Tag Archives: love

My Special Date

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Who knew a doctor’s appointment would turn into taking myself on one of the best dates ever? You really never know where the day might take you. Let me explain.

Knowing that I’d be near SoHo, I thought I’d walk around a bit and explore what’s going on in the neighborhood before hopping on the train back home to prepare for tonight’s plans; the weather was improving by the minute, getting warmer with every block, sunnier around each corner. I found myself walking to the Lower East Side, one of my favorite parts of the city, a section that harkens back to the NYC I remember [fondly]. No matter what street you choose, there’s something new/different/interesting to see/eat/buy. Knowing better than to shop and add to my overstuffed closet and dresser, I decided to treat myself to a facial and a massage–ones that cost a lot less than they do in my neck of the woods (maybe not as luxurious, but certainly just as effective and lovely). Refreshed, renewed, relaxed, and with baby soft, bright, clean and clear skin, I left almost two hours later a new woman with a bit more pep in her step. I didn’t realize how much I and my body needed that; between work, everyday life and working out, my body and mind have been taking a major pounding. It’s sad to say, but I’m so accustomed to living this way that today’s spontaneous treat gave me a necessary wake-up call to power down, breathe and show myself some love and affection.

All that love made me quite hungry though, which is never an unsolvable problem on the LES! There are so many restaurants, cafes, food stands, etc., and so many cuisines from which to choose. My feet guided me to a giant bowl of pho, Vietnamese soup for the soul, an inner hug if you will. Sitting at a beat-up little wooden table in a corner, I was so happy eating and smelling my steaming bowl that I couldn’t stop smiling. I started looking around at everyone because I heard soft sound coming from nearby, but realized it was me. Humming! Humming while eating! Now you know I’m happy and the food is good if I’m humming to myself. Whoa.

Belly full and pleased that my meal was guilt-free (healthy), and wallet happy because dinner was super affordable, I decided to continue my journey because I had absolutely no desire to go home. Strolling into parts unknown [by me], I walked farther than I’ve ever been into that area of the city, to the point where nothing was familiar, neither the street names nor the landscape. Headphones on, bumping New York hip-hop, I walked the streets, felt and saw history, from the old tenements to buildings taken over by yuppies and hipsters. I walked through areas that went from Chinese to Dominican and black to Jewish, then back to Chinese to Dominican and black and Puerto Rican to hipster to rich hipster-turned-yuppie; from row houses to co-ops to projects to modern architecture, then back to projects upon projects upon projects; turning a corner and I was back to apartment buildings, new mixed with old. It was ugly, beautiful, chaotic and orderly, diverse and separate all at the same time. I loved it and didn’t want to stop this field trip, but knew I had to because the sun was setting and it was time to get back to the land of the familiar. I will be back, mind you. I always go back.

Walking directly to a train station would seem like the practical thing to do, so of course that’s not what happened. I walked from the LES through Alphabet City then into the East Village. Heading west, I came upon one of my favorite ice cream shops and treated myself to dessert. Continuing my walk with extra virgin olive oil ice cream nestled inside the perfect waffle cone, I made my way back to Sixth Avenue to finally take a train home. (I did however, make a quick detour to a health food store first.)
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(<—- A makeup-free, spa-faced me getting ready to gobble up the last bit of my delicious ice cream cone)

Home at last, I kicked off my shoes and acknowledged to myself that I would not be going out, as originally planned. My inner monologue and I are best friends and have exemplary communication. So what did I do instead, you ask? I went to the kitchen and whipped up my first vanilla chia seed pudding.
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(If you would like the recipe and/or would like to know the health benefits of chia seeds and this dessert, please let me know. I’ll be happy to share it all with you!)

And you thought my detour to the health food store was for what, exactly…? HA! No, just kidding. I didn’t plan on making the pudding tonight, it was just on my list of things to do in the near future and I just happened to remember that there was a health food store near my train station. So it was planned, but not planned. And while it sets in the fridge (anywhere from four hours to overnight), I’ll be doing one of the things I do best: watch back-to-back episodes of something on Netflix.

Today was a day I’ll remember for years to come. I felt truly happy and at peace with my life, where it’s taken me, and ultimately with myself. Too many people place their happiness into other people’s hands, not realizing that one’s happiness is one’s own responsibility. Also, people don’t have to be happy only around others, or by being in all sorts of relationships. As RuPaul always says, “If you can’t love yourself, how in the hell are you gonna love somebody else?!” So, readers, worry about loving yourself and treating yourself well, instead of loving the idea of other people loving you and finding happiness then and only then. Go on a date with yourself and see how it makes you feel. You might even learn a thing or two.

