I came to Australia at the age of 8 from China, and as a child trying to fit into a completely new culture and environment, I often found myself trying to disassociate from my cultural identity as a Chinese. Growing up in Adelaide, a small and quiet city where there aren’t nearly as many Asians as there are in Sydney meant I was teased and bullied for the way I looked. Throughout my primary school years and half-way through my high school years, I never felt like I fit in. If you are interested in reading more about this, I wrote an article on Soy & Spice Lingerie’s blog about my bullying experience.
Surrounded by Anglo children who looked completely different from me made me question my appearance and what is considered ‘beautiful’. I’ve always been quite small-busted and throughout my adolescent years, I would always be conscientious about it. During those years, a padded bra would be like a second layer of skin on me, and I would feel extremely uncomfortable to wear anything else underneath my clothes that was not.
I’m not sure whether it’s the fact that I grew up in an Asian household, but at almost every family and friends gathering, at least one aunty or uncle will make a comment or share their opinion on some aspect of all the kids’ lives. Whether that’s your studies, your work, your love life or the way you look. For me, a constant comment that gets made is my weight. Seeing as I have always been quite petite, the comment “you should eat more” is something I hear far too often. This made me even more conscientious about my overall weight and especially my bust size. I remember having to compare them to all the other kids at every gathering, which then led me down a dark spiral of self-consciousness and made me feel extremely anxious. Whether you also grew up in an Asian household or in a different cultural family setting, if anyone reading this can relate, please reach out as I would love to hear your story.
My whole extended family in China & I in 2018
I remember walking past the non-padded bra section of department stores and feeling so tempted to browse around and grabbing a set to try. However, there was always this voice in my head that made me hesitate. So time and time again, I would find myself ending up at the padded bra section and then walking out of the store holding a bag with a set inside it.
It wasn’t until I reached my final year of high school that I started to appreciate and love the way I looked. I stopped comparing myself with others and began focusing on myself. I realised that my body probably won’t change too much from this point onwards, so I should just embrace it the way it is. When I came to that realisation, my own world changed. I had a new sense of confidence and I wasn’t afraid to show it. I wore garments that accentuated my bust and my body shape, and I loved it! With that, the anxiety from the comments of aunties and uncles faded away—I would instead just nod and agree, but wouldn’t take the comments to heart.
I understood that the aunties and uncles comments weren’t really aimed at attacking me in any way. They were saying those things because they care, and it’s the way their parents, aunties and uncles also spoke to them. For them it’s normal, but to us, sometimes it can be taken as a judgement, and it hurts.
This cycle is something I want to break and I wholeheartedly believe that we can. We shouldn’t be bound by what others think of us, we should be able to live our lives the way we want. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder and as long as we ourselves accept and embrace the way we look, that should be all that matters. As we will be parents ourselves one day, if not already are parents, we should have the courage in pushing this boundary and breaking away from this cycle to set a new norm.
After I came to the realisation that each and everyone of our bodies are different and we are beautiful in our own unique ways, I remember walking back into a department store searching for a new bra and going straight to the non-padded section. Browsing around a section of the store that I had always walked past made my heart pounce. I felt nervous but so liberated at the same time. I remember finding this gorgeous, soft white Elle Macpherson demi-cup bra and after trying it on, I immediately fell in love. For a teenager, the price of the bra was way out of my budget so I had no choice but to put it back. This experience however, opened up a whole new world for me, not just in terms of my bra selections but it also showed me that I can push my own boundaries and I shouldn’t be afraid to try new things.
Mary Liu, Founder of Soy & Spice Lingerie
These experiences and my love for lingerie led me to start Soy & Spice Lingerie. I wanted to create a line that symbolises the empowerment of women to have confidence, to love themselves for who they are and to have the courage in pushing their boundaries and trying new things out. Through wearing Soy & Spice Lingerie, I want each woman to truly feel confident in their own skin, to appreciate and embrace the body that they are in, and to have the courage in pushing their own boundaries, challenging themselves in new ways and to inspire those around them to do the same.
