Yesterday, we came home from San Diego to my parents’ house, where we’ll be until we depart for Europe in two and a half weeks. This morning, I dropped Joylani at the airport as she’ll be in Hawai’i for the next week visiting family. And after dropping her off, I drove to work to begin my final week of work. Those three changes should make for an interesting week, to say the least…

I played cricket for the first time today. After arriving home from San Diego, my brother Alex got a call from a friend to see if he wanted to play cricket. Having only watched, I decided it’d be fun to play. So we drove over to a nearby park, where there’s an astroturf cricket strip set in the middle of a grass field. We joined the dozen or so Indian college-students already playing. I pretty much just did what I was instructed to do and learned some of the details of the sport that I never picked up from just watching on TV. Like any time I’m playing sports, it was a great time. There’s few things I’d rather do than be outside playing sports. Whether its a morning football game with my friends or an afternoon of baseball, I’m happy. The smell of the grass, the freedom to run and dive, the competition- nothing can beat that.

I was thinking it was good that I played cricket now though, since I’ll be traveling around the Commonwealth over the next couple years. I think its good to know the sport, because I’ll be able to join a pickup game in India or Sri Lanka or somewhere. Otherwise, I don’t know what I’d do for exercise outside of walking/hiking; I suck at soccer and baseball’s not that big in Asia (except in Japan and Taiwan). Hopefully, I can learn about and play other sports while I’m abroad, to fill the void from a lack of baseball and football.

My sister graduated from UCSD today. It was our third and final graduation to attend this week. Besides getting a little sunburnt, I reflected on the common themes of the ceremonies. They were all optimistic and idealistic. Students are full of so much confidence and optimism, yet its lost somewhere in the transition to the working world. Perhaps, its stripped away by the challenges and realities of the real world. There are very few people in the professional world that have the same degree of “I am capable of and can do anything” attitude as in school. This is natural and probably healthy, as much of the idealism that accompanies that optimism is balanced with pragmatism. But it might be good to keep some of that optimism and idealism, however naive it may be.

The only reason I bring all this up is because the idea for this adventure was borne during Joylani and I’s time at UCSB. As optimistic students, we promised ourselves that we’d see the world. We didn’t know when exactly; we simply committed to taking the time when we had a chance. Now that we’re working and caught up in cycle of rent, bills, and paychecks, I don’t think we’d go if he hadn’t made that committment several years ago. And while the planning, preparing, and saving was fully driven by practicality, the inspiration was borne from our idealism as students.

In July my husband and I will be embarking on an around-the-world trip for the next couple of years. I was born and raised in a small, homogeneous town (particularly so when compared to the Bay Area), and never expected, or even desired, to go on a trip of this magnitude, or destination (Asia), until a few years ago. I credit this to a general lack of knowledge about countries in Asia as well as lack of contact with anyone who had traveled there, that is, until I went to college. It’s not that all people who live in small towns have limited perspectives, but for me, my knowledge and understanding of the world and cultural nuances definitely opened up when I moved away.

During my senior year of college, Matt, my boyfriend at the time (now husband), went to India for a 6-month study abroad program. Before he left, I had no desire to visit him there—why would I want to go to India? I thought of it as dirty, hot, and, honestly, nothing else. Besides the Taj Mahal, I didn’t really know what there was to see in India. However, once I started hearing his stories and reading his entries on his travel blog, the country and its history sounded so intriguing that I decided to visit him in India before school started in the Fall.

I quit my summer job early, bought a backpack, and flew halfway around the world to meet up with Matt and experience my first non-western country. I arrived in the early morning; it was still dark out. As our taxi navigated the quiet streets, I remember seeing a monkey sitting in a doorway along an empty sidewalk. Later I realized that monkeys in the city were pretty normal, especially after seeing packs of them swinging around the capital building. However, at the time the oddness of a medium-sized primate just hanging out on the street is why I remember my first monkey-sighting so vividly, while the other monkeys I saw have been blurred into passing memories. It’s the first time away from the familiar that is most notable.

India was thrilling on multiple levels: historic sites, culture, terrain, and non-stop sensory stimuli. Color, sounds, smells, and the HEAT came at me from all directions, and all were constantly changing. India was dirty and hot, but it was also wonderful. No matter where I looked, all was new to me. Completing simple tasks like finding ice or getting to the train station became unexpected adventures.

After a long day of being lost in the mountains on a motorbike, Matt and I decided to have dinner at a lakeside restaurant. It wasn’t until the next morning that I discovered a couple hundred red spots on my feet and ankle areas. Apparently there were many little bugs that had dinner the same time as I. To make matters worse, one of my ankles was already swollen from a motorbike mishap when our moving moped hit a parked one, jamming my foot in the middle. I had had it. My feet were swollen and itchy, and I just wanted to go home and have everything be better.

Matt and I went down to a local pharmacy (think snack shack at the little league field only stocked with medicine instead of red ropes and popcorn) to purchase some calamine lotion, which made the itching worse. We decided to look for ice instead. How hard could it be to find some ice? Ice was nowhere to be found.  I was uncomfortable, mad, and needless to say, very irritable. It was time to head to the train station for our trip back to Delhi, and I came to terms with abandoning the search for ice. We found an auto-rickshaw that was decked out in Lacoste stickers, and the driver quoted us a reasonable price to take us to the train station.

In a last ditch attempt to find some solace for my swollen feet, I asked the driver if he happened to know of a store where I could buy some ice. “I will take you to the ice shop!” he said. Great! One of those shave-ice drink stands or a place where I could buy a bag of ice cubes came to mind, but before I got deep into visions of a corner store like the ones at home, the auto-rickshaw turned into a back alley and pulled up to, literally, an ice store. Sitting before me were blocks of ice the size of the auto-rickshaw I was sitting in. “How much do you want?” he asked. Matt and I looked at each other as we held in our laughter; obviously we did not want a whole block of ice. I motioned for a piece about the size of brick, and the iceman sliced off a small hunk of ice with a chainsaw, wrapped it in a plastic bag, and handed it over.

