Life – Page 4 – ⋆ Second Gen Desi ⋆

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Before that night in late spring of my junior year of high school, I could not comprehend how painful a mental breakdown truly was.

I played singles varsity tennis that fall. I had been awarded the position of first chair flute in county honor band that winter. And that night, I had completed two regional competitions for Robotics as president of my high school team, bringing home an award for our website as well—-something that had been a personal project of mine finally received validation, yet it triggered my anger.

Logically, I had nothing to “cry over”, yet the dark idea that it would all come crashing down triggered the tears, guttural yelling, and body slams against the floor of my parents’ bedroom.

My mom with her own mental illness, fueled the fire with her share of yelling and ridicule that I was the one that needed help. My dad, shocked at the scene going on before him and unable to stop my incessant crying and self-harm, threatened to call the police.

But this only pushed out more tears, and at one point, my body couldn’t take it anymore. I continued to lay on the floor listlessly while my parents calmed down as well.

The police never came, but Dad thought I should see a therapist. I was resentful, given the fact that my mother had not seen a doctor in years, but part of me felt the urge to see someone, with a sprinkling of curiosity.

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I have lived with depression since then, with it popping in and out of my life at varying intensities, depending on how kind my environment was to me.

An eating disorder was mixed in as well, sometimes making it unclear what was first to influence what.

The depression, along with OCD tendencies, popped up along my PhD journey as well, with one of my darker episodes occurring at a time when so many unknowns were at play… the biggest of which was the worry of how soon my first, first-author paper would be published, if I would be able to graduate, and if it was even worth all of the anxiety and emotional breakdowns I was going through.

It was around this time I decided to see my third therapist, but also consider taking medication for the first time. When I received the news that my paper had been accepted, that itself lifted away the weight of the world that was pressed so firmly at my shoulders for the past six months, but I still felt it necessary to seek out professional help.

Dr. S was an immense help through the first half of 2019. It may have helped that my environment suddenly turned friendly, but she helped me battle the ennui I was now experiencing as I inched towards a summer graduation.

At first I saw her once a week so she could get to know me better and monitor me as I started taking Lexapro for the first time. I was on 5mg initially, but was bumped up to 10mg. Beyond a few headaches and fatigue, the pill got acquainted with my body and lifestyle, although I personally didn’t feel any changes.

Especially since I still felt cyclical anger and irritability.

Dr. S was a trained psychiatrist, but would not continue writing prescriptions for patients unless paired with counseling sessions. I enjoyed our sessions in the beginning, since I was able to vent to her about my desire to start anew outside of SoCal. She knew about my plans to apply for a fellowship in Italy, and how I yearned to have the opportunity to meet new people and travel all over.

When my plans were starting to gel by November 2019, I began to grow tired of my sessions with Dr. S. Like with the therapists of my past, I had hit a plateau with her. I felt like I didn’t need her anymore, and that my depression had retreated once I received confirmation about Italy.

Of course with COVID in early 2020, my plans changed dramatically. I was “stuck” in Tulsa (although now I see it as a blessing I wish I could relive again). Being with my family definitely played a key role in mitigating stress. I was still taking my Lexapro, but popping a pill each day without knowing if it was truly serving its purpose was beginning to irritate me, to say the least.

Dr. S wrote me a prescription for 90 days to take with me as I settled down in Milan, but who’s to say if it got me through my two weeks of isolating self-quarantine?

Because my mind was already set on starting fresh and throwing myself into a different world, I felt ready to stop the Lexapro. I didn’t want to rely on medication to modulate my mood for the rest of my life, especially if it wasn’t doing its purported action in the first place.

Things seemed to be going wonderfully at work.

I was finally opening up and starting to date for the very first time in my life.

In fact, I was lucky to meet someone so early in the “game” who I clicked with instantly.

And with all of this new-found happiness, I wanted to see what my body could do on its own…in an environment where I felt in control and eager about navigating through.

So I stopped taking Lexapro in mid-August 2020. I informed my Dad and a close friend of my decision, both of whom knew of my recent depression history. My Dad, knowing the obstacles I have faced when it comes to doctors and their diagnoses understood why I chose not to wait until I found a doctor, but my close friend was more concerned. While I acknowledge it would have been helpful to see someone within weeks of arriving in Italy, I knew that with the painfully frustrating administrative system in place—especially in regards to healthcare—it would have been a nightmare to wait for a second opinion.

In my battle with depression over the years, I quickly realized that when it came to my body and mind, only I could be the one to decide what felt right for me.

I felt “normal” for about a week, after which painful, throbbing headaches began to make an appearance on a daily basis. I was starting to feel easily triggered by what I would normally see as minor inconveniences. On my early morning runs, I would have to stop mid-run because I would be on the verge of tears…

Things started to feel uneasy at work. I found myself silently hyperventilating at times, and I often had to duck into the bathroom to let myself had a good cry.

I knew fully well I had nothing to be upset about. I stopped taking the medication because things were going well. I wasn’t too concerned about these symptoms arising because I was expecting them as part of the withdrawal process.

Everything would be better in a few weeks…

But it seemed as though things were slowly retreating and heading in the opposite direction. The throbbing headaches did stop after three weeks. I wasn’t crying uncontrollably everyday either, but my mood was no longer at the same elevated level that it has been in mid-summer.

And perhaps it was because my environment, the one I thought I had control over, was starting to become more overwhelming than I ever imagined it would be.

Having the patience to learn and speak Italian was becoming a stressful chore.

Work was becoming something I was slowly starting to dislike. I resented the idea that my position wasn’t as flexible as I thought it would have been. I felt like my skills weren’t being appreciated. And having these feelings woven through a five-day work week was an feeling that grew unbearable by the minute.

As fall turned into winter, I thought time would make things better, but with the rise of COVID infections, we were back in a lockdown in late October. I was resenting the fact that I had yet to travel outside of Milan or Como, and I was counting on the winter holidays to make my Rome trip a reality.