To further promote the importance of self-love, we have created a 5 days self-love challenge with quick and simple daily activities that gets sent directly to your mailbox every morning. The idea behind this challenge is to show you that loving yourself is easy. If you perform at least one of these 5 simple activities daily, it will form a habit that will bring you long term benefits. If you would like to join this challenge, please sign up here. To thank you for taking the time for yourself, if you complete the whole 5 days, you go into the draw to win one of our sets for free!
I hope you enjoyed Mary’s post! Please leave a comment and check out Soy & Spice Lingerie (as well as follow on Instagram—@soyspicelingerie) to stay up-to-date on the brand’s burgeoning projects and collections!
I will not apologize for the words I wrote before, and the words I write today.
There’s nothing to hide, and nothing to be ashamed of here.
I never developed a “normal” relationship with my mother, because schizophrenia doesn’t deal such fair cards.
Now, I am 28-years-old, and our relationship is more like what is found between acquaintances. The figurative rocks we threw and threatening words we spewed at one another are a thing of the past.
But, boy what a past it was.
There were so many questions she left unanswered. So much guilt I had to internalize. Chronic days of pain I had to endure…
I am not responsible for the aftermath of my upbringing. I never asked to be born into this world. It was her responsibility to make sure I grew up to be the “good desi girl” society expects…
But instead, we fought battles. We shouted until our lungs collapsed. Played mind games until my head hurt.
I couldn’t keep up when I was drowning in a lake of my own tears…
To this day, she doesn’t know what I do for work. Who my friends in LA were. What caused me pain or joy or fear or hate in the past five years. What medications I’m taking. Why I decided to do a PhD.
And eventually, I learned to be okay with that. I was lucky and fortunate to have an amazing father—who pretty much took on the role of “mom” and “dad”. Honestly, as I got out of the house at 22 and began a new life away from “home”, I didn’t want to fight anymore. If it meant not putting in the energy to fight with her demons, that’s what I needed to do.
To preserve every ounce of sanity that I could.
But every young girl—from her pre-teen years through college especially—would no doubt thrive with mom at her side.
————————————————– 𝕊𝔾𝔻 ————————————————-
Unlike those around me—who believe ignoring the issue will make it disappear—I choose to showcase the words that came pouring from my heart 7 years ago. During a life-changing weekend connecting with other South Asians, I built up the courage to share so much about a rocky home life that I kept in for too long.
I felt a strong urge to pen down the words I used to describe to the group about how she made me feel. I wrote a literal letter to my mother, but never gave it to her.
I knew that her paranoia, obsessive-compulsive, and erratic, nocturnal behavior would not disappear on the command of a few words on paper.
But for me, it was a release.
And I do not apologize for verbalizing what was in my heart, because these words were the truth of my experience…
I’ve always been an independent soul, so it’s no surprise solo travel is something I latched onto without hesitancy.
But, I have to be honest here as well: my impatience and my attempt to mediate boredom with others played a huge role in how I stumbled upon the path solo-traveled.
When I was younger, I’d often stray from my group of friends when we went on day trips to the mall. They’d be interested in stores that I didn’t care for in the least, and I thought it’d be the most time-efficient for everyone if we parted ways for a few hours to explore what we wanted.
This usually ended up with me being alone in the end, since my sister and our best friends had similar tastes in clothes, recreation, and even food. They’d be happy with hours spent in Barnes and Noble, grabbing fries and a burger from the food court, and maybe popping into Forever 21 or H&M for their cheap, fast fashion needs.
I usually found myself at the “higher end” side of the mall, taking my time trying on designer jeans, and treating myself to a more “sophisticated” mall treat like pineapple froyo with mochi and popping boba.
My friends came out with bags of books, seasonal sweaters, and bellies full of fast, filling food. I on the other hand, brought out a bag small enough to place on my lap, containing my long-awaited, pricey prize.
