A French Quarter ghost tour leaves much to be wanted. My tour guide had cigarette in one hand, alcohol in the other, and a most circumferential speech pattern that makes me shift uncomfortably from one foot to the other. My friend said - wow, I never realized how short your attention span is. For the rest of the night, I couldn't follow their conversation about the tour since I only paid attention to one single story about an Irish prostitute named "Marie". My friends wondered if I had gone on the same tour at all. :)

The tour starts at the Voodoo shop. Cost per person? 20 dollars.

It wasn't long before I needed a drink, or two, to get me through it.

Apparently this famous French Quarter restaurant is haunted... I can't tell you why, I wasn't paying attention to my tour guide.

Dinner, on the other hand, is a completely different story! Restaurant Stella! How could you not love a place with an exclamation mark in its name. The food isn't creole, isn't French, but rather Asian inspired. Edible art that is as delicious as it is beautiful, that is hard to come by outside of New Orleans.

I can't remember what this complimentary dish is, something with mango and lobster and taro on top... I do remember it was very delicious.

Lobster inside an egg? and truffles on top!

Spicy Asian Shrimp!

Scallops, Gulf shrimp, andouille potato hash, all in caviar butter....

Duck Five Ways! Foie Gras won tons especially received great reviews.

My favorite part of the meal: Banana Foster French Toast with candied walnut and plantains.

Just when we began to lament the end of dinner, nothing like complimentary coconut marsh mellows and softest dark truffles to cheer us up!

The end of another happy day playing tourist in the Big Easy! Yay!

Today is Fat Tuesday, the end of Carnival Season. I woke up at 6am to get ready for the last big parade by Rex, the oldest Krewe of all.

6pm. The TV is tuned to the local coverage of Mardi Gras. I'm feeling quite sad to see the end my first but hopefully not last MG experience.

The entire four years I've lived here, I have always left the city during Mardi Gras... Rotations, traveling, going home... The particular brand of "carnival" I associated with New Orleans has meant nothing more to me than bad traffic and more frequent than usual ambulance siren. So what was I missing? This year, while checking flights out, it occurred to me what a mistake it would be to leave my beloved city without ever experiencing its most (in)famous holiday. As soon as I thought of this, I couldn't bare to leave.

When navigating through chaos, the most important thing a person needs is an insider. I knew I found her when my friend's excited voice over the phone exclaimed "I love Mardi Gras and I LOVE to share my love of Mardi Gras with others."

Perfect! Share it with me!

Muses is an all women Krewe and their theme is always "shoes". It's a night time parade on a particularly chilly Thursday night. I wore my "almost" Mardi Gras coloured scarf and most comfortable walking shoes.

See these amazing shoe bracelets? You have no idea how hard I had to work to get one... Nothing indecent, of course. Just when I was about to give up, someone threw one at me. Please note the huge silver bead around my neck... A lot of hard work went into getting that one.

Rex is the early Tuesday morning parade. Never seen so many people so early so alert and ready to party!

This and a couple of pictures below are taken by my friend Sanyo... I have a serious case of camera envy.

Did they know it was the year of the Ox?

Why do we bother screaming and jumping for beads when they're EVERYWHERE?!

My beautiful parade buddies. Sanyo calmly took pictures while Thuy and I screamed silly for beads. I hung plenty around his neck though, as my own becomes quite heavy after awhile.

I did find the price for the dress. It was so high my heart hit the floor. It's insensible, even for my frivolous taste. That's the thing with Vogue. I have to keep that fantasy world separate from reality. It's dangerous when I start thinking "maybe if I don't eat or drink or buy anything for a year... I can buy this dress... so perfect for brunch..."

This dress in the latest Vogue reminds of the shirts I see my mom wearing in old photographs. Soft silk or chiffon that seems to move even in still frames, creating its own swirls of air. I am absolutely in love with it, and wish I could find a price tag to know how out of reach it really is.

Woody Allen looks old in the new Vanity Fair spread. Makes me sad...

I started Neurosurgery today. It wasn't bad at all. I'm waiting for my good luck to run out and the anticipation of doom is making me nauseous. I have to work very closely with someone that used to (but no longer) means the world to me, so it's important to keep a level head for the next two weeks. Must not revert back to old mistakes. I see people do it alllll the time. Must not be one of them.

Many years ago (four to be exact), my friend Michelle baked me a chocolate amaretto birthday cake so good it blew me away! I should have begged for the recipe right then and there except I never imagined that I would one day own a bundt pan. So... you can imagine how happy I was when she emailed me the recipe, with a surprise ingredient that I never would have thought of but could very well explain the magic of this cake. I'm going to make it before sharing the recipe, just in case my memory played a trick on me.

I'm not going to buy any more clothes no matter how lovely. I'm also going to stop buying cooking magazines and books until I've tried the ones in my recipe book, now bulging with clippings. I will, however, get the new Vogue... just soon as it comes out.

This Valentine's Day is bittersweet, just like the chocolate I used for my Chocolate Pomegranate Torte. The sweet part being my dear friend who threw a dinner party with lots of hearts and kisses. The bitter part being... well, you know who you are.

I can't help but recall the very first dinner party that ever took place in Thuy's apt, after the first test second year when we returned to New Orleans after Katrina. That was the first time I ever made bread pudding, with Thuy's recipe and supervision. To think that I almost chickened out and didn't think I had it in me to make a creamy custard.

For this dinner party, I decided to make the chocolate-pomegranate torte on the cover of December's FINE COOKING. My biggest fear when making any chocolate cake is that it turns out to be nothing more than a fancy brownie that took five hours to prepare. I had to fight every urge not to have a back-up chocolate cake, something safe and fluffy, preferably with buttermilk. But I know for my torte to even have a fighting chance against my friends' sweet-sensitive palates, it had to be the solo star of the dessert table.