But that of course didn’t happen.

At least I wasn’t alone during the holidays, but my anxious thoughts and depression still would not leave me, even though I knew I had a full week off from work to take in the last of 2020 (although, what was really there to take in?).

I kept thinking about how I was “wasting” my time off because I wasn’t able to travel. Or ruminating over what experiments I should be planning my first week back at work, even though that was the last thing I wanted my thoughts to dwell on…

Castel Baradello hike the day after Christmas. It was a beautiful sight, but my mind was gripped with anxiety about my week off ending soon…

And with the arrival of 2021, things still seemed to not “feel” any better. Yes, I was finally able to move into apartment that wasn’t the size of a claustrophobic closet, and with a balcony (something that was a top priority), but I still felt unsettled 😔

I thought I would appreciate a long, cold winter after months of painful humidity and encapsulated heat, but I guess I didn’t know what I was asking for when it came to an Italian winter. The weather became piercingly cold, and the sky always seemed to match my mood—gray, dreary, tired, depressing…

I tried to keep my mind away from the gray by appreciating things I knew would bring me joy.

Like, (finally) buying a Nespresso machine so I could have coffee on my terms.

Or stopping for adorable cats that ‘meow’ back and don’t mind being coddled.

And even trying to shift back to daylight runs vs. the nighttime runs I had a habit of partaking in during the summer. Because every ounce of sunlight helps.

Work continued to aggravate me. I still felt like I was doing tasks that weren’t adding to my skill set, and that what I was doing had no relation to what I thought I had signed up for.

Looking back, I find it ironic that in the phone calls I had with my Dad during this time, I’d semi-joke about having a breakdown at work given all the emotional turmoil that had been building up for the past several months.

And, then it happened right on cue 🙃. Before I broke down into a solid cry that drenched even my blue disposable mask, I was having a meeting with my boss, during which she expressed her disappointment with how things were going (I would later learn that she had been described by others to push people to their breaking point in an effort to get the most work out of them). I didn’t have the energy to explain my situation, so I let my emotions do the talking.

She seemed to understand immediately, and offered help where she could. At least that situation got me into a doctor’s office for the first time in Italy 🙄. I knew counseling had helped me in the past, but this time, I already knew what my trigger was.

A stressful, overwhelming environment.

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Since my breakdown as a junior in high school, I have accepted that depression will always be a condition in my life, and that it may need managing from time-to-time.

When I felt out of control with where I would be going to college and troubles at home with mom, diving into an eating disorder was my solution.

When I felt deep anxiety about the fate of my PhD, and the paper I was anxiously trying to publish for a timely graduation, Dr. S and my willingness to try medication for the first time was my solution.

And I thought Italy would be a long-term solution. Especially for the irritability and ennui that popped up in recent years, but it turned out that Italy was an issue of her own.

COVID has been an obvious key player in this, and it’s hard to say how things would have turned out if I had arrived in Italy back in early 2020 as originally planned, and if the world had not been shaken by COVID.

But ongoing events have made me realize that the biggest trigger of my current depression “flare” is directly associated with the very reason I came to Italy in the first place. And how do you manage and cope when the very thing that is your livelihood causes so much distress?

Recently, I’ve been fortunate to have possibilities open up. Knowing that there may be a way out has put my mind at ease, but at the same time, there’s no guarantee that the solution to cutting myself off from the triggers here will help me somewhere out there.

That’s why I’m trying my best—with whatever ounce of energy I do have—to take things day by day. Making sure to sip my coffee, savor a relaxing dinner at home, and pet that furry cutie before each run…

When it comes to using medication to manage my mental health, I personally do not want to get near it ever again. I’m sure it works wonders for some, but that doesn’t mean it works favorably for everyone.

Managing my depression has led me to prioritize my happiness no matter what. I acknowledge that what I may constitute as happiness right now in life could change over time, but even so, I believe that if we make it a priority to live in ways that ensure balanced levels of happiness, we can encourage the same from those we interact with on a daily basis.

An infinite loop of happiness, wouldn’t that be nice?

Looking down on Como from Castel Baradello, two months after Christmas ❤

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This post was a collaboration with The Desi Condition. Check out their site for information on their podcast and art collective, which especially emphasizes mental health in the South Asian community.

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Before I turned 18 years old, the holidays were a time I looked forward to with deep anticipation and pure excitement.

Two (sometimes two-and-a half!!) weeks off from school.

Hot cocoa with whipped cream paired alongside one of many classic holiday movies on primetime.

Spending entire days with other kids in the neighborhood, playing to our heart’s content knowing that we’d get a free pass to stay up late at this time of year.

But all of this changed for me immediately after Christmas 2009. My spiral into an eating disorder began along with a new decade, and it eclipsed the happiness I normally felt during the holiday season.

The next round of Thanksgivings and Christmases were made miserable, thanks to an incessant voice chiding me to keep my servings of Dad’s green bean casserole and tofu wild rice stuffing small. In the years that followed, I made sure that a set of measuring cups was placed alongside my fork and knife—I could not get off track, even for one day.

In my darkest moments, I would have never had the courage to disregard my ED’s voice to indulge in holiday treats. I’m glad that this isn’t an issue for me now—-living in Milan surrounded by numerous pastry shops selling delicious Christmas desserts.

This went on for six years, until finally in 2016, I had my epiphany. I had chosen recovery, and was on a path to healthy weight restoration.

Still, the incessant thoughts kept nagging as I helped myself to servings of Dad’s home-cooked food like never before, and my body image had reached an all-time low. Fighting with an eating disorder is a strenuous, mind-numbing battle, and it’s only felt worse during the holidays.

My fight eventually paid off. I can say with a content mind, body, and soul that I have beaten my eating disorder. The thoughts still pop up from time to time, but the way I manage those thoughts has developed considerably.

