I am again.  I’ve found a new morning routine for myself, ever since I discovered the Sleep Cycle app.  It’s a really cool app which tracks your sleeping cycles using your phone’s microphone, and wakes you up at the point where you’re the most awake, so it’s easier for you to wake up.  For a person that has struggled with waking up since exiting the womb, well I had to try it.  It has worked really well, and it’s also very interesting to see your actual cycle from being awake, to sleeping, to deep sleeping.

A corner of the dining room lets in the morning sunlight, so that’s where I choose to sit in the anxiety of the morning.  I feel like a cat sometimes, curling up in a spot where I can feel the warmth of the sun after escaping from sleep.  I miss feeling calm.  Little bursts of electricity run around inside my body.  They gather in my core.  I just want to hide from the day, from the eyes, from the confusion, from the judgment, from the reverberations of billions of beings on this earth with convictions and experiences and opinions and knowledge and voices and actions.  I can’t tell if the ache inside is because I’m hungry or because of my mind.  I think a little of both.

Cooking on the Fly

Running out of time, we made this.  Out of the ingredients that we had around, because our Blue Apron delivery failed, yet again.  Somehow being in the middle of nowhere is difficult for them.  So I searched for something I could do with chicken drumsticks and a bunch of basil I had pulled off our basil plant to save them from thrips earlier this week.  I didn’t have enough tomatoes, so we substituted with some tomato paste and water.  Overall, the taste was good and maybe I would make it again, but with the proper ingredients.

The Past

Yesterday I was talking to Hubby about “the past”.  I was considering, some people say that the past is the past.  As in, it doesn’t matter, and we should focus on the present.  To which I raise my eyebrow and think, yes, that’s a good point.  But doesn’t the past affect who we are today?  But to what extent does it matter or doesn’t it matter?  Some people are those who “need to know”, and others are better at passing over those things and having new beginnings.

I’ve always been the kind of person who has trouble letting things go.  The imprints on my heart run quite deeply.  I’ve found out from conversations, that many people can’t remember too many things from their childhood.  But I remember random moments.  I remember preschool, the fake cake with the pandas on it, and being excited when it would finally be my turn to sit in front of the cute cake.  I remember getting in trouble for being awake during naptime during daycare.  I remember my first week of kindergarten.  I sat on the carpeted floor and found a book about Spot the dog, and I read it.  And I found out that the other kids were not reading the books, they were only looking at the pictures.  And that was one of my first realizations that I was ahead of other kids academically.  I remember sitting in a chair for my first piano recital, not quite knowing what was going on.  I remember getting shots with a happy face, but it seems my memory must have tricked me because how can you have shots in the shape of a happy face?  I remember my first friend who asked me if I wanted to be her best friend, but it would have to be second best friend, because someone else was her first best friend.  I remember that I didn’t know why she wanted to be my friend, but she did.  I remember watching my best friend run around the playground getting chased by boys, and wondering what was so fun about that.  I remember receiving an inflatable hammer bigger than me as a gift in Hong Kong, because somebody else was afraid of it, and feeling quite good about myself.

Being back in the city where I grew up conjures up a lot of memories from “the past”.  Watching my cousin go through being a teenager again reminds me of my wide-eyed days, when a group of us genuinely believed we could change the world.  When there were no bills, no homes, no jobs to think about.

The past is a strange place.  What is it about some events that place them so firmly in my memory?


Against my better judgment, I just had some delicious chocolate chai tea, brewed to “very strong”.  So I’m a little antsy right now.  I’ve been writing and deleting paragraphs for the last ten minutes or so.  Outwardly, it looks like I’m calmly sitting in our dining room area, but inside, I feel like the uncomfortable rumble of our washing machine when it’s set to do its “Extra Rinse”.

On Sensory-Overload and OCD

Does anyone else find Facebook incredibly overwhelming?  Like a compulsive need to “get through” the Newsfeed once it is opened?  No, just me?  Staying away from Facebook feels good, more relaxing.  But then I don’t want to miss the latest engagement of my acquaintances, so I check.  Yes, there have been at least two engagements in the last two weeks.  So I’m right on the money (is that how they say it?).  But then my Feed is FILLED with Piano Teacher group stuff and InstantPot stuff and I can hardly wade through it all!  But I feel like I have to, lest I miss something.  #alittleOCD.  And I think I’m addicted to information, or something like that.

Last night I had a lot of thoughts I wanted to blog about.  Does that happen to anyone else too?  It’s like I have all these perfect dialogues going on in my head of conversations that I should be having, and also sentence after sentence of writing, and they aren’t just shapeless thoughts, they’re full-fledged sentences, and I can’t.  Write.  Them.  Down.  Because I am in bed.  And I think if I get up, it will mess up my circadian rhythm or something, which is already in shambles.  I’m too dramatic, but it’s what comes out, so….

You know when you thought you had things to say, but then you can’t remember what they were?  That’s how I feel right now.  Like all these things that were keeping me up at night, taking up precious sleep time, have disappeared!  It’s funny how things seem 10x more important when they come up in your thoughts at 10pm and no one is awake to hear them.  Then in the morning, it’s like nothing is more important than keeping my eyes closed on this fluffy pillow for as long as possible.  Why?!?!?

More inspiration

There are so many lovely Christians who write online.  Every so often I run into one.

Recently, I’ve been having a hard time.  The move here has exposed that I want so much for my self.  I want my time, my ambitions, my desires.  Instead, I’ve been drafted into a job that I am woefully not good at.  Not drafted, I willingly decided to join.  In my naivete, I did not anticipate what others saw coming.  My mother is an accountant.  She passed her CPA exam with two kids in tow.  She worked and fed us fresh meals every, single, day.  I never wanted to be an accountant.  I majored in Economics in college.  To most people, that might seem like it’s close to Accounting.  Let me tell you, it’s not.  Economists and Accountants are like the Chemists and Biologists of the world.  We deal with similar things, but from a different worldview.  Economists are always asking the question “Why?”, which I am very, very, inclined towards.  And, which seems to drive certain practical minds crazy.  “What do you mean why?”  If I have no answer to “Why?” I feel that what I am doing is meaningless.  And within myself I feel that it must not be arbitrary; there must be some secret that I don’t know, a reason for this seeming madness.  There must be an answer to that question.  And I feel it is hidden, and I cannot bear secrets.  I myself am terrible at keeping secrets, but only my own.  I can keep others.  With myself, I feel this odd need to divulge, that if I didn’t, I would be counted dishonest.  I feel the need to tell my hubby that I had another bothersome dream.  Even though I don’t need to.  Hubby is the opposite in this regard, but that’s for another blog post.  Anyway, sometimes, there are no answers.  At least, none that anyone can verbalize to an inquisitive, exasperated learner without becoming exhausted doing so.  How did I end up here?

We felt it was of the Lord that we come.  I had this place in my heart before we got married, but because of school and a job, it was not the time.  Now we are here, and I feel I just want to be by myself, holed up in a house, maybe pursuing my music, my cooking, my designing, my becoming an ultimate perfect housewife slash musician slash chef slash walking encyclopedia slash polyglot slash greenthumber slash DIYer.  In life, this desire for the ideal has often paralyzed me, pulled me in many directions, fueled my disappointment and self-disparagement.  At this point, I would generally break out with one of my favorite songs from Wicked 🙂

“I’m limited……..”

Ok but seriously, this mom’s post about contentment?  Wow.  It’s like my dream of a perfect life just got slapped in the face, in a good way.