As I approached my late teens and early twenties, I realized I thrived as an early riser. This new-found trait of mine was probably exacerbated by my eating disorder, since I was often awake as early as 3AM trying to pass the time until I allowed myself to eat breakfast. But even as I recovered, my inclination towards rising with the sun and starting my day with a morning run hours before the rest of the world was slamming their alarms was something that persisted—and further isolated me from my peers.
It seemed like everyone around me was a freaking night owl, and I was a lone, morning lark…
So when it was time for me to finally move out and start a “new life” in Los Angeles for graduate school, I was more than ready to live on my own terms. Wake up when I want, eat when I want, and explore all of LA as much as I wanted to on the weekends…I didn’t have to worry about asking my Dad to drive me from one place or another, I didn’t have to worry about appeasing the tastes of my friends. I could do whatever I wanted!
In my first apartment! Los Angeles, August 2014
And I did do my fair share of exploration in LA. Monday through Friday was devoted to classes as a first-year PhD student. There were also some weekend mornings devoted to studying, but I made it a priority to get out every single weekend.
I’d take the metro and the bus, and frequent neighborhoods like WeHo, DTLA, Koreatown, NoHo, Santa Monica, Culver City, Sawtelle, Pasadena, etc. I had a list of all the cafes, restaurants, and dessert shops I was eager to visit and sample treats from. I would even travel to go grocery shopping—there was that one time I bought a handful of items from a Erewhon near The Grove (yes, on a PhD student’s budget 😅). I’d make sure to bring a number of reusable bags, taking pride in my grocery hauls as I’d saunter onto public transit like a real bag lady.
At the time, I deemed these days as successful. I achieved what I set out to do—I was living life on my own terms, solo and free.
But as much as I was an expert on doing things on my own with confidence, a part of me always wished that the friends who comprised my social circle would share my interests and passions. I never did meet the right group of people to go out and “party” with. My friends ended up being introverts like me, and perhaps were even more farther down on the introverted spectrum…
Meet-ups did happen here and there over the following years. Despite our supposed mixed schedules, my sister and one of our best friends were able to plan a girls’ trip to Seattle. Then there was the Iceland/London/Cardiff/Paris trip my sis, Dad, and I took the following year, and some weekend trips not too far from LA. Company is great, but juggling fatigue, hanger, anxiety, and the preferences of others isn’t what I’d include in defining my dream travel adventure.
————————————————– 𝕊𝔾𝔻 ————————————————-
My first opportunity for international solo travel however, was something that came up out of the blue, thanks to work. In the third year of my PhD, I was one of six students part of a group fellowship for one year, and one of the stipulations was using some allocated funds to attend a conference.
Without going into too much detail about the situation, I ended up having to pick a conference urgently due to some misunderstandings. I ended up submitting an abstract to two conferences—one of which took place on the (US) East Coast, and the other in Barcelona.
Guess which one I “ended up” going to because the other one declined my submission…
Barcelona, August 2017
It took me a full day to warm-up to the idea that I was in a whole ‘nother country on my own. I had left the lab in mid-September, after an exhaustive series of weeks of intensive experiments. Technically, this was also my first “business” trip, but I still felt out of sorts for being away from work on a trip that was planned last minute.
But I eased up to the idea after a day of rest and a full day exploring the city—from Park Guell to Sagrada Familia to sampling vegan paella, I felt a new-found independence I was slowly allowing myself to enjoy.
In the following days, I left the city for a beach town where my conference was held. I fell in love with the architecture, the views of the Mediterranean Sea, and the kind people (well, kind person—the BNB host I was staying with was a sweet woman who was warm, engaging, and generous enough to give me money for a return train ticket when they wouldn’t take my credit card!).
Sitges, September 2017
When I came back from Spain and went back to work (seriously, I went to lab the next day after landing in LA the night before…), I had intense Spain withdrawals and wished I could have extended my stay to do more exploring post-conference.