We are all not on the same path however, and my heart goes out to anyone still struggling with their ED at this moment—especially during this particular holiday season. The stress of COVID-19 and the socially isolating lockdowns it has caused can be a huge road-block to recovery.

If the girl I was from 2016 was struggling with her ED recovery through a COVID-ridden holiday season, this is what I’d encourage her to do, given her unique situation:

If living with family/roommates who are aware of your struggles—and willing to help…

Your ED is probably rejoicing at the fact that large gatherings for Christmas dinner or New Year’s Eve parties are not happening this year (at least in a fashion that is approved by society…). But perhaps the people who you are currently living with want to have some sense of normalcy with a festive dinner, and ED does not approve.

If they are indeed a supportive bunch, vocalize the thoughts running through your brain. Allow those around you to understand your current anxieties and offer care in a way that will help you make it through the day. Tell them about your calorie fears, how having measuring cups next to you makes you feel assured, or why you need to know if your “safety foods” are part of the menu.

Hopefully you’ll then find yourself with a team. The day will feel easier, and perhaps more enjoyable, once you have unloaded your deepest fears and anxieties onto people who want to help you tackle them.

If living with family/roommates who are unsupportive, or if you are living alone and unable to see your family/support system in-person due to lockdowns…

If you are living in a household with people who you don’t trust or cannot be vulnerable around, you have every right to excuse yourself from spending your time with them, but don’t let ED win either.

EDs thrive on making their victims suffer in silence, but planning ahead will help you from succumbing to that. Plan out a holiday dinner for one, with foods you enjoy (and not necessarily “safe foods”).

You deserve to enjoy yourself during the holidays. Even if you are not ready to tackle a holiday meal with unknown calories, planning ahead and preparing for foods (and drinks!) that provide comfort will make this isolating time a little less rough…

Even this can be a challenge if you are at it alone, so make your dinner a virtual one. Call up another friend in lockdown isolation, maybe even family (parents get lonely too…), and plan on your menus together. If you trust them, have them help you brainstorm ideas on what foods or meals to purchase that challenge you, as well as foods you are comfortable with.

And most importantly, create a plan with those you trust in case you feel you might fall prey to post-meal restricting or purging behaviors. Having a designated person to call in case you feel the urge to restrict or purge hours after your meal is the ultimate prevention tool against relapse.

Fighting an eating disorder takes an incredible amount of energy. Waking up each day and choosing recovery over and over until one day it sinks in…that is hope, gasping for air.

This holiday season is even more isolating for an ED victim—but I hope you keep fighting and eventually be gifted your epiphany 🧡

You may not have your epiphany this Christmas. The voices may still have a hold on you all the way through New Year’s…maybe well into 2021, when the fear of COVID diminishes with the rise of vaccinations. The world will continue to go on, but you may still not be ready.

Understand that your journey is valid, and keep fighting until your epiphany does come around. Take this moment to celebrate the fact that you’ve made it this far—you’ve survived a global pandemic while also sorting through personal struggles you may have not been able to voice.

Give yourself this moment. No matter how many times ED tells you you don’t deserve it, I’m here to tell you that you absolutely do.

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I originally wrote this post for my old blog—a post that humorously described the hierarchy of a scientific research lab. I wrote this as a second-year PhD student in February 2016, but I thought it would be fun to reflect on this post as a now post-doc.

The following text is my original post, while my commentary in the present day is in red 😉.

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I often reference how I have to “pop into lab” or “go out for lunch after lab” in many of my posts, but I have not had the chance (or the patience) to go into detail about my life in lab. I thought it would be fun to describe the usual hierarchy of a lab, so you could have at least some idea of what I have to deal with on a daily basis…

Before I became the dedicated PhD student researcher I am today (😅) , I was an overworked, overexhausted undergrad student, who was treated like a grad student during my first lab research experience. Not all was bad though, as I learned a lot, and had face-time with my boss every time I was in the lab, but as an undergrad student I could only spend so much time in the lab. My boss at the time didn’t understand this, and she kept pressuring me to stay longer, work more, etc. I was able to hold on for a year before moving on to my next experience!

I think PIs don’t understand the concept of work-life balance in general…most just want you to get your tasks done, no questions asked. If you speak up and say it’s too much, perhaps if they are the reasonable type you can reach a compromise to prevent burnout, but most scientists keep to themselves and work without question. This has frustrated me over the years because it’s a form of peer pressure that isn’t healthy. We need breaks, we need rest, and we need to prioritize our time so that we take care of ourselves and our work doesn’t suffer…

The undergrads in my current lab are more like these guys though …

They’re not annoying, but most of them work under a post-doc in my lab who likes to call them “minions”. In my lab, they tend to carry out smaller experiments and tasks, but don’t necessarily have a project on their own. In comparison, I would say I had it a lot better as an undergrad (if we’re talking about getting experience and training… if we’re talking about the preservation of my sanity, then perhaps it would be the opposite 😂).

When it was time for me to recruit and mentor my own set of students, I treated them with dignity and respect. I knew that if I wanted them to help me with my work, I had to take the time to carefully train them and of course, practice patience. It’s never the student who is incapable of comprehending information—it’s the teacher’s job to present the information in a clear way.

Next up on the lab hierarchy are usually research techs/lab assistants. Usually people that are at this stage are students that just finished undergrad, and are trying to keep busy while waiting to hear from the grad/medical school programs they applied to. I fell into this stage right after I graduated from undergrad a year early, and fortunately, it was in a lab that was very laid-back. I wasn’t paid (so that meant working evening shifts at a local outlet store for some $$), but it kept me attuned with the research world as I applied, which also helped with my interviews!

But not all research techs/lab assistants are students-in-waiting. In fact, I’ve come across many people who are older adults, or people who got a B.S. or M.S. in some science major and had to take a hiatus from lab work due to personal circumstances.