…Till the Wheels Fall Off!

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Today was my Cycle for Survival ride at Equinox, a fundraising event for Memorial Sloan-Kettering Cancer Center, whose mission is to treat and find cures for rare cancers. This was my third ride of however many it takes until a cure is found. Although our group, “A Team 56,” didn’t reach our goal of US$15,000.00, we did raise US$12,900.00 which is still a large amount.
2015-03-07 23.43.40For four hours straight, we rode, shouted, and danced our hearts out for all of those fighting, for the survivors, and for those who have lost their battles with this terrible disease. Some of you have read my previous posts about this event and know how important it is to me, so I won’t be repetitive–trust and know you will be seeing similar posts exactly one year from now. However I cannot shake the feeling I’ve had all day from hearing the experiences of those who are fighting, of those that have won, and of those that have loved ones they are sending to MSKCC currently; the mother and father that personally thanked all of us for our fundraising efforts because they have a 7 year-old daughter with a brain tumor being treated at Memorial now. The woman whose mother had a better quality of life due to the clinical trial our donations paid for last year. For Lisa Adams who passed away last night, losing her battle at the hospital the day of the first ride.
Knowing that every dollar my team and I raise, along with all of the other riders nationwide, goes directly to research and trials, compels to do everything I can for the millions of people worldwide affected by cancer in all its forms. I will urge each and everyone of you as I do every year, to join the battle with me, either by starting your own team wherever you are, by donating your time, by donating your money. Just as one of the doctors said today, “Just as it takes a village to raise a child, it definitely takes a village to find a cure for cancer.” We all live in the same village.

150307_094940This is why I rode. This was, and is, my battle cry until a cure is found.

Why I Ride

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A few people have asked me to stop fundraising on my Facebook page because it’s annoying. Some have also said it’s “beneath me to ask for money.” They have since been excommunicated, not only from my Facebook page, but from my life. It’s my page and I will do as I please with it, especially if it means bringing awareness and raising money for a cause that is extremely close to my heart. Never have I ever asked for money for myself, and I don’t even actively raise funds for multiple events/causes, except this one, Cycle for Survival. Since others have asked me why this is such a heartfelt issue for me, I figured now is as good a time as any to share one of the several reasons.

When I was 4 years old and in my kindergarten’s summer program, a beautiful girl named Chase joined and we became fast friends. Her skin was tanned like butterscotch and her wild sandy brown hair sat on her head like a halo. Her eyes were hazel and framed by the longest lashes I’d ever seen at that point in my short life. Chase had two missing front teeth, just like I did, and we couldn’t stop smiling and laughing. We played everyday she came to school and were inseparable, even during nap time. I hated when she wasn’t around–she’d be absent for days in a row. I asked her why she was gone so much and she explained to me that she was sick and had to go the doctor for special medicine and care. I told her I got sick all the time, especially in the winter. She told me it wasn’t that kind of sick, that she had something called Leukemia and that it never really went away. I didn’t know what Leukemia was, but I told her I hoped she got better soon so we could play more. She said she’d be fine one day and we went to play on the swings, never to talk about her sickness again.

I remember Chase missed a whole week and I was really sad. Then another week went by, so I asked the teacher where Chase was. Ms. Sandy looked at me and said that God didn’t want Chase to hurt anymore, so he took her to heaven to live with him. Not truly grasping the concept she was trying to convey to me, I said, “That’s nice of him. I’m really gonna miss her though.” She cried silently and rushed me off to go play.

Chase has stayed with me all these years: her smile, her eyes, the feel of our hands joined together as we skipped around the playground. She was the first friend I lost to cancer, my first friend in life. I raise money in her memory; I ride for her. Cycle for Survival is my battle cry, my part of the fight against all forms of cancer.

Please understand. Please help me fight. If you’d like to donate, please click here and know that you are appreciated. My team and I will ride hard and strong for you, your loved ones, and everyone affected by cancer in all its forms.
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I See the Light

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Forgive the corny titles I subject you to on a regular basis; I can’t help myself.

I spent a late night/early morning finishing Anthony Doerr’s All the Light We Cannot See and upon reading the last page, I felt like this author’s words made a light within me burn brighter. I didn’t sleep a wink as my mind wouldn’t let go of the characters, the imagery, the intricacies of the story that made this book so precious. I found myself highlighting so many passages that I wanted to commit to memory, so thought-provoking and emotive they were as to leave me referring back to them even before I finished reading this book in its entirety. All the Light We Cannot See is a work of art.

