{Life} Routine


The alarm on my iPhone goes off. 20 seconds later, the alarm clock by my bedside goes off.

I stumble out of bed and change into my workout clothes.

I stumble into the kitchen. No need to turn on the lights. Squeeze the juice of half a lemon into a cup and fill it up with water. I down the drink like medicine.

Put on my running shoes to go for a run.


After my run, I get ready for work.

I eat my breakfast in the car. Yes, I’m one of THOSE drivers. Guilty as charged.

Commute to work is an hour.

I spend 11 to 12 hours at work.

Commute home is an hour.

Once home, I unpack and prepare my food for the next day.

Go to sleep.

Day out.


Next day arrives.


And this routine repeats. Day in, day out.


Although content, I want to start settling into a career. My current job provides variety and challenges but there isn’t room for long-term advancement and the commute is a bit further than I would prefer. I like the work-life balance but my current job doesn’t feel like my calling. I feel I’m meant to do more.

I just don’t know what that calling is yet.


I’m lost waiting to be found.


Growing Up


For my birthday,

I don’t need presents,

and please, no fancy parties.

ImageI DO want a cake, preferably homemade,

preferably with love by my mom,

and I DO want acknowledgment from my family that it’s my birthday.


This year,

I had expected my grandmother to call me on THE day, asking to come over to celebrate my birthday with me.

The morning of THE day, the phone stayed silent.

By late afternoon of THE day, the phone remained silent.

My heart sunk.

My grandmother had forgotten my birthday.

I used to not care if she had forgotten.

But this year it DID matter because our relationship had improved significantly.

She meant more to me than I had realized.

I was hoping she shared that same feeling. I was hoping she would call me to wish me happy birthday.

I tried to brush aside my disappointment but the feeling lingered inside me.

After a few days, I finally got the courage to call her.

We chatted a bit. Then came the moment of truth.

I asked my grandmother if she remembered when was my birthday.

She responded with the correct date.

She said that she had waited all day on THE day for us to call her, to invite her over. She had my present all ready to go.

We never called.

I told her I was waiting for HER to call US.

She never called.

This is an example of how misunderstandings arise.

ImageCheers to growing up. Cheers to being another year older, another year wiser.

{Touch} Our Hands


You used to admire my soft, delicate hands.

You said I was like a princess who never had to work.

You did all the work for me,

for everyone around you.

You spoiled us like royalty.

I grew older.

I became you.

My hands are no longer soft and delicate.

They are covered with calluses.

I often touch the calluses on my hands and wonder,

if I’d rather be the naive princess or the hardworking daughter.

I’d often wonder if my hands stayed soft and delicate,

if your hands would become coarser; your heart heavier.

My hand touches yours.

They match.

I won’t let go.

{Touch} Running Chronicles: Pusher


I get this feeling that you’d like to know more about me.

Either that or I’m just making an excuse to tell you more about me.

Does it matter?

Not to me.


Grab your tea or coffee. Let’s talk.

In case you haven’t read far enough into my blog, I’m a runner.

I run six days a week. Some times twice a day.

I’m NOT addicted to anything during the run:

PAIN when I push hard;

and FEAR when confronted by wild animals or barking dogs.

But I AM addicted to the effects of running:

Release of ENDORPHINS,

and a boost of extra ENERGY.

I’m not sure if being motivated is an innate trait of mine.

But I rarely let myself give up.


About a month ago, I started feeling sluggish during my runs.

I didn’t want to take a break from running so I did the next best thing:

I bumped up the game. I started timing my runs.


The method worked.

My time has improved by about four minutes, comparing the first time I started timing myself to my fastest time.

Yet I still have an issue.

I don’t know when enough is enough.


Last week, I felt my body and legs sore. They were telling me they needed a break, even just for a day.

But I didn’t listen.

Maybe because I’m scared that if I ever stopped my routine, I won’t be able to get my rhythm back.


I know in the long run it is not good to not listen to your body.

But I’m a Pusher.

It’s hard to tell a Pusher to stop when the lifestyle is always to go, go, go.

Do you have a strength that is also your weakness? How do you cope with it?

3 Small Apples…


3 small apples from the tree in our yard.

1 apple fits perfectly into the crevice of my palm.


There are 7 members in our family.

7 members


3 apples


Sharing is caring.

I carefully select my apple slice and hold it like a newborn baby.

I give it a good look, inhale its scent, and pop it into my mouth.

Crunch, crunch, crunch.

The apple is sweet, slightly tart, and fragrant.

I observe everyone’s expressions as they eat their slice.

They are smiling, laughing, and commenting how wonderful of our apple tree is to have produced such good-tasting fruit.

My lips curl up into a smile.

I overlook the fact that I only got a measly slice of apple.

This is satiety.


Family + Happiness.

Grandmother and Me


There is something interesting about the way relationships evolve.

My grandmother and I are strangers.

I have not always favored her mannerism.

She can be bluntly rude.

She can be annoyingly nosy.

She finds my cold, quiet attitude a bit daunting.


Yet this woman has been able to change our relationship around.

She nudged me the other.

She said she has been forgetful lately; forgets to turn off the fire on the stove after she cooks.

“Can you give me a call every night to remind me to check my stove and other electric appliances?”

She gave me the “I’m a frail, helpless lady look.”

I conceded.


I’m a person of my word.

I called her every night for 2 week straight.

I became her alarm clock.

Every time I called, the first thing she would say was, “Oh, don’t worry, I’m fine. I checked my stove. I turned off the fire.”

Calling her became a chore by the end of the second week.

Our conversations dwindled.

I didn’t want our phone calls to feel like another obligation.

I already had too much of those.

So didn’t call her one night.

She never followed-up with me to ask me why I didn’t call her.

Four days passed.

I suddenly thought of her Sunday morning.

I suddenly missed her.

I picked up the phone and called her.

We talked like old friends.




I’ve been hiking a lot lately after work.

The serene scenery,

The green hills and valleys,

The peacefulness.

All these things allow me to be one with nature;

Allow me to rediscover the part of myself that I might have lost throughout the busy workday.

I like to end my day with this calm, collectiveness.

It’s beauty in the making.