My sister completed her master’s degree, and is currently working as a research assistant/lab manager at an established institution. She’s a relatively fresh graduate compared to many research techs/lab assistants—I know a woman who has held this position in a lab for 22 years 😱!

In either case, they’re on a never-ending quest to prove that they’ve got what it takes.

Constantly felt the pressure in grad school with having to “prove myself”

Then there are the grad students, the PhD-type 😛. Their origin can be one of these two: a continuing masters student, or one who is constantly replying “No, I came straight from bachelors” to anyone who asks, “Did you get a masters first?“.

Compared to my years as an undergrad, I would say being a grad student is less intense. Shocked? Don’t be! I still have plenty of work, and with my qualifying exam coming up, I’ll probably be rethinking what I type here, but I am being completely honest when I say I felt more stressed/anxious/obsessive about my work as an undergrad than I do now. I view the work I do now as my job, and I don’t necessarily see myself as a student in the traditional sense. I do have classes I have to take, but unlike in undergrad where my focus was on class and doing well in class, now it’s to produce work in lab and just show your face in class.

Yeah…I spoke to soon 😂. My third and fourth years were the most intense of my PhD career. I felt an incredible amount of pressure in my fourth year, as I was in the middle of manuscript writing. A lot of doubt and negative feelings resurfaced, and it was a tough period in my life to get through. Whoever says the path to a PhD is fun and easy is delusional 🙃

Just above the PhD students, you have the post-docs. These guys and gals try very hard to make sure everyone knows that they are NO LONGER STUDENTS and that they do in fact have 100% earned the right to be called _____ , PhD. There is no denying the fact that they do deserve this, but it can get irritating when you have grad student vs. post-doc ~~arguments~~ debates. The PhD student doesn’t want to look stupid when he/she asks a question to the post-doc, and the post-doc wants to make sure that they give the right answer, and “look good” doing so. They also have added pressure to be even more independent than a student, and are often regarded as mini-bosses in the lab.

I’m currently six months into my position as a post-doc in a new lab, and I have to remind myself often that I do indeed have a PhD after my name. That yes, I am a doctor. It may depend on the lab environment, but given the smaller size of my current lab and the lack of available students to help carry out expansive experiments, I’m back to doing all of my work on my own. And this definitely makes me feel like I’m a student 😓.

Finally, we have the primary investigator (Pl). The head honcho. The big boss. The don…

(image source)
LOL Can you imagine Shah Rukh Khan, the face of Bollywood leading a scientific research lab?!

I’ve come across three PIs in my overall experience so far (not including rotations), and while they all have their own quirks and personality traits, a couple things stay common for all. As a Pl, your biggest responsibility is making sure your lab has adequate finances. It’s what gives you the freedom to run your lab the way you want to. It’s no secret that funding is extremely tight, so labs can get competitive when it comes to raking in mon-ayyy. In order to make sure the lab is successful, a Pl needs to be assertive, exact, frank, and be able to compromise if necessary (especially when it comes to collaborations, as science is definitely a “it’s who you know” kind of industry)…

Yup, this PI description is still pretty accurate 😁

It’s kind of funny that as a grad student, I fall right in the middle of all these interesting characters! At times, it almost feels like I’m in a sitcom or a TV show with all the crazy interactions and dynamics that go on around me or involve me. I do love it though…

At a conference two years ago with my then-lab’s budget admin.

Ah, how naïve I was back then! The remaining 3.5 years after this post was written were packed with work, but I did find my footing. As I gained seniority, I became more comfortable with my surroundings, my experiments, troubleshooting protocols, and presenting data. I trained over 20 undergraduate and master’s students who sought research experience, and I’ve presented at conferences and published a first author paper in a well-known journal.

I wouldn’t say I love this life, but when results from experiments make sense, your data is validated by your colleagues, and you are recognized for all of the time and effort you put in, it’s hard not to give yourself a pat on the back and take pride in your work!

Sometimes I wonder why I chose this life, but I have to admit that eventually…the difficult times have the potential to become something worthwhile and rewarding.

The risk is in the wait, and the unavoidable unknown…

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Relatively speaking, living in Italy was on my radar much later, and more recently in my life.

When I began my PhD in August 2014, working abroad for my post-doc never came across my mind. I was too infatuated with Los Angeles, and pre-occupied with my obsession with nutrition, partially influenced by my controlling eating disorder.

But as the years slowly inched forward, I found myself on a healthier path, finally coming to terms with my body and oh, so troubled mind. With more fuel for my brain, I was able to focus on different aspects of life, and go beyond my tunnel vision of calories and nutrients.

As I made more wholesome relationships, began to network, attend conferences, and travel on my own, I realized I had a desire to grow beyond what I had cultivated in Los Angeles. I grew tired of the city, and as friends began to graduate and leave for other places, I grew tired of the people as well. I was aching for a change, and it was throbbing deep within my soul.

At first, Spain was on my mind as a potential location for “my next chapter”. When I came back from my first international trip/business trip/solo trip (3-in-1 😂) to Barcelona in September 2017, the next several months were full of daydreams that occupied my mind during my commute to work.

After getting a taste of what could be, I was eager to find a way back, even if I had to wait at least two more years to finish my PhD!

I downloaded Duolingo, and started “learning” Spanish. I found several post-doc fellowships to keep in mind of, and I had a folder where I kept all of their links in my Chrome browser.

As work began to pile up in my current position—especially as I entered into my fourth year—I put my Spanish daydreaming on hold. I was determined to make it happen, but I obviously had a PhD to complete first! Somewhere amidst the chaos, I realized that the only “decent” post-doc fellowship for a non-Spanish/non-EU citizen was in it’s last year—in 2018. I knew that it wouldn’t work out after all, but I was still eager to make it to Europe.

As if on cue, Italy popped up. A random Google search one day led me to a page for a fellowship program that offered funding to non-Italians for 3 years to do cancer research.