“I have been feeling very clearheaded lately and what I want to write about today is the sea. It contains so many colors. Silver at dawn, green at noon, dark blue in the evening. Sometimes it looks almost red. Or it will turn the color of old coins. Right now the shadows of clouds are dragging across it, and patches of sunlight are touching down everywhere. White strings of gulls drag over it like beads.
It is my favorite thing, I think, that I have ever seen. Sometimes I catch myself staring at it and forget my duties. It seems big enough to contain everything anyone could ever feel.”

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Chosen as an Amazon.com book of the month for May 2014, the site’s review is:

Does the world need yet another novel about WWII? It does when the novel is as inventive and beautiful as this one by Anthony Doerr. In fact, All the Light We Cannot See–while set mostly in Germany and France before and during the war–is not really a “war novel.” Yes, there is fear and fighting and disappearance and death, but the author’s focus is on the interior lives of his two characters. Marie Laure is a blind 14-year-old French girl who flees to the countryside when her father disappears from Nazi-occupied Paris. Werner is a gadget-obsessed German orphan whose skills admit him to a brutal branch of Hitler Youth. Never mind that their paths don’t cross until very late in the novel, this is not a book you read for plot (although there is a wonderful, mysterious subplot about a stolen gem). This is a book you read for the beauty of Doerr’s writing– “Abyss in her gut, desert in her throat, Marie-Laure takes one of the cans of food…”–and for the way he understands and cherishes the magical obsessions of childhood. Marie Laure and Werner are never quaint or twee. Instead they are powerful examples of the way average people in trying times must decide daily between morality and survival. –Sara Nelson

The same thought crossed my mind before I made the purchase: do I really want to read another WWII story? However the synopsis and reviews convinced me to go through with it. Thank the literary gods that I did! This has easily become one of my best reads of the year for the way Anthony Doerr’s vision has burned these words, characters and feelings into my brain and heart.

“So how, children, does the brain, which lives without a spark of light, build for us a world full of light?”

Spoken in French over a transistor radio with Claire de Lune playing in the background? Magical.

Hard of Hearing

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I’ve been on a reading binge a of late, sacrificing hours of YouTube watching and my DVR’d shows are collecting dust in my queue. However I’ve been rewarded with some really good literary escapes, another of which I will briefly share with you, as I have another book on deck of which I’m itching to delve.

Not even five minutes ago, I finished reading The Art of Hearing Heartbeats, by German author Jan-Phillipp Sendker.

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A poignant and inspirational love story set in Burma, The Art of Hearing Heartbeats spans the decades between the 1950s and the present.  When a successful New York lawyer suddenly disappears without a trace, neither his wife nor his daughter Julia has any idea where he might be…until they find a love letter he wrote many years ago, to a Burmese woman they have never heard of. Intent on solving the mystery and coming to terms with her father’s past, Julia decides to travel to the village where the woman lived. There she uncovers a tale of unimaginable hardship, resilience, and passion that will reaffirm the reader’s belief in the power of love to move mountains.

Once again, the synopsis made me cringe, due to how sticky-sweet and corny it sounded. I decided to give it a try anyway because I enjoy writers from other countries, I like reading of tales set in lands other than my own from time to time, and I also feel that non-native English speakers use the English language quite differently and are able to express themselves in unexpected, yet greatly welcomed, ways–their perspectives on universal experiences, truths, emotions come to life differently on the page and on the screen, and I love it (usually, but definitely not always).

Beautifully worded, this book attempted to tackle the subjects of familial and romantic loves in a somewhat fantastical way. Unfortunately my heart was slightly more detached than I would have liked and thus caused my enthusiasm to wane over the past few days. The story was good, the characters were even better, however I just feel (even now as I write this) that something just didn’t quite hit the high note–especially for the fact that the author never addressed his love, or possible lack thereof, for his children, namely his daughter Julia who made the physical and emotional journey to uncover her father’s mysteries. Disappointing. The bones of all the characters were strong, as was the premise of the story; however, for all the talk of hearing heartbeats, mine was just a murmur.

On to the next tome.

Me After This Book

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I literally just finished reading a book and felt compelled to share something brief about it. Brief because 1) I’m not feeling well and just want to imbibe some major cold/sleep aids and then cuddle in my bed and 2) my eyes are still welling with emotional tears, the result of a damn good read.

Me Before You

(No, you can’t look inside–it’s just a screen grab of the book cover.)

Jojo Moyes’ Me Before You: A Novel, is one of the better love stories I’ve read in a long while. Unique story, emotionally flawed and downright raw characters, unapologetic and unpretentious (I’m having a lot of issues with pretentiousness these days) writing, this book is high on my list for 2014.

Here’s a synopsis [that I didn’t write] that sounds cornier than it should and might lead you away from the book, but trust me, it’s fantastic:

They had nothing in common until love gave them everything to lose . . .

