My Very First Music Festival Experience

Pretty lights, yes please

Dancing until my feet hurt

Music festival

I had my very first music festival experience recently. As a young person in my late twenties, I feel a bit of a late bloomer but better late than never, right?!

I met my old grad school friend in Philadelphia and we took a shuttle to New York, where the festival happened. We arrived early Thursday evening and departed Sunday afternoon. Each day was jam-packed with famous and up-and-coming bands and DJs. We spent one to two months preparing for this event. We bought our tickets ahead of time. I made multiple lists of things to bring and buy and consulted with my buddy. I was generously supplied a small first aid kit by a medical professional friend and borrowed this same person’s sleeping bag (thank you!). I bought a sleeping pad, a backpack, a flashlight and various toiletry items. A few things I wish I could have brought include: a battery-operated fan, a cooler with ice, a camping canopy with folding chairs, and water by the gallon. Of course, that would have been made more possible had we traveled with a car of our own.

The vibes were great. Everyone was happy (off of life and perhaps a bit of happy drugs) and ready to meet new people. We met one person who had gone at least five times.

This was our first time at this event. Definitely a very memorable one for the both of us. 🙂

One (almost tragic) event occurred. On the last night, my camera did something wacky where I thought I had accidentally deleted ALL of my photos.

Everything.

Gone.

I was sad for this loss. Luckily, I had been very selective with my photos and only wanted the good stuff so it was not like 100 photos were missing. Still pretty bummed though. But what else could I do? Mope around on my very last night there?! No thanks.

Miraculously, the photos reappeared when I tried to upload the one photo I thought I only had onto my computer. Hooray! If you could only imagine my joy when they reappeared.

So.

Happy.

I guess the one tidbit I forgot to include in this story is that I finally buckled down and purchased a new digital camera since 2004. This was my first picture-taking experience with this camera so I had one of those…”you-should’ve-known” moments.

Now that I am back to reality and civilization, I can deeply appreciate flushing toilets and showering with water pressure. I have included a few photos for you to see a little bit of what I (and others) experienced.

  

I would have never imagined…

Pushing your limit.

Don’t forget to breathe, okay?!

Let’s do it again!

Four years ago, I would have never imagined that I would be chalking up my hands to boulder or putting on a harness to top rope climb. Who am I?!

A couple of months ago, I decided to take a bouldering class with a close friend at the nearby rockclimbing gym. I wasn’t and I’m not good by any means. I mean, it has taken me five visits to be comfortable with being at the top of a bouldering wall. And that is BARELY the beginning of my fear, which brings me to:

Did I mention that I am afraid of heights too?! Oh, yea, that too!

So today a friend of mine noticed my fear of heights. It’s sort of hard NOT to notice. I freeze mid way, I start to shake when trying to get at the top, and I start to shake when I try to climb down. Freak out. I just freak out. There’s no way around it. She suggested that I should really try top rope climbing. My eyes went wide open. I shy away and say, “Hmm, maybe next time.” I witness my other friend try her first time with rope. The holds are bigger. Seems a bit more easier. And you are safe. What’s there to lose?! I see my friend try two walls, one shorter than the other.

Oh, alright. I will give it a go.

Mind you, my hands are SWEATING when I am watching my friend top rope climb for the first time. The chalk has completely disappeared. Poof. Gone.

I try a 5.4. I will never forget this. Purple holds. Closest to the entrance. I get about halfway there, which is where the normal bouldering walls end. I stiffen. I glance at the rope. I’m okay. Keep. Going. I take a few breaks here and there to take a break, to breathe, to rechalk…and I finally make it to the tip top! And then I slide down. It’s over!

Looks like I will finally need to invest in a good pair of rockclimbing shoes…

By the end of this year, I will feel like a traveling circus with my yoga mat, hula hoop, rockclimbing shoes, and chalk bag in tow.

What else do you have in store for me, World?! 🙂

P.S. Please note that I am very new to the rockclimbing terms. Not sure if any of this even makes sense.

Graduation is Near

Twenty-seven months.

Therapy, field placement, yes.

Graduation. Here. 

About two years ago, I started this blog as a way to keep my family and friends in the loop of what I am up to on the East Coast. I was accepted into graduate school and found out that I would be placed in New York. A place I had only been to once (!). I was scared shitless. So much so that I didn’t leave my Upper East Side apartment for a few days, scared that I would truly get lost through the subway system. I am not kidding you. How do you think I felt when I found out that I had to travel 45 minutes to the Bronx for my internship?! Oy.

Well, here I am.

Two years later.