As one thing led to another, I found the perfect primary investigator (PI) to support my application. We began exchanging emails in March 2019, submitted my application in June 2019—a few weeks before my thesis defense actually 😉—and received the good news in November 2019.

When I realized Italy was happening, I was beyond ecstatic. I would become not only an Italian, but a Milanese.

And it was going to happen in late February 2020…until it didn’t.

As we all know, COVID happened. It allowed me to spend quality time with family, but the circumstances in Italy seemed dark and hopeless. I’d refresh the Worldometer stats each day to see if there would be a drop in cases, but every day of April 2020 just brought upon more and more anxiety.

I was honestly beginning to lose hope. I thought of back-up plans, and took a break from learning Italian. If I wasn’t so sure I was going anymore, what was the point?

But things finally took a positive turn at the end of May 2020. I was receiving emails again, got the greenlight to return to LA to process my visa, the go-ahead to book my tickets and temporary apartment, and finally allowed to comfortably imagine what my new life would be like…

…beautiful buildings at every turn, friendly colleagues, warm Italians who spoke not one word of English and who would delight in my attempts to learn the language, making new friends, frequenting fancy aperitivi, dating for the first time…

And this new life began on June 23, 2020.

Seeing Milan for the first time, up in the air…

And my first impressions of the city were…wow, everything feels much smaller, and not as grand as I was thinking…

The most bizzare part was not going through a passport/visa check. My flight path was Los Angeles ➙ Paris ➙ Milan, and there was some paperwork I had to fill out between LA and Paris, but the fact that nothing was checked was very weird…especially during the age of COVID.

Still, I followed everyone out, hauled my three hefty pieces of luggage + my carry-ons to where I met a family acquaintance. My cousin’s husband (the folks we met in Dubai) connected me with one of his work contacts who lived in Milan, and she thoughtfully offered to help me get into the city and get some groceries for me since I had to complete a two-week quarantine upon arrival.

My temporary stay was in an Airbnb that I thought was affordable and a decent distance away from work—but there were definitely drawbacks. The small space in the not-so-gorgeous neighborhood of Cimiano did not help emphasize the idea that Milan was a gorgeous, fashionable European city…

When someone asks what you need for 2 weeks, it can be tough to answer. For me at least, since I only buy a few things at a time…but I was asked to give a list of everything I needed, so my mind went to the basics—milk, cheese, eggs, bread, fruit, veggies, pasta. Needless to say, my diet was very well-rounded in those 14 days

But I had to get used to these “cozy” accommodations because it was my abode for, at least, 14 long, isolating days. I got used to sleeping in late (10/11am for me!!), running in place to get my exercise in, having breakfast and lunch around noon, taking a nap in the afternoon (man, I miss those naps now…), and trying to keep myself occupied (and sane) until night.

Fresh fruit with a view (?) – I rarely go for oranges or grapes, so you know I did not get to picky with that quarantine shopping list 😅

Surprisingly, those two weeks did go by pretty quickly looking back.

The first thing I did to ease myself out of my quarantine was get used to the local park settings. Parco Lambro was only a mile away, and it has since become my go-to place for my weekday morning runs.

It was here that I met my first friends in Milan—the good ol’ topi muschiati

The muskrats of Parco Lambro. Doesn’t it look like a mother eggplant and a baby kiwi? 😂

As my end-of-quarantine day neared, so did my groceries. I was still a bit hesitant about going out grocery shopping in an Italian grocery store for the first time, but I put on my mask and walked 30 minutes to a supermarket when there was one about 10 minutes away from where I was staying 🤣

I was supposed to stay at my current residence until the end of July, but due to my Airbnb “host” not being cooperative with certain pieces of paperwork required for my Permesso di Soggiorno, I had to quickly find another residence.

The back and forth with Airbnb regarding this issue was an absolute nightmare, and honestly worthy of it’s own blog post. Doubt I would ever find the time and energy to rehash that experience here on the blog, but that experience alone has made me look to support other home-stay companies in the future…

Luckily, I did find another place in a timely manner, and my boss even helped me move—which was shocking to me, only because I’ve never had a boss who helped me with things in my life outside of work 😂.

As I settled into my second residence, I also began work soon after. It felt weird to work in the lab again after many months working remotely, but a new environment, new colleagues, and a new project was what I needed to feel productive again.

And knowing I had the following weekend to explore without quarantine restrictions was a sweet thing to look forward to.

I didn’t venture out too far during my first weekend of freedom. I stayed within the vicinity of the northeast corner of the city, with my main goal for the day being to order an authentic Italian cappuccino in Italian.

And I was successful, but I was too shy to ask for some dolci along with it. Let alone zucchero. But evern without the sweetness, I was happy with my warm cuppa from UpCycle Milano:

The end of my quarantine however also coincided with the start of unbearably hot summer temperatures. I ended up walking from the cafe, which was in the Citta Studi neighborhood, to only a few blocks south before turning around.

Politecnico di Milano was my turn-around point

So I didn’t trek through much in that first weekend, but I was able to plan for the next weekend properly. I pretty much explored “most” of Milan within this weekend, as I made it a point to get out of the apartment and check out as many neighborhoods as I can, even if I was feeling a little lonesome and homesick.

At Parco Sempione, I was able to meet up with a fellow runner for a hot evening run.

We haven’t met since, but it was a nice excuse to get some miles in in a new place.

From there, I fell in love with Brera, probably my most favorite area of Milan.

If I could find an affordable place in Brera…wow, sign me up!

Now this was what I was thinking ALL of Milan would look like 😂.

A stroll through this beautiful neighborhood eventually led me to the cuore of the city, the Duomo:

Funny how even in the middle of July, the “crowds” were not much!

Oh, and the galleria next to the Duomo made me speechless…

So this made for an eventful Saturday (evening), yet I wanted to do some more exploring on Sunday.