Our enthusiastic driver quickly whisked us off to the train station. Occasionally Matt and I would talk to the drivers, but it was always just trivial inquiries: “How’s business?” “Are you from this town?” “Where is a good place to eat?” This guy needed no prompting from us, he couldn’t stop talking. The driver told us how he had a regular gig taking school kids to and from class each day, about his family, etc. He was a very personable driver, taking the time to look back at us while he was talking…and driving. The driver reminded me of a kid who happened to get the fast golf cart, driving more recklessly than the marshal would prefer. I had visions of flipping over as he hurriedly maneuvered through the crooked, narrow streets of Udaipur. My knuckles were turning white as I held tightly to the side of the vehicle, and I threw Matt a worried look as the vehicle grazed the side of a cow. Luckily we arrived at the train station unscathed and I in a better mood, less focused on the events from the day before as I marveled at the morning’s unplanned adventures.

Looking back on those days of discomfort, I notice two things: 1.) a bad situation (e.g. swollen feet) can lead to good experiences. Throughout the trip there were so many great things that I was able to experience, despite being uncomfortable, and sometimes because of my lack of comfort. Of course, most of the time these things don’t seem so “great” when they are happening, and only in hindsight do they glow in a more favorable light. 2.) I wonder what new things I failed to notice because I was so engrossed in my own wants and needs. What little details, like the monkey in the doorway, slipped by unnoticed? Luckily, India provided me with plenty of opportunities to experience new things, and looking back I realize that my physical discomfort was a notable aspect was of the trip. Forced outside of my comfort zone, I realized that out of the zone is not necessarily a bad place to be, whether at home or on the road.

As I prepare for my upcoming trip, I am not going into it with the expectation of being comfortable. I will miss my own bed and pillows, I won’t like having to bargain for goods and services, and doing laundry every other day in the sink will get old quick, probably after the first week. But this time, in addition to my backpack and Cipro, I am taking with me the hope that in times of discomfort I would not be so focused on thoughts of home that I miss the good things around me. It would be a shame to only experience the good parts of “bad” experiences in hindsight.

We moved out of our apartment today. Now we really are homeless hapas.

Today was nearly perfect. It was my last day of work before a week-long vacation. I met up with one of my best friends for dinner and a Giants-A’s game. And then I hung out with some friends afterwards. But I’ve also had to say goodbye to a lot of friends this week. Nonetheless, our departure is giving us a good excuse to spend some quality time with a lot of people.

We started packing up the apartment over a month ago. The first things to be packed were the books, slowly followed by pictures, dishes, and clothes. There are more boxes of our belongings than I expected, and also more bags of trash. Isn’t strange how much stuff can gather in cupboards and closets that have no use? Today I packed the final boxes, mostly kitchen items with a few random things thrown in to fill up the empty nooks and crannies. As I sealed the tape on the final box, I wondered where would I be when I am unpacking them. Will I remember what I put in them? The trip hasn’t started, and yet I am already thinking about what it will be like when I come back. Don’t we all wonder what the future holds in store? I do wonder, but I am ok with waiting 2 years to find out. Goodbye little apartment in San Leandro; so long noisy Davis Street!

Everyday my commuter train passes a hill blanketed with crosses; a memorial to the American soldiers who’ve died in Iraq. Along with a grave marker for each soldier killed, a sign displays the total number as well.
Today, I decided to check it out on the way to work. I hopped off my train a stop early and walked to the hill. It was a pretty sobering sight. Just the sheer amount of crosses was unbelievable. The sign read 3503. There were crosses, Stars of David, Islamic crescents, rainbow colored crosses, crosses with names and pictures, all symbolizing the life lost. The hill reminded me how costly war really is. It was also sobering to think that American life accounts for less than 10% of the lives lost in Iraq.
During our travels, it will be interesting to learn about other’s perspectives of the US and its foreign policy. When I lived in India during 2004, I met several Afghan refugees who gave me a much better perspective on events going on in Afghanistan than watching congressional rhetoric on TV. Hopefully, Joylani and I will both gain some perspective on this trip.

My office team had its weekly softball game tonight. We won big and I was a triple shy of the cycle. I’m gonna miss playing on the G-WIMs. We’re co-ed and in the least competitive league, but its fun. In fact we lost our first five games. Before our sixth game our manager brought a bucket of beers, figuring that at least we should have fun. Well, we won. And now we drink a beer or two before every game. We’re actually 3-1 since the tradition began. I’m going to miss cheering for and ragging on all my coworkers. When else can I yell at my boss or hear my office chant my name? The game is always a hot topic on Wednesday mornings; who had big hits, who made errors, the key plays of the game. I’m gonna miss going across the street for pizza and beer to celebrate our wins or commiserate about our losses. Part of it is that I’m gonna miss playing sports regularly and part of it is I’m gonna miss my teammates/colleagues that I’ve gotten to know and befriended over the past year.

Through a juggling of vacation days and personal days, today was my last Monday at work. The last of the hardest day of the week. The hardest morning of the week. Nothing sounds worse than alarm clock after a weekend of late nights and lazy mornings. Instead of a day of work, I have a week of work. The traffic is the worst and the trains are the most crowded. I don’t know why everyone’s in a rush; there’s always more e-mails and voicemails on Monday mornings. People move slower on Mondays; their attitudes dampened and moods depressed. Such a contrast from the Friday before. I hate Mondays.
But today was the last time I had to work on a Monday for a couple years and that made it a bit easier to bear