I will be graduating in mid-August. I am awaiting my status on a fellowship in California. Waiting semi-patiently. I already emailed the Director a few times. He probably hates me.

I’ve been spending the last month or so looking through craigslist ads for rooms and jobs in New York or San Francisco. My heart is torn. Obviously going the New York route is the more riskier route. If I go the San Francisco route, it is much, much safer. I have the cushion of paying low rent for a few months while I stay with my step grandmother. Also the luxury of having lots of family and friends near. The art of finding a job in New York becomes more time sensitive. I have thought about giving New York a one-year trial. For shits and giggles.

What’s been your riskiest career move?!

Meeting New Friends

Meeting new friends here.

Via Craigslist, might I add.

New York, you are great.

New York, you never fail to surprise me.

I don’t usually have a hard time finding people to go to music shows with. To my surprise, this weekend was a bad weekend to buy three back-to-back pairs of tickets. I was able to find someone to go with me to a Thursday night show.

I buckled down to the idea of going to a show solo on Friday night. What was I to do with an extra ticket to a sold out show? Craigslist, obviously. So I posted my ticket online. I received an email.

We were to meet in/near/around Union Square and do the trade off in the afternoon. Then I received a text message a few hours prior to meet-up time and she told me that she couldn’t meet up. Whether I could meet prior to the show. Sure thing. I am flexible.

Then I receive the dreaded Craigslist text message that basically reads: I can’t make it. Seriously?! Dread.

So I post my ticket online again…four hours before the doors open. I cross my fingers but most definitely do not hold my breath. Miraculously, I receive an email one hour prior to when I am going to leave my home. I text her and she wants my extra ticket! Score!

We meet up, we do the money-ticket exchange. I ask her whether she was meeting up with anyone. She said no. She asked me the same. I said no. And then she asks me whether I want to go in together. I would not have personally asked but that is exactly what I was thinking. Gees…how many times have I held back from saying what is actually on my mind?

Perhaps more often than I would like to admit.

We hit it off. She’s 35 and works in Manhattan, close to the venue. A lot of relationship similarities. Both freshly out of relationships two weeks ago for the same amount of time. Coincidence. We talk before the show, in between songs, and after each band plays/the other band sets up. She has to leave before the show ends because she is heading to Boston tomorrow morning (and I am heading there next weekend…another coincidence). We end with: let’s keep in touch and do this again.

Yay to meeting new friends on the fly! 🙂

…and you call yourself the “Big Apple”

Bring it.

City of lights, dreams

Yellow cabs and subway rides

Bring it on, Big Apple

New York, you big intimidator you. You make yourself to be so big, so tough. Guess what?! I am not scared of you anymore. Take that. 🙂

I have been living in New York City for the second round since September and since then I have had three run-ins from people in different paths of my life. It makes me feel like New York is not as big as everyone makes it out to be.

Let me count the ways. (Please keep in mind that I grew up and went to college in Northern California.)

Run-In Number One: A friend from California is visiting the East Coast. It is me and her Brooklyn friend. We decide to meet at this bar near Terminal 5 for some pre-party action. I look to the left and spot my BFF Jim from high school. (Apparently, he works at this bar.) I don’t really believe my eyes. I wave him over and it is definitely him. Jim has lived in New York longer than me but we sort of lose touch here and there. It was great to see him and catch up a little bit…not to mention he also hooked us up with the cerveza. I mean, seriously?! What are the chances of running into a high school friend at a Manhattan bar?!

Run-In Number Two: I don’t have an office on Tuesday afternoon at my internship. I used to try to scope out various coffeeshops around Chelsea but I became lazy and eventually became a regular at the somewhat nearby coffeeshop. My chair is so that I see all of the cash register action and am able to see who comes in and out of the coffeeshop. Lo and behold, an old co-worker from college walks into the coffeeshop. You’ve got to be kidding me. I say “Peter?” And he says “Ileana?” We catch up. He just moved to New York this summer. I mean, seriously?! What are the chances of running into a college friend at a Manhattan coffeeshop?!

Run-In Number Three: I am a member of a gym that grants me entry to any gym in the United States for that specific gym company. I’ve been dying to take a step class in New York and found one on a Saturday afternoon. I hadn’t visited this particular gym but I will muster up a two-hour roundtrip for a step class. That’s how dedicated I am. I am way early. I overestimate how long it would take me to find the gym, get dressed, etc. I am outside of the gym class prior to my gym class…I look in and spot someone that looks like someone I went to grad school with…in the Midwest. I take my step class. I feel shy about asking this woman whether we went to school together. In the large locker room, she just happens to be in the same area as me after class is over. I tell her that she looks familiar and whether she went to X school in Michigan. She says yes. We were in the same program, same school, same university…except she graduated a year before me. I mean, seriously?! What are the chances of running into a grad school person at a Manhattan gym?!