Louisa Clark is an ordinary girl living an exceedingly ordinary life—steady boyfriend, close family—who has barely been farther afield than their tiny village. She takes a badly needed job working for ex–Master of the Universe Will Traynor, who is wheelchair bound after an accident. Will has always lived a huge life—big deals, extreme sports, worldwide travel—and now he’s pretty sure he cannot live the way he is.

Will is acerbic, moody, bossy—but Lou refuses to treat him with kid gloves, and soon his happiness means more to her than she expected. When she learns that Will has shocking plans of his own, she sets out to show him that life is still worth living.

A Love Story for this generation, Me Before You brings to life two people who couldn’t have less in common—a heartbreakingly romantic novel that asks, What do you do when making the person you love happy also means breaking your own heart?

With this book, Jojo Moyes has made an icicle melt from my heart…albeit slightly. (I mean, seriously.I can’t lose my insouciant edge–I wouldn’t be me without it!)

Ok, later people. Back to cuddling up with my pillows and Netflix…and maybe another good book.

Love Does a Hoarder Make

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As many people may know, I am constantly on the hunt for the perfect foundation that checks off all of my personal boxes (as stated in my intro post). I do not discriminate on whether it’s drugstore or high-end, $5.00 or $55.00; perfection comes in many forms and I will not miss out just because I’m not an equal opportunity employer. Therefore, I must try them all. All!

Certain brands are only good for a couple of products; just recently are we coming across lines that have winners in almost every category. One such drugstore brand is Revlon. Every line in their lips, eyes, and face categories are full of winners, so much so that Revlon is hands down one of the best drugstore brands (if not the best) in the US, with L’Oreal a close 2nd (in my humble opinion, of course). Even their once lackluster mascaras are improving in quality; their Grow Luscious line is pretty fantastic. I digress.

Until last year, Revlon’s ColorStay Liquid Makeup was my favorite drugstore foundation. I loved her for many reasons: At a great retail price, she has a vast shade range, lasts almost all day, has minimal transfer, and comes in different formulas that cater to various skin types. Not only does this foundation offer buildable coverage, she leaves a breathable, natural look and feel on the skin.  I cheated on my love briefly with Cover Girl’s new 3-in-1 Stay Fabulous Foundation (primer, foundation and concealer in one product) and thought a divorce might be in order because CG 3-in-1 is quite the saucy minx. I hadn’t been able to completely swear off of her, and I think Revlon caught wind of my dalliance. One sunny day this past May, I was fondling CG 3-in-1 in the makeup aisle when something in my periphery nabbed my full attention: RC was back and better than ever! She got a whole new look and formula, one I knew I had to try. I told CG I’d be back later because something came up and I had to run. On May 22nd, 2013 Revlon ColorStay Whipped Crème Makeup launched and changed my life. I picked up my tried-and-true shade (Toast #410) and ran home so we could spend some time alone. I undressed her and felt her silky smoothness on my skin. She was neither heavy nor cakey; she was just right in every way. Blendable, buildable, sleek and luxurious, RC looked good and felt even better. I was truly, madly, deeply in love with her all over again!

Then she stabbed me in the back. She knew what she was doing and had it all planned. Once RC had sunk her teeth into me–deeply–she discontinued my shade. Searching over hill and dale for one year to find her, I thought all hopes of reuniting were lost. Then yesterday happened.

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On my way home from a bad day at work, I thought I’d cheer myself up by going to a place called Cosmetics Show, a discount beauty and tchotchke store. There wasn’t anything too impressive and it was actually kind of depressing in there, but a little voice in my head told me to press on. Thank the foundation gods that I did! There she was, Revlon ColorStay Whipped Crème Makeup #410 in all her splendor, jar upon jar of her just sitting there waiting for me to hold her in my arms. I stopped in my tracks, held my breath and tried to still my pounding heart. Sweat started trickling down the hollow of my back and my eyes glazed over. The little old sales lady asked me if I was alright in Spanish (because people always think I can speak Spanish) and grabbed my hand like only a caring abuelita could. I gathered myself and told her I was fine, but she interrupted me to let me know that everything Revlon was BOGO. I was floored. Trying to regain my composure for the second time, I cradled six glass jars and made for the cashier after proffering many thanks (in Spanish, natch). I practically skipped all the way home, my bad work day far behind me.

Needless to say, I’ll be going back to abuelita this weekend to buy out the entire inventory, regardless of my lack of storage space. Call me a hoarder all you want. I don’t care I don’t care I don’t care I don’t care!

I’m a hoarder with a purpose.

(And yes, I wore her today.)