So... I faithfully folded egg whites into the dense chocolate batter (72% cocoa); simmered, reduced, and strained pomegranate/cranberries to make a tart jelly; and early Saturday morning, I put a shiny dark glaze to cover the whole thing.

The end result, as you can see, is quite worth the labor. Something that tastes as pretty as it looks is a rare find. The sprinkle of fresh pomegranate seed makes it elegant yet sweet. And this glaze, while suspiciously shiny, still has the soft and earthy richness of fine dark chocolate.


The layer of pomegranate jelly between the torte and glaze is hard to see, but believe me its presence is quite necessary. A tartness to balance the bittersweet chocolate. The torte is actually quite moist, despite what this picture may show. Next time, I will use 70% chocolate instead of 72%. It turns out that had I read the article more carefully, I would have learned that darker the chocolate, the more crumbly and dry the cake will turn out to be.

The hand-dipped strawberries always look so heavenly in the Godiva store. So I bought some long-stemmed strawberries and made my own! Tuxedo styled. :)

Thuy... always the perfect hostess.

Doing the dishes... Not bad at all... :)

Dinner last night at La Crepe Nanou was part pleasant, part sticky. Why must people be moody? And worse yet, why must you displace your bad mood onto other people? If you can't snap out of it, stay home!

That's harsh, I know... but a week day gathering of old friends over steaming mussels and chocolate crepes should be better-than-Xmas-morning good. I'm bitter because there are only 3 more months left before I leave them, before I have to fake smiles and force conversations with NEW acquaintances who may or may not ever become good friends. Sigh... I'm so exhausted just thinking about it.

Valentine's Day dinner party! I've decided on a chocolate-pomegranate torte and Juliet Kisses! The torte will be much too sweet for my friends who prefer whipped cream icing instead of butter cream... but it's for the ambitious baker in me... I couldn't resist the thought of making a pomegranate jelly! A fine skill to have under my sleeve and brag about, don't you think?

I have a lot going on in my mind. Is that why I have been waking up at 3:30 am for the past two days? It's not pleasant, this insomnia thing. I can see how people can go crazy.

Slumdog Millionaire goes on my list of favorite movies. It also goes on my list of movies I would never watch again. It is heart wrenching, spares no graphic detail. I had to look down (or up, or not at all) a couple of times. The plot? Not the point at all. It's the backdrop of this film that I walk away thinking about, and probably will always think about when I encounter anything Indian for the next couple of months.

All mornings do not start off equally. Some leads to the corner I've been waiting to turn. There is no guarantee what lies ahead, of course... but there it is, something new!

Sometimes I refuse to feel better. If I didn't, I would sleep with this book. I would keep a copy in every room of my apartment. I would read it instead of watching TV. I would read it instead of blogging.

I'm going to mail a copy to my "little swallow" (literal translation of her Chinese name). She is in DC! From China!! For three years!!! Here is when no amount of exclamation marks or adverbs layered on adjectives layered on grandiose vocabulary could express how utterly shocked and happy I am. Sure, she is still rather far, I still can't see her right away, but we are in the same country!!! I haven't spend quality time with her since I was seventeen! Our last reunion in 2005 was only 48 hrs and so very rushed.

I'm also going to mail her a package of gumbo mix! I think cooking has never been her forte and I still remember my first bite into a hamburger when I first came to the US... the taste of pickles was so disgusting it would take months before I give hamburgers another try (must have been a whopper). There is something about the spices in gumbo that agrees rather well with even the most unaccustomed/picky of Chinese taste buds. Plus it's easy to make. Plus I just want to send her stuff.

http://www.elizabethgilbert.com/eatpraylove.htm

Today is a historic day in my country, and this entry is just my way of saying -- I'm here. This happened in my time.

The day Barack Obama was elected, about twenty TV stations televised the last twenty minutes of the election. I flipped the channels without pausing, a blur of balloons and confetti. I did stop for one full minute on one particular image, long enough to formulate what this election meant to me.

The image was a little girl sitting high on her dad's shoulders, waving the American flag with such excitement that her blond curls went wild. She couldn't be more than five, and the big smile on her face convinced me that she grasped fully the significance of this election, had toiled for the president's win, and was so proud of the victory. I thought: how special, for this one moment in time, there isn't an ounce of racial prejudice in her heart. She truly loves her President, as only a child can. Then I thought how amazing it would be for a whole new generation to grow up with an African American man as their President, if only for the personification of racial equality, an extra weapon to fend off bigotry. I hope all the narrow-minded conservatives slept a little uneasily that night, and their festering beliefs shaken just enough to let some new air in.

I also hope once the Inauguration is over, my new President won't continue to be a celebrity, at least not in this blindly-worship-and-douse-with-impossible-expectations sort of way. I hope he does wonderful things for the country. As of right now, he is what we need... and I'm thankful for what he has already done.

A little trepidation on rejoining the home crowd. I've been away for so long. Three more months of rotations, then it's almost graduation time. Sounds fast, but can feel like an eternity when the immediate future is so uncertain. I don't even know where to report to for clinic next week. How I would like to climb back into Linda N's sofa bed, curl up with The Traveler's Wife, and catch the late shuttle.

Beautiful hazelnuts. They are my favorite. Special little dome tops with pointed nose. I was careful not to burn them in the oven. That would be so sad.

Just because I like a city, doesn't mean I have to live there for three years... Yet how hard it is to commit three years of my life to a city that I do not enjoy.

The city of Charleston had me at the first sniff of these road-side, home-made praline candy stores. I thought they were a New Orleans specialty and would never be found beyond the rain gutters of French Quarter, yet there they are on streets with such promising names (Market, King, East Bay).

I'm not pointing to anything in particular. The greedy smile says "I want it all". In the end, I settled on pumpkin fudge and warm praline. They made my tour through downtown Charleston, in the drizzing RAIN, quite enjoyable.