Stumbling upon Piazza Duca d’Aosta during my stroll on Sunday

I was met with unsurprisingly empty streets. Since I had arrived in the peak of summer, when people were weary and relieved from the passing of the first COVID wave, I expected that many Milanese would leave the city for the countryside. I wanted to appreciate the fact that the city was all mine, but I was definitely having a huge case of FOMO.

A perfect example of “New vs. Old” in the city

But I did stumble upon more people as I neared Piazza Gae Aulenti, one of my favorites in Milan because it’s next to the “plant buildings”, or more officially known as Bosco Verticale.

The perfect place to be in the summertime.

I spent a good hour here walking up and down the paths, watching people passing by and sunbathers on the many lawns scattered about. There was something about all the lush greenery that made me feel okay with slowing down and not “rushing to get to the next place”.

After spending a while among the fresh greenery, I made my way to Porta Venezia. In an attempt to find ways to socialize and meet people outside of work—and after 14 days of isolation—I scheduled a spot in a walking tour. How pathetically touristy of me 😉.

Since it was a HOT Sunday afternoon, it was just me, a volunteer walking tour guide (a sweet woman) and another expat who was actually from Japan and Germany!

The three of us managed to spend two hours together, though I had silently hoped it would only be one…my feet were killing me at this point, and I suppose it was the fact I did too much walking before the actual tour 🙈.

The buildings were pretty and I agree, the architecture was gorgeous, but the heat, my feet, and FOMO were getting to me again. I couldn’t concentrate on the walking tour guide’s voice because I was too pre-occupied with the idea that I felt like the same ol’ girl that left LA—wandering aimlessly through city streets all alone, unsure of if she’d find groups of people to actually have fun with, or even just a decent boyfriend to spend her days with.

This going out to do solo stuff was getting tiring, but I felt guilty for having these thoughts because I had just moved to a whole new country! Why couldn’t I just take a deep breath and appreciate it more?

Some of that gorgeous architecture in Porta Venezia

When the walking tour was over, I made my way back home. Of course I stopped for gelato along the way, I at least deserved that 😂.

————————————————– 𝕊𝔾𝔻 ————————————————-

It’s been about 4 months since moving to Milan, and it has been a surreal experience, to say the least. To think that earlier in the year, things seemed dire and impossible, to now, where I am writing blog posts in the comfort of my monolocale in the northeast corner of the city…it’s unfathomable. And despite the eeriness of COVID that still looms above us, I have to be grateful that given the situation, life has been good. I’ve had my ups and downs (and towards the latter half of my current stay, I’ve been battling what feels like more down days than I would like), but I try to be thankful because I eventually did make it to Italy, and I have a chance to create a life of my own choosing.

I’ve realized that Milan is definitely not my city, nor is it the la città più bella in all of Italia, but I can’t complain about it’s comfortably small size and excellent safety (especially when compared to Los Angeles). Overall the people are nicer than in LA, but they certainly lack the pazienza I wish they had when it comes to my current struggle with learning Italian. I can see why it’s not much of a destination for tourists, but it is a cozy place to call home.

We’ll see where this city takes me…hopefully it will have some more good things to offer me in the future ✨

Reading Time: 13 minutes

Most people are familiar with America, but if you drop California, there really is no need to worry about being too specific.

Hollywood. Santa Monica. The Golden Gate Bridge. Yosemite. Lake Tahoe. UC Berkeley. Stanford. UCLA. Disneyland. Malibu...

Some people dream that one day, they would be lucky enough just to set foot in one of these over-hyped locales. But me? Not so much…

Despite spending 15 years growing up right in the middle of Sacramento and the Bay Area, going to school at a UC, and pursuing a PhD in the City of Angels—living smack dab in downtown LA even, for 2 out of the 5 years I called La-La Land home—I was Cali’d-out!

Don’t get me wrong. I wouldn’t have wished for any other kind of location for my childhood and adolescent upbringing. Every single situation, obstacle, and opportunity I was in, faced, or received was because of my life in Cali.

But having lived in the Golden State since I was 7—all the way through 27—I was itching for a change.

No, dying for one.

Circa 2000. Sis and I having fun in the Cali sun. We moved into a new development, supposedly near a really good school district 😂

While Cali did give me quality friendships that have lasted many moons (yes, the number of solid friendships I have I can count on one hand) and access to a top-notch education (if you were to ask my Dad, haha), there were plenty of things it didn’t provide me with, like:

✶ a sense of community – despite the sunshine, most people in Cali I’ve come across are cold compared to other places…

✶ memorable adolescent experiences – I never had those nights in high school where I snuck out, or those “I-got-wasted” college outings…

✶ a strong connection to my cultural roots – we lived nowhere near extended family. Our life at home was rocky with my Mom’s mental health, so we rarely had guests over…

✶ a sense of home – I lived in Nor Cal. I lived in Los Angeles. It was comfortable, and it was what I knew, but never did it ever feel like home…

One could argue that this isn’t California’s fault—just the luck of my circumstances and the people I ended up interacting with, but being in California certainly didn’t help 😅.

I naively thought I would be leaving California on my terms, but the coronavirus pandemic had other plans. After leaving SoCal in late March 2020 with a bitter heart, and spending almost 3 months recovering from the vitriol of the world in the comforts of Tulsa, I did end up coming back to ‘home that never felt like home‘ for a little less than a week.

So I was able to say good-bye, but in a way that I never imagined.

The real reason I came back to SoCal before leaving for Milan was bureaucratic. I had to go in person to pick up my work visa, because despite being 2020, some things still haven’t caught up with the times—especially if it concerns governments 🙄.

I also had to reunite with my household items, clothes, and car I left with a dear friend, J, who lives in West Covina. So along with settling documents for my trans-Atlantic move, I also needed to figure out what exactly I was bringing with me on this move.

Definitely no the car, so selling it was an urgent matter on my to-do list.

