Well, not exactly. I haven't physically moved yet.
I did, however, move this blog. Yup, you can now continue reading (read as: stalking) this blog (read as: my life...or parts of it, I guess) over at (drumroll, please):
http://sincerelytamaria.wordpress.com
Tada! I'll still keep this blog around to memorialize my very humbling blog beginnings (it's pretty terrible) and the progress that I've made over the years.
You can read about some of my reasons for changing things up here. See ya there!
Wednesday, January 15, 2014
Monday, December 30, 2013
New house.
Oh yeah, Nathan and I are moving in to a new house in a few weeks. I keep forgetting about that.
People have been saying congratulations and asking if I was nervous, but honestly, I've only really been thinking about it when Nathan or someone else brings it up in conversation. Nathan's been taking care of pretty much most of the details (shocking to most, but not really in my opinion), so I guess that's part of the reason why.
I wonder if part of why it hasn't sunk in is because you can get a house for pretty cheap in Rochester, so it's not as big of a dent in your wallet as it would be getting a house somewhere in NYC. Buying a house in NYC, my dear readers, would be a big deal to me. Now that would be a big commitment and very permanent in my opinion. And it would definitely whack a whopping dent in my wallet.
I'm not really looking forward to the actually packing and moving part. And I'm not too keen on the upkeep side of being a homeowner (with our apartment it's so easy - you just call when there's a problem and then someone comes and fixes it for you for no additional cost!).
I am, however, excited about the possibilities of DIY projects that owning a house can bring. While it's not like I was in prison and couldn't do any DIY projects in our apartment, not being able to paint the walls or hammer in nails were apparently enough limitations for me to feel like my entire DIY craft freedom was taken away. That's probably how I subconsciously rationalized my lack of home projects. I have hope that actually owning a house will help inspire me and kick me into a let's-make-something-creative-and-useful-and-pretty kind of mode.
The other thing is, we'll be moving in with other people (though it keeps changing and is not entirely set yet). I was hesitant at first about this whole intentional living community thing, but less so now that Nathan and I have at least a year of marriage and living together on our own under our belt. But as to how I'll feel about that emotionally as it becomes a reality is hard to say right now.
As many of my faithful readers probably remember, I do not think I am a person who naturally likes to be on the move. If things were up to me, I'd probably pick a spot and stay there for the rest of my life. I think of myself as someone who likes to set her roots and keep those roots growing. But with feeling disconnected from my NYC home and with college and post-college life keeping me on the move, I've often wondered if this is how Abraham felt when God called him to pack up and go. And keep going. And keep moving.
But strangely, as I think about moving from the apartment to the new house, I don't feel anxious or reluctant or like a turtle being pulled out from her shell. I don't know if that's because the whole new house thing hasn't sunk in yet, or because I'm starting to get used to this state of constant moving. Who knows? Maybe I'm just...ready.
I guess we'll find out in a future blog post.
People have been saying congratulations and asking if I was nervous, but honestly, I've only really been thinking about it when Nathan or someone else brings it up in conversation. Nathan's been taking care of pretty much most of the details (shocking to most, but not really in my opinion), so I guess that's part of the reason why.
I wonder if part of why it hasn't sunk in is because you can get a house for pretty cheap in Rochester, so it's not as big of a dent in your wallet as it would be getting a house somewhere in NYC. Buying a house in NYC, my dear readers, would be a big deal to me. Now that would be a big commitment and very permanent in my opinion. And it would definitely whack a whopping dent in my wallet.
I'm not really looking forward to the actually packing and moving part. And I'm not too keen on the upkeep side of being a homeowner (with our apartment it's so easy - you just call when there's a problem and then someone comes and fixes it for you for no additional cost!).
I am, however, excited about the possibilities of DIY projects that owning a house can bring. While it's not like I was in prison and couldn't do any DIY projects in our apartment, not being able to paint the walls or hammer in nails were apparently enough limitations for me to feel like my entire DIY craft freedom was taken away. That's probably how I subconsciously rationalized my lack of home projects. I have hope that actually owning a house will help inspire me and kick me into a let's-make-something-creative-and-useful-and-pretty kind of mode.
The other thing is, we'll be moving in with other people (though it keeps changing and is not entirely set yet). I was hesitant at first about this whole intentional living community thing, but less so now that Nathan and I have at least a year of marriage and living together on our own under our belt. But as to how I'll feel about that emotionally as it becomes a reality is hard to say right now.
As many of my faithful readers probably remember, I do not think I am a person who naturally likes to be on the move. If things were up to me, I'd probably pick a spot and stay there for the rest of my life. I think of myself as someone who likes to set her roots and keep those roots growing. But with feeling disconnected from my NYC home and with college and post-college life keeping me on the move, I've often wondered if this is how Abraham felt when God called him to pack up and go. And keep going. And keep moving.
But strangely, as I think about moving from the apartment to the new house, I don't feel anxious or reluctant or like a turtle being pulled out from her shell. I don't know if that's because the whole new house thing hasn't sunk in yet, or because I'm starting to get used to this state of constant moving. Who knows? Maybe I'm just...ready.
I guess we'll find out in a future blog post.
