I like being in the sunroom. I like being there when it is sunny outside. I like being there when it rains. I get to soak in the sun, listen to the rain, have the blue sky and green grass surround me when I am in the sunroom and I just love it. I read and write a lot in there. I’d park myself on the chair, read for a few hours, fall asleep, get up, read a bit more, write a little, fall asleep again… As I write this, I realize how much of a senior citizen I am… it’s okay, I like the elderly. 

So I was there this afternoon when Dad came in. He likes to do this. It’s his chance of being with me. Sometimes he’d just sit there and nap, but today we talked. I felt quite close to him these days so I told him a plan I’ve been brewing in my head for quite awhile now. It has to do with work and I am not ready to talk about it here yet. Anyways, he was quite approving of my plan. He leaned back into the chair, closed his eyes with his hands rested on his belly and said, that would be a good second profession for you. What do you mean? I asked him. Do I have a first profession?  Because I sure as hell had no idea what that was. He nodded knowingly. I looked at him a little confused and excited. What is this? Is that my dad? or a native shaman? Are we sitting in the sunroom or inside a dark tent with a fire in the center?  Why does he seem to know my future with such certainty?  So? tell me, what is my first profession? I probably should have been a little more respectful to this now prophetic man sitting across from me. I am not gonna tell you.  He smiled. You’re just going to argue with me if I told you.  Hmmm… I hoped he wasn’t going to ask me to inherit his business. I nagged and probed and promised I wouldn’t argue with him. Then he looked at me and said, you are going to write. He was so sure it almost broke my heart. No, what I meant is, it touched my heart, grabbed it, and gave it a good squeeze. 

He told me that I write well and that I will write. It’s been a long time since I believe in that, but today I do again. It’s partly because I have started writing again with more freedom and joy, and partly because of the mysterious, knowing way Dad was talking about it. And of course, it never hurts to have your parent believe in you. I am not going to put too much pressure on this, but, I think it’s back on : )

—

Then we got to discussing about photography. It was a really amazing talk because for the first time I understood shutter speed and aperture. I know, I know. What’s so difficult to grasp? Well… it just is for my brain. Dad said, do you know what Photography means in Latin? and my brain was about to explode… first he turned into a shaman and now he knew latin? I don’t know this man at all. It means, to paint with light, he told me. That, is beautiful. Then he explained some simple concepts for me and I was able to follow and absorb the information, which is really a very rare occurrence for me. 

And that is my story of the sunroom this afternoon with dad. I was inspired twice by him and here I sit, the future great writer/photographer and the present lover of life. Oh, I am such a geek.

Okay, this post is not going to be entirely about Dad being home. I just like saying it. I picked him up this morning with Anthony then went to school and as I was out and about doing my school/friend things I could sense a deep seated calmness within me. I know it’s because dad’s home. He grounds me and makes me feel safe and no matter how much I try to be a good parent to myself, nothing feels as comforting as having your real parent nearby and allow me to be a little pathetic here, it is not a luxury I’ve had much in my life. I love the energies he brings home. Dad’s my Buddha.

I haven’t written anything here in what feels like ages and…let me check… the last time I wrote a post was a week ago. For awhile I was writing so religiously, sometimes twice a day and I have built up a little readership of about 20-30 views per day and now I don’t even check anymore because I know it’s probably really pathetic. But what can I do? I just haven’t had much to say really. My writing life seems to have come to a complete halt. I hope this is temporary. I told Eric the very very first thing I’ve ever wanted to be is a singer. The second is an “insect teacher”, popularly known as a “biologist” or specifically, an “entomologist” (i just googled it) and I believe, the third thing is a writer. That, or “president” of China. The point is, I’ve wanted to be a writer for almost all of my life. I’ve written lots now and gotten a lot of great feedbacks from people and suddenly I just can’t write anymore. So instead of giving up the hope of being a writer, I am going to call this a break. I have faith words and I will find our way back to each other. And just for the record, I have no interest in ruling China anymore. 

339 words… nice. I think that’s enough writing for the day. I will try to write more from now on. I think. I hope… oh! and I urge you to do the same sabrina, for my entertainment.

It was dark this morning on the way to school. Stopped by the light on gardencity and westminster, looked up, a red heart balloon was flowing and turning slowly in the gray sky. It was a little deflated. Siddha tried to take a picture of it but it was too far from us. 

It snowed heavily when we were in class. But it was sunny when class was over. 

I am tired but happy. I saw a girl with dark green wavy hair yesterday that reminded me of the moss from a decaying trunk… the kind witches collect and add into the pot of bubbling potion along with lizard tails, virgin tears, spider webs, and foreskins… It was a dark day much like this morning and she was wearing a long black coat. Her green hair bounced as she walked. 

I woke up before Eric. It’s starting to get quite bright in the morning. I love his sleeping face. Those scattered freckles under his right eye are so overwhelmingly adorable, especially with his eyes closed. It’s as if those freckles have just fallen off from his lashes.

Birds chirped and someone rang their bicycle bell outside. I could almost hear someone holler, “豆漿！燒餅！油條!” and I would wrap myself in a robe, walk into my slippers and rush downstairs to buy them. Then I remembered the huge, layered steamers. When you lift up the lid, steam would hit your face and the many round and adorable buns and dumplings would line neatly on a wet, yellowed cloth. You take your pick and the  dumpling lady( ; p) would put them in a plastic bag that fogs up quickly. The bottom of these buns and dumplings would always be a little soggy . The dough would be soaked with the most amazing juice. I loved it when they came like that. You could get buns and dumplings from seven eleven in taiwan, too. They’d come all plump, and perfect, but it’s just not the same. Gotta get them from “the dumpling lady”, in plastic bags and most importantly, from the magical huge steamer.