There were chocolate barks of every kind. This one in particular caught my eye because it seems easily duplicable... by TnL. I seem to remember some M&M cookies that were well received. This may be worth a try, don't you think?

A pot of gold! Actually, it was a barrel.

Look how clean the streets are, a striking contrast to my beloved French Quarter. I can make these critical comparisons without feeling guilty because I LOVE New Orleans, and we all know it's quite acceptable to criticize what we truly love.

Where to go for lunch? Not an easy question to answer when Charleston is a city known for its lowcountry cooking and entire magazines are devoted to answering this very question. So...

Bull Street Gourmet. It does not disappoint. Fresh sandwiches made from scratch by smiling cashier/chef/owner behind wooden counters. It's a local kitchen/restaurant with a steady streaming of customers lined up for their take outs. The famous chicken salad sandwich is dotted with cranberries and hazelnuts, creamy and crunchy...

Interesting how well walnut goes with banana, like tapioca with milk tea. Pecans? Almonds? Not the same. I have tried half a dozen bread pudding recipes, but the simplicity and variations on this rustic dessert always makes it hard for me to turn down a new one. In fact, I have never repeated myself. The truth is good bread soaked in creamy sweet custard is good no matter what you do. Burn the topping? Scrap it off! Still good. Forgot the raisins? Sprinkle it on! Still good. My mom wanted me to make bread pudding for her, so I tried a new banana walnut version with raisins soaked in brandy. Oh so goo!

http://www.foodnetwork.com/recipes/emeril-lagasse/banana-walnut-bread-pudding-with-buttery-rum-sauce-recipe/index.html

Interesting that even though I insisted no celebration, I cannot forgo the need to feel especially special today… When I was ten I demanded ten presents (the tenth one, I remember, was a white fluffy stuffed animal hidden in my bed). I now prefer to spread out my material needs evenly throughout the year. I do, however, appreciate the cookbooks my mom bought without second guessing me with "are you sure you need these"? It was my birthday, and she bought me what I wanted with an obliging consent that I will miss... tomorrow. The pretty ribboned zucchini salad below is from Giada (her book I actually didn't buy). I didn't have asparagus so I sprinkled on some sweet corn for color.

Interesting how I don't feel a day over twenty… five?

I had the same old discussion with my parents today, which almost dangerously ended with me not in tears. No such luck. My mom opened her mouth for two seconds and down pour the tears. They just don't get it. I don't get it. Is this going to be a sour topic for the next few months or the next few years?! Will this never be resolved?! Dear God, is there anything I can do? A class, a book, divine intervention?! I'm so frustrated I cry when driving long distances... I so wish to give up, but that involves stop living... There is no changing their minds, there is no changing my mind, there is no changing status quo... so... for now, some tears seem to be all I can do.

My mom is on the computer with her best friend in China, via video phone. They're both eating sun-flower seeds and talking about getting older, laughing at themselves between sounds of spitting out shells and talking over each other.

I'm reading Under the Tuscan Sun, a book that writes so elaborately about nothing at all (at least so far). Beautiful adjectives and modifiers lavished on mattress springs and broken table legs. It's not at all like the movie, which I rather liked because it's so people-centric. I read it for the parts that she talks about food, the pointed differentiations between buffalo milk mozzarella and regular cow's. Also because when I was little my mom told me no matter how labor-some certain books may be to read, the author put in so much work writing them that the least I could do is finish. I wholeheartedly disagree. There are far too many amazing works out there to spend time on the not so amazing ones... but her logic made so much sense when I was eight that I still can't shake it... Sometimes I rebel, putting down unfinished books for months at a time, but always retrieving it from the bookshelf when I can't bare its neglected binding sitting so sadly on my bookshelf, accusing me of mistreatment.

So I'm half way through my latest book, so I'm inspired to write about nothing at all, so continues my search for the next amazing one...

Okay, so... ratatouille... I made it but I don't really get it... Don't be mad, all the ratatouille lovers out there, but it's just stewed veggies with some herbs... right? I keep thinking maybe when I layer it all together, the whole thing would take on this new flavor, but my zucchini still tasted like zucchini. The problem is I make too many things without having tasted them first (done the correct way), so I never know whether what I made is close to the way the kitchen gods intended. I want to taste Linda's before passing judgement on the dish... after all, there was a whole movie named after it.



What I loved from dinner are the thyme popovers I made! I've never had popovers before so I have no idea whether mine rose to the target height. But below this crusty top is a texture so light it's almost hollow, a fluffiness I like to pull apart with both hands between my fingers before putting it in my mouth. To think, I didn't even have the whole milk specified in the recipe... how good they would have been otherwise.

Happy New Year!!!

Something delicious came out of my oven today -- a hazelnut cake with 2 heaping cups of hazelnuts, pulsed with sugar and a tiny bit of flour. The most amazing part is this cake calls for no butter! The nutty flavor really shines through. I baked this healthful dessert at the very first day of 2009, hoping to start a trend for this coming year!

I couldn't get into the groove of baking this morning, staring at the recipes and missing Linda N's smooth, marbled kitchen counters. Sure, I have three springform pans and muffin tins big and small... but my stupid kitchen light buzzes like a mosquito when I turn it on. It wasn't until I started chopping up apples that I started to feel better, even dared to imagine the apple galette as pretty as the picture. It's still in the oven, I'm once again struggling over the fine line between gooey rawness and burnt crust. Thus the resetting of the timer for every 3 minutes... thus the cursing of the oven for lack of an oven light! Aiii... I do what I can.

I go home tomorrow, in time for New Year's eve. It's only been a couple of weeks since I saw my parents, so I dare say that I don't miss them yet. I do miss the people I more recently left behind, the old friends who snap into my present no matter how loosely we keep in touch... and I wonder, how did I ever get by without talking to them everyday. I resist the urge to text and call over random little things, just to keep them present a little longer. I don't count on the next time we meet (with xiao ming!)... life can be unpredictable in the worst ways... I have pictures to bring back the great friends I have, here and now.