My first “day” back was actually a Monday evening after a harrowing American Airlines experience where social distancing protocol was thrown out the window 🙄. Despite having to spend $60 on a Lyft to get from LAX to West Covina, and dealing with a bitchy case of hanger, I was able to check-in to a cozy Airbnb guest suite (very cozy, I mean, literally fit for just ONE person) after fetching my car from J’s house and chatting with him and his wife for a bit. I was extremely exhausted when I arrived, as I had to unload three large suitcases and multiple loose boxes packed with things I had no time to properly organize when I was fleeing Cruella’s place at the end of March…needless to say, I fell asleep very quickly that night, even if I was staying in a guest suite meant for a barn mouse 😂.

Tuesday brought with it a packed morning. I had my visa appointment allllll the way in Century City, and so I left bright and early to make sure I could avoid any issues.

I arrived at 8am in desperate need of coffee, and I was not too enthusiastic about paying for parking before paying for a cuppa. The visa process was not bad, but definitely a time sucker. Only two women were working at the time, and I was the only “guest” there. Using the guise of “COVID”, I found the policy to enter the tiny visa office to be more ridiculous to me than usual. I mean, walking through an archway metal detector just to pick up a piece of paper? 🙄

After shelling out $30 bucks for parking and leaving 1.5hrs later, I managed to get back on the road towards DTLA and came face-to-face with traffic, of course. I got in touch with my friends J and P (one of my closest colleagues even though she was technically a Business Admin), since I had plans to meet with them both for lunch, like the good old days.

Back when I was a PhD student running around in a fervor, my lunches with P and J would be a somewhat constant in my busy days. P often craved for fast food on Figueroa, while I’d pick up something from Trader Joe’s nearby. We’d then either eat inside the fast food place of P’s choice, or “out at the tables”. The latter was my favorite, since it was at a sheltered corner of campus not too far from my lab building, with wooden picnic tables underneath shade from plenty of trees.

Our lunch meetup was a long one, but I tried to savor every minute. It was definitely the last time I’d be seeing P, since I had plans to have dinner with J and his wife later in the week. The three of us were able to enjoy a nice lunch at our ol’ spot, even though the environment around us was chillingly quiet—sure, the campus was usually quiet during the summer, but adding COVID into the mix made things feel a little more eerie…

After lunch, it took me about an hour to return to West Covina. I had an itch to go for an evening run, and wanted to see if my foot—recently recovered from an Achilles’ problem—could handle running up some East LA hills while it was possible. I also wanted to see if I could hit my highest mileage in months (40 miles) before getting aboard a plane a week later!

So, I ended up going for the run. I decided to run up some steep hills, and was met with some fantastic views. Little did I know that my decision to run in a large circle around the neighborhood versus my usual “out-and-back” routine would lead to something else.

A guy in a car at a stoplight to be exact.

In the past, I would have completely ignored any man calling me over from a car, and I would have been annoyed out of my mind by their advances, but with everything about to change in my life, I decided to play into my vulnerability.

After taking out my earbuds, I realized that the guy was wondering if I was running track at the local college.

He was “inspired”. He wanted a running buddy.

If that was what he really wanted, then I didn’t see an issue with exchanging numbers and meeting at a local, public park the next day for a run together. I’ve always preferred running with company, so I had no problems.

I had no fear either, but I stayed cautious.

After my run, I drove to Sprouts to buy a few groceries and dinner for the night. My phone was bombarded with texts I wasn’t so sure to be flattered or insulted by:

You’re so pretty. You’re Indian? I love Indian women. You’re 27? I knew it. You have such a great body…

But since I was trying something new—giving people the benefit of the doubt—I didn’t want to think too much of the situation. Instead, that evening I had a nice, warm vegan mean with a side of kombucha, a hot shower, and fell asleep in a great slumber.

The next day was Wednesday, meaning running around to attend to more errands and doubting my plans to meet up with the “Running Guy” multiple times during the day. J recommended we run near Cortez Park, after I asked where would be a “safe”, public place to run.

And being the person that I am, I went out for a mid-day run in the scorching heat to get used to the neighborhood near and around Cortez Park.

Stop to smell the gorgeous Californian flowers.

I finished five miles during that session, and later in the day, messaged Running Guy to confirm our meeting point. He suggested that we meet at Shadow Oak Park after I brought up Cortez, and I didn’t feel so sure until after confirming with J that it was indeed “safe” as well.

I soon learned that Shadow Oak Park was made for plenty of people to enjoy in broad daylight—especially the views of the great beyond from lil ol’ East LA:

When Running Guy finally arrived, I told him I was planning to finish up the day with 4 miles during this session, bringing my total for the day to 9 miles. The descent was no problem, but 2 miles back up hills was troublesome for me. I kept pushing myself by repeating over and over that this hill work would pay off…eventually.

Running Guy however, was pooped. He said so at the beginning that he was not a runner at all, but wanted to “get in shape”, despite playing other sports like basketball.

When we finished the run, we chatted for a bit and all seemed normal. He seemed disappointed by the fact that my time in Cali was temporary, even though I told him the day before that I was only here for a week. Despite telling me to “drive safe” as we walked over to our individual cars, I’m not so sure his following actions were supportive of that…

As I started driving away from the park, my phone began to buzz. I had a weird feeling in my stomach, and I wasn’t so sure about glancing over to see who it was, even though I fully knew.

When I had a chance to park, things got creepy…

No, I think it’s just you that’s “curious” 🙄

As soon as he had the nerve to invite himself over to my Airbnb, I knew this situation was ridiculous. Even though I had done nothing wrong however, I still felt a tinge of guilt. But why?

Perhaps it was because the first time I met a guy under a slightly flirtatious context. I felt embarrassed, but there was no reason for me to be. I called up one of my more “experienced” friends, and she gave her two cents plus some.