As I recall these run-ins this year, I can’t help but think about the “Small World” kiddie ride in Disneyland. And when you think the world is too big…it is only really so small.

Halfsies

Thanksgiving, two meals

Christmas, two meals, and then some

Family, Culture

(Backstory: There is limited office space in the agency I work at- I switch between the adolescent (second floor) and the adult floor for mental health (sixth floor). I am the only intern working with young adults. There are three interns working in adult mental health.)

Every Monday/Tuesday night when I have an office on the sixth floor , me and one or two interns have an intern pow wow, our very own gab fest. It serves as a breather, a break. Tonight, I chatted with another halfsie. See, we are both half Filipino. My other half is Salvadorian. His other half is Black. Somewhere along the way we got to talking about jobs, being marketable. We talked about understanding and speaking languages. We both don’t speak Tagalog. I understand the Spanish words but that’s it. We both grew up hearing Tagalog in the house. Also hearing Tagalog-influenced English. Or I guess you could say English with a strong Tagalog accent. We are very familiar with this.

He started talking in this manner. We both laughed. It was comical. We knew it all to well. The v’s that were pronounced like b’s/p’s.  The funny translations.

I don’t think we were laughing because the accent is funny. I think we were laughing because it was all too familiar.

And we missed it- Hearing Tagalog. Seeing people that look like us. Seeing family.

We want to feel like we belong…that we can be part of the greater society…as halfsie social workers, human beings.

* * *

Note on my haiku: My haiku refers to my parents always making sure that my brothers and I experienced both cultures, both families, both loves. In short, there were always two Thanksgivings, two Christmases.

***

A little something to sort through: http://topics.nytimes.com/top/news/us/series/race_remixed/index.html?ref=us

Sounds Like Home, Feels Like Home

I love live music

I feel it through my body

My heart explodes now

I was sifting through my planner pages a few days ago and squealed with excitement with the idea that I was going to visit home (San Francisco) in just one month. I do get the sense of home in New York City. I travel out of state and I come back and it feels great to be back in my own room, my own bed. However, there is something else about going back to (near) where you grew up or spent fond memories of your early twenties.

In New York City, I ride at least 4 trains a day. Two trains to get to work and two trains back. Sometimes I have the pleasure of hearing music on my way to my destination. This morning (or rather, a week-and-a-half ago when I started this entry) three men hopped inside my train. Two guitars. One piano accordion. They played the standard mariachi jig. I closed my eyes and time traveled to San Francisco.

* * *

Imagine my twin brothers and I are in elementary school. We are living in our yellow, three-bedroom, two bathroom house with a front and back yard. The makeshift treehouse that my dad installed sways in the eucalyptus tree in our backyard. My dad’s black, two-door, ’89 mustang is parked in the front. It’s shiny- he just washed and waxed it. We are inside getting ready for our weekly weekend excursion to San Francisco.

It is me and my brothers in the back seat. My dad is driving and my mom is in passenger seat. The mustang zooms in and out of lanes as we head towards the Bay Bridge. My dad works his stick shift and my brothers and I watch out the window as we pass car after car after car. We can hear when dad steps on the gas as the mustang gives its roar. Dad pays the toll and we drive into the Mission District. We park on Mission street and we walk straight into our favorite Salvadorian restaurant. My brothers and I sit on one side of the table and mom and dad sit across from us. We are regulars at this restaurant. My mom chats with the server. They talk in Spanish and briefly update each other on their lives. I understand a comment that my brothers and I are growing up so fast. We order our usual: pupusas revueltas y de queso con curtido.

While we wait for our warm doughy pupusas to come, a mariachi band comes in. They make an announcement that they will be playing certain songs and whether there are any requests. They are in cowboy boots, cowboy hats, jeans and tight long-sleeved button up shirts (their bellies are slumped over their belt-buckled jeans). As they play their music, our pupusas come to our table. I am delighted. I had been waiting for these all week. Cheesy pupusas. My favorite. I cut into one pupusa with my fork. The cheese and steam come out. I am ready to chow down.

Seriously, there’s no place like home.

See you in mid-December, San Francisco!

And the Search Goes On…

Refresh, reload, search.

New neighborhoods, hello there!

And the search goes on.