That trip was what got me pondering about going abroad after my PhD. I was toying with the idea of learning Spanish and applying for a fellowship in Spain for many months after that trip…
Since I was still knee-deep in my PhD however, I made it my mission to do at least one international solo trip a year. Even though I initially invited my friends to join me, they were quick with their excuses. So, it was me and my lonesome yet again, planning my adventures from scratch.
Since Spain, I’ve traveled to Germany, Sweden, and Vancouver, Canada for my international solo trips. Technically, Germany was to meet my lab bestie, who returned home after 3 years in the US (where I met her), but Sweden and Vancouver were purely solo, and very different experiences.
Exploring Muenster in Germany
In Sweden, I spent 10 days exploring Stockholm, Gothenburg, Malmo, and even a day trip “across the pond” in Copenhagen. I went in thinking it would be a trip full of friendships made in hostels, nights out on the town with these supposed friends, and happy memories to return home with.
Unfortunately, Sweden was the trip that reminded me that solo is only a few letters off from lonely. I stayed in hostels, but came across independent and introverted travelers like myself, who were not too keen to extend an invitation for company. I spent many of my days walking aimlessly around these cities, because my heart wasn’t into stopping inside museums or paying for tourist attractions. Even the food was sub-par…
Stockholm, August 2019
My trip to Vancouver was shorter in comparison, and while still very much an isolated experience, it was one I remember fondly. I stayed in an Airbnb room the size of a walk-in closet, but I remember walking around the city in a warm, puffy jacket since it was November and the weather was crisp and cool. Memories of warm vegan poutine, hot cider from Granville Island, getting nauseous on Capistrano Bridge, and even resting inside a movie theater to watch It’s a Good Day in the Neighborhood starring Tom Hanks as Mr. Rogers were all delightful moments of the trip.
Enjoying that cold weather gear in Vancouver, November 2019
Despite the varied experiences of my trips to-date, I have a new-found appreciation for ALL of the moments I experienced, given that we now live in a COVID-affected world…
After Vancouver, I squeezed in a trip to India with the family, right before COVID struck. Obviously no trips were in my plans for 2020, except figuring out how to get to Italy to start my new post-doc position.
And coming to Italy has been my biggest “solo adventure” yet, and it’s hard to believe that it has only just begun! Right now, work demands and my energy levels have limited me to staying within Milan and the northern areas of Lombardia, but I have hope that I will soon find the time to safely travel the rest of the country—which I hear is much more beautiful the farther out from Milan you go 😉.
I don’t consider myself an intense traveler, but I am proud of my abilities to plan solo trips and feel confident about them. I’ve had friends and acquaintances ask me with wide-eyed wonder, “So you went to ____, by yourself?!”, as if to say, something must be wrong if you can’t find anyone to travel with.
But I relish in it, and you shouldn’t be afraid to do so either!
————————————————– 𝕊𝔾𝔻 ————————————————-
If I’m going to give my two-cents on solo travel, here’s what I think you should consider for planning your next solo trip—especially if you are an introvert like me 😉:
💗 Make a day out of walking
I’ve had days where I felt bored out of my mind while walking around cities I visited while on vacation (like in Sweden), but this was also influenced by my mood at the time. My time spent afoot in Barcelona and Vancouver were the exact opposite!
By making a day out of walking, meaning not relying on public transit or cars to get you places, it allows you to feel like a local in a short amount of time. And as an introvert, it feels nice to not have to call attention to yourself when dealing with the stresses that come with transit (although, public transit is great for covering more places in a day).
I feel as if I am able to understand the vibe of a city/place more after spending hours afoot because all of my senses are at work. I keep Google Maps handy (and also make sure my phone is juiced) so I don’t get completely lost.
I also like to keep some kind of prime destination in mind, be it a café of interest or a photo-worthy spot, which brings me to my next point…
💗 Make what you enjoy a priority, and focus around that
When I was “forced” to go on family road trips and vacations (😂) as a child, I often felt upset by the fact that everything felt rushed and my parents were riddled with anxiety (mostly Dad, haha) with trying to fit seeing as many things as possible in a short duration of time. This often meant trips to boring museums, going to the one Indian restaurant in backwoods Montana because Mom would not eat anything else, and appeasing Mom’s additional shop-a-holic needs at every single gift shop we passed through.