I felt better after confiding with her over the phone, but I still felt violated in a way. Maybe it was the onslaught of text messages coming in all at once, or the idea that perhaps he was a guy who wasn’t forthright with his intentions from the start.

I’ve told the story to a few more of my friends, all with different reactions. Some laughed at the fact that I would agree to meet a stranger within 24 hours to go running, others reprimanded me (as if they were my mother 🙄), saying I shouldn’t trust guys at all.

I listened to their words and let them flow in one ear and out the other, because their opinions really had no influence over me at this point in my life. This was an experience that I went through involving social interaction, personality dynamics, and body language, and to be honest, it felt like a warm-up lesson for what could await me in Italy 😜.

Thursday morning definitely felt weird after the situation that took place the night before. Fortunately, I had a cleaning scheduled for the car in Azusa, so it would get me out of the WeCo area. I shouldn’t have allowed the situation with Mr. Creep influence my choice about not running that morning in the neighborhood, but I didn’t want to take my chances. I convinced myself that running in Azusa while the car was getting taken care of was a good use of time (they had the car for an hour and a half) and I would be able to run in a new-to-me area.

The gray, cloudy skies seemed a little depressing for mid-June, but I loved it. The humidity was still atrocious, but I’m a sucker for a dark, foggy sky.

The car was ready after two hours, so I immediately picked up lunch and fell asleep in a nice nap once I got back (to my temporary) home. When I woke up, I had a hankering for vegan diner food, and knew that I should seize the moment now, because who knew what Milan had to offer in that category?

I was able to take the car out to the local Covina Tasty, where I “treated” myself to a veggie burger and a vanilla soft serve with butterscotch topping—the kind that hardens into a shell 😝.

Not sure if my nostalgia for childhood summer days in NorCal or more-recent memories of hopping around to a new restaurant every weekend in LA for the past five years made me push to get such a simple meal, but it was just what I needed that evening.

On Friday, I wanted to venture out of WeCo again, this time going to Alhambra. Back in my first year of my PhD training, a number of my classmates lived in Alhambra due to it’s affordability, safety factor, and vicinity to campus. I was more enthralled by the bright lights of the deep city, so I never gave cities like Alhambra a chance.

But running here on Friday made me feel nostalgic for those times six years ago…despite the battles I was internally struggling with at the time, I remember the people I met and the activities I participated in fondly.

My run through Alhambra was a quiet one, but seemed oddly empty on the streets because of the extended, semi-stay-at-home order situation. After my run, I walked around the park where I started and watched some of the wildlife (ducks, haha) before driving off for a refreshing treat.

My destination of choice was a corgi-themed cafe called Cafe Der. I would have calculated my steps regarding pictures, what to order, and how to describe the food for an Instagram caption if I was still running a food blog, but those days were coming to an end.

Over the past few months, my looming next chapter began to influence how much passion I really had for my “passions”, especially food and running—I still love those things, but my heart didn’t have the desire to keep things as they were.

Just like with everything else 🤷🏽‍♀️

Sunday was calm, but things already started to feel bittersweet. By the time I woke up around 9am (after multiple instances of waking up and forcing myself back to sleep), it was blistering hot. I still wanted to go for a run though…my 40 mile goal for the week was so close I could taste it!

Knowing I’d be leaving California, and the US, indefinitely the next morning, I felt like I *had* to venture out nearby. One last hurrah of going out to a restaurant, taking pics for the ‘gram, and bringing home dessert like old times? Why not?

After dropping off a few more items for donation, I picked up a smoothie from Jamba Juice to cool down my body before setting out to run. I picked a “park” in Arcadia thinking I’d be in the mood to check off one more cafe visit in the area after my run.

Running in Peck Park was a horrible decision on my part, due to the unbearable heat, but I somehow managed to crank out a decent amount of miles.

Peck Park in Arcadia…so hot and dry…how did I run here?

I couldn’t fit all my miles for the day in this blistering session, so I vowed to finish up in the evening when things felt cooler. I also had to coordinate with J about dropping off the car at his house (again), since I was selling it to a third-party vendor for convenience.

Before going by J’s house, I made one final stop at Sprout’s to pick up some food for dinner and snacks for the morning—-one last time in the car, driving out to get ready-made vegan hot bar food and kombucha. I was secretly going to miss that little piece of freedom.

After settling that and saying a final good-bye to my dear friend, I tied up my running shoes again and finished up the week with a 4 mile out-and-back. I felt so much lighter and faster as I finished up these miles…running against the backdrop of a Californian sunset is one thing I’ll miss about the Sunshine State. I’ll admit that.

I left the AirBNB around 11am the next morning. I took a pricey Lyft back to LAX, with my three large suitcases, a rollerboard, and a handbag in tow. On the other hand, I held nothing in my heart for the place I was about to leave.

You know it’s time to move on when your childhood home no longer belongs to you. When your parents have uprooted their lives to live somewhere else. As much as my Dad says he wishes I could stay with him forever, I can see he has nestled into the lifestyle of an “empty nester” quite comfortably.

You know it’s time to move on when you have no friends left in the city. When they’ve moved as far north as Sacramento, as well as across state borders to places like Vegas and Austin. Now I was the one leaving them all miles behind, by choosing to start a new life in Milan, but they had all left me earlier. It was another sign that California and I were ready to split from each other.

And, you know it’s time to move on when your heart has already found a new place to fly to. When spending hours walking along Wilshire, running down Figueroa, and strolling down Pico no longer sparks joy. When visiting new restaurants on weekends, potentially running into celebrities, and getting lost in famous neighborhoods is more of an inconvenience than a priority.

Yup, my final week in La-La Land and the Sunshine State had served its purpose. I can’t predict where I’ll end up in the future, after Italy…if there is an after Italy. Will I call Cali home again? Who knows, but I knew that the time to say good-bye was now.

Day by Day

Holiday Hunger: Managing ED During a COVID Christmas

That Lab Life

Benvenuti a Milano

The Next Chapter