I'm picking and choosing what I want to talk about... skipping over topics too complicated and convoluted to spill over my keyboard. I don't want to talk about the residency interview process, the false sense of security programs douse on their applicants and the uncertain aftertaste in my mouth after each trip. Before I rank programs, I need to rank my priorities... and that has been very difficult. It involves a balance of personal happiness and professional success... perhaps the two are mostly counteractive for all but the lucky few.

Something else I don't want to talk about is the dark cloud hanging over me for the past months. It comes and goes, more out of sight when I was reading "Eat, Pray, Love", but comes back at the most inconvenient times. It makes me sad when I should be happy, forces me to smile insincerely, and pushes me to participate in conversations I know nothing about ... so no one notices that I feel out of place...

Let's talk about how difficult it is to bake a cake or tart or pie for the very first time and not know what it tastes like before giving it to people. That first bit (mine and theirs) is pure torment, that moment of silent chewing before the verdict. Of course, I have taste buds of my own, I know perfectly well when something is good, amazing, or horrid... So is it appropriate to criticize my own baking in front of other people, or is that bad baker etiquette. I need to know.

Yet another new recipe from my new cookbook (Williams-Sonoma's Savoring Desserts). This almond sponge cake only takes a little flour, the rest are finely ground almonds (almond flour?). I love that. The texture is more substantial and satisfying, a nice contrast because it's very moist. One complaint is how sweet it is, and I skipped the last step that asked me to poke holes all over the cake and pour simple syrup all over it!

This Apple and Goat Cheese Galette is worth repeating! I know this because my friend picked his second slice with bare hands and ate it like a pizza! Such gusto is a great compliment. Of course, you have to like goat cheese... The puff pastry make this very easy, no kneading or rolling needed. I've been making a lot of layered apple desserts (all different, mind you), because that is the one staple I always have around...

It has been a good month in Houston. So good that I don't want to leave, so good I'm making plans to come back, so good that I wonder wouldn't it be cool if my friend and I both end up here for residency. Yes, it has been a good month.

On my last morning in Houston, Linda N took me to our favorite crepery one last time... CoCo Crepes and Coffee. She was in the mood for anything Nutella and I wanted the old favorite - raspberry white chocolate mousse (no, it's not too early for this much sugar).

Thinking back, we realized that we have come here every weekend for breakfast
and that one time for lunch with the girls.

I miss it already.

I got my first pedicure in the village with Linda and Linda (and Linda's Richard) and confirmed what I suspected to be true -- I have sensitive toes and very thin toe nails. I was trying hard not to say "ouch" or make any tortured faces... When I glanced over at the girls they seemed comfortable as can be with their magazines in hand and the nail ladies painting/filing/scrubbing away. This is all rather worrisome because I loved my pedicure and look forward to more in the future.

I'm having packing anxieties. Apparently so, since I'm sitting on the floor surrounded by open suitcaes, unconfirmed iteneraries, short sleeve dresses, a scarf, a mitten, and this laptop I'm about to leave behind... blogging. Let me explain. It was 70 degrees in Houston this morning. Now it is 45 F. I'm about to leave for the Sunshine State tomorrow where it's almost80 degrees... but only after waiting thirty minutes in the freezing cold at the crack of dawn for the super shuttle to take me to the airport. What's a girl to wear? What's a girl to pack? My tiny suitcae will be filled up to the max with my suit and shoes alone.

Thus the anxiety. Thus the blogging.

2008 is almost over, so suddenly. I'm back where I started, long ago. I find myself forgetting old grudges, giving the city another chance. There are so much to miss, after all. The hardest part was driving in, seeing the Fannin St exit for the first time in four years. I have exited here hundreds of times before, but never in the driver's seat. I changed lanes and missed my exit... by choice.

I burned toast yesterday. Reflexively I panicked, seeing the thick, dark smoke leaking out of Linda N's little white toaster oven. I turned on the fan, opened door, cracked on the AC, lit the candle… Suddenly I'm back in that cramped dorm room, where nothing belonged to me except the lavender cup filled with colorful pens. Suddenly my blond roommate is accusing me of stealing her ID, so early on Saturday morning. Suddenly I'm trapped within the hedges, with nowhere to go except the gym.

The smoke clings to the apartment, my current apartment so close to the med school, the one Linda N invited me to share with her for my month in Houston. I scrub the toaster clean, throw out the dark brick of a toast, and chase a fly out of the balcony door. The smell stays. Linda comes home. I tell the story. She laughs. I'm all flushed. She laughs some more.

I still wait for the shuttle every morning, which comes around only once a hour but drops me off so close to work. I drive all around the city, sometimes purposely muting the GPS to get off track, just a little. I haven't changed that much. There are still isles of stores in the Galleria I only peek into. I see my old self in all the old places, in every person running around the outer loop. I smile at her, and smile at myself because there are still so much of her inside me.

How appropriate, I'm reading The Time Traveler's Wife. It gets me thinking of the time traveling I do these days.

I boiled so much hot water for the past few days I broke the electric kettle. Now I use the coffee maker and pretend it doens't have old coffee taste. I haven't done anything for the past week except drink, eat, sleep, and putting lip gloss on my dry, chapped lips (St louis is the driest city on Earth). I shall power through and blog on.

At this very minute, my mom is packing away bits and pieces of this house and moving it all to Atlanta. This will be last holiday I spend in St Louis, after 2.5 years of calling it home. I have trouble grasping the idea that some people spend their whole lives in one place, that one house could hold ALL the memories of a lifetime. As far as I'm concerned, "home" can be many places at the same time. I have moved so many times by now that beside the hassles of packing, no lament or sadness comes with this move. There is only the excitment of seeing a new city, and hope that maybe this time we will stay put for awhile.