My major goal over summer break was to find a place to live starting August. I saw one place on Sunday, two places on Monday, two places on Tuesday and I will see one today. I did not have to deal with finding housing last year. I posted a note on Facebook and an acquaintance of mine from college responded. Upper East Side. One year lease. Okay, fine. But I will not be living in the UES again nor signing a one year lease. My old housemate seems to think that I will have a hard time finding housing in Brooklyn without signing a one year lease. I beg to differ.

Can I just say how ridiculous these craigslist housing ads are? Yes, they are ridiculous. How so?! Let me count the ways:

Apartment #1: Two rooms were available. Near the L Bedford stop. The ad advertises this loft space as a “cloud fortress.” That should have been my first warning. I walk into a large loft space, all man built. There’s a little bunny hopping around. I forget the name. I walk around the kitchen and living room. Okay. That’s fine. I step into the “bathroom,” which consists of slabs of concrete and planks of wood. I am also told that the water pressure is not good and that the warm water only lasts 20 minutes but with enough planning, there hasn’t been much of a problem. He brings me upstairs. Shows me room one. $900. No thanks. Shows me room one. Worse than the first but going for $1000. NEXT!

Apartment #2: One room is available. I would be living with one other person. The woman advertises the room as being a 10-minute walk from the Bedford stop. Try 20. The room is tiny and is going for $850. Lame. NEXT!

Apartment #3: One room is available. Next to a Bushwick subway stop. Literally steps. Awesome. Cool. I walk upstairs and she shows me what would be my room. $725. The apartment is nicely decorated and I am digging the vibe. I am excited to finally like a place off of Craigslist. I ask her where her room is. Here’s the kicker: It hasn’t been built. Seriously?! Where will it be placed? Oh, you know, the landlord will renovate the apartment so part of her room would take part of the living room. Railroad-style apartment. NEXT!

Apartment #4: One room is available. $809. A short walk from the Franklin Ave. stop. A neighborhood undergoing some gentrification. I do come home late at night and I ask out safety. I am glad that she is honest and lets me know that she would not walk home around 3/4am. Le sigh. NEXT!

Apartment #5: One room is available. $680. A 15-minute walk from the L Morgan stop. It’s a bit far. I guess the selling point was supposed to be that it is near the M, which apparently has a weird schedule. Blah blah blah. NEXT!

Needless to say, my housing search is not going as planned. I have one more place to look at tonight and then I am off to Philadelphia tomorrow afternoon. Wish me luck!

And the search goes on…

The Jitters

What to wear today.

Pencils, papers, pens, notebooks.

I am ready. Woot!

You know, it surprises me that after 21 years of education (preschool, elementary school, middle school, high school, college, grad school 1, part of grad school 2) that I still get the first-day-of-school jitters. I mean, I mostly know what to expect as I have made a career out of school so what’s the deal?!

While looking through my syllabi for my first term of summer school, I realize that yes, there are new classes, new instructors, new people to talk in front of (hello, stage fright!), etc. I guess there is no way to get rid of those jitters. It is definitely humbling to see others in the same boat.

I think it also symbolizes this geeky excitement for learning and that we, as students, are here for the right reasons: to grow. In this case, it is to learn a broader theoretical framework and to hone in on our clinical skills.

The past two days I have started to build relationships with new students and rekindling my friendships with classmates (most of which I have not seen in almost a year!).

Ready, set, blast off!

See you soon, San Francisco!

Windy, foggy you

Alamo Square. Golden Gate.

Family, friends. Bye.

Exactly one year ago, I said goodbye to a city that I called (and continue to call) home after living here for three years. I quit my job in non profit education, headed to New Orleans to visit a dear friend for a week,  packed up my two-bedroom apartment in the Inner Richmond, and embarked on a trip to Western Massachusetts for the summer (to which I and others call Psychoanalytic Boot Camp).

It is hard to believe that this year has already passed up. This time next year I will be heading out for my last summer in Northampton. I am doing my second-year field placement with a non profit community health center in Manhattan working with LGBTQ teens and young adults. I honestly could not see a more perfect fit. I am getting super nervous about needing to start on my thesis work. I might want to do something on cancer patients or social workers who work with cancer patients.

Well, my things are all packed. I have my backpack, my carry-on suitcase and my checked luggage (what’s the difference between a luggage and a suitcase?). I visited my dad yesterday. Today, I had lunch with my mom, stepdad and one of my brothers. Tonight I will have dinner with mom, stepdad, my other brother and his girlfriend. I hate saying goodbyes. It feels sort of weird to say that I won’t be seeing San Francisco until Winter Break.

Although I do hate saying goodbye, it felt really great to be home with family and friends.

Until December, San Francisco.