Since then, I’ve vowed to make my solo trips pleasant for me, because who else am I doing it for?
This meant no museums or tourist attractions that I would not find interesting otherwise, and paying attention to my energy levels. In Sweden, I was in a consistently low mood, but I was happiest when I was able to check off vegan restaurants from my to-do list and collect a plethora of pics I could use for Instagram posts 😉.
If you are on vacation, YOU deserve to enjoy it! If it means planning your day around local cuisine and making a foodie tour, eat your heart out! If it means collecting trinkets for friends and family by paying visits to the shops of local artisans, by all means, spend, spend, spend! And there is certainly no shame in spending a day taking photos meant for the ‘gram. If it’s fun for you, why should anyone tell you that’s not how to travel?
And guess what? You do need energy for all of this, so please…
💗 Make time for ample rest / don’t shy away from hostels
Invest in a cozy guest suite for one. Or even a luxurious hotel room. Having enough energy to enjoy where you are and what you are experiencing is absolutely necessary.
But there is nothing wrong with a cheap, social hostel either! You’d think that’s a scene to avoid as an introvert, but that couldn’t be further from the truth. My only hostel experience to-date was in Sweden so I can only comment on that, but the places I stayed in were safe, comfortable, clean, and easy on the wallet. It’s the perfect place to hang your backpack for the night after a long day of walking, eating, photo-taking, and shopping—pretty much if you follow all of the above tips 😉.
————————————————– 𝕊𝔾𝔻 ————————————————-
Whether you are an extrovert or introvert, a gal with a ton of friends to pick from to accompany you on all of your trips, or a self-identifying “loner” who prefers the sound of silence over the yapping of crowds, I recommend that everyone have a solo travel experience at least once in their life.
There is fear in being lonely, but don’t be afraid of being alone. Experiencing solitude during travel allows us to learn new things about our surroundings, while also allowing the bravery, strength, and tenacity that normally is at rest within us to rise to the occasion.
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.
SoI 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:
Views from Shadow Oak Park, West Covina
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.
A purely Californian view 🌴
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 😝.
A treat from a local eatery 🙂
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.
Alhambra on a hot June day…
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.
Cafe Der in Alhambra
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.
West Covina, on a Sunday evening
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.
This was a post I wrote back in February 2018, and it was featured on Brown Girl Magazine’s website. It was a piece I put my heart into, so I wanted to give it a home here on SGD, where it fits perfectly.
For six years of my life, from the formative years of 18-23, my soul had disappeared. I’m not sure what was left in my weak, thin shell, but I carried on, day by day, in tortured isolation not knowing any better.
In the years that I needed a mother the most, I was losing her to schizophrenia. I spent my years in middle and high school playing a live version of Minesweeper, and no matter how many times I adapted to the rules of this challenging game, something always set her off. It would have been easier to follow her bizarre rules and give in to her unrealistic demands like my father did, but I put up a fight and collected wounds as a result.
I’m not sure what was left in my weak, thin shell, but I carried on, day by day, in tortured isolation not knowing any better.
My mother began to stay up late into the night, her eyes glazed over a fluorescing TV screen, constantly rewinding 30 seconds of a Dora the Explorer episode and scribbling into her notebook the messages she was receiving. We would have shouting matches too, almost like siblings, and my younger sister coped by retreating to her bedroom and locking the door. I was losing the strength to keep up, and the schizophrenic side of my mother was winning.
Fighting her was proving to be worthless, but internalizing my emotions seemed to be something I could manage—something I could control. Assigning myself a daily calorie limit and keeping a detailed food journal may have begun as “a fresh start” and a way to “regain control” of my dysfunctional environment, but the numbers soon began to take a hold of me.
There is a way out: July 2015 -> February 2018
The amount of calories I allotted myself each day was barely enough for a toddler to be sustained on, and I was forcing myself to divide that number up into meals throughout the day. It was a challenge turned obsession, and it was the driving force of my isolation. In college, my roommate was out with friends playing soccer on the intramural team and returning at 2am from a frat party, while I swallowed two pills of melatonin and was in bed by 8pm, pressing on my concave stomach in vain thinking it would stop the hunger pangs.
My morning ritual required measuring tape and a mirror. I never worried about my arms or wrists, but when it was time to examine my lower half, I double and triple-checked the circumference of my thighs: upper, middle, and right above the knee. My hands would land on my hips and I would sigh over the weird dips and curves they seemed to make.
An eating disorder may have overshadowed my life, but depression was laced through it. There was one day in particular I collapsed onto the kitchen floor, tears falling down my cheeks, but not feeling one ounce of sadness. Perhaps it was my body’s mechanism of trying to release something that just wasn’t there. My stomach grumbled from the lack of food inside of it, but I lay on the floor motionless. I was under a rain cloud I could not take cover from, and I could not shake it away.
There is a way out: August 2015 -> December 2019
When something causes you to become so inert that your insides are physically, mentally, and emotionally wiped clean, it’s hard to imagine coming back to reality. For six years, my good days included saving enough calories for a meager 300 calorie dinner, or being able to treat myself with a protein bar alongside black Splenda-sweetened coffee for breakfast. In contrast, I experienced too many bad days waking up at 4am and consuming my daily intake in cereal and yogurt because the feeling of hunger was too strong. Too many moments of hunger-fueled anger and regressing into a child, shivering on the couch while my Dad feverishly worked to prepare the only meal I would allow myself to eat for dinner.
I consider myself to be an optimistic person, but I never thought a full recovery from an eating disorder could ever be possible, and so it was hard to believe that my epiphany happened gradually in October of 2015. I came across blogs and Instagram accounts of young women who had chosen recovery, as well as scientific articles describing the necessity of weight restoration, refeeding, and intuitive eating. I was intrigued, and curiously thought what would happen if I embraced recovery…
When I did embark on recovery road, it was as if an alien had entered my brain and everything was on autopilot. I found myself willing to eat double the amount of the daily calorie intake I was used to, but as the months went by, I realized I was going to be hitting road bumps very soon.
There is a way out: May 2015 -> December 2018
2016 was rough, and now being weight-restored, I didn’t feel like I could justify eating “crazy” amounts of food. I felt tight in everything I wore, and I wanted to blame it all on water retention, but most of the pounds were real and necessary weight gain. And while I felt like I was constantly battling myself in regards to food and body image, I made one of the best decisions in my recovery journey and sought out therapy. I was lucky to find a therapist and group therapy that focused on recovering from eating disorders, but it seemed like the battle would never end. Oftentimes it seemed like my body image was the worst it had ever been, and it left me doubting my decision to recover. I had days where I “missed my old body” and looking at pictures—even from months prior—left me feeling so upset with myself.
But eventually, I was able to grow. People, and my relationships with them became more important. Laughs over lunch replaced calculations. Attention was something I used to crave, but not verbally request, and while it feels nice to be thought about, it is no longer something I desire. I can look at myself in mirrors and reflective surfaces and be content with what I see. The moments I harangue myself over the thickness of my thighs or the curves of my hips are few and far between. Take it from someone who never thought she’d be happy with her hips, who doesn’t have a nurturing relationship with her mother, and feels disconnected from her Desi heritage in most aspects: a complete recovery from an eating disorder is absolutely possible. I may have had what many still refer to as a “white girl’s disease”, but it made me a stronger brown woman.
STRONGER BROWN WOMAN.
My fellow SGD ladies (and gents)—if you pictured yourself as you read this, my heart goes out to you so, so much. Reach out to me. There are ways out of this. Just don’t give up 🧡