August 2007 was a good month.

I don't have any pictures to remind me of the truly memorable moments in BR, like how my roomate picked me up off the floor and threw me into bed to sleep, all because I refused to take a nap postcall and used that as an excuse not to go out. That night at Tsunami's turned out to be one of the most fun, the yummiest sushi I've had in a long time and chocolate cake so warm and soft I didn't know whether to chew or purr. I lost the snapshot of the six donut men that represented Team C -- I had a leg, Anne had an arm, and Tati a body or two. And then there were the bedtime giggles, so very contagious, about nothing at all... Delirium, some may call it. I miss it so.

August ended so soon, in between my hurrying along some moments, and lamenting every other. If only it were possible to skip hours and days, but never seeing the end of the month. We departed, my happy roomates and I, while still believing that we can never grow tired of each other. I can't, and shouldn't, ask for more.

Two tests in the next two days -- my chair hasn't even cooled from studying for Step I, and here I am again. Yuck doesn't even begin to describe this moldy feeling deep in my bones... All I want to do is look at photos of this past weekend -- arrange them, rearrange them, post them, re-post them...

It's hurricane season in NO again. Weather predictions of rain have persisted for the past two weeks. At the moment, lightening and thunder make my hands shake and my head swim... like I need another excuse for this lack of concentration.

This tiny apartment of mine, carefully arranged for comfort and hominess, is not so conducive for studying. I just want to curl up in my huge desk chair and stare into space.

Who ARE those people that become what they aspired to be, and DO what their passion dictates they must do?! Are they ALL on TV?! Do they not have parents? Do they feel no pressure?

As much as I want to think I am who I choose to be, I also believe that choice was restrained by stipulations laid down long before I was born. I can no more choose my choices than I can choose my parents. I can "rise" as much as I want, and "overcome" as much as I want, but in the end, the balance of the universe is not to be shifted by my stubborness or determination... or God forbid, failure. What's my point? I forget. But if there is ever limbo on earth, that's where you can find me...

I hate to think that the universe is conspiring against me, but it is. Getting sick a week before Step I, who's heard of such bad luck. I realize worse things happen every day, but in my world, this is earth shattering. I'm enjoying the best two minutes of my day RIGHT NOW -- breathing through both nostrils. I shall grasp this second to cram in more FIRST AID, before the hypoxia kills more neurons.

A bit over one month since my last blog about my last cold, a bit too soon. So much for the "resilience" I always boasted for my name sake. Yes, that's what my name means, resilience.

To all my friends who are having dinner parties on this Saturday night-- Enjoy! The world is on your side. I have a box of recipes stored away myself, wonder if I will ever try them all. Hope the bread pudding turned out well. :)

These days, I'm in a perpetual state of anxiety and doubt. Anxious that my huge test is coming up, doubt that I can do well. Then today, looking for distractions, I opened my notebook of favorite quotes and book excerpts though the years. I came across "Desiderata". I read it out loud, and by the end, there were tears in my eyes. I had forgotten how many phrases from this short poem had stayed with me through the years, how many quotes have circulated and surfaced in my brain times and again. Then today, I realized that despite it all, I still believe in the words.

"Be yourself. Especially, do not feign affection. Neither be cynical about love; for in the face of all aridity and disenchantment it is as perennial as the grass."

"Beyond wholesome discipline, be gentle with yourself. You are a child of the universe, no less than the trees and the stars; you have a right to be here. And whether or not it is clear to you, no doubt the universe if unfolding as it should."

So optimistic, so true.

It happened again! I just talked to another classmmate that I have brushed past for two years, but never stopped to talk to. Sitting here at Barnes & Noble, he came over to ask if I'm studying for Step I already (no, of course... I'm reading cookbooks for inspiration). What is it about the end of the year that makes us approach familiar strangers? No wonder people say to live each day as if it were your last... imagine what we could accomplish!

One of the few things that makes me feel like a grown up is going to a real domestic store -- William Sonoma, Pottery Barn, Bombay Furniture… When I buy a dark brown, wooden-grained, oversized square platter, it seems as if I'm tending to the little details in life, such as how its pointed corners, curving abruptly upward, will add a fine touch to my night stand.

And it did.

This morning I bought my first jewelry box. Finally, one place for all the pretty silver and copper that I never wear. All the tiny pendants that hold more nostalgia than accessorizing value. No more opening a million little boxes when I miss my senior ring from high school, or the soft gold loops that are so worn they have becomes angled instead of circular.

This is the end of my second year, the "M" in the "MD". I get exactly 48 hours off then on to Step I. I baked a red velvet cake yesterday, then went to a quaint French Restaurant, all in the company of friends that have defined my second year more than pharmacology or clin path ever could. No more classes, no more exams. Different rotations at different times next year mean a dinner like this last dinner will be few and far in between. But then again, those are the best... absence really does make the heart grow fonder.

11:38 am Saturday morning. My 48 hrs slipping though the hour glass.

I took two finals today and went straight to a spinning class. The anaerobic frenzy of it all squeezed every last memory of the pharm final from my brain. I might have gone into over-drive and some clin path might have poured out as well. Not good. clin pat final is tomorrow.

Whenever people say "that's just life" -- I tear up, inexplicably. Can someone tell me why?

One of my facebook person (old acquaintance?) is a nanny, and I found myself jealous of her getting paid to play with an adorable baby, until I realized that the baby doesn't stay a baby forever, the job probably doesn't pay for health insurance, that I don't even like kids, and the only nanny position I ever want to play is to my own kids.

I had a horrible dream last night, and woke up this morning speed dialing the 100 digit calling card+telephone number to reach my mom in China, only to realize that the 13 hour time difference meant she had already left for her flight to Gui Ling. I'm still underneath an aura so dark that no amount of green tea or peach fresca could lift me out.

I have a theory -- that I have successive nightmares each night. While only a few penetrate my consciousness (or memory), the majority of them subvesively attack my subconscious, putting me in a perpetual state of listlessness.

Or it could be the never-ending pile of notesets... or the immedent danger of Step I... or this coughting/sneezing I can't get rid of that causes my nose to peel despite nonstop scrubbing... or finals... or life, damn it.

I was washing my favorite mug in the sink. And while I was washing it, I was telling myself how much I likes this mug, how I wish I had more than one, how from now on, I will buy all my mugs like it... Before I could even finish that last thought, the mug slipped from my detergent soaked hands and hit the sink, broken in half with little pieces chipping off in all directions.

The saddest part is, my mom is away, so there is no one I could call at this hour to whine about the irony and injustice of it all!

I wonder, the next time I feel anxious, will repeating this help?

"Every hurt he'd ever suffered, every ache he'd ever endured -- it was all as gone as an expired breath. he could not feel agony. he could not feel sadness. His consciousness felt smoky, wisplike, incapable of anything but calm..." - The Five People You Meet in Heaven, M. Albom

When my violin teacher read me this poem over the phone, I stopped pacing in my tiny kitchen mid-step... and didn't move until she finished reading the whole thing. She mailed it to me in a packed envelop along with other clippings; she understands how silly I become over words.

Oh, no -- not ev'n when first we loved,
Wert thou as dear as now thou art;
Thy beauty then my senses moved,
But now thy virtues bind my heart.
What was but Passion's Sigh before,
Has since been turn'd to Reason's vow;
And, though I then might love thee more,
Trust me, I love thee better now.

Although my heart in earlier youth
Might kindle with more wild desire,
Believe me, it has gain'd in truth
Much more than it has lost in fire.
The flame now warms my inmost core,
That then but sparkled o'er my brow,
And, though I seem'd to love thee more,
Yet, oh, I love thee better now.

-- Thomas Moore

I befriended ginger and honey over the weekend, hoping to halt an aching throat right where it belongs-- no where! It worked, I feel better.

I saw Cirque du Soleil- Delirium last Friday night, the best live performance ever. Afterwards I was on a natural high and couldn't stop giggling over the nearly naked, perfectly chiseled men... There was one Asian guy in particular, who had a beautiful face to match the flawless physique. My friend had found her soul mate, and I just wanted to look at him every other day. I did, however, manage enough common sense to hold her back when she wanted to go backstage. Or should I have?! Giving up medical school to become a Cirque du Soleil groupie? mmm... not yet. :)

Blood pressure screening at a local Vietnamese church gave me another chance to attend Catholic Mass on Palm Sunday. I didn't understand a word, but craving faith and inspiration, I went anyways. There is something very humbling about kneeling down, an act that inherently diminishes all pride, all ego. And when a friend lend over to translate for me quotes from the Bible, I felt so abysmally small... Facing imperfection, virtues I may always be without, did not lead to sadness, but a peace so new and rare that I almost didn't recognize it.

Walking away isn't always abandonment, and giving up can be honorable too, don't you think? Is it okay to withdraw the helping hand when faced with the risk of falling into a million pieces yourself?

The spell is broken; I won!!!

It's an opera ticket next month... I actually put in my name for the drawing, then left the room to get coffee b/c I didn't think I would win. On my way back to my room, I thought, I bet Thuy (my friend who wins everything) won... so I went back to class to confirm. It turns out, she DID win, and so did I! :)

One week countdown to Round 2... OMG!!!

My record of never winning anything goes unmarred.

Today was APAMSA's (Asian Pacific American Medical Student Association) first annual rice eating contest. This fuzzy picture was the only action shot I have because once the food-shoving started, I became too caught up in the momentum to stop and take a picture! This is the first time I witnessed an eating contest in person and I have to say, there is an energy there unlike any other. Must admit, craziness is fun to watch. (J.L. is the surprising winner)

The winners drew raffle tickets... no P.F. Chang's for me. :(

Two medical students spend an entire hour in a hospital, involving many a people/operator/staff, trying to find the internal medicine resident on call. NO ONE could point them in the right direction! Oh the inefficiencies of the real world... it's a marvel anything gets done. You would think it's the medical students, but I swear, it's not!

I called him a bastard, but it was only half-hearted. The truth is, I don't care anymore. Finally, the naive innocent heroine abandons the undeserving illusion of a man, that is what I call modern day romance. Nothing can get me down after going to the one restaurant I've always wanted to go -- Emeril's! Oh happiness, why can't you stay for good.

I had to modulate myself all weekend in order to match a friend's downcast mood... it's sad but sometimes happiness isn't contagious, but could potentially annoy and devastate. Thus, I will only say here that this past weekend was so fulfilling that I am nothing short of depressed to be back in NO, away from my hometown.

I don't know Shreveport like the back of hand; I never have. There are, however, enough memories around enough corners to induce unexpected nostalgia; enough of a past to marvel at all the changes and things that never change; and just enough people that think of me to complete a bittersweet return. It turns out, I have a whole new set of roots not so far away.

The only thing missing from Mrs. Teague's house is the sound of her dog splattering through the rooms, howling because my arrival always promised a "chewie". I didn't mention that to her; I am sure she notices his absence everyday. It seems that nothing has left their assigned space in the last 5 years-- much to her dismay, much to my comfort. The more everything around me enticed to pull me back in time, the more I latched onto the present. Many things have stayed the same -- but not she, not I.

Me: you have to find something to look forward to.
B.B.: like what?
Me: like the trip this weekend, like the birthday dinner next week, like the spring break coming up.
B.B.: what else?
Me: life -- taking an unexpected turn.

***

Leaving for my old hometown in a couple of hours, I'm going to take pictures of gas stations and red lights. I'm going to see my violin teacher that I haven't seen in many many years. She once told me that no matter how much time passes, we would never grow apart. At the time, either us realized "how much time" would be this much time.

Last night I was giving advice to a friend, and realized that I sounded just like my dad, down to the fluctuation in tone. I hope she found the same comfort in my words that I always do in his.

This weekend will fly by sooo fast, and before I know it, I'll be back in this same seat, wondering where all the time went.

Yesterday in the elevator, I finally talked to the old Chinese lady with the baby stroller. An ever so soft "ni hao" barely left my mouth, when she expounded onto what is a rather shy greeting with -- are you chinese, where are you from, is this elevator going to the ground floor? And I, returning so swiftly to my Chinese roots, was ever so polite. I answered all her questions, punched the right floor for her, talked to the baby in the stroller, and walked out of that elevator feeling ridiculously happy to speak Chinese to a total stranger.

Linda Lee -- any hope you might revive your blog?
Me -- but I feel like a trespasser last time I went.

I wish for snow, the kind that will splatter on my new red coat. I wish for the familiar voices of friends who squeal “a new red coat!” I wish I walked outside for more than 5 seconds a day so I can feel the sun (the rain, the wind, the UV rays) on my face. I wish the speeches and pep-talks I give people penetrated my heart as easily as it penetrated my head… I wish it were easier to discern between the two. I wish I knew which tears are reflexive, which are responsive, which are 50/50, which are brave, which are weak, which I can trust, and which should be urgently wiped away.

I wish everything will be okay. Everything will be okay.

Blogging is most fun when I don't have time to blog, thus why two weeks have elapsed since my last test and despite the myriad of life-altering events that happened, I am just now updating.

Note to self, don't sprinkle powdered cinnamon into iced latte, it will never melt, but end up between my teeth. Here I am, sitting in class, checking in my little mirror between every sip.

Another giant leap for Tian! You should all be proud. I confronted a past ghost with one sweep of a confession, and while the wound is still there (much to my impatience), I think time will take care of the rest. This is unfamiliar territory for me, leaving the door ajar after saying goodbye. I only hope my inability to completely turn my back on a rather special friendship is a step towards maturity and bravery, instead of sloppy indecisiveness. Besides, as Maria said, should I find myself diverging, it's never too late for plan B.

Maybe someday I can say more, spinning in a retrospective insight. But right now, there is too much hurt too close by. I am proud of myself for one thing -- I would never settle for second-rate affection, from anyone!

Another mirror check.

First episode of Grey's Anatomy Season 3 did not disappoint, can't wait for next Thursday.

I had to tell my self stop, out loud, to close the Anthropologie.com website. I wish I could leap onto the page and touch each and every one of those beautiful garments, screaming to be loved. I don't have time to look at clothes I can't afford, and I don't have time to fool myself into thinking I can afford them. I don't even have time to type these sentences. I can't wait for the end of tests. It's like waiting... to exhale. :)

I hung the dress on my closet door, sometimes putting my hand across its soft whiteness, sometimes taking a nostalgic sniff of scents long gone. Today, I put it away. Zipped it up in the black bag, said a silent goodbye, and told myself that sometimes in life, we just don't get what we want. It's not as simple as splurging on the shiny new phone, or finding excuses to buy another black dress... some things are out of our reach despite all efforts and determination. I must be getting old, because I've been telling myself that a lot, each time sounding more true.

And then to be fair to myself, life moves on. I can't guarantee I won't look back. But I dare say that each time, I will remember all the trials and error, enough to turn me back around.

My first test only two weeks away... I'm nervous. I won't focus on the two hour nap I just woke up from, or the fact that I'm blogging and not studying... I'll just publish this and go right back to Streptococcus...

I told Linda to be patient, I told Thuy to be patient, and now, I'm telling myself to be patient. But at what point does patience become cowardance... an excuse to justify a standstill... I wonder...

Sunday, again! Tomorrow is the official three-week mark before round #1. I'm nervous.

Never, in a million years, did I think I would hear Shanghainess echoing down my hall way, slipping into my little apartment! I heard it all summer, a world away. I hope those people walk by my door often, and deliver me a daily dosage of home.

I'm addicted to material possessions! I can't stop. Should I exchange my Sprint phone for something cheap or dish out 80 bucks for a beautiful new phone?! This new phone would only last me two years anyway... but if it's the ever so popular Kantana, it would me happy every time I see it (at least for the first week). If only it could deliver a couple of long-waited calls!

So here goes my Saturday... with only one noteset accomplished. I'm about to go running around the park with my little buddy. My first Ultimate Frisbee experience last week reminded me of how much fun it was to sweat outside. It's been so long since I ran outside... dating back to the outer loop with Maria! Remember those days???

Change of subject --
A bubble for two; that is what I have found. Sadly, one cannot solidify a bubble... no padding, strengthening, thickening allowed. It is ever so fragile, so delicate, so unstable, and yet I have put in so much, too much, of myself into it. On Friday, this bubble almost lifted off the ground, and I was reminded of how far it could go. But the moment ended with no lift-off, because I fear that like all bubbles, it would burst with distance.

When did it all begin? He was waiting for the bus, standing so closely to the curb. I was either coming or going, but noticed him along the way. And that could have been it... except it wasn't. He stayed close, but ever so far. He put his arms around me, but alwasy kept his distance. There were words, but no truth. I stepped out of his world, further away. Years elapsed. And that could have been it... except it wasn't. Life happened, everyday. A million people passed by, everyday. I pushed thoughts of him aside, everyday.

I'm willing myself to admit it, maybe I am lonely. But I must also will myself to become stronger, just in case the long road ahead gets even worse. Just last night, the short distance I traveled, by myself, as my friend pauses to wait for her significant other, is quite symbolic. She timidly asked to me wait with her, wiggling in fear that I should... It's those times I wish I had someone of my own to wait for, to count on. But I mustn't look for distractions, for substitutions, for second hand affection. I must face the emptiness head on.

退一步，海阔天空。

There must be no shame or regret associated with something so beautiful. I put my best foot forward, literally. If it isn't well-received, that is no fault of my own. That time, that place, that person... it's all apart of something bigger than I could over-step. I sought confirmation, proof, concrete words... when what I really needed is simple action, sadly absent. So... I'm trying, trying, trying... to step back, to move on. To let 缘份 do its thing... one more time.

That is not to say I will remain idle... This is my life, after all.

My first pair of Aldo, just to make Thuy proud. Actually, she couldn't have talked me out of it... there is something timeless about short heels that those 3-inches, no matter how glamorous, just can't compare.

When other people are busy looking for someone trustworthy and dependable, I wasted all my time searching for the feeling, the spark... and what have I ended up with? A few transient moments of breathlessness for an infinity of anguish and pain. While life is a roller coaster of ups and downs, is it not better to trot more leveled ground... especially as we get older, and our hearts get weaker.

It is only the third week of school, and already I feel battled and worn. I suppose if it must go down some time, it is better to put up that white flag in the beginning, where there is still time to recover, re-group, and find a brave face. This too shall pass, right???

It is not a tragedy yet, for thankgoodness, I'm still young. There is no need to right past wrongs, but time enough to learn from my mistakes.

Follow up blog --

Is the truth staring me in the eye, but I refuse to see it? I have acquired a few more memories, a few more decorations for the lonely corner of my imagination. But reality is no better... Everyone tells me to be patient... Fine!

Certain steps, once taken, can never be re-traced. For better or worse, I will not be the same. 2:55 pm, here I am... In a couple of hours, my heart will be somewhere completely different. I hope there is excitement and understanding, and communication (or one of those silences dripping with words)... But just in case I get that familiar sensation of a sinking heart, I hope I can summon some strength. It will be a noisy night, and those can be the most lonesome of all.

One shouldn't worry so much what happened yesterday, because you never know what will happen tomorrow.

That is my advice to myself as I sit here, book open, mind a million miles away. I haven't quite made up my mind to end this distraction, so you might say I'm indulging a bit before the crack down.

From this view out of the MEB window, New Orleans is beautiful. The clear glass reflects the clear night, with a distant cathedral top fluorescently lit up. My own reflection interrupts the view, but an imprint, an outline. I can focus in and focus on myself... or I can look beyond, and ponder the woos of the world.

But either way, you see, the night is wasted... for chapter 6 immunology came and went... leaving me no wiser.

I can't write diaries like I used to. The world of electronics have made hand written words much too slow, my cursive writing simply shortened versions of true thoughts. This is too bad, because the present is quite worthy of jotting down, for it has taken a long time coming...

Yesterday was my White Coat Ceremony, and I'm so glad I didn't NOT go because my parents couldn't make it. I told them those ceremonies are for the people in the audience much more so than the people walking across the stage. After all, if no one saw your flash in the spotlight (and there are no pictures to validate), who can remember those moments afterwards.

But I was so wrong!

It made an ordinary Saturday evening less than ordinary. Lasting or fleeting, I felt renewed and encouraged. It is necessary to hear cheesy adjectives, exalted claims, to remind myself the honor and privilege of the medical profession. I'm glad the ceremony took place at the beginning of the second year, after we have toiled and momentarily overcome... If this were at the beginning of freshman year, it would just be another naive salute to a profession I really know nothing about.

And there were pictures... many many. Some just a pose, a smile... others I can recall the exact angle of the face and brush of the hair... There were many voices, some just passing greetings, others still vibrate the air. It is not fair to remember, to lament... Once passed, the magic can only be re-felt, never truly recalled.

I asked a friend whether this will be a good year, and he asked me to define "good". I can't. Good is good.

Here is my blog for Camp Tiger, tucked away in the draft folder. I might have written it in China, and forgot to post it...

My little camper Kathryn is nine years old, has ADD/mild cerebral palsy, remained defiant and resilient till the end when she cracked down and told us she didn't want to leave. Oh, she loves us after all.

I held her hand and walked her to her car, telling her to stop picking on her fingers, to stop rejecting band-aids, to really use the bathroom when she goes to the bathroom... None of which she really understood, and I'm sure none she will remember. But those are parting words, and they must be said.

Block three came and went, just like that. Sitting immobile in a chair for eighteen hours a day, no matter how comfortable the chair, is unhealthy and not recommended. I’ve learned to love my fifteen minute naps sitting upright – lean my head back, pull the sweater over my arms, and pretend I don’t care about the pile of notes inches away. Sometimes I wake up refreshed, other times simply more aware of how pitiable this life-style is.

A small distraction intersected my bland but peaceful life. Thirty minutes of breathless trance, in exchange for three days of tearful psychosis. Don’t ask me if it’s worth it; I’m neither rational nor prudent. Just as it is easier to spread the ripple in a still pond, so it took no effort to shake up my life. It was his carelessness. It was my fault.

This is all for the best, at this particular time in my life. No time to part, when what I want should demand all the time I have. Since I can’t fast forward, can’t rewind, can’t play without skipping beats, it is best to put it all on pause. I shall do my utmost to retire this already infinitesimal role. In return, I ask only for the absence of anguish.

Camp Tiger Wine and Cheese auction. Great cause, beautiful people.
Nothing like a practical joke to lighten the mood in the red room. Marshall is the ingenius mind behind this saran wrapped table.
I miss studying with you Maria! Here is a moment of my weekend visit in Dallas, where she unselfishly parted with valuable studying time to entertain me. :)
VP of Fruits and Vegetables for life!!!