Friday, December 20, 2013
Growing up.
Lately I've been thinking about how I'm 24 years old and how that seems quite bizarre to me.
When I was in high school I thought 24-year-olds (or almost any twenty-something, I guess) carried themselves with a sense of maturity while simultaneously pull off being cool and fun. I thought they could be as proper as the Old English could be during tea time. And I thought they gushed with wisdom in such a way that they seemed to have life pretty much all figured out.
Boy, was I sure wrong about this 24-year-old.
I still feel like I'm 17 and still have nothing figured out. There's this sense of naivete I can't seem to shake off. I sometimes feel like I live under a rock even though I thought I got out from under it. Maybe I'm scared to be exposed to the elements. I don't want to leave my ideals behind to make space for cynicism and jaded attitudes.
But I'm beginning to feel these elements brush alongside of me this year.
Prior to moving to Rochester, I had never really experienced any personal encounters with racist remarks. Before this year I could've told maybe just one story from middle school that I wasn't even offended by because I didn't really understand it. But from this year I could probably tell you about at least 5 different incidents. They each evoked a different level of emotion, but now they more so just stand out in my mind rather than seem to weigh me down. At the same time, there are instances I hear about or witness that I feel like I should feel offended about but am not. Try that on for size. Still a very confused Asian American as ever.
Death nowadays seems to weigh heavier in my heart. The two closest people to me who passed away were my grandfather and my favorite teacher, Mrs. Hamilton, who taught me in the 4th grade. And when they passed away, I was in middle school and it didn't really sink in as much as it would have now. There's also something different and a bit removed about experiencing the death of your great-grandparents or grandparents' friends than knowing a friend's first baby girl who passed because of a rare cancer, or your dentist who went to the church you grew up in who also passed away from cancer, or the tragedy of the pastor who did your pre-marital counseling who suddenly passed from a rare pregnancy complication right after giving birth to her second child. It all hits much closer to home and wells up that it-doesn't-seem-fair kind of anger in me that comes from an less familiar part of my heart.
Being out of school and out of those immediate relational contexts makes me feel like I've forgotten all I've learned intellectually and relationally. And it's still so easy for me to compare myself to others (I know, I know, bad habit) that it's hard for me to figure out what I'm actually good at or what I can even offer the world. I've been letting my drive, my focus, and my discipline drip out of me like a leaky faucet.
This blog has kind of been like a bucket underneath the leaky faucet. I'm not really sure how to stop the leak, but I'm catching what I can and am trying to figure out what to do with it. This blog, even with long breaks between posts, is the only thing I keep coming back to.
At least I'm not too naive to think that I'll have everything figured out in my thirties.
When I was in high school I thought 24-year-olds (or almost any twenty-something, I guess) carried themselves with a sense of maturity while simultaneously pull off being cool and fun. I thought they could be as proper as the Old English could be during tea time. And I thought they gushed with wisdom in such a way that they seemed to have life pretty much all figured out.
Boy, was I sure wrong about this 24-year-old.
I still feel like I'm 17 and still have nothing figured out. There's this sense of naivete I can't seem to shake off. I sometimes feel like I live under a rock even though I thought I got out from under it. Maybe I'm scared to be exposed to the elements. I don't want to leave my ideals behind to make space for cynicism and jaded attitudes.
But I'm beginning to feel these elements brush alongside of me this year.
Prior to moving to Rochester, I had never really experienced any personal encounters with racist remarks. Before this year I could've told maybe just one story from middle school that I wasn't even offended by because I didn't really understand it. But from this year I could probably tell you about at least 5 different incidents. They each evoked a different level of emotion, but now they more so just stand out in my mind rather than seem to weigh me down. At the same time, there are instances I hear about or witness that I feel like I should feel offended about but am not. Try that on for size. Still a very confused Asian American as ever.
Death nowadays seems to weigh heavier in my heart. The two closest people to me who passed away were my grandfather and my favorite teacher, Mrs. Hamilton, who taught me in the 4th grade. And when they passed away, I was in middle school and it didn't really sink in as much as it would have now. There's also something different and a bit removed about experiencing the death of your great-grandparents or grandparents' friends than knowing a friend's first baby girl who passed because of a rare cancer, or your dentist who went to the church you grew up in who also passed away from cancer, or the tragedy of the pastor who did your pre-marital counseling who suddenly passed from a rare pregnancy complication right after giving birth to her second child. It all hits much closer to home and wells up that it-doesn't-seem-fair kind of anger in me that comes from an less familiar part of my heart.
Being out of school and out of those immediate relational contexts makes me feel like I've forgotten all I've learned intellectually and relationally. And it's still so easy for me to compare myself to others (I know, I know, bad habit) that it's hard for me to figure out what I'm actually good at or what I can even offer the world. I've been letting my drive, my focus, and my discipline drip out of me like a leaky faucet.
This blog has kind of been like a bucket underneath the leaky faucet. I'm not really sure how to stop the leak, but I'm catching what I can and am trying to figure out what to do with it. This blog, even with long breaks between posts, is the only thing I keep coming back to.
At least I'm not too naive to think that I'll have everything figured out